The Guardian Page 5

  “It’s too early to go to bed,” Muhammed commented.

  “I ain’t tired,” Jamal agreed.

  With that consensus, half the men started wordlessly across the highway. Jackson followed the handful that remained on course to the dormitory, but only to fetch a billed cap so he could hide his features from Artie’s security cameras.

  So much for Zakariya’s caution to resist temptation.

  **

  As parolees swarmed into the store, dressed in identical gray slacks and white button-up shirts, Lena barricaded herself behind the register, where the raised floor gave her a better vantage from which to keep an eye on everyone.

  Muhammed made the introductions. The men joked and jockeyed for standing room next to the counter, each man vying for her attention. She’d decided not to push the book issue until the men felt more comfortable in her presence.

  The last person introduced was Corey, Abdul’s roommate.

  “Where is Abdul?” she asked, pretending to look for him, though she’d realized right away that he wasn’t present. She told herself she was relieved. It might prove awkward if he brought up the business about her taking pictures, though her book story provided an excuse for that, too.

  Corey shrugged. “I guess he ain’t comin’.”

  “Why not?”

  Corey shrugged again. “I hear you write books,” he said, eyeing her earnestly through his lenses. “I like readin’ nonfiction.” His brown cheeks turned a dusky pink.

  “Do you?” They discussed the biography he was currently enjoying, before Lena brought up Abdul again. “You know, your roommate looks familiar. Do you know his full name?” It was driving her crazy that she hadn’t yet identified him.

  “Abdul Ibn Wasi,” Corey replied. “That’s his conversion name, anyway. I took the name Yusuf Ibn Ismail back in jail when I converted, but I still like Corey better.”

  “Corey’s more approachable,” Lena agreed. “Do you know what Abdul’s name was before conversion?” Her skin had begun to crawl from Davis’s unwavering stare. Planted on her left side next to the bins of Fireballs and Slim Jims, he seemed to be scheming something devious.

  “No, ma’am. We ain’t allowed to share our old names with nobody ’cause our conversion name represents who we is now. I’m the only one who still goes by my old name.”

  Darn, Lena thought, distracted by movement in her peripheral vision. “Jamal,” she exclaimed in astonishment, “did you just stick a breakfast bar in your pocket?”

  His face was the picture of innocence. “Not me.”

  Davis sniggered while the other men turned and frowned at Jamal.

  “What’s in your left front pocket then?” she persisted.

  “Nothin’.”

  Her chance to forge a bond with Davis presented itself unexpectedly. She turned to appeal to him for help. “Weren’t you a police officer?”

  He hitched up his slacks with an air of worthiness. “I was. What of it?”

  “I would think you’d have a problem with people stealing, especially when they do it right under your nose.”

  “Hmph.” He shot Jamal a considering look.

  “Plus, why should I have to call the local sheriff when I have a former Metropolitan Police Officer right here to help me?” It took all of Lena’s willpower to bat her lashes at him.

  In that same instant, Abdul, wearing a large billed cap that looked ridiculous paired with his dress clothes, set off the chime as he stepped through the door. Lena’s pulse picked up to see him. Aside from the hat, he looked even more appealing in formal attire than in casual clothing.

  She dragged her attention back to Davis, extending a hand as if to touch him but not quite. “Look, I know I can count on you to keep these guys under control,” she said in her sexiest voice.

  Jamal looked worried. “Man, I didn’t take nothin’,” he insisted, backing away.

  “I got this,” Davis decided, puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster in a barn full of hens. Stalking Jamal, he spun him around, kicked his legs apart, and shoved his face toward the floor.

  Jamal howled.

  The others tittered nervously.

  Davis pulled out a squashed breakfast bar from Jamal’s pocket. “Is this what you didn’t take, boy?” he growled at his victim, shoving his head even lower.

  “Don’t hurt him!” Lena exclaimed, biting her tongue when Davis shot her an indignant look. “Thank you, though.” She held out a hand for the stolen item so that Davis was forced to release his victim. But first he shoved Jamal face-first onto the linoleum tiles. Hitching his slacks again, he swaggered back toward Lena, his soulless gaze making her scalp creep. “Any time, lady,” he purred, caressing her hand as if he’d just earned the right to.

