“Wait here a minute.”
Darius got out and approached the police officer who had also exited his vehicle. Jabari and Zareb joined them, but Tahira only had eyes for one man. She studied Darius’s physique. Angie had been right the other day—it was very hard for Tahira not to ogle the man she was engaged to. Today, he was wearing snug, faded jeans, a navy-blue T-shirt that molded to his torso in a delicious manner, and a pair of black cowboy boots. If he had a cowboy hat on, he could have graced the cover of one of the modern, western romance books on her e-reader.
The men shook hands and spoke for a moment before the officer and the sentries returned to their vehicles. Meanwhile, Tahira waited for Darius to open her door. While that was something valets and her bodyguards did for her quite frequently, with Darius it was different. It seemed gallant and made her feel special and cared for in a way she never had before.
When he opened her door, she took his hand, climbed down, and walked beside him toward the trailer, loving how he intertwined their fingers and stayed connected to her. It was rare she’d held another man's hand, and even then, it was usually for only a few seconds as they’d helped her or shaken her hand. Some men tried to hold on longer than Tahira had been comfortable with. She could tell they were only fascinated by her money, her looks, or her royal standing. But she preferred a man who was interested in her as a person. One who was interested in what she had to say and challenged her intellectually. Darius was that man.
He never came across as a social climber, nor did he seem eager to get his hands on her family’s money. In fact, there were times he appeared uncomfortable with her wealth. Tahira knew he was attracted to her, but she also knew she would not be another notch on his bed post, as the Americans would say. Her royal title meant little to him in terms of his own status. Some people might think that, but their friends and family would know the truth—or the truth as it was told to them.
Before they reached the door, Darius called out, “Hey, Dad! It’s me! You awake?”
The door swung open and a gray-haired version of Levi Knight appeared. Darius and Barrie must take after their mother. Mr. Knight was slender, dressed in a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His face had been weathered by the sun until it appeared leathery, but he was still handsome.
“Of course I’m awake,” the older man rasped. His eyes narrowed as he studied Darius and then the patrol car. “What are you doing home? You’re not AWOL, are you? I’m not going to have the MPs showing up here, am I? It’s bad enough the cops are running radar in front of my house. They’ve been sitting there for weeks and haven’t written a single ticket yet.”
The corners of Darius’s mouth ticked upward as he shook his head. It was obvious this wasn’t the first time his father had asked that. “No, Dad, I’m not AWOL. I got some time off and wanted you to meet someone.”
Mr. Knight’s gaze finally settled on Tahira, and Darius introduced them. “Tahira, this is my dad, Phillip Knight. Dad, this is Tahira . . . my . . . um . . . fiancée.”
She smiled and raised her hand in a small wave. “Hello, Mr. Knight. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
The older man raised an eyebrow. “Fiancée? She’s not pregnant, is she, kid?”
Darius choked and coughed, but Tahira just giggled. “No, Mr. Knight. I am not pregnant.” A test at Dr. Moreau’s office a few days ago had confirmed what they’d already suspected—Tahira hadn’t gotten pregnant by her rapist. Her relief had been mirrored by Darius’s. “Your son and I have been . . . well, dating for a while.”
“Uh-huh. Well, then, come on in and let’s get acquainted.”
An hour later, it appeared Tahira had passed some sort of test with Darius’s father and won him over. As they sat in the trailer’s small living area, sipping sweet tea, the man had grilled her about her family, her occupation, and her education. Tahira had taken her cues from Darius and downplayed her life and social status quite a bit. Mr. Knight seemed to accept her “upper-class” family, her charity work, and her private schooling without any complaints or concerns. So, they’d stretched the truth a little bit, but if that made the man happy and didn’t stress him out, then Tahira didn’t see anything wrong with it.
Despite his memory issues, Tahira found herself charmed by the man. He made her laugh, regaling her with stories about Darius when he was much younger, much to his obvious embarrassment. A few times she had to look at Darius for clarification on something Mr. Knight said, such as what a “crick” or a “Titan” were. Apparently, that was a stream and a local sports team, respectively.
