She shrugged. “Drop a hint in your boss’s ear and let him take the blame.”
“Yes, perhaps that would work. That’s good.” Khaled could tell John Eiserly what Adara had said and let him deal with it.
Adara took a big bite of her muffin, said when she’d swallowed, “I have news, Khaled. That witch Elizabeth Palmer—excuse me,LadyElizabeth—the witch whose mother was nearly kidnapped on Saturday, has flown her broomstick right back into London when she heard about her poor dear mother,God bless the old bitch. And she’s not alone. She’s got a bodyguard with her, an American FBI agent named Roman Foxe.”
Khaled’s brain raced, but he forced himself to scoop up his last bite of scrambled eggs, then cocked his head at her. “She’s a witch? Why do you dislike her so much? Has she done something to you? I read she’s a fine artist.”
“Hah. Any child can paint. It’s only because she’s a bleeding aristocrat that anyone even looks at her crap. Everyone knows she whored for Samir Basara, but no one seems to care.”
“If you say so. Do you know her? You’ve seen her art?”
Adara shrugged. “I know what I know. She’s a worthless upper-class leech, lords her lineage over everyone, like they all do. Here, have another muffin.”
Khaled backed off. “When I had lunch with your brother. Strange you brought it up, but he spoke of the attempted kidnapping of Lord Camden’s wife Friday night and about Lady Elizabeth’s troubles as well. You must have had a very bad experience with Elizabeth Palmer for you to hate her so much.”
She smiled, thoughtfully chewed on a limp piece of bacon. She said in an offhand voice, “No need for you to know about everything, Khaled. All in good time.”
She looked down at her sports watch. “Finish your lunch. We have nearly an hour before you have to be back at your boring job. Let’s spend it at your apartment. Maybe I’ll share a secret with you.”
Khaled clasped her hand in his. “I love secrets, Adara, particularly a woman’s.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Savich house
Georgetown
Tuesday morning
Savich took a drink of his strong black breakfast tea and looked over at Sherlock. She was chewing on a piece of crunchy bacon while Astro yipped at her on his hind legs, his tail waving faster than a metronome. She broke off a piece and snuck it to him. “Sean, I know you saw me, but don’t you give him any more. He’s had enough and you know it’s not good for him.”
“My teacher said fried food isn’t good for anyone.”
Sherlock laid her hand over her heart. “Even fried ice cream?”
Sean looked horrified. “She couldn’t have meant that, Mama.”
Savich said, “Sean, I hear Gabriella, time for you to gather your stuff and head out to school.”
Sean jumped out of his seat and leaned against his mother’s belly. He kissed her, kissed his father, yelled out, “Come on, Astro!” and raced out of the kitchen.
They heard Gabriella greet him. “Good morning, my superhero, and look, Mighty Dog. Ready to go, Sean? Astro and I have big plans after we drop you off.” Gabriella stuck her head in the kitchen doorway. “Sherlock, Dillon, good morning!” and she was gone, talking to Sean again. “And when I pick you up from school, I want you to tell me where Kazakhstan is.”
They were putting away the dishes, one of Savich’s hands rubbing Sherlock’s back, when his cell belted out Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher,” one of Sherlock’s favorites.
“Savich.”
“Good morning, Savich, John Eiserly here. I promised Lord Camden I would call you without delay. Let me say he’s livid over his wife’s near abduction Saturday night, not to say what nearly happened to his daughter, and he demands we work together more closely to find whoever is behind all this, since you Yanks can’t seem to do the job alone. Oh, yes, he wanted me to thank you, belatedly, for keeping his daughter safe.”
Savich grinned into the phone. “Tell him we’re profoundly grateful to have earned his thanks.”
“Seriously, Savich, there’s a new development. I’ve kept this from you thus far—a question of operational security—but I’ve had an undercover officer, Khaled Aziz, in place at the South London Mosque for some time now. He’s managed to impress the new imam and met with his younger sister, Adara. In fact, they’ve been intimate. I want you to listen to the recording Khaled made of their conversation this morning.”
Savich heard a young woman’s voice.
“I have news, Khaled. That witch Elizabeth Palmer—excuse me,LadyElizabeth—the witch whose mother was nearly kidnapped on Saturday, flew her broomstick right back into London when she heard about her dear mother. God bless the old bitch. And she’s not alone. She’s got a bodyguard with her, an FBI agent named Roman Foxe.”
Eiserly stopped the recording. “Not much else there, nothing actionable. But still, it’s a great deal. How does she know so much about Elizabeth Palmer? And Roman Foxe? Where’d she get his name? She clearly hates Elizabeth.” He paused, spit it out. “We believe Adara may have been involved in the attack on Lady Millicent, but we have no proof as of yet. Is her brother, the imam, involved?”
