Backblast by Candace Irving (miss read books TXT) 📕

but his life. The traitor wouldn't even have had to threaten to kill Aamer; the bastard could've simply let it be known to Brandt that he'd leak the truth regarding Aamer's sexual orientation and stand back to let the righteous wolves descend to carry out the so-called will of Allah.

Then again, given what they were dealing with—and that an infant had been targeted, too—the traitor had probably just threatened to kill Aamer outright.

"Mr. Sadat? Do you think he was being blackmailed? You told me that Tom Crier and your wife were careful. That no one knew about them. But you also told me that Crier met your wife at your house. Did Crier know about you and Brandt?"

To her surprise, Aamer's eyes filled up with tears, much like his wife's. "I do not know. I pray not. But…it is possible."

And there was something else. Someone else. She was certain of it. Someone this man believed capable of blackmailing his lover into murder.

"Who?"

Those dark eyes blinked. "I did not say—"

"No. But you're thinking it." Because she was thinking it too.

There was a reason no one in Staff Sergeant Brandt's chain of command had thought to compare that baby's dimpled chin with his.

"Mr. Sadat, who knew Brandt was gay?"

"Warren Jeffers. Stephen could not abide the man. He refused to tell me why, but I believe Jeffers knew Stephen was gay. And Jeffers? That man, he is so polite to everyone outside the embassy, but he is ugliness itself inside. Jeffers would abuse such information. I know it."

So did she. Hell, she'd had firsthand experience with Jeffers' abuse that afternoon. Why else had he slugged her with that tidbit about working with her dear old dirty dad? A man like that was willing to use anything to further his own goals.

But what were those goals, damn it?

John's phone pinged behind her.

She tensed, waiting for hers to go off. It didn't. She was still breathing out her relief when she heard John click off his phone and then,

"Rae?"

Shit. It was time to go. "Okay. Just a second."

She pulled the purple nitrile gloves she'd taken from the ICU from her pocket. "Mr. Sadat, do you or your wife have your son's insulin vial handy?"

"Here, at the hospital?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "My wife was panicked when she left. There was no time to check. And when she arrived here, no need. But I think Inaya had just opened a new one yesterday. The empty one has already been discarded. Why?"

"It doesn't matter." She returned the gloves to her pocket. There was no sense in admitting what she suspected. If the boy did survive the chimera, she'd only be giving his parents nightmares about his medication—and what might really be inside it—for the rest of their lives. She glanced at the door. "You can go. But don't go far."

"I will not. For all you have done and are doing, I swear it. I will be here."

Of that she was certain. Only because she was about to have Ty double the man's shadow, and this time, she wanted those involved posted within tackling distance.

Aamer bowed his head toward her, then John, and left.

The second the door closed, John was at her side, her laptop already slung over his left shoulder, keeping his right—and his dominant gun hand—free as he motioned her toward the door. "That was Tulle. The ambassador has returned to the embassy, but the protests are spreading. If we want to slip in the back gate unnoticed—"

"We need to go now."

John didn't even take the time to nod. He simply opened the door and shepherded her through.

As with their trip to the Shifa, the drive to the embassy was burdened with calls. Again, John's were in Urdu and Arabic with men she didn't know. Hers were in English, the opening one to a man she knew very well and trusted even more: Gil.

With Gil's call came a sliver of hope for the Sadats' baby. Gil had already arranged for an emergency flight to Pakistan to transport the chimeral cure he'd used to treat her and John's surviving men. It would be airborne within the hour, in Islamabad less than sixteen hours later.

God willing, it would be soon enough.

As for John and herself, they arrived at the embassy within forty minutes of departing the Shifa and managed to slip inside relatively unnoticed. Both Riyad and Staff Sergeant Tulle were waiting for them at the entrance to the chancery.

From the tension in the spook's and the staff sergeant's features, each had news.

And neither set was good.

John opened one of the glass double doors and ushered her inside to the silvery marble foyer. There, he finally relinquished her laptop and crime kit with a murmured, "I'll find you," then peeled off to head deeper into the chancery with Tulle. Most likely to assist with the compound's security once he'd received the latest update.

The update she'd be getting from Riyad.

Midnight had come and gone well over an hour ago. With her grip once again becoming questionable at best due to the inherent exhaustion of yet another night of stunted sleep, Regan tipped her head toward the carpeted waiting area to the right. Just off the echoing marble and its gleaming grand piano. "Over there."

Fortunately, Riyad followed.

She dumped her laptop and crime kit on one of the plush chairs and stretched out her recalcitrant hand as she turned back to the spook. "What's wrong?"

The scowl she'd become so familiar with was still firmly in place, but for once, it wasn't directed at her. "We got that ID you wanted."

The seventh woman from the cave?

"Oh, thank God."

Riyad shook his head. "I'd wait on that praise. Plus, you should know, we didn't make the ID. The victim's father recognized her from the collection of leaked photos that are still being slapped up on all the local news stations."

Oh, shit. That particular close-up was the one she'd ordered the boots on the ground to have in hand—for the necessary shock value. But that was