by Misty Evans
Syd glanced at the sky where the midday sun shone bright—she could do this—then went back to Nabil. “I would like that. I could take you to some of my favorite places.”
He grinned like a schoolboy who’d just received his first A. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to drop the car at the house. Would that be all right?”
Syd hesitated. Normally, she’d never go back to a man’s house if she barely knew him. Then again, Nabil thought she was an escort, and an escort faced with a filthy rich, nice looking man, wouldn’t hesitate. “Not a problem at all.”
Minutes later, Nabil pushed open the heavy arched door leading into the brownstone and waved Syd through.
Here we go.
“Here we go,” Grey said in her ear and she nearly laughed. Laughing might be better than peeing her freaking pants. She was all for helping women in need, but hell’s bells, it was one thing to be sitting in Grey’s car and letting him think she was ballsy enough to ring the doorbell and invite herself in…another to be led into the parlor by the spider. But Nabil wasn’t the fly, or The Lion, in this case. She just hoped Grey still had her back.
“You’ve got this, Syd,” Grey said. “I’m right here.”
Sometimes she wanted him not to babble in her ear. Now, she liked it. Now, she needed the calm confidence that came with one Justice Greystone and he’d known it. Somehow, this man understood her.
Damn scary thought.
Nabil punched the security code into the alarm keypad as Syd stepped into a massive sunken living room. The tastefully decorated room was fitted with elegant furniture upholstered in deep red and purple fabrics that immediately brought her to a place of peace. The purple was odd, but somehow it worked. Crazy that, considering The Lion, a supposedly sexual deviant, lived here. Then again, people with his money hired decorators.
Muted beige walls were the perfect backdrop for the bold artwork. Syd scanned the various paintings until her attention halted on the one of a woman who wore a deep blue veil over her head and beads that dropped into the middle of her forehead. A bindi. She appeared serene, yet her half-closed eyes gave her a sultry—perhaps even sexy—appearance. Shades of a woman. Fascinating.
She walked to the painting, allowed herself to get lost in it for a moment. Anything to relieve her active brain. “This painting is fabulous.”
Nabil tossed his keys on the entry table. “My father is a collector. Everything in the house is created by Middle Eastern artists.” He pointed down the hall. “The powder room is to the left. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to put on comfortable shoes if we’ll be walking. Will you be all right if I go upstairs for a moment?”
Such a trusting man. Silly boy. “Of course. I’ll use the ladies room and meet you here.”
“Ask to see the art,” Grey said. “And make sure you unlock the back door. I’m coming in.”
What the? Coming in. Now?
Something weird happened in her throat. A squeak.
“Relax,” he said. “I’m just gonna have a look.”
“I’ll see you in a minute,” she said to Nabil. Maybe to Fed Boy too. She wasn’t sure.
God help me.
Grey had snapped this time. Completely bonkers. The maniac was going to just stroll right through the back door? Didn’t he need a warrant or something?
Syd’s lunch backed up in her throat.
Move, Syd. She’d think later. Right now, she had to trust Grey knew what the hell he was doing.
She moved into the hallway where stunning art lined the walls. With the amount of art stuffed into this small space, there had to be more throughout the house. She could pretend to be enthralled and wrangle an invite to see the rest of the collection, but first, she had to get the back door unlocked. She glanced behind her. Nabil had already gone upstairs.
Back door.
She ran to the large gleaming kitchen, all stainless appliances and marble countertops—wow. Big bucks. But no door. Where was the back door? Damned Fed Boy. Another small corridor sat just off the kitchen. Mudroom. Got it. A minute later, she flipped the deadbolt—she’d have liked to see Grey get past that sucker—and tore off to the powder room while her damned lunch threatened to evacuate.
So not made for undercover work. Plus, with all this activity, she had to pee anyway.
Once locked inside the loo, she leaned against the door and focused on the wall sconce. Anything not to think about the mess she and Grey might be creating. Nothing like an international incident to brighten one’s day.
“Did you get the door unlocked?” Grey asked.
