Page 18 of Protecting You
“Okay. So whoever called me didn’t have a lot of notice. Maybe he would have been there in person if he’d had enough time. Or maybe he’d have gathered his own people.”
Or maybe the caller didn’t want his own people to know what he was up to. Also plausible.
“You’re saying they didn’t have time? That doesn’t make sense. The entire intelligence apparatus couldn’t get one person to the restaurant in time?”
“The FBI had people there.”
She blinked. “I don’t… How do you know that?”
“They’re easy to pick out, if you know what to look for.”
She perched on the end of the sofa. “I don’t understand. Why call you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. That was part of the reason I was curious. The powers-that-be have reason to believe Ghazi is up to something big, but they don’t know what. I want to know why you were pulled into it.”
“I wasn’t pulled into it. Not until you showed up.”
“You’re working with the guy.”
“I’m not workingwithhim. He hires me to find things, and I find them.”
“Right. But how did your small—and brand-new—investigation business get on his radar?”
“How do you know how old my business is? Or how big it is?”
“I keep tabs on old classmates.” Some of them, anyway.
A handful.
Okay, just Alyssa. But not for any nefarious reason. He just missed their rivalry. Their banter. He missed…her.
Which was ridiculous considering they’d never been more than acquaintances. And she could hardly stand him.
“There are more experienced investigators he could’ve hired,” Callan said.
Her eyes narrowed, and he worked to hide his pleasure.
He’d successfully diverted her attention.
“I’m very good at what I do.”
“Nobody knows that better than I do, Alyssa, because you were the only one who could best me—occasionally. The question is, how does Ghazi know?”
“He said he got my name from Michael.”
“Which we know is a lie. Your cousin would never point a terrorist your direction. But…” He considered that, thinking out loud. “If he knows Michael, and he knows Michael is in the CIA, then…he must’ve figured out his real name. Which would have led him to you.”
She was nodding. “Right. That makes sense.” She spoke with a curious lack of concern.
“How does it make sense?”
“I don’t know the details. But Michael’s wife, Leila, and her sister, Jasmine—she’s married to my youngest cousin, Derrick—are Iraqi. There was some trouble last winter at my aunt and uncle’s vacation home. Something about how someone wanted Jasmine back in Iraq? Maybe this guy, Ghazi, was involved.”
“We need to talk to Michael.”
“He’s on his honeymoon.”
“He’ll forgive the interruption. Call him.” Or Callan would.
