THE GUARDIAN (Taskforce Series) (32 page)

Through the window blinds, the red lights cast by the fire truck glittered on the shed’s new shingles where the roof rose over the flat-roofed dormitory. The reassuring sight encouraged him to sift carefully through the paperwork piled on Zakariya’s desk. Finding nothing of interest there, he pawed through the drawers and came across a letter which made reference to “a struggle.” There were receipts from the purchase of what looked like ammunition and a rental agreement between Zakariya and a storage facility in
Washington
D.C.
More propane tanks might be stockpiled there.

Making a quick decision to copy the evidence onto one sheet so he could hide it inside his pocket,
Jackson
crossed to the copy machine. A glance outside prompted a spike of alarm. The reflection of red lights on the shed’s roof had disappeared. Either the fire trucks had left already or they leaving were soon
.

Lifting the lid of the copier, he went to place the originals on the glass, removing the sheet that was already there. He laid the bits of paperwork face down, closed the copier, and hit start. Only then did he glance at the paper in his hands, and did a wide-eyed double take
.

Yes!
He was looking at a list of forty names, one of which immediately caught his eye:
Mr. Ali Rakeem,
Country Club Way
, Unit 1000
. Every other name was also listed with an address and an apartment number beginning with the #1. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

As the copier spit out a shingle sheet, he overheard voices nearing the mosque. He threw open the lid, swiped up the originals and made a quick copy of the list of names while he stuffed the evidence haphazardly back into Zakariya’s desk. As he passed the copier en route to the door, he snatched up the two copies he’d made and slid them up inside his T-shirt.

He had just enough time to dart down the hall before the corridor filled with voices.

“Abdul,” Imam Ibrahim reprimanded, catching sight of him. “Where have you been?”

Jackson
swiveled, holding his hand over his stomach to keep the paperwork in place. “I had to use the bathroom,” he replied. “I think the soup disagrees with me.”

The cleric’s suspicion visibly eased as he glanced at
Jackson
’s hand. “Are you still unwell?”

“I feel a little better.” Having discovered the destination of the propane tanks, he actually felt better than he had in a very long time.

**

Catching sight of several parolees crossing Artie’s parking lot, their voices raised in excited chatter,
Lena
handed Seth his daily scratch-ticket and took his payment. A second glance out the front windows confirmed that
Jackson
was not among the men ambling defiantly past Deputy Doug Hazelwood’s cruiser. Beating back her disappointment, she bid Seth a fine evening.

“Sorry for the other night,” he muttered. “I don’t usually drink.”

She dragged her attention from the window. “That’s fine. You don’t owe me an apology, Seth. In fact, I’m glad you shared what was troubling you.” If he hadn’t stated his lamentations last night, she might never have taken the initiative to warn
Jackson
about his cover being blown. It was because of Seth that she’d given
Jackson
a heads-up. Plus she’d secured Peter’s promise to give her twenty-four hours, before publishing his exposé.

Seth frowned, obviously trying to remember what he’d said to her.

In the next instant, Muhammed, Shahid, Hasan, Jamal, Davis and Corey all tumbled into the store, still snickering over some snide comment about the deputy, who openly glowered at them
.

“Hey, Miz Maggie.” Muhammed was the first to salute her, showing every tooth in his mouth when he smiled
.
 

Seth had stiffened at their entrance. With a suspicious look on his face, he slid to one side of the counter and started scratching away on his ticket, something he had never done before. It occurred to
Lena
that he was reluctant to leave her alone with the parolees. How sweet was that?

“Hi, fellas,” she said, taking note of their contented expressions. “What’s going on? You all look like you won the lottery or something.”

Muhammed held up a hand, showing her a shiny black cell phone. “Look what we all got today.” If possible, his smile widened.

“They gave you new cell phones?”

“Sho’nuff. Now we can give you our phone numbers, and you call us, you know, when you need more for the book.”

“Okay.” She’d had no intention of calling any of them, except maybe Corey to whom she felt she owed an explanation for defaulting on her promise. All the same, she laid a sheet of paper and a pen on the counter. “Go ahead and jot your numbers down,” she said, handing the pen to Corey first as she expressly wanted his number
.

“Muhammed hopes you gonna call him up and ask him out,” Shahid mocked as Corey handed Muhammed the pen to go next
.
 

“Man, shut up. I never said nothin’ like that.” Muhammed scribbled down his new number.

“Both of you boys talk too much,”
Davis
interrupted, snatching the pen from Muhammed’s grasp.

At the sound of his deep voice, Seth’s head swiveled in his direction. His face drained of color and his green-as-grass eyes bugged as he staggered back a step or two. Then, without a word, he turned and bolted out the door, leaving his scratch-off ticket on the counter.