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed just in case Nabby had returned and was at that moment putting his ear to the door. Not that she imagined he’d do that, but at this point, anything could happen and she wasn’t about to get caught letting a rogue FBI agent into a suspected serial killer’s house.
“Good. Get him to show you the art upstairs. I’m coming in.”
Chapter Fifteen
The house looked like any normal Georgian brownstone in D.C. The Lebanese government didn’t take chances though with their diplomats. The entire complex had been purchased and remodeled to fit Lebanese standards of security. Small windows, bulletproof glass, high-tech security systems and reinforced interior structures to neutralize eavesdropping devices. While the complex was like most D.C. residences and sat near the street, this one sat farther back and had a gate that ran the perimeter of the block, and a set of impressive satellite dishes on the roof.
Like their Israeli counterparts, the Lebanese had plenty of experience with car bombings and other acts of terrorism. Their diplomatic entourage was small in comparison to the Israeli’s, but no less protected while in America.
With Nabil in residence, the security system was off. And now—thanks, Syd—the back door was unlocked. Good girl.
Grey eased sideways against the house and shifted the back door’s security camera so it pointed toward the sky. He listened at the reinforced steel door for sounds from the other side. Nothing. Didn’t mean Nabil wasn’t somewhere close by, so Grey carefully turned the handle and cracked open the door. No irate voice erupted on the other side. So far so good. He slipped inside.
The Lebanese diplomats blended well with the normal D.C. public in their designer suits and limos. In the privacy of their residences, their homeland was front and center. The vivid, yet peaceful colors, the art, and the furniture all spoke of Middle Eastern origin.
Grey looked left, then right, listening for sounds of Nabil moving around. The creak of a board. Overhead. His gaze shot up. The kid was upstairs. Go.
Moving quickly, he scanned the first floor, checking all doors looking for The Lion’s office. Sydney came out of a room on his left and they both jumped.
“What are you doing?” she snapped in a whispered voice.
He waved her off and headed toward the living room at the front of the house. Filled with heavy wood furniture and bright pillows, it did not hold a desk. Syd came behind him, making frantic motions with her hands that he didn’t understand. She was always telling him to relax, seemed only appropriate that he return the suggestion. He made a relax gesture, grinned as she flipped him off, and moved on.
Just as he passed the stairs, he heard a door shut overhead. He’s coming.
Stairs.
A light whooshing sounded as Nabil came down the carpeted steps. Syd made a loud noise in her throat in warning. Backing his body against the wall underneath the staircase, Grey slid into the shadows.
Syd leaped into one of the living room chairs. “Hi,” she said when Nabil hit the landing.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“No problem. I’ve been admiring the artwork. Amazing pieces. I don’t know much about art, but I know when something moves me. These are...well...peaceful, I guess. I could look at them all day.”
Babbling. Terrific. He’d have to talk to her about that. Grey burrowed farther under the stairs in case Nabil walked by.
“Would you like to see
the rest of the collection? It’s upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” Syd playing shy. Good for her.
“If you’re more comfortable going up alone, I’ll stay here.”
Come on, Syd. Get him up there.
“Um,” she said. “I’d love to see the paintings. Why don’t you show me?”
“Of course. Come. We’ll start on the third floor.”
A minute later, footsteps thumped on the staircase above Grey’s head.
Maybe the office was upstairs. Wouldn’t hurt to have a look at The Lion’s bedroom either. And the basement. Some serial killers left their trophies in plain sight. Others hid them in strange places in case they were questioned or arrested. Knowing Ahmed, who thought himself untouchable, he didn’t bother hiding his conquests unless from his son.
While Syd entertained Nabil, Grey circled through the backside of the house, noting a door to a basement. A thorough search was out of the question, so he had to focus on the most obvious places to find evidence. Once Syd had Nabil out of range on the third floor, Grey made his way up the stairs, careful to step over the ones that had creaked under Nabil’s weight. Second floor had the expected bedrooms. Four. Father, son, office and a spare room, probably for guests. The Lion’s room was the largest, no surprise there, with an en suite bathroom and a door between the bedroom and the office. He’d start with the office.