  Repulsed by his touch, she glanced longingly at the antibacterial gel, while several men helped Jamal to his feet, telling him he’d deserved the punishment.

  Lena tossed the squashed item into the trash. “Well, that was—” Barbaric, she thought. “Impressive,” she said, glad that she had filmed it on her mini camcorder. She had no expectation of Davis saying anything incriminating yet, but she liked to leave it on, just in case. She tried sending him a flirtatious smile, failed miserably, and glanced over at Abdul, instead.

  With his arms folded over his chest and legs set apart like sturdy tree trunks, he seemed to fill the frame of the closed door. The expression in his eyes was hidden under the bill of his cap, but the firm line of his lips conveyed disapproval.

  Lena raised her eyebrows inquiringly. What’s with the hat? And then it came to her. She glanced up at the surveillance camera over head. Ah.

  At her derisive smile, he looked away.

  This was the second time she’d sensed them communicating without a word between them. It was if they shared a different mentality, one that saw beyond the games being played out. Still, she couldn’t understand why Abdul dreaded the cameras when no one else showed the least concern.

  “Whatchu doin’ after work, lady?”

  Davis’s unexpected question made her blood freeze over. Bracing herself, she turned to face him. “Honey, I work till midnight. I’m sure that’s well after your curfew.”

  His answering sneer conveyed that a curfew posed no deterrent.

  Maybe she was crazy to turn down the opportunity to question him alone, but she had much to do to set the stage for his interview. It was still too early to expect him to confess to anything. “Maybe some other time,” she suggested.

  “We should not be here,” Abdul stated out of the blue. “You heard what Imam Zakariya said about temptation. We should all be in our beds.” He ran a commanding look over the men.

  Lena notched her hands on her hips. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Abdul. We were just getting to know each other.”

  “Abdul’s right.” Corey sent her an apologetic grimace. “We should go back before we break curfew. Besides, you have a customer.” He nodded outside at the eighteen-wheeler rumbling into the parking lot.

  Shoulders slumped with disappointment, the men headed as a unit toward the door—all but Davis, who stayed right where he was, making Lena’s heart race with sudden panic. They weren’t going to leave her here alone with him, were they?

  “Night, Miz Maggie,” Muhammed called, blowing her a kiss.

  Lena shook her head. “Good night, Muhammed.”

  “Sorry ‘bout what I done,” Jamal mumbled as he shuffled past.

  “That’s okay. You gave it back.” Sort of.

  “See you Sunday,” Nadim said as he filed past.

  Wait, Sunday? “Are you going somewhere?” she asked at their retreating backs.

  “Weekend liberty,” Davis supplied, sliding a hand along the counter as he moved reluctantly toward the door.

  “You’re all leaving?” Her dismay was genuine.

  “Just for one night. I’ll be back,” Davis assured her, sending her a sly wink that made her stomach pitch.

  “You comin’ or not?” Abdul bit
out as he held open the door.

  Davis swiveled toward him. Hostility radiated from his stocky body as he advanced on Abdul. “I don’t take orders from you,” he growled.

  Lena held her breath. A fight between such large, undaunted men could only get ugly. She feared one of them getting hurt; or worse yet, being restricted from coming to visit her at Artie’s. But Abdul just stared Davis down, giving him no good reason to take the first swing.

  At last, her sister’s killer stalked off, his dark form sliding past the windows. Just the whites of his eyes remained visible as he glanced over his shoulder at her.

  “You should leave this place.” Abdul’s deep, musical voice recaptured her attention as he prepared to let the door drop shut.

  She tossed her head at him. “Says who?”

  “These men are dangerous.” Once again, his speech sounded educated.

  “And you’re not?”

  He shrugged, lifting and lowering his powerful shoulders as the door started closing between them.

  “What got you thrown into jail?” she called out.

