Double Down by Gabra Zackman

stock-still, almost without breathing. They heard him open the closet next to theirs, the jangling of keys, and then the light was turned out. The front door was opened, then closed. They waited a bit longer, breathing very quietly, until they heard the sound of his car pulling out of the driveway. Then still, they waited a bit longer.
    Finally, Mahmoud let out a sigh. “I could stay this way with you forever, Ms. Tyka,” he whispered against her skin. He could feel her intake of breath, then her body stiffening.
    â€œWell, I think that would be a bit tough on the muscles, don’t you?” she said awkwardly.
    Feeling Tyka’s armor rising back up between them, Mahmoud thought it best to let the moment pass. He gently set her down, handed her her clothes, awkwardly put on his own, and said, “Shall we continue to search? I did the upstairs before he came home.” Tyka dressed quickly, opened the door, and without a response led them back out into the darkened living room.
    â€œYour call, Mahmoud,” she said. “But there’s one thing I must share with you first.” Taking a key from her bra, she explained to him about Gabriella and the key in her apartment, and Mahmoud realized he was disappointed that what she had to share was about the case and not about her own feelings. What was wrong with him? This was potentially a huge step forward in the case that had consumed him for years . And yet here he was, struck dumb by wanting this woman to give more of herself to him than he’d already had. After a tense moment of silence, Tyka pressed on. “Did you find anything that looked like a lockbox or a locked cabinet upstairs?” she asked.
    â€œNo,” he said. “I wasn’t looking for that, but I would’ve noticed.”
    â€œSo what now?” she asked.
    â€œLet’s do the kitchen. That’s the only space neither of us has searched since Birdsong came home. Then we should make a hasty exit.”
    â€œLet’s do it. With all due speed.” She turned to move forward, but then paused, her back to him. “And Mahmoud?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œFor taking care of me.” And with that she walked off to the kitchen before he had a chance to respond.

7
    It was six p.m., and the Boss had briefed all the present members of the Bod Squad on the abuser-turned-pimp case. It reminded him of the first time he’d met Babs. . . . His team had been after a man involved in a Ponzi scheme, and her team was after the same man for leading a double life and abusing both of his wives.
    The character currently on their radar wasn’t much better. The Boss had gone over the details with the team and had dictated their positions. They were sitting around the one large table in the office, a one-of-a-kind reclaimed wood antique he’d gotten when he’d first opened the business. “Okay,” he said, looking out at everyone. They each had a copy of the file in front of them, and the table sported several open Chinese food containers. “Let’s go over it again. William Nants, fifty-seven, started as a carnival barker, now runs something out of his barn called ‘the Carnivale,’ which we think is actually a prostitution ring. We were tipped off by an anonymous lead—a woman who was reluctant to give her name. She said the women are abused and then sold to the highest bidder for the night. She contacted us after the Bee sent out some exploratory emails looking for leads. Bee, where the hell did you find this, anyway?”
    Lisa Bee shifted in her seat and looked pleased with herself. “Aw, you know how I find leads . . . I’m like Melanie Griffith in Working Girl . I snatch things from the New York Post .”
    The Boss laughed. “But how’d you get this one, specifically?”
    â€œWell, Bossman, I was reading this article about Madonna and