Keeping his senses alert to the movements of Syd and Nabil above him, he searched the desk. The usual hubris lay out in the open beside a laptop. His fingers itched to get a look at that computer, but he doubted he’d find anything of value and he didn’t have time to breach the security it was no doubt encrypted with. Flipping through several stacks of papers, he noticed a black diplomatic folder under several manila ones. The Lebanese flag was stamped on the cover.
Knowing it was a useless exercise, Grey rifled through it. Ahmed Khourey was no different from any other lobbyist. He leaned on U.S. government officials to back bills that helped his country and argued against those that didn’t. Other Lebanese natives living in the area could ask him for help with visas and other papers. An intermediary between the U.S. and Lebanese Ambassador, he carried a lot of weight with both governments. His diplomatic pouches were probably as fat as the president’s.
A newspaper clipping from a Lebanese newspaper caught Grey’s attention. Mariam Rashid, the female candidate who’d been running for prime minister before being murdered, was pictured with a headline about her death. A paper clip held more articles that contained updates. No killer had been found though, so the stories had died out in Lebanon. In the rest of the world, the story was fueled by women’s groups claiming the Lebanese didn’t actually want to find the killer. Mariam, in full Western attire but wearing a conservative veil, had adorned posters and websites from Beirut to Canada. Women everywhere had used her signature veil to rally politicians, religious groups, and protesters into creating pressure on the Lebanese government to bring justice in her name.
And now, in order to prosecute The Lion, Donaldson wanted Grey to fabricate evidence to lead to Rashid’s killer. Grey shoved the clippings back in the folder. One killer at a time.
Above him, he heard Syd laugh. Focus, Grey.
The remaining contents of the desk were useless. A few files and folders of miscellaneous forms and documents any diplomat would keep handy. Grey ran his hands under the desk, pulled out the drawers, and checked under them as well. Nothing.
He moved onto a file cabinet, giving it a quick once-over. There was a key taped under one drawer, but nothing else. Should he pocket it or leave it?
Leave it.
Decision made, he went in search of a safe. It would be hidden in a wall or under a floorboard. He couldn’t exactly go around taping the walls or the wooden floor, but he could check behind the two large pictures in the room. No safe there.
Son of a bitch. His sneak-and-peek was a bust so far. Knowing he was running out of time, he entered Ahmed’s bedroom. First, he did a visual scan, then began a physical search. Five minutes later, he knew the size and color of The Lion’s underwear and his favorite type of porn, but there was nothing tying him to the dead women.
In the bathroom, more personal facts were revealed, none of which Grey wanted embedded in his brain, but couldn’t be helped. Monroe would have had a field day with the guy’s extensive cologne collection.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs once again had him ducking for cover. He slipped behind the bathroom door and listened as Syd’s high-pitched laugh from right outside the door made her sound like a twit. Nervous.
Keep him in the house a little longer, partner.
As if she’d read his mind, she said, “My lunch made me thirsty. Could I grab a drink of water before we head out?”
“Of course,” Nabil said in a soft voice probably reserved for sexy women.
They disappeared downstairs. Leaning around the door, Grey eyeballed Nabil’s room across the hall. The curtains were drawn and the room was in shadows, but a splash of color on the bedpost caught Grey’s attention. A veil. Bright yellow. Unusual, but maybe the kid had a Lebanese girlfriend. If Monroe were there, he would have labeled the kid a cross-dresser. Or maybe the kid just got lucky and last night’s booty call had left her calling card.
Either way, it was time to vacate the premises. Dammit. Possibly the only chance he had to find concrete evidence and he was empty-handed. Now what?
Downstairs, Syd raised her voice. “One more trip to the ladies room and I’ll be ready to go.”
Yep, definitely time to leave. But if Nabil was in the kitchen, that exit was blocked.
At that moment, Nabil’s cell rang and he answered. Grey snuck down the stairs, saw the kid deep in conversation as he gazed out the kitchen window. Guess that left the front door.
