Stealing Justice (The Justice Team) Page 16

  “Should I be jealous?” he teased.

  Grabbing his hand, she drew him down on the sofa next to her. “Hell, no. But you should be extremely thankful I agreed to go back to that brownstone and make nice to Nabil.”

  “You can unlock the back door like you did today, and I’ll…”

  “Oh, no. Not that again.” She stuck a finger in his face. “You gave me at least three coronaries when you were snooping around in there. We do this my way or it’s a no-go. You stay outside. I’ll hunt for the trophies.”

  “But you won’t know what you’re looking for.”

  “You can coach me through one of those ear thingies.”

  He didn’t like it, but when it came to Sydney, negotiating was the only solution. “You’ll wear your pea shooter concealed under your dress and if you haven’t found anything before dessert, I’m coming in.”

  Another one of those quirky smiles teased her lips. She slipped her hand between his legs and gave him a squeeze. “You drive a hard bargain.”

  The bargain wasn’t the only hard thing. He kissed her, a soft, lingering touch of his lips, and traced his fingers down her face. “So do you, partner.”

  She nipped his bottom lip with her teeth. “What do you say we continue this bargaining showdown in the bedroom?”

  “Why not here on the sofa?”

  Her laughter filled the room. It also filled his heart. “You’re on. Now shut up and take off your pants.”

  That was one negotiating point he wasn’t going to argue.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Syd stood on the sidewalk in front of The Lion’s brownstone dreading the moment she’d have to walk through the damned door. Not that Nabil worried her, but after the day she’d had, which included the intake at the shelter of a twenty-one-year-old woman with three broken ribs and a fractured cheekbone, oh, and breaking a few dozen laws by getting a mother of three and her family new identities so they could flee her husband, it had been an emotionally draining ten hours.

  What she knew though, without a doubt, was that she’d done the right thing. No matter the personal risks, she’d happily line up every man who had ever abused a woman and shoot their peckers off. If that made her a bitch, oh well, life goes on.

  The absolute topper of her horrendous day was that here she was at the Khourey’s brownstone for dinner. At least it was Nabil and not his father. Even if she hadn’t been convinced of Ahmed’s serial killer status, could there be a more crazy-assed thing for a woman to do than go into his lair? Yesterday, she’d gotten a bit of a rush out of helping Grey sneak inside. Tonight, going in just seemed idiotic, whether Grey had her back or not.

  She chalked up her reluctance to the long day. This was what she’d signed on for and, in a bizarre way, this assignment fit with her career choice. Every aspect of her life revolved around helping battered or endangered women and the weight of her responsibilities pressed in. How much was too much? How many broken bones and dead women would it take to push her over the rocky, emotional edge of sanity?

  “Syd?” Grey said in her ear. Since it was evening, street parking was horrible. He’d had to plant himself in a parking spot three blocks over. He couldn’t see her, but the silence from her end must have sent up a red flag.

  “Just taking a breath,” she whispered.

  “I’m right here. Code word is margarita. You need help, just say it. Okay?”

  “Got it.”

  It was time. She’d just march up and knock on the door. No problem.

  Except the front door swung open and The Lion stood there, dressed as usual in an immaculate black suit complete with the ever-present pocket square. Why was he there?

  Swallowing her surprise, she smiled. “Hello, Ahmed. What a nice surprise. Going out?”

  The Lion smiled—predatory—and motioned her up the stairs. “I have a dinner date.”

  Syd pasted on a smile, lifted her gown a few inches so she didn’t trip on the stairs, and took her first steps toward the door. As she ascended, The Lion’s lingering gaze ran over her, taking in every inch of the navy halter gown Ian had sent. Apparently, the personal shopper at the store did this quite often for Ian’s girls. The woman had to know she was styling escorts, didn’t she?

  Mind travel. Such a glorious thing in times of stress.

  At the top of the stoop, The Lion’s leering look landed on her tits. Pig.

  Finally, he made it to her face. “Stunning,” he said.

  “You’re in,” Grey said, and a trickle of relief bloomed inside her. He was close if she needed him.

  She could handle this.

