Backblast by Candace Irving (miss read books TXT) 📕

Fascinating.

Regan studied the intruder, immediately placing the riot of short, salt and pepper curls topping those heavyset features. It would've been impossible not to. Their owner's mugshot had been slotted in at the very front of the background information she'd downloaded at Al Dhafra. This man was also the lead entry on Palisade's list: Warren Jeffers, Embassy Islamabad's deputy chief of mission. As DCM, Jeffers served as Ambassador Linnet's replacement when the woman was not in country, and the ambassador's right hand when she was.

What Regan didn't know, was why Scott disliked Jeffers. Intensely.

Though Scott covered well. Had she not served with the man in Iraq, she might've even bought the respectful tip to Scott's sandy head.

"Rae, this is Warren Jeffers, the embassy's deputy chief of mission. Sir, Special Agent Regan Chase, US Army CID. She'd like to—"

"I know what the agent would like. I'll take it from here, Walburn. Nasim needs to speak with you. Now."

The glint returned as Scott caught her eye. "You still up for that late dinner? We can finish catching up after you grill me."

"Absolutely."

He slipped a hand into his suit jacket and withdrew a business card. "My number's on the front. Call me when you've had your fill." The glint flared, leaving no doubt as to whom Scott believed she was about to get her fill of.

She kept her expression bland as Scott departed.

If anything, the DCM's expression resembled Riyad's standard fare as Jeffers closed the door on his embassy colleague before turning back to her. "Let me be blunt, Agent Chase. I was not exaggerating. I know exactly why you're in Islamabad, and I am not happy about it. But what really pisses me off is your insinuation that someone on my staff is a traitor, up to and including me. And, yes, in case General Palisade failed to inform you, I was against your heading up the Fort Campbell murders and the cave investigation. Hell, I led the disgruntled pack. You weren't worth the risk. Not then, and not now. The ambassador agrees. So much so, she's in a meeting with our host country's president, informing him of the deaths of not one, but two terror suspects that his country had a right to interview when we were done with them. After all, that cave is located on their land."

Well, okay. Linnet definitely fell into the can't keep her blessed mouth shut category. As did the woman's metaphorical right hand.

Good to know.

And, yes, that cave was located on Pakistani land—as was a certain dusty compound that had once existed a mere seventy-five miles north of where she was now standing. A compound that had ironically also been located just outside Pakistan's version of West Point in Abbottabad. And, yet, no one—up to and including Pakistan's former president—had bothered to let her government know of the existence of said compound. Despite the fact that its infamous, now deceased, occupant—one Osama bin Laden—had led the terror strike that had taken the lives of nearly three thousand Americans on 9-11.

It appeared Pakistani diplomats were better at keeping secrets than her own.

Regan thought about masking her anger and surprise over the ambassador's loose lips, but decided to go with it. Even bumped the latter up several notches. She was intrigued enough to wind up the ambassador's right hand as far as she could. Heck, she'd even use her own literal right hand to do it. See what else Jeffers would reveal.

"Why so shocked, Agent?"

She lifted her fingers to smooth a wisp of hair off her temple and into her braid. For once, the resulting tremor was deliberate. "The ambassador had orders to remain silent."

The man's lips thinned as he spotted the quiver. Since they were on the fleshy side to begin with, it wasn't an attractive look. "She did. But here's the thing: at Embassy Islamabad, we don't work for the Army or the Pentagon. We work for the secretary of state—and the president. So if you need to bitch to someone, call one of them."

The mood she was in, she just might.

Especially since there was more of that chimera, and God only knew what else, floating around out there—and someone who worked for this asshole was bent on using it. But as much as she'd have loved tossing that hefty hind end of his into Leavenworth personally, she was all but certain the traitor wasn't Warren Jeffers.

He was too in her face. Nor was he concerned about drawing attention to himself. Whoever she was after was cooler, definitely more methodical. This man's temper could smack an intercontinental ballistic missile out of the sky all by itself when suitably pricked.

And there was the rest.

She'd been on the receiving end of territorial ass-rippings her entire career. But with this guy? There was too much rage leaking through. This almost felt…personal. Which was weird, since she hadn't had the displeasure of meeting him before.

"Is that all, sir?" Tirade or not, she was here to do a job.

"Actually, no. I also met with Dr. Durrani and Tamir Hachemi while I was aboard the ship. Privately. I don't give a crap what you think; that translator lied about this so-called traitor. He was trying to get a better deal. Hell, Hachemi all but admitted it to me. As for your fun-filled BI? Sweetheart, I knew all about your tawdry past before it landed in the Griffith's conference room—because I knew your father. You're the brilliant detective; I'll leave it to you to figure out when and where. But I will tell you this: you're a chip off that old rancid block. And Hachemi's murder? I'm with Agent Riyad. John Garrison had a damned good reason to kill him. If you tried taking your blinders off and staring at the major with his clothes on for a change, you might just see that."

The hell with faking. She was stunned now. Her hand was shaking for real, too. Right along with the fury