  But then the door thumped shut and he was walking away, rejecting her question as blatantly as he rejected her presence here. Adopting a bad-ass stroll, he disappeared into the dark.

  “Hey, what’s it gonna take to get some service here?”

  Lena jumped a foot into the air. She’d forgotten all about the truck driver standing by his rig at the illuminated pumps. She slapped her palm over the reply button.

  “Sorry, sir. What can I get you?”

  As she set the diesel pump for two hundred dollars, she pondered Abdul’s attitude. First he’d wanted her to delete his photos; now he wanted her to leave. Obviously, the man was hiding something.

  Well, hell, that just gave her one more reason to stick around.

  Chapter Five

  Jackson glanced sidelong at his colleague as they descended the steps of the mosque to cross the broiling parking lot. The weekend was going to be a scorcher.

  Much to Jackson’s surprise, Toby had shaved his soul patch, cut his overlong hair, and swapped out his usual T-shirt for a stylish suit, one that actually made him look like a parole officer, so much so that Ibrahim had scarcely glanced his way when Toby signed him out. The imam would never have guessed Tobias Burke was a special agent for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.

  Jackson waited till he was settled in the back seat of their rented Crown Victoria to say it. “You clean up good, Burke,” he remarked as Toby slipped behind the wheel.

  Toby slipped on a pair of Versace sunglasses. “Yeah, but you’ll never look like a thug, Stonewall,” he retorted, starting up the car.

  “My name’s not Stonewall.” This wasn’t the first time he’d reminded his colleague of that fact. Jackson figured the reason Toby persisted in harassing him was because he’d once been an Army Ranger, and an enlisted one at that. Hence the constant attempts to belittle the former Marine Corps officer. They were both out of the military now, but the competition between the two branches of service remained, and Toby could call Jackson whatever the hell he felt like. Stonewall Jackson happened to be a Confederate Army General, and Toby was a Civil War Buff from Philadelphia.

  Tossing a cocky smile at the rearview mirror, the former Ranger swept them onto Highway 235 while punching on a rock and roll station. They barreled north toward Abdul Ibn Wasi’s home in Baltimore. Only, they wouldn’t go nearly that far.

  “So, tonight?” Jackson queried, eager to get the business of chasing Lena out of town behind him. “You found out where she’s staying?”

  “Yep,” Toby answered. “Thanks for the distraction, man. Beats hanging around some dingy motel while you do all the fun stuff.”

  Fun stuff, right. Jackson dug out the pamphlet Ibrahim had distributed last night. He handed it wordlessly up front.

  “What’s this?” Taking it, Toby divided his attention between the highway and the booklet. “Looks like the material my mother’s church doles out predicting that I’m going straight to hell.”

  “It’s a reference to the Judgment Day,” Jackson explained.

  “So, what’s with the pictures of the Capitol building?”

  “That’s what I wondered. Here, I’ll read it to you.” Jackson held out a hand to take it back. “When the Master of the Age appears, the young among his followers will rouse themselves and reach Mecca that very night. At that time, the Mahdi will call upon the entire world to join his movement.”

  “Are you shittin’ me?” Toby muttered, turning off the highway onto a narrow country road that meandered toward the river.

  “Those who have suffered and lost all hope that their situation could improve will rally around him and will pay allegiance to him,” Jackson continued. “A vast army made up of courageous, sacrificing, and reform-seeking peoples of the world will be prepared to be led by him. They will occupy the east and the west of the world and will bring everything under his command. They will continue their struggle until Allah's pleasure is acquired. That’s it,” he said, shutting the booklet.

  “And Gateway’s leaders want the parolees to believe that stuff,” Toby marveled. He directed his attention at a tiny house set back beneath the trees on their right. “By the way, that’s the rental where the journalist stays.” He directed his gaze at the trees on their right.

  Jackson’s pulse quickened as he recognized Schlesser’s Jeep parked beside a tiny white house. The recollection of what he and Toby had planned for the journalist that night dimmed his pleasure in getting a break from the program. He wished they didn’t have to chase Lena Alexandra away so soon. He’d never felt more alive than when he was in her presence.