  “Thank you, Ahmed.”

  He held out his arm for her to pass. When she did, his hand touched her lower back, fingers lightly skimming her ass as she strode by him. Maybe it was an accident. Could have been.

  Line them all up and shoot their peckers off.

  She sent him a questioning look. He smiled all innocent, and she wondered if she’d imagined it.

  He waved her to the sofa. “Please be seated. My chef is preparing dinner and will serve us shortly.”

  Syd froze. Us? “Where’s Nabil? I was supposed to have dinner with him.” She pointed at Ahmed’s stupid pocket square. “I thought you were going out.”

  The Lion dismissed the idea as if it were ridiculous. “Nabil is out with his friends, drinking, whoring around. You know how young men are.”

  He’d tricked her. The Lion had tricked her. For half a second, her blood ran cold, fear making her head spin before it turned to rage in her veins. “You had him call Ian and invite me to dinner.”

  Ahmed’s face lit up like a child’s. He raised his hands in a mock show of acquiesce. “You found me out.”

  “Shit, Sydney. Get out of there,” Grey said in her ear. “Pull the plug.”

  Oh, no. She may have been tired and cranky, and yes, scared as hell over the trickery involved here, but she would not let Ahmed Khourey get the best of her. Cold. Day. In. Hell.

  Besides, according to Grey’s file, The Lion had never killed in his own home, right?

  She swallowed hard. “This better be one hell of a dinner, Ahmed.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. The lion had his prey trapped at the watering hole. Perhaps she’d underestimated him.

  “Something to drink?”

  So charming. So innocent. “Water. Please.”

  Not that she’d drink one thing from his hands. God knew what he’d spike it with.

  Ahmed strode off to the kitchen while Syd forced herself to the sofa. Of course, the side slit in her dress flew open revealing a whole lot of leg. Damn. She tried to close the slit, but there was no way. She’d just have to put up with his greedy looks.

  She let the dress, and another piece of her sanity, go.

  “Syd,” Grey implored. “You do not have to do this.”

  “Yes, I do,” she murmured. “Let me work.”

  Her gaze wandered to the painting of the veiled woman she’d admired the day before. At first, she thought the woman’s eyes sensual. Now on closer inspection, she decided haunted might be a better description. Or maybe that was simply her foul mood. Either way, her thoughts were interrupted by Ahmed shoving a glass at her. She set it on a ceramic coaster the color of fire on the side table.

  Everything about this man—even the colors in his home—revolved around power, sex, and hunger. From a primal place, she understood why women were attracted to him. On the surface, he’d be the whole package.

  Below the surface was where she needed to dig.

  “Do you like it?”

  She snapped her gaze to his.

  “The painting?” he said. “She’s extraordinary, no?”

  Syd nodded. “It’s her eyes. I wonder what she’s thinking.”

  He grinned. “A question I’ve asked myself about women many times.”

  “Oh, Ahmed. We’re really not that complicated. Treat us right and we’ll be loyal forever.”

  “Syd!” Fed Boy hissed. />
  The chef chose that moment to enter. “Sir, dinner is served.”

  Now she had to eat. Avoiding drinking had been fairly easy. Eating? Not so much. She simply had to do it.

  “I’m right here,” Grey said. “If you go quiet, I’ll know something is wrong. He makes one wrong move, I’m coming to get you.”

  She glanced up at the chef. “Thank you.”

  They’d never know the gratitude was meant for Grey.

  Ahmed escorted her to the dining room table covered with various dishes—he called it a mezze—that offered an array of aromas, colors, and textures. God, it looked good. And suddenly, Syd was famished, her stomach overriding the warning signals firing from her brain.

  Ahmed held a chair for her and she slid into it, making sure to keep her back to him in case he got handsy again. He was being such a gentleman, though. Maybe she really had imagined his earlier touch of her ass. His hands on her ass, she could handle. Anywhere else would tax her.

  Jennifer’s words rang in her ears…With him, it’s easy. He makes it good.

  God, what have I gotten myself into?

  Thankfully, he kept his grip on the chair. “The chef has created a traditional Lebanese meal. I thought you might enjoy the foods of my country.”

