Killer Instinct (Instinct #2)(29)

“Can we talk inside your house?” she asked.

“Actually, do you mind if we do this outside?”

That was definitely not a good sign, thought Elizabeth. As red flags go, it was the equivalent of a Chinese military parade. What didn’t he want her to see?

“As a matter of fact, I do mind,” she said. “We need to talk inside.”





CHAPTER 38


THIS TIME, Gorgin hesitated.

Elizabeth could practically see the wheels churning in his head. He glanced back over his shoulder into his house not once but twice. Finally he broke into a smile. Or was that a grimace?

“Okay, come on in,” he said.

Elizabeth followed him inside. She was still watching his hands. Always watch the hands. But now there was everything else, an entire house he seemingly didn’t want her to see.

What are you hiding, Gorgin? Who are you? Tell me why I’m here …

He looked to be in his late twenties. He was clean-shaven. The English was near perfect, but there was a lingering hint of a Middle Eastern accent. He probably came to the States as a teenager. Best guess, from Turkey. Backup guess, Jordan.

The prayer mat facing east in the corner of the living room took any of the guesswork out of religion. Gorgin was a practicing Muslim. But he was also very Westernized. If the BMW didn’t give it away, the skinny jeans, zip-up hoodie, and gelled-back hair did.

“Do you own this house?” asked Elizabeth. She assumed he didn’t.

“No, this is a rental,” he said. “I wish I could afford it, though. One day.”

“What do you do for a living?”

Gorgin was still walking; Elizabeth was still following. He stopped suddenly, turning back to her at the entrance to the kitchen.

“I’ll answer all of your questions, Agent Needham, but first I have one for you,” he said. “Would you like some tea?”

Tea? “No, thank you,” said Elizabeth.

“Are you sure? I was just about to make some.”

“No, really, that’s—”

“It’s excellent tea. Very special. My uncle sends me boxes of it from overseas. You really should try some.”

There was no change in the tone of his voice. No punching of any particular word. The inflection was normal. That’s because the conversation wasn’t about what Elizabeth could hear. As Gorgin was talking he was also nodding. He was signaling her. Say yes to the tea, Agent Needham. Trust me.

“In that case,” said Elizabeth, “I’d love some tea.”

Gorgin turned and went to the stove, grabbing a kettle from one of the burners. As he filled it with water from the sink, Elizabeth took a seat at a small table in the corner.

“Sales,” said Gorgin.

“Excuse me?”

He returned the kettle to the stove, turning on the burner. “I sell commercial-grade cutlery to restaurants. That’s my job.”

Great. The guy handles knives for a living.

Gorgin opened a cabinet, removing two teacups. From another cabinet he removed a box of tea bags. Elizabeth eyed the label. It was Lipton.

Lipton? That’s the special tea your uncle sends you?

Of course it wasn’t. He’d obviously made that up on the fly. It was the only thing Elizabeth was sure about. Everything else was still unclear, including her next move. Should she start asking her questions or just make small talk and wait?

Wait for what, though? Gorgin wasn’t giving any more signals. All he was doing was making tea. At least she could still see his—

No sooner had he pulled out a couple of tea bags than he shifted his body, his back suddenly facing Elizabeth. She couldn’t see his hands anymore, but his arms were definitely moving. He was doing something.

Something he didn’t want her to see.

Elizabeth edged forward in her chair and dropped a hand to her side, slowly tucking her blazer back behind her Glock. Her fingertips tap-danced on the grip as if keeping time. Any sudden move. That’s all it would take.

How long can someone go without blinking?

“What’s that?” she asked.

Gorgin had said something. She didn’t hear him.

“I said, you’re awfully quiet over there, Agent Needham.”

He began to turn. There was something in his hand.

No. Both hands.





CHAPTER 39


TEACUPS. HE was holding the teacups.

He walked over, casually placing them on the table. One for her and one for him. Elizabeth didn’t look down at hers. She wasn’t about to take her eyes off this guy, not for a second. Not until she knew what the hell was going on.

The answer was right in front of her.

“The water should be ready in a minute,” said Gorgin, returning to the stove. He was talking over his shoulder. “My uncle says it’s best to pour from the kettle directly onto the tea bag.”

Again, there was nothing in Gorgin’s voice. Nor was there any head nodding this time or anything approaching a signal.

Still, Elizabeth heard him loud and clear. His instructions. She looked down inside the cup and literally read the tea leaves.

They’re listening.

Gorgin had written the two words on the tea bag in her cup. That’s what he’d been doing when he turned his back to her. Clever. If she’d seen him taking a pen to a tea bag, she would’ve asked what on earth he was doing. Not a good thing if someone was listening in—someone who probably didn’t want Gorgin talking to an agent with the JTTF.