“So, when are you fixin’ to get married?”
Before Tahira could respond, Darius beat her to it. “Actually, we’re eloping, Dad. In a few weeks.”
“Good. No sense in wasting money on a party for everyone else to get drunk at. You sure she ain’t pregnant?”
“We’re sure.” Darius stood and held out his hand to Tahira. “I wish we could stay longer, Dad, but we have a plane to catch.”
“That’s fine. Get back to base before you’re AWOL. I don’t want those MPs showing up.”
Tahira got to her feet. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Knight.” She smiled at him. “Would it be all right if I gave you a hug goodbye?”
A broad grin spread across the man’s face, and he winked at Darius. “I like her. Of course, you can, darlin’. Just don’t go running off on my son like my good-for-nothing wife did.”
It was sad Mr. Knight wasn’t able to remember his wife had died and hadn’t abandoned him. Darius had told Tahira their marriage hadn’t been a match made in heaven, but she believed it would still be better for one to feel grief instead of misplaced anger and resentment.
“I won’t, I promise.” Especially since Darius was her soulmate.
Tahira gave his father a brief embrace, then sweetly kissed his cheek. Surprisingly, the man blushed, and then he politely shooed them out the door.
Minutes later, they were back in the SUV, with their protective tail behind them, heading through the heart of Brookford on their way to a small airport where their jet was waiting for them. Darius’s arm was resting on the padded compartment between the two seats, and it felt natural for Tahira to set her hand on top of his. He glanced at her, then turned his hand until their palms met. When their fingers intertwined like they had earlier, she smiled. For the first time since they’d agreed to be married to save her from public humiliation from those who would unfairly judge her, Tahira felt like they were a real couple. Was Darius feeling it too?
34
Ian blocked the door to the interrogation room in the security office of Timasur’s embassy in Washington D.C. With his arms crossed, he glared at Darius. “You either chill out before you go in there, twatopotomus, or you don’t go in there at all. Trust me when I say I would love to torture the bastard and bury him where he’d never be found, but he knows too many people to just make him disappear and Farid, the little shit that he is, knows we have him. Amar also promised the king we wouldn’t kill him. If he is behind this, he’ll go to prison in Timasur. Apparently, the inmates there adore Tahira and would love to get their hands on anyone who hurts her. You might want to remember that for future reference by the way.”
Darius ignored that last part. “Oh, I won’t kill him, Boss-man. That would put him out of the pain and misery I’m going to inflict on his ass.”
A door opened down the hallway, and Amar strode out, carrying a manila folder, and headed toward them with Cain and Romeo behind him. Darius’s two teammates and Ian were the ones who’d accompanied Diallo and Farid from Miami after snatching them from their hotel suite in the middle of the night. Ian was eager to catch the next flight back to Tampa, not wanting to be away from Angie too long as her due date approached.
Amar stopped between Ian and Darius. “Farid swears he has no clue Diallo was in contact with Secada or anyone else in Diaz’s organization. He’s a weasel and would turn on a friend in a heartbeat if he though
t it would get himself out of trouble. I led him to believe we had hard evidence and were looking to pin this all on both of them. He cried like a baby but couldn’t give us anything. I’m inclined to believe he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t know anything.” He turned his attention to Ian but nodded his head to the side toward Darius. “Is he going to be any trouble?”
Grinding his molars, Darius growled, but he understood their concerns. Ian eyed him for a few moments, then shook his head. “Nope, he’s not. Batman, don’t make me fire your ass again. Shades, Romeo, let’s go.” Pivoting, Ian strode toward the door that would lead them to the embassy’s rear exit where a car was waiting to take the three men to the airport. “Keep me posted.”