  “It smells heavenly.”

  “I think you will enjoy it.”

  If the aromas of garlic, cinnamon, and something spicy were any indication, it would be an excellent meal. If only her throbbing stomach would hold it.

  Thirty minutes later, her stomach did its job and kept the food in place. Another day and time, she’d have loved this meal. Maybe she’d visit the Lebanese restaurant near her home and sample more.

  The chef appeared and informed Ahmed dessert was in the warming tray and he would be leaving.

  Leaving?

  He was leaving?

  Searing daggers hacked into the back of her neck. She’d be alone in the house with Ahmed. And he’d made sure to tell her Nabby was out for the evening. No help would come her way from inside the house. It was all on Grey now.

  Ahmed thanked the chef who let himself out the back door. The same door Grey had entered on Saturday.

  Ahmed rose from the table, and when she slid her chair back, he held his hand up to stop her. “I have a small gift for you. Wait here while I get it.”

  “A gift?” Fed Boy mused in her ear. “What’s this now?”

  Syd cleared her throat just as Ahmed returned with three silky veils draped over his right arm. He held his arm straight and the veils hung in front of her. She turned her chair sideways and ran her hand over the luxurious fabric.

  “For you,” Ahmed said.

  “Thank you,” she croaked.

  “Which would you like to wear?”

  What? At a loss, she stared up at him.

  He nudged the scarves closer and took a small step. “In my country, the veil is a sign of modesty. I like my women to wear them.”

  His women? Putting aside the fact she was half naked in the halter dress, the reference to her being his woman, was definitely a little unnerving.

  “They’re beautiful,” Syd said.

  “Which one will you wear?”

  Come on, Syd. Get in the game.

  She ran her hand over the sky blue one. “Would it be appropriate? Considering what I’m wearing.”

  And once again, his hungry gaze lingered over her. Most women, maybe even her, would be turned on by that look, would find it a compliment that a man like Ahmed so obviously found them attractive.

  So confused.

  The lamb from dinner backed up into her throat and Syd closed her eyes.

  At least until a warm hand cupped her breast. Syd threw her shoulders back just as Ahmed ran his hand over her nipple.

  “Ahmed!”

  “Come now, my dear. You cannot be so shy.”

  She grabbed his wrist and squeezed. “Don’t touch me like that.”

  “I want you. I always get what I want.”

  He squeezed her nipple. Not hard, but enough for her to know he wanted control.

  “I’m not ready for this.”

  He smiled down at her, his gaze on her tits as he dragged his hand up and across her collarbone, into her hair. He threaded his fingers through the thickness and then, with a sudden violence that made her eyes water, he gripped a handful and yanked her head backward.

  Pain ripped into her, searing down her neck. “Ahmed, you’re hurting me.”

  She made a move to stand, but he pushed her into the chair with his free arm. The veils slid down his arm and gathered at his wrist.

  You’re hurting me…

  Goddammit. Grey was going to come unglued. First, the bastard had tricked Syd into showing up for dinner. Now he was going to rape her. Maybe kill her.

  Not on my watch.

  Killing her at his home went against The Lion’s MO, but fuck profiling and the code word and the goddamn system. All bets were off and had been the minute Syd found Ahmed rather than Nabil waiting for her. Why hadn’t she listened to him when he told her to pull the plug?

  Grey started his car as he checked his side view mirror for traffic.

  What met his eyes was a man in a light gray suit. Donaldson was on the other side of Grey’s window, knocking a finger against the glass. His voice came through muffled. “Going somewhere?”

  The sidewalk was on one side, Donaldson on the other, parked cars in front and back. Hell of a time to be stuck.

  “Move,” Grey shouted, waving him off.

  Like usual, Donaldson put his hands on his waistline, brushing back his jacket to show off his bulging middle and his gun. “Not until we talk.”

  Grey’s nerves, taut as a violin string, threatened to break. He jammed his finger in the automatic window button. Yelled at Donaldson before the window was fully open, “Not now. I have to get to Sydney.”

