“First, Mr. Wilson, suppose you tell me what you know, and I will fill in the gaps,” suggested Rashid.
“It would make more sense to me for you to just tell me what you know about my missing Sara.”
Rashid’s heavy brows came together in a frown at David’s possessiveness—she was not his—but he controlled himself and smiled. “Humor me.”
David complied since he really had no choice. None of their evidence implicated this Rashid character. He and Ben figured they had enough evidence at least for an investigation into Abdulah’s activities, but he was dead, and though Jack Hogan had admitted nothing, they were fairly sure that once he had delivered Sara to that fat son-of-a-bitch, he had nothing more to do with her, so their only hope was that Rashid knew what had become of her and where she was. He told Rashid how they had traced Jack’s trail to Atlantic City through the discovery of the dead secretary/actress/hooker who had looked similar to Sara. And he told him about the files they still had of the photographs of all the other girls who had disappeared, and their theory that Abdulah was using people who owed the casino a lot of money as hired kidnappers.
Rashid was horrified when David finished. “I had no idea about the others. I assumed the transaction for Sara was the first and only of its kind.”
David jumped up. “Then you do know about Sara?”
“Yes, yes, she is well.” answered Rashid, shaken by the news of his uncle’s perfidies.
“Then tell me,” demanded David. “Where is she?”
Slowly, Rashid raised his head and looked up into the other man’s pleading gray-blue eyes. “You love her.” It was a statement, rather than a question.
“Yes,... please.”
“I, too, love her.”
David’s reaction to that bit of news was shocked silence. He had been prepared to hear she was dead, but this? How could this man say such a thing? “Did I hear right? Did you just tell me you are in love her?”
“That is correct, Mr. Wilson, and I feel safe to say she returns the affection,” said Rashid pointedly.
So, thought David, he’s saying he’s slept with her—the dirty bastard. He clenched his fists, just itching to give him a good rap, but controlled himself.