“Seth, your ticket!”
Lena
called, but he was already halfway across the parking lot, and Deputy Doug was climbing out of his cruiser with a strange look on his face.

“What the fuck’s his problem?”
Davis
demanded, shoving the pen at Hasan
.

“Now, look what you done,” Muhammed groused. “Cop thinks you done chased him off.”

“I didn’t do shit.”

Hasan and Shahid had just finished jotting down their numbers when Deputy Doug swept into the building, setting off the chime. Raking a critical look over the motley crew, he planted his feet apart, crossed his arms over his protruding belly and asked, “Everything okay in here, gentlemen? Maggie?”  

“Of course,”
Lena
said brightly. “The men were just showing me their new cell phones.”

“I think they’ve lingered long enough.” The deputy hooked his thumbs in his pockets, putting his right hand conveniently close to his pistol.

Honestly, that was fine with her. Corey should have come over alone for his interview. But it was unusual for the deputy to interfere when the parolees loitered in the store just to chat. Tonight, though, he obviously intended to chase them all out
.

“Well, you guys heard him,” she said. “Off you go. I’ll see you soon enough.” Catching Corey’s eye, she leaned across the counter to whisper, “I’ll call you to reschedule.” 

“Shoot, we ain’t no threat to Miz Maggie,” Muhammed protested as he swaggered past the cop
.

Deputy Doug’s response was to rest his hand casually on his gun holster
.

Grumbling under their breath, all six men filed outside, brought up at the rear by Corey. It was Davis who looked back, though, shooting her and the officer a suspicious look.

“Go ahead and fetch your keys,” Deputy Doug instructed quietly. “I want you to lock up now and stay that way till my replacement shows up.” 

“Why, what’s wrong?” 

“My wife’s been in an accident. I need to get to the hospital,” he said without inflexion
.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Feeling beneath the counter,
Lena
located the keys.

With the deputy standing outside the building, she locked the doors from within. “I hope your wife’s okay,” she called through the glass. He tipped her a tight-lipped nod, hurried toward his car, and sped away
.

It was only quarter to eight on a Monday night, and she’d heard nothing to indicate when the deputy’s replacement might show up. In the meantime, unable to meet customers’ needs, she dimmed the lights at the front of the store, leaving the neon sign over the highway illumined so that customers with credit cards could still buy gas. Then she looked around for something to do. She could spend the time restocking the refrigerators and searching for the video file that she’d apparently misplaced on the store’s computer.

With a tingle of anticipation, it occurred to her that tonight would be the perfect opportunity for
Jackson
to swing by for an evening tryst. She hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of him since yesterday. While that was scarcely more than twenty-four hours ago, time had slowed to a crawl since. It felt like days since she’d last felt his arms around her
.

Cristemou
, if she weren’t convinced she wasn’t the type to easily give her heart away, she might have to conclude that she was already deeply in love with the man.

Chapter Sixteen

Two hours later, it dawned on
Lena
that the videos she’d saved on Artie’s computer weren’t missing; they’d been
removed
by either Jackson or his colleague. As much as she cared for the man, he had routed her efforts at every turn! With a groan of annoyance, she threw herself out of the chair and went to the front of the store to count the money in the register.

The view out the windows displayed brightly lit gas pumps and an empty parking lot. Deputy Hazelwood’s replacement had never shown up, and neither had
Jackson
. With his cover already in jeopardy, she figured he couldn’t afford to violate curfew; still, she viewed this as a wasted opportunity.

Doubts percolated in her mind. What if
Jackson
didn’t feel the same intense yearning to be with her as she felt for him? The possibility paralyzed her until she recalled that he’d wanted her to promise their time together wouldn’t be the last. Her fear dissolved into mere disappointment.

By the time she finished counting and bagging the cash, it was 10 P.M. The Gateway campus stood entirely in darkness. With little hope that
Jackson
might still show up after curfew, she made up her mind to leave the store when a quiet knock at the service entrance made her heart leap with joy.

Dropping the money bag on the counter, Lena smoothed the sundress she had worn just in case
Jackson
came to visit and flew through the back room to let him in
.

A quick peek through the peep hole revealed his dark, powerful silhouette. With the blood singing through her veins, she unlocked the door and pushed it wide open. Her welcoming smile froze into a grimace of terror as she recognized Davis, not
Jackson
, standing like a dark specter in the alleyway.

“Wh-what are you doing here, Sulayman?” Her voice came out high and thin.

“You expectin’ someone else?” he accused.

“No. No, of course not. I just . . . came to see who was knocking. What do you want?”

“What’chu think I want? I figured since that cop ain’t comin’ back, you should interview me tonight.”

“Tonight?” She tried to swallow but her throat was too dry. Was he serious about the interview or was he planning to attack her? “I really can’t. I-uh-I left my laptop at home and all my questions and my notes are on it,” she said, speaking faster than she could think.