  “Sydney? That piece of ass you’re using for this entrapment scheme? How is that going by the way? You’ve been avoiding my calls. Again.”

  “She’s about to get raped by our target. Get the fuck out of my way.”

  Donaldson settled his hands on the open window frame and leaned down so his face filled Grey’s field of vision. “You really think I’d believe you left this woman alone with The Lion? With your history? Forget it. The noble Justice Greystone would never.” He scoffed. “We need to talk and we need to do it now. Stop blowing me off.”

  In his ear, Grey heard Ahmed’s voice, faint but no less damning. “Do you like when a man is rough, Cindy? When he pounds into your body? Do you see his need when he does that? How much he wants you?”

  Sweat broke out along Grey’s hairline and a foul taste filled his mouth. He was going to be sick. He had to get to her. Now.

  Touching his earpiece to activate his mic, he steeled his voice. “Hang in there, Syd. I’m on my way. Use your gun if you have to.”

  “Nice touch.” Donaldson shook his head. “Enough bullshitting. You’re not leaving until you give me something on this guy. Lockhart is climbing my ass.”

  Byron Lockhart. Head of the FBI. The man Grey needed to get back in good graces with if he was ever going to see the inside of Quantico again.

  Fuck that. Sydney came first. He’d run over Donaldson if necessary, but he understood how his former boss worked. Give him what he wants. “You’ll get a full briefing tonight. After I get Syd out.”

  Finally, something clicked. Donaldson saw the desperation on Grey’s face. Heard the truth in his voice. “Holy shit. You screwed up again, didn’t you, Greystone? She’s really in danger.”

  Syd’s voice came through strong in his ear. “No, Ahmed. I do not like it rough. I like it slow and patient and gentle.”

  She’d never get that from the monster, even if she were holding her own. “Use your gun,” he gritted between his teeth. “Shoot him in the balls, in the foot, whatever it takes.”

  “No.” Donaldson reached in and tried to grab the earpiece out of Grey’s ear. “
Don’t shoot him!”

  Grey grabbed Donaldson’s hands, bent his fingers backwards, increasing the pressure until the man’s knees threatened to give out. With his other hand, he repositioned his earbud. “What the hell are you doing?”

  The man reeled back, but being the tenacious son-of-a-bitch that he was, he grabbed hold of Grey’s jacket lapel. “Don’t you dare let her blow this case because she’s got cold feet.”

  “Cold feet? Are you nuts? He’s going to rape her.”

  “Ahmed? What are you doing?”

  “There are other ways to please me.”

  Shit. Grey brought his arm down across Donaldson’s hands, breaking the man’s hold on his jacket. “Get the fuck out of the way.”

  “Such a fucking screw-up, Greystone.” The man wiped blood from his nose. “I never should have given you this case.”

  “Touch yourself,” Ahmed said. “You disgusting whore.”

  Grey withdrew his Glock and aimed it at Donaldson’s face. There was no going back now. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have. Move or I will blow this entire goddamn case out of the water. For good. You’ll never catch The Lion. Never get that promotion you want.”

  The Special Agent in Charge seemed to know Grey wasn’t kidding. Still, he took his sweet time stepping backwards just far enough to allow Grey to maneuver from the tight parking spot. Grey jammed the car into gear, revved the motor, and shot out onto the street.

  Behind him, Donaldson yelled at Grey to go to hell.

  I’m already there.

  Ahead of him, traffic was at a standstill. Sirens blared in the distance.

  “What the hell?” Grey pounded his hands on the steering wheel.

  In the middle of the intersection he had to cross to get to Sydney and the brownstone, four cars sat in a pileup.

  “Syd?” Fed Boy said in her ear.

  And God, why was he talking right now? She hadn’t said the code word and she didn’t need him inside her head, literally, when she was trying to get herself out of this.

  With another good yank on her hair, Ahmed drew her face to his crotch, her closed mouth pressing against the cotton of his briefs. His erection strained for release and he pushed himself against her. The clean scent of laundry detergent—or maybe his soap—filled her nostrils and she held her breath. God, help me. The lamb inched further up her throat. Maybe she’d vomit on him and save herself.