THE GUARDIAN (Taskforce Series) (8 page)

But as long as the service didn’t last till midnight, she might have visitors yet.

**

“Go forth with Allah’s blessing,” Ibrahim called from the
minbar,
the high, tower-shaped podium from which he’d issued his sermon. Sweeping down the long steps he stalked to the back of the room to fling open the heavy doors to the foyer
.
   

Freed to move, at last,
Jackson
unfurled his numb legs and rose from his prayer rug trying not to bump his neighbors. Dozens of men, visitors and current parolees alike, had been kneeling for two hours straight, facing the
mihrab
, an elaborately tiled niche that dominated the wall of the mosque facing the direction of
Mecca
.

At the start of the service, the visitors had been introduced as former parolees, graduates of Gateway.
Jackson
’s peers regarded them in awe. Dressed in suits, many appeared affluent; all of them struck
Jackson
as amazingly well integrated, considering they were former felons. If Gateway was responsible for transforming them into such productive, upstanding individuals, then the Taskforce was barking up the wrong tree.

Ibrahim’s sermon about restraint and self-respect had been a fitting one, as this weekend would be the parolees’ first taste of freedom since getting out of jail. As with previous sermons, it was filmed by a cameraman who would post the sermon on Ibrahim’s website.
Jackson
kept his face averted whenever the camera swung in his direction
.
  

While Ibrahim’s words might be influential in preventing some ex-cons from reverting to previous behaviors,
Jackson
figured the example set by the graduates was more likely to motivate them. Inviting successful graduates to attend Friday night worship was a stroke of genius on the part of the leadership
.

“Go straight to your beds, my brothers,” Zakariya cautioned, threading his way through the crowd. “Remember that you
will
be tempted in your freedom,” he added, laying a knobby hand on
Jackson
’s shoulder. “You must resist temptation.”

A vision of Lena Alexandra sprang to
Jackson
’s mind. Now there was temptation incarnate, he mused, joining the others in heading for the door
.
He noted that Ibrahim greeted each man by name, forgetting no one’s. “For you, Abu,” he said, doling out a pamphlet to each and every attendee. Accepting his,
Jackson
glanced at the title,
Judgment Day,
and slipped it into his rear pocket to review later.

He followed the crowd outside. There, the parolees watched with envious eyes as the graduates departed, driving away in Toyotas, Cadillacs, and Lexuses. Then all twelve men trudged in thoughtful silence to their dormitory. As they neared the entrance to the campus, Artie’s One Stop Shop came into view, lit up like a whorehouse in a port of call.

“It’s too early to go to bed,” Muhammed commented.

“I ain’t tired,” Jamal agreed.

With that consensus, half the men started wordlessly across the highway.
Jackson
followed the handful that remained on course to the dormitory, but only to fetch a billed cap so he could hide his features from Artie’s security cameras.

So much for Zakariya’s caution to resist temptation.

**

As parolees swarmed into the store, dressed in identical gray slacks and white button-up shirts,
Lena
barricaded herself behind the register, where the raised floor gave her a better vantage from which to keep an eye on everyone
.

Muhammed made the introductions. The men joked and jockeyed for standing room next to the counter, each man vying for her attention. She’d decided not to push the book issue until the men felt more comfortable in her presence
.

The last person introduced was Corey, Abdul’s roommate.

“Where is Abdul?” she asked, pretending to look for him, though she’d realized right away that he wasn’t present. She told herself she was relieved. It might prove awkward if he brought up the business about her taking pictures, though her book story provided an excuse for that, too
.

Corey shrugged. “I guess he ain’t comin’.”

“Why not?”

Corey shrugged again. “I hear you write books,” he said, eyeing her earnestly through his lenses. “I like readin’ nonfiction.” His brown cheeks turned a dusky pink
.

“Do you?” They discussed the biography he was currently enjoying, before
Lena
brought up Abdul again. “You know, your roommate looks familiar. Do you know his full name?” It was driving her crazy that she hadn’t yet identified him
.

“Abdul Ibn Wasi,” Corey replied. “That’s his conversion name, anyway. I took the name Yusuf Ibn Ismail back in jail when I converted, but I still like Corey better.” 

“Corey’s more approachable,”
Lena
agreed. “Do you know what Abdul’s name was before conversion?” Her skin had begun to crawl from
Davis
’s unwavering stare. Planted on her left side next to the bins of Fireballs and Slim Jims, he seemed to be scheming something devious
.
 

