Backblast Candace Irving (classic novels to read .txt) 📖

by. And there was that bottle of ibuprofen inside the ditty bag in her suitcase. Two of the capsules within would ease her growing headache and ward off the need for caffeine for a few hours, at least.

Ten minutes later, she was inside another black Volvo with her suitcase and gear locked in the trunk, two capsules duly swallowed and the dupatta concealing her French braid once again. This time she was in the front left passenger seat of the Volvo, watching the stark, almost desolate buildings of Islamabad proper pass by in the dark as Scott drove.

Within minutes they'd turned onto Srinagar Highway.

Scott glanced across the seat to her, then immediately shifted his attention forward to keep from colliding with a boxy Japanese number that tried to cut them off. "Sorry, still not quite used to driving on the left side of the road."

The box made a second attempt.

This time, Scott slowed and let it in. "So what's your assessment?"

"So far, it's not much different than the outskirts of a southern city." Especially at night. Definitely not like Afghanistan or Iraq, and the places she'd been in both.

Scott shook his head. "Not the city. Jeffers."

As segues went, it couldn't have been more perfect if she'd tried. She laughed as she went with it. "Oh, he's a total bastard. He managed to toss Riyad's superior skills in my face within two minutes of meeting me. Hence, my interest in Jeffers at the Marine House."

"Yeah, that's him. To hear Jeffers tell it, he's the lifeblood of Embassy I. Has been since he held Tom Crier's slot when the new mission was inaugurated. The guy's a plank owner in the chancery—and he lets everyone know it. Jeffers saves his charm for the locals. Which is odd, if you ask me, with him being a career diplomat and all."

Agreed.

"I think his wife's gonna leave him."

What? Scott had been there two months. How'd he manage to glean that?

There was something in the set of Scott's jaw when he glanced her way that told her he was serious. Anger.

"What happened?" And why did she have the feeling that, like her, Scott had wanted to get away from the embassy so he too could talk—privately?

When he failed to curse at the next driver who flat-out cut them off, she realized he was truly upset about something.

"Scott?"

He kept his eyes on the road, which was prudent, as it was notably crowded. But he sighed. Heavily. "Bethany came to see me last week in confidence. She thinks Jeffers is having an affair. She asked if I could stick around a few days after I was scheduled to leave and follow her husband on the sly. Find proof for her to use in the divorce."

Yikes. This was big. And tricky. Yes, DSS investigated diplomats when needed. But for crimes against the country and other persons, not against the heart.

"And?"

"And I'm not convinced it is another woman. I mean, it could be. From what Bethany said, Jeffers is never in their residence when he should be, and when he is, he's preoccupied. She's says she's caught him on the phone late at night…in the guest bathroom with the door locked and the water running. When she pressed him, he lashed out, grabbed her arms so hard, he left bruises." Scott glanced over as he took the exit off the highway. "I saw them myself. Definitely compression fingermarks."

"Have you spoken to Jeffers about it?"

That earned her a snort. "The man's the fucking DCM. This is my first shot out in the real world of DSS—and he'll be signing off on my final assessment and making the recommendation on whether I get a second shot."

"You said you weren't convinced it was another woman. Why?"

Scott shrugged as he turned the Volvo into yet another street crowded with impatient, honking traffic. The scenery had shifted from shadowy stands of trees to sand-colored buildings, but she was too preoccupied now to study the signs in Urdu and English that covered them.

She stared at the left side of Scott's jaw instead.

It was tense.

"I've been watching him since Bethany came to me. The man is on edge. Seriously so. I doubt he's getting action from anyone, let alone a hot new number across town. Something is eating at that man, Rae. It has been since he and the ambassador returned from their week-long, off-site, hush-hush that they still won't discuss. That said, I watch the news. And there's the timing of it all. It doesn't take a genius to figure out you were involved with what went down with that A-Team over there, and most likely are still working the fallout. And, no, I am not asking for a confirmation. I may be new to DSS, but I've been around it and the military long enough to know when to stick my nose in, and when to keep it out. I just…thought you should know."

Regan nodded. "Thank you."

Scott let it drop with that, and so did she.

At least out loud. But that behavior Bethany Jeffers had described—potential extramarital activities and spousal abuse aside—it did mesh with a man who was trying to hide something…and was failing. Granted, Jeffers could simply be close to cracking over the political fallout from the cave murders and the psycho-toxin horror. Or, hell, any number of apocalyptic-level developments that top diplomats dealt with and were forced to keep secret, often on a daily basis.

But when she added on the fact that Jeffers might also be hiding knowledge of Brandt and Baby Sadat's dimpled chin…

Were her instincts off about the man?

She was still hashing though the connections and possibilities as they reached the hospital.

Regan took in the massive, modern and well-lit multi complex that appeared to crowd out more than an entire city block as Scott parked the Volvo. "Wow."

He laughed. "I know. It's a medical monster, isn't it? I swear, it feels even bigger inside."

And it did.

The Shifa was also a fascinating mix of modern and traditional. The dichotomy surrounded Regan as