  Sitting back in his seat, he focused his thoughts on a different young lady, one he knew he couldn’t live without. So why had he made work such a priority and missed so much of her childhood?

  Ten minutes later, that question pegged him in the heart when a stunning young lady burst out of the riverfront rental with a long-legged run. “You’re here!”

  Jackson barely had time to shut the car door before his daughter launched herself into his arms. Nose buried in her auburn hair, he swung her in a circle. Naomi smelled as she always did, of sunshine and laughter and everything good in this world.

  “Dad, you are so going to love this place!” she declared, unaware of his private heartbreak as he took in how much she’d grown since heading off to Girl Scout camp at the start of summer. She was coming to resemble her mother more and more, only Colleen’s skin had been fair where Naomi’s was a caramel brown.

  He cut a critical glance at the cedar-sided contemporary home. “What’s so good about it?” The damn place had better be a castle considering what he paid to rent it.

  “Wait till you see the inside!” she said, oblivious to his satire. Just then Toby stepped into her line of sight, and she lapsed into shyness.

  “Honey, this is a friend I work with, Mr. Burke. Toby, meet my twelve-year-old, Naomi.” He watched with amusement as Naomi offered Toby a formal handshake. In the very next instant, she lapsed back into the child he knew and tugged him toward the house.

  Leaving Toby to collect their technical equipment, Jackson let himself be dragged inside. “Wow,” he breathed, knowing it was expected of him.

  The vacation home was everything he’d hoped it would be, with an open floor plan, inventive architecture, and a cathedral ceiling. Soaring windows offered a stunning view of the Patuxent River flowing leisurely along a sandy shore some thirty yards below them, at the end of a long run of steps. The house smelled of freshly cut flowers and Windex.

  “Isn’t it awesome, Dad?”

  “It’s awesome,” he agreed, glad to have done something right.

  “She’s been swimming and fishing from sunrise to sunset,” reported his mother-in-law coming down the spiral steps from the loft.

  Jackson greeted Silvia with a stab of guilt. “What about you?” he asked. She ought to have been enjoying her r
etirement instead of raising his child.

  “Oh, I love it,” she assured him. Her once-red hair had lost its luster, fading to a muted auburn, but the former school teacher claimed the face of much younger woman. “How are you making out, Jackson?” she asked with a sympathetic hug. “You certainly look the part.” Her gaze flickered with distaste over his attire.

  “You hear that, Burke?” he called to Toby, who staggered into the kitchen just then, loaded down with their gear. “She says I look the part.” He made quick introductions.

  “Silvia, this is Special Agent Toby Burke. Toby, this is Naomi’s grandmother.”

  “Take this,” Toby grunted, unburdening himself onto Jackson and capturing Silvia’s hand. “Pleasure ma’am,” he said, with a smile reserved exclusively for members of the opposite sex.

  As Silvia’s face reddened, Jackson mentally rolled his eyes. Toby’s reputation with the ladies hadn’t been exaggerated. “Where would you like us to put our stuff?” he asked pointedly.

  “I’ll show you.”

  Naomi escorted them through to a hallway at the back of the house where two furnished bedrooms, a luxurious bath, and a small office supplied all the space they needed.

  Promising he’d rejoin her in a minute, Jackson ducked into his room to change. Seconds later, feeling much more himself in a mint-green Polo crewneck, khaki shorts, and loafers, he stepped into the hall, running into Toby, who’d donned a pair of ragged jean shorts and an orange T-shirt advertising Dirty Dick’s Crab Shack. A silver hoop glinted in Toby’s left ear. He had on flip-flops.

  Toby gestured to the office where they’d dumped their technical equipment. “I think I’ll scan that pamphlet so we can send it to the bossman,” he offered. “You want to write him an email?”

  Jackson could hear his daughter chatting excitedly with her grandmother. “Go ahead. Family first,” he reminded himself.

  “Right,” Toby agreed, backing toward the office door. “So, whatever happened to your daughter’s mother?” he inquired, off-hand.