“No, ma’am. We ain’t allowed to share our old names with nobody ’cause our conversion name represents who we is now. I’m the only one who still goes by my old name.”

Darn,
Lena
thought, distracted by movement in her peripheral vision. “Jamal,” she exclaimed in astonishment, “did you just stick a breakfast bar in your pocket?” 

His face was the picture of innocence. “Not me.”  

Davis
sniggered while the other men turned and frowned at Jamal
.

“What’s in your left front pocket then?” she persisted.

“Nothin’.”

Her chance to forge a bond with
Davis
presented itself unexpectedly. She turned to appeal to him for help
.
“Weren’t you a police officer?”

He hitched up his slacks with an air of worthiness. “I was. What of it?”    

“I would think you’d have a problem with people stealing, especially when they do it right under your nose.”

“Hmph.” He shot Jamal a considering look
.

“Plus, why should I have to call the local sheriff when I have a former Metropolitan Police Officer right here to help me?” It took all of
Lena
’s willpower to bat her lashes at him.

In that same instant, Abdul, wearing a large billed cap that looked ridiculous paired with his dress clothes, set off the chime as he stepped through the door.
Lena
’s pulse picked up to see him. Aside from the hat, he looked even more appealing in formal attire than in casual clothing
.
   

She dragged her attention back to
Davis
, extending a hand as if to touch him but not quite. “Look, I know I can count on you to keep these guys under control,” she said in her sexiest voice
.
  

Jamal looked worried. “Man, I didn’t take nothin’,” he insisted, backing away
.
  

“I got this,”
Davis
decided, puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster in a barn full of hens. Stalking Jamal, he spun him around, kicked his legs apart, and shoved his face toward the floor.

Jamal howled
.

The others tittered nervously.

Davis
pulled out a squashed breakfast bar from Jamal’s pocket. “Is this what you didn’t take, boy?” he growled at his victim, shoving his head even lower
.

“Don’t hurt him!” Lena exclaimed, biting her tongue when
Davis
shot her an indignant look. “Thank you, though.” She held out a hand for the stolen item so that
Davis
was forced to release his victim. But first he shoved Jamal face-first onto the linoleum tiles. Hitching his slacks again, he swaggered back toward
Lena
, his soulless gaze making her scalp creep. “Any time, lady,” he purred, caressing her hand as if he’d just earned the right to
.

Repulsed by his touch, she glanced longingly at the antibacterial gel, while several men helped Jamal to his feet, telling him he’d deserved the punishment.

Lena
tossed the squashed item into the trash. “Well, that was—”
Barbaric,
she thought. “Impressive,” she said, glad that she had filmed it on her mini camcorder. She had no expectation of
Davis
saying anything incriminating yet, but she liked to leave it on, just in case. She tried sending him a flirtatious smile, failed miserably, and glanced over at Abdul, instead.

With his arms folded over his chest and legs set apart like sturdy tree trunks, he seemed to fill the frame of the closed door. The expression in his eyes was hidden under the bill of his cap, but the firm line of his lips conveyed disapproval
.

Lena
raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
What’s with the hat?
And then it came to her. She glanced up at the surveillance camera over head.
Ah.

At her derisive smile, he looked away
.

This was the second time she’d sensed them communicating without a word between them. It was if they shared a different mentality, one that saw beyond the games being played out
.
Still, she couldn’t understand why Abdul dreaded the cameras when no one else showed the least concern
.

“Whatchu doin’ after work, lady?”

Davis
’s unexpected question made her blood freeze over. Bracing herself, she turned to face him. “Honey, I work till midnight. I’m sure that’s well after your curfew.”

His answering sneer conveyed that a curfew posed no deterrent.

Maybe she was crazy to turn down the opportunity to question him alone, but she had much to do to set the stage for his interview. It was still too early to expect him to confess to anything. “Maybe some other time,” she suggested.

“We should not be here,” Abdul stated out of the blue. “You heard what Imam Zakariya said about temptation. We should all be in our beds.” He ran a commanding look over the men
.

Lena
notched her hands on her hips. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Abdul. We were just getting to know each other.” 

“Abdul’s right.” Corey sent her an apologetic grimace. “We should go back before we break curfew. Besides, you have a customer.” He nodded outside at the eighteen-wheeler rumbling into the parking lot.

Shoulders slumped with disappointment, the men headed as a unit toward the door—all but Davis, who stayed right where he was, making
Lena
’s heart race with sudden panic. They weren’t going to leave her here alone with him, were they?