“How do you want to do this?” Darius asked Amar. While he really would love to torture Diallo into confessing, he knew it was in everyone’s best interest for him to refrain from doing so. He’d also promised Tahira on the flight from Tennessee that he wouldn’t kill or crucify the man. She was currently in the embassy’s residence wing, talking to her charity staff on Skype. He was glad she was keeping busy, instead of stressing out and waiting to hear if Diallo was the one who’d betrayed her and her cousins.
The head of security gave him an evil grin. “It’s been a long time since I’ve played the ‘good cop.’ I’ll start while you stand in the corner, looking like you want to rip his head off.” He nodded for the guard to unlock the door to the interrogation room, then grabbed the back of a nearby rolling, desk chair. “We’ll play it by ear from there.”
That was fine with Darius. Taking a deep breath and putting on his resting-prick face, he followed Amar, with his chair, inside and slammed the door shut, causing Diallo to nearly jump out of his skin. The twenty-nine-year-old man glanced between them, annoyance written all over his face, as he sat on a chair that was purposely uncomfortable. While Darius took a position to the right of the door, glaring at Diallo, Amar pasted on a friendly smile and sat across the table from their suspect. There were several unwritten rules about conducting an interrogation—tricks of the trade—and Darius knew them well.
1) Isolate the suspect and leave him alone to sweat it out for an hour or more.
2) Make sure the room is either too hot or too cold—the thermostat for this one was set at seventy-eight degrees.
3) Give him or her an uncomfortable chair to sit on—the wobbly, wooden one Diallo was sitting on was perfect.
4) Give the suspect plenty of water or soda but limit his bathroom breaks.
5) Play “good cop” and “bad cop.”
6) Lie through your teeth whenever necessary.
There were others, of course, but Darius knew with Amar’s background and training, the man wasn’t concerned with what would be admissible in court—certain liberties would be taken today, if need be. With the evidence backed up by a confession, if Diallo was guilty of arranging to have the women kidnapped, for whatever reason, it was a sure bet that any and all Timasurian judges would throw the book at him.
Clearly seeing the silent fury on Darius’s face, Diallo went with whom he thought was the friendlier and more cooperative of the two men. “What the hell is going on, Amar? Where’s Farid? Those goons woke us up and dragged us to D.C. without any explanation. I’ve been sitting here for hours, and no one will tell me why. They even took away my phone. I want it back, and I demand you let me go!”
Amar set the folder on the table. It was a typical interrogation room that could be found at any police station in the states. Aside from the heavy metal table, the only other decor in the room was a large two-way mirror that allowed others to observe from the next room.
“I’m sorry I was delayed, Diallo,” Amar said with faked sincerity. “And please forgive me for needing to interrupt your trip to Miami, but we’ve had some developments in the investigation of Princess Tahira’s, Nala’s, and Lahana’s abductions and needed Farid’s and your input.”
Diallo’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Well, why didn’t those fucking idiots just tell us that?”
A snort erupted from Amar as he nodded his head in agreement. “Yes, well, Ian Sawyer tends to be a bit brash and uncouth at times, but he and his men are good at what they do, so His Royal Highness insists on keeping them on retainer.” He opened the folder—the first page was blank—and took a pen from his shirt pocket. “Before we start, did you remember anything that happened before or during the cruise that maybe you forgot to tell us about? I mean, sometimes people recall things a few days or weeks later that they hadn’t thought of at first.”
The weasel relaxed back in the chair but frowned when it tilted to the side with a thump. Darius took note that Diallo’s eyes shifted to the left as he thought for a moment. Experts often say that when someone looks to the left, they are trying to recall the truth; when they look to the right, they’re trying to make something up.
“I can’t think of anything I haven’t already told you. The cruise was going great—we were all having a good time—and we were supposed to meet the girls after they went to the waterfalls.”
“And nothing out of the ordinary happened before the cruise?” Amar asked.
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
Diallo shrugged. “Nothing I can think of. Why?”
Avoiding the question, Amar pulled out one of the papers from under the blank one, turned it around, and placed it in front of the other man. He used his pen to point at the phone number that was highlighted numerous times. “Recognize this number?”
