"It's not your fault," Dylan told him.
"And then this morning … " He shook his head. "Jamall went to the mall, but he never came back. I just … I don't know what's going on."
"Did you ever hear either of your friends, Glenn or Jamall, express any hatred for America?" Emmett asked.
"No!" Rasheed shouted, shaking his head rapidly. "Never! We were raised in the United States. The three of us grew up together. We've been friends since elementary school. Wait … " He paused, his gaze jumping from Emmett to Dylan. "You think my friends did this? You think my friends set off those two bombs?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out."
There was a knock on the door, and Dylan looked over his shoulder. The man standing at the threshold was wearing a bulletproof vest with Bomb Squad written across his chest.
"Listen, we need you to come with us while the bomb squad checks your hotel room."
"But … "
"We can talk more outside."
Rasheed stood up. He strode past Dylan, walking outside without another word. Dylan knew his theory was right. Rasheed and his friends weren't suicide bombers or terrorists. They were simply pawns in someone else's game.
Dylan followed Rasheed, leaving the hotel room to the bomb squad. He could stay behind, but his goal was to find the real culprit, the person responsible for planting the bombs.
"Look," Rasheed said as he turned to face Dylan, "I don't know what's happening." The scent of fear filled the air around them. It seemed to drain out of the young man's pores. "We came here because we always wanted to go to the Silver Bullet. It was a dream of ours, but now, I wish we never would've come back. This wasn't supposed to happen. How did this happen?"
"I'm sorry about your friends, Rasheed. We're going to figure it out. We're going to find the answers."
"What happens now? What happens to me?"
"I think it would be safer for you to go down to FBI headquarters for the time being," Emmett interjected. "I'll arrange from someone to pick you up."
Rasheed nodded. "Yeah, okay."
"We found the bomb," an officer announced.
Dylan's attention quickly turned. He spun around and faced the other man. "Were you able to deactivate it?"
"Yeah, we've got it contained."
Dylan blew out a heavy breath. It was a relief to hear that the third bomb had been found, but how many more were there?
Emmett's phone started ringing. Reaching into his pocket, Dylan watched as he pulled the device out and accepted the call. "Agent Flowers." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Yes, sir, we'll be there."
"Where are we going?"
Emmett looked at him intently. "Someone must like you."
"Why do you say that?"
"You've been granted special access to Thaamir Yassin."
"I guess it's my lucky day."
Chapter Six
"Well, well, well," Gregory sang as he shuffled his manacled feet into the visitor's room. "Max Lumeria, FPA agent extraordinaire. I never thought I'd see you again."
Max clamped his jaw shut and schooled his features, pretending as if he wasn't completely annoyed. The last place he wanted to be was inside a human prison surrounded by scum. The paranormal world didn't believe in locking people away. It was an eye for an eye, and the FPA were the ones responsible for handing out the punishments. If George Watkins had been paranormal, he'd already be dead. He wouldn't be sitting inside a maximum-security penitentiary twiddling his thumbs on the taxpayers' dimes.
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"I'm guessing it has something to do with the bombings in New Orleans." His lips twitched, and his eyes glittered with excitement. "The Silver Bullet. That's a gay club, right?"
Max didn't react, nor did he take the bait. He wasn't going to allow George to take over the interview or steer the conversation in a different direction.
"He's using your bombs. He took your designs, and he's taking all the credit." Max tsked, shaking his head.
"He should be careful. Bombs are dangerous." George lifted up his right hand, wiggling his three remaining fingers.
"George, if you know something about this, and you're fucking around, I'll make your life worse than it already is."
"You can't do anything to me." He shook his head. "You don't have any control here, shifter."
Max chuckled. "That's the reason you should be scared. I'm a shifter. I can cause more agony than any of these humans. Poison. It's a painful way to go. I've seen it happen. My venom is highly toxic, and death typically occurs within seven to fifteen hours, but you'll wish you were dead after only a few minutes. Talk. Now."
Max saw a flash of fear cross George's eyes before the man pushed his shoulders back and sat up a little straighter. "You're wasting your time, Agent Lumeria."
Max studied the man for a moment and soon realized that he was, in fact, wasting his time. He stood up and left the visitors' room without another word.
Max grabbed his cell phone and gun from the lockbox at the front gate before making his way outside. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, back into the Miami heat, Max called Dylan.
"What did he say?" Dylan asked as soon as he answered the phone.
"He knows what's going on, but he isn't in control of the bomber. I don't think he knows who's responsible."
"Are you sure?"
"Oh, yeah," Max said. "He was practically beaming with pride, but if he knew more, he would've taunted me with specifics. And he would've tried to make a deal."
"Okay," Dylan murmured.
"According to the prison, George does have access to a computer, and he's smart enough to work around the security system. I'll talk to Axel. He can hack into the system to monitor George's keystrokes. If we do that, we might be able to find out what George does know."
"Thank you, Max. I really appreciate you taking the trip to see George. I couldn't trust anyone else to meet with him. You were the only one."
Max chuckled lightly. "I know, so don't worry. The man's still locked behind metal bars. He'll never see the light of day."
Chapter Seven
They were escorted to a warehouse a few blocks away from the Silver Bullet. The place was dark and cold. It looked as though it had been abandoned years ago, but that didn't stop Homeland Security from setting up shop.
"This whole setup is wrong," Dylan muttered.
"What are you talking about?" Emmett asked.
"Look at this place. It looks like a dungeon."
Various agents stood around, watching TV screens that showed an interrogator and the suspect. The agent was walking around Thaamir, circling the man. Thaamir was on his knees in a puddle of water. His limbs were ziptied together, forcing his body into an awkward position.
"Your cousin is a member of Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant. He's an Islamic Fundamentalist. It's one of the most radical groups in the world right now. Isn't he?" Agent Keith McKinney reached out and grabbed ahold of Thaamir's face, making him look up and make eye contact.
"I didn't do anything wrong." Thaamir said. "I live and work here in New Orleans. My brother, Glenn, and his friends came here for a short vacation. That's it. I had nothing to do with the bombings. I swear. I don't know anything," he insisted.
"Why is he a suspect?" Dylan asked, his voice carrying throughout the space. "Is it because of his religion? Or the way he looks?"
"Thaamir Yassin and his family have been on our watch list for a while because of their family ties in Iraq and Iran. And, given his access to his brother and the tools to make these bombs, he's our prime suspect," Randy Wilkinson told him.
"You're not handling this correctly."
"Excuse me?"
"This." Dylan pointed at the screen. "This is wrong."
Dylan made his way to a metal door. He lifted his fist and banged against it, hard.
The door was yanked open, and Agent McKinney stood, staring down at him, "What the hell do you want?"
"I'm Agent Dylan Aldian with the FPA. I'm here to question the suspect."
"I don't think so." He crossed his arms over his chest, blocking Dylan's entry.
"You've been with him for a few hours. You've got nothing, right? Less than nothing I would guess." The other agent didn't respond. He just stared at Dylan, a blank look on his face. "You're not going to crack him," Dylan promised. "You threw him in a cage, ziptied his hands behind his back, and threatened to torture the truth out of him."
"We don't torture suspects."
"The only thing your suspect is feeling right now is fear. He's scared. The room reeks with it."
"He's scared because he's been caught."