Page 105 of High Treason
Paramedics lifted Dagher onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. The four stood wordlessly watching the vehicle disappear in the same haze of light that had brought them here.
“Choices,” she said.
He turned to her.
“They define us.” She swiped beneath her eyes, but he couldn’t tell if it was the rain or a tear.
“We have questions,” one of the officers said.
“We’re FBI on assignment.”
“Figured so. What do you say about getting into our car and out of this rain?”
Kord and Monica obliged and dripped water over the rear seat of the police vehicle. They displayed their FBI creds.
The officer who’d spoken to them sat on the front passengerside. He handed their IDs to the driver before giving Kord and Monica his attention. “What happened?”
“I suggest you contact SAC Thomas at the FBI office.” He gave his supervisor’s cell phone number. The call wouldn’t be a surprise.
“Got to verify you two first.”
Kord couldn’t blame the men. HPD’s role in protecting the city meant confirming information. The idea of Youssof Dagher dying before answering questions played on his mind.
Monica coughed, raspy, rattling.
“You running a fever?” Her lips had been a bit too warm when he kissed her.
“I’m never sick.”
Within five minutes, the police officer and Kord had talked to SAC Thomas and the two were free and ordered to return to the Saud home. They hurried to his Charger and back into town. On the way, he phoned Ali and relayed the details of the shooting.
Monica coughed again.
“Is that her?” Ali said.
“Yep. Claims she never gets sick, but she’s been trained in the art of deceit.”
“From now on, remind her to take better care of herself.”
“I imagine she’ll remember on her own.” Kord rubbed his face. “I’ll notify Jeff. You’ll update Prince Omar?”
“On my way to wake him. See you in a few minutes.”
Kord reached over and touched her forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“And since when is an FBI agent a medical authority?”
“Don’t need fancy letters after my name to see a doctor is in your future.” The woman beside him, the CIA operative who worked harder than any man, required help that he couldn’t provide.
“A glass of orange juice and a couple of Tylenol, and I’ll be fine. Both are at the Saud home.”
IN KORD’S CAR,Monica fought sleep when normally adrenaline raced sky-high. In the shadows, she felt her forehead. Rats. She did have a fever, and the throb in her head, along with the sore throat and pain when she breathed, indicated a cold on steroids. She’d tried to push aside the symptoms for nearly a week.
“Can’t we follow up on Dagher at the hospital?” she said. “Forget what SAC Thomas said?”
“Our role is protection. One look at you, and the nurses would have a bed ready.”
She moaned, couldn’t help herself. The cloud in her head messed up her thinking.