Leaning forward, Diallo scanned the page. “No, should I?”
“Considering you called it numerous times in the weeks before the cruise, I would think so.”
His brow furrowed. “Why would I call someone I don’t know?”
“Oh, you know her, all right,” Darius spat. Diallo’s gaze shot to his face. “It’s registered to your ex-girlfriend, Georgette Chapuisa.”
“Georgette? That’s not her number.” His hand went to his hip. “Shit. Where’s my phone? I’ll show you Georgette’s number—I still have it. And what’s this got to do with anything anyway? I haven’t seen her since before New Year’s.”
Amar pulled Diallo’s phone from his back pocket. “Your phone is right here.” Instead of handing it to the other man, he set it on top of the folder. “But you’re correct; it’s not Georgette’s phone. I’ve already had someone contact her, and she never opened an account with this number. But I’d already suspected that. You see, that number,” he pointed to the highlighted one on the paper again, “was forwarded to several other phone numbers before it reached the person you called.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t call that number.”
Diallo was getting agitated. Good, Darius thought. Suspects tended to screw up when they were out of sorts.
“Well, apparently you did, Diallo, because that’s the list of all the calls made from this very phone. You may have deleted the calls from the history on your phone, but that doesn’t remove them from the history your provider was able to give us.”
“I. Did. Not. Make. Those. Calls! I’ve never seen that number before in my life. Now, what’s this all about anyway?”
It was time for Darius to step in and be a bad-ass. Good thing he had no trouble getting into character when it came to this asshole. Striding over to the table, he grabbed the front of Diallo’s shirt, hauled him out of the chair, and shoved him against the wall. Of course, Amar made a feeble “good-guy” remark, telling him to calm down, but Darius ignored him, as expected. Instead, he got right in Diallo’s face. The man had paled and was struggling to get free, but that wasn’t happening. Darius growled. “You little shit, I’ll tell you what it’s all about. You know where that call ended up? Who picked up on the other end of the line?” They were rhetorical questions, and he didn’t wait for any answers. “It was one of the men who kidnapped Tahira, Nala, and Lahana—your buddy, Felix Secada.”
Diallo’s eyes bulged, and his mouth gaped. “Wh-what are
you talking about? I don’t know who—who kidnapped them! I—I don’t know anyone by that name! Why would . . . crap! Why would you think I had anything to do with that? I would never do anything to hurt them!”
“Bullshit!” Darius yanked on the man’s shirt and pushed him back against the wall again, hard enough to rattle his head. “How much money did you get for them?”
Grasping Darius’s wrists, Diallo tried to get away from him, but his efforts were futile. “You’re fucking crazy! Let me go, damn it! I had nothing to do with any of that! Amar, get him off me! I’ll have you both fucking fired for this!”
Amar tapped Darius on the shoulder. “Easy. I told you to stay calm. Let him go and get out.” Darius hesitated a moment then released the bastard, stepping aside so Amar could move in. “I’m sorry, Diallo. This is not how I wanted this interview to go. Please, sit down. Can I get you something to drink? This won’t take much longer.”
That was the last Darius heard as he left the room and banged the door shut. Without acknowledging the guard, Darius entered the room next to the interrogation room. From there, he’d watch the rest of the show through the two-way mirror. Not bothering to take a seat, he leaned against the window frame.
In the other room, Amar employed several tactics, including trying to convince Diallo that he was involved, that they could show he’d been coerced in some way. But Diallo’s story never changed. Either he was really good at deception or the asshole was telling the truth.
A half hour later, Amar left Diallo alone and met Darius out in the hallway. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, my friend, but I think he’s telling the truth.”
Despite his earlier desire to beat the living daylights out of Diallo, Darius had to admit he agreed with Amar. “So do I.” He ran a hand down his face. “Which means we’re back to square one.”
“Actually, I think it’s square two.”
Darius frowned. “What do you mean?”
Forty Days & One Knight: Trident Security Omega Team Book 2 Page 22