Slipping into the living room, Grey took one last look back over his shoulder. The evidence was here, he could feel it. One way or another, he had to get back in this house.
That evening, adrenaline burned in Grey’s legs, forcing him to pace Sydney’s living room. His failure to find the trophies or anything that might incriminate The Lion in the escort murders ate at him like acid. “I have to get back inside that brownstone.”
Sydney sat on the sofa, her bare feet propped on the coffee table, and a glass of wine in hand. She ran her free hand through her hair, lifting it from the back of her neck before letting it cascade down. “Funny, ’cuz I was thinking just the opposite.” She gave an exaggerated shiver. “I never want to go inside that place again. All that gorgeous art and expensive furniture covering up the fact Ahmed’s a serial killer? Gives me the creeps in the worst way. I still don’t get it. The Lion and his cub don’t seem like the serial killer type.”
“And Ted Bundy did? Besides, how many serial killers have you met?”
Syd huffed. “I’m just giving you my opinion, partner. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just not sensing danger around them and I’d like to think I’ve gotten good at sensing danger.”
“When you were upstairs, did you see anything out of place that I might have missed? Anything that tripped your instincts?”
She sat for a moment, then shook her head. “Sorry.”
Damn. He paced some more. He’d have to break in while Ahmed and Nabil were out. Take Monroe with him for backup. After dark was best, but the Khoureys only went out at night when attending those damn functions at the Panthera. There was no way Grey would leave Syd on her own at one of those functions and he couldn’t be in two places at once.
On the coffee table, Syd’s cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. She nudged it with her foot and sat forward to read the ID. Her gaze came up, one eyebrow lifting. “It’s Ian.”
As she answered, Grey sat on the sofa next to her, placing his ear near the phone. She set down her glass and tilted the phone so he could hear too.
“You’re a wanted woman, Syd,” Ian said, his voice holding a touch of lasciviousness.
Dickweed.
She narrowed her eyes. “How so?”
“Nabil Khourey called. He enjoyed your afternoon together very much and would like to invite you to have dinner at his place tomorrow night. He told me the two of you are friends.”
Ian’s voice suggested he knew better. She rolled her eyes and exchanged a look with Grey. He nodded. “What about the Li…” She caught herself. “Ahmed. What about him? Is he going to be there?”
“Nabil didn’t mention his father. He said you’d taken time to show him around D.C. and he wanted to return the favor by treating you to a Lebanese dinner.”
As much as he hated sending her in there—he’d learned with Molly that women shouldn’t be alone with men he didn’t know—this was another chance to search the place. She could get back into the brownstone with no threat to herself and he could follow her in.
He nodded vigorously at Syd. She seemed okay with it, a small smile at his exuberance lifting the corner of her mouth. “What time?”
“Seven. But one warning.”
Syd’s brows squeezed down. “What?”
“This isn’t an official job for The Smoking Gun. This is just…dinner. Between friends You’ll still be paid, of course. Nabil insists. But it’s…”
“Off the books?”
“Exactly. Which is a win-win for you. No cut of the fee going to the service. It’s all yours, and it’s a solid two thousand bucks. Some friend you’ve made there, Sydney.”
Nabil actually liked Syd and wanted to treat her to dinner. Grey couldn’t blame him.
Syd met his gaze, her eyes sympathetic. She was thinking the same thing. “I’d love to. Tell Nabil I’ll be there at seven.”
She and Ian disconnected and she set the phone on the table, shaking her head. “He’s paying me to have dinner with him at home. How pathetic is that? All he had to do was ask.”
Grey stood and stretched, adrenaline still shooting down his legs but in a manner that made him feel like he’d won a race. “He doesn’t know that. He probably wanted to lock it in and figured schmoozing you with the money would do it. And, in a twisted way, he was right.” Grey faced her and saw the Syd he admired shining in her eyes. The one that took every person in need under her wing and tried to fix him or her. Nabil was in for a night to remember.