Page 44

I an 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 thought 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?”

“If it wasn’t Diallo, it’s someone he knows. Someone who had access to his phone or was able to hack into it and forward a call. And, someone who knew to use Georgette’s name to open a cell account. If we hadn’t called the numbers, we would have never figured out it wasn’t her phone.”

“But we still don’t have a motive. It could have been anyone he knows. Hell, it could have been someone who got close to him, specifically to use him. He’s too dumb and conceited to think anyone would want to hang out with him for any other reason than he’s a cool guy—which he isn’t. So, now what?”

Amar shrugged. “We keep digging, my friend.”

“Shit.”