“What’s that?”
“If only we knew.”
I expect another glare, but instead the detective regards me thoughtfully.“You know our other missing puzzle piece?Isaad Ahmadi’s vehicle.As in, where is it?We know he drove it away from their apartment and then…?”
I hadn’t considered the car at all, so, good question.
“Have had an APB out for it the past twenty-four hours.So far, I can only tell you where it’s not—the Ventana Canyon Resort, where Sabera was hiding out.”
Which would’ve made some sense.
“Or the warehouse district, where the murdered men, and later, Isaad, were found.”
My head is starting to pound harder.“Maybe Sabera is driving it around.Sleeping in it.That’s why we haven’t found her.”
“Ever notice the city’s nice wide boulevards and clear lines of sight?Not to mention the cameras at nearly every intersection, let alone banks, businesses, city buses?If the vehicle was in play, trust me, it would’ve been spotted by now.”
I don’t have an answer for that.Which is when my bruised brain finally gets his point.X factor.The good detective is agreeing with me.There’s some person, place, or thing we still don’t know.
Which at this stage of the game is irritating.And concerning.And dangerous.
God, I’m tired.
“All right.You’ve got a grade A concussion.Time for you to sleep, avoid bright lights, then sleep some more.And I mean it.”
Detective Marc heads for the door.I ease back into the dubious comfort of the hospital bed, but my thoughts are way too jumbled to settle.Where is Aliah?What are they doing to her?
How long can she hold out?
Isaad might have had reason to protect the woman he considered his wife, but Aliah?She’s only a friend, after all.A mentor of sorts, and now surrogate mother to Zahra, but still, what could she possibly know?Just because she called me in…
Showing a great deal of interest in a fellow countrywoman she’d known only a matter of weeks.
And now being held as bait, to draw out a woman who hadn’t even shown up for her husband.
I feel a little click in the back of my mind, accompanied by a jolt of pain through my poor concussed brain.
I really have been an idiot.
I search the bedside table till I discover my cell phone, which someone has thoughtfully plugged in to charge.
“Daryl,” I manage a moment later.“Come and get me.And bring that electronic key gizmo from the townhouse.We have work to do.”
CHAPTER 35
ALIAH’S TRADITIONAL BOLT LOCK RENDERSDaryl’s high-tech gadget useless.His lock-picking skills, however, quickly get the job done.As someone who leads a fringe lifestyle, generally populated by other shadowy sorts, I have no idea how people living in the straight and narrow accomplish anything.
“What are we looking for?”Daryl wants to know.He’s back to being his dapper-clad self, a suit and tie being one of the best camouflages for a life of crime.He’d already given me the requisite lecture that I should be in bed.I’d given him my standard refusal to take it easy.We’re both now over it.
“Something personal,” I inform him.“Family photos, correspondence, Dear Diary, that sort of thing.”
He gives me a look.
“Yeah, I know.”
I’ve searched many places in my time.But generally, my ransacking involves the home and belongings of someone who’s gone missing and, more important, that I’ve never met.This, on the other hand, feels intrusive, borderline icky.
Daryl shoulders the load like a true B & E professional.Given his past drug addiction, he probably is.
