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.
Elizabeth looked up from the cup, locking eyes with him as he leaned against the counter next to the stove. She nodded. Message received.
Only who’s listening? Why the hell is the house bugged?
Elizabeth quickly replayed the last few minutes in her mind. She’d told Gorgin who she was, but that was outside on the steps. Still, he’d referred to her as Agent Needham once she was inside. That couldn’t have been by accident. He wasn’t trying to pass her off as the Avon lady or a neighbor looking to borrow a cup of sugar.
So now what?
Elizabeth was about to motion for the pen. She would write out her questions, hopefully on something bigger than a tea bag. She wanted to ask how to play this out—should she inquire about the Mudir as intended or instead make up an excuse for her being there?
It was as if Gorgin could read her mind.
“So let me guess,” he said. “In the wake of the Times Square bombings, every Muslim in the tristate area is getting a house call.”
“That would be a lot of house calls,” said Elizabeth.
“You’re right. Make that young single men of a certain age who just happen to be practicing Muslims. I believe the word is profiling.”
“That’s your word, not mine. It’s also not a word that the JTTF would use.”
Gorgin gave her a thumbs-up. They were ad-libbing the script, but she was sticking to it perfectly. So was he. Whoever was listening needed to think that Gorgin would never crack under pressure. That he could take the heat. It was only fitting they were in a kitchen.
Elizabeth still had no idea who this guy was or even what information she could expect