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

simply lowered his fingers and turned to tap her crime kit. "Now, what's in here?"

He waited patiently as she fumbled with the tiny tumbler dials on her kit's lock twice before she was able to open it. She tugged on a set of gloves and retrieved the electronic frame, removing it from its paper bag.

She switched the frame on and flipped through the photos until she reached the group shot that also showed the baby's face.

"I found the frame tucked underneath Brandt's bed. Take a look at this image of Brandt and the Sadats three, and tell me what you see."

John's low whistle said it all, as did the scarred hand that came up to rub his cheek—directly over the groove that slashed down into his now cultivated thicket.

"Yeah." She returned the frame to the bag, resealed and re-annotated it before securing it inside her case and resetting the tumbler. "But here's the thing. When Scott told Mrs. Sadat about Brandt's death, she was upset—but she wasn't devastated."

"You think it's Crier's kid?"

"I don't know." Yet. The photo she had of Crier hadn't contained a cleft chin. But it could've skipped a generation in his bloodline—or Inaya's. Along with the Type 1 diabetes the boy carried. That was hereditary too. Either way, "It's possible. I also know that Crier requested Brandt's presence on the Griffith detail. But if the request was significant, how?" Had Crier wanted Brandt away from Mrs. Sadat for some reason?

Were the men involved in a sex triangle? It wouldn't be the first time she'd come across one in her line of work. And a triangle was definitely grounds for blackmail.

Or had Aamer Sadat set out to use his wife to play the two off each other?

Because even if Crier was the father, that didn't mean that Brandt hadn't slept with the woman too. All she knew for certain was that Brandt had administered the poison that killed Tamir Hachemi. Brandt was definitely being blackmailed about something. Something big enough that he'd murder to keep it hidden.

But what?

Damn it, she needed more. Knowing who'd fathered that kid would get her closer to why Brandt had done it—and who had provided the strychnine at Al Dhafra.

"John—"

He held up a finger as his phone vibrated from within his suit jacket. "Just a sec." He retrieved his phone from an inner pocket and clicked into his text app. "It's from one of Ty's men. The guy just followed Aamer Sadat back to the hospital. Seems Sadat had stepped out to visit his banker. He took a call when he returned to his car, then stopped by his older brother's place on the way back to the hospital. Sadat's in the ICU now."

Inaya Sadat had been telling the truth then. At least about that.

Regan checked her watch as John texted his contact.

It was nearing 2100. The woman she met with tonight might've been willing to kick the memory of Brandt to the curb and quickly, but she was not leaving her baby. Inaya Sadat would be in that waiting room too.

Unfortunately, Regan couldn't risk dropping by twice in one night, let alone this late. It would kill the embassy-employee, compassionate visit excuse she and Scott had set up.

Much as she hated to admit it, other than reviewing the backgrounders and the case files, there wasn't a damned thing she could do to further her part in the investigation until the embassy reopened in the morning.

Hopefully Riyad and Agent Castile were having more luck in their search for the identity of the final victim from that cave.

If Riyad had even linked up with Castile as ordered.

She tucked her fingertips into the tripled-up braid at the nape of her neck, feeling around for the oversized bobby-pins that kept it in place. It took forever to get a decent enough grip to pull the first pin free. She was reaching for the second when John set his phone down and turned her around so that her back was to him.

"I can do it."

"Yes, you can." He located the three other pins and slipped them free with embarrassing ease, then removed the elastic band from the base of the braid and began unraveling it until her hair fell down her back. "But even you'd have trouble doing this."

This?

She bit back a groan as his fingers dug deeply into her hair, slowly, but firmly massaging the tension and worry of the day from her scalp, before those magic fingers and palms moved down to engulf her neck and shoulders. She had no idea how long she stood there, strangling her subsequent groans and sighs, but by the time he finished, she realized what he'd really accomplished and why.

The tremors were still there, but they were subtle now. Her arm had somehow relaxed right along with the muscles in her scalp, neck and shoulders.

Satisfaction gleamed down at her as she turned.

"They teach you that in the big bad snake-eater course too?"

He shook his head as he tugged at the knot on his loosened tie until it was completely free. "Internet. I looked it up today during a down moment." He tossed his tie on the desk and reached out to smooth several strands of hair from her cheek. "Now go take a shower. Or a bath. Either will help, too. I'll order dinner while you relax."

She shook her head.

"You're not hungry?"

Oh, she was hungry. And, as he slid those daunting arms from his suit jacket, then tossed it on the desk so he could remove his shoulder holster, she was getting hungrier by the second. Damn, this man looked good in a suit. ACUs, too.

But he looked even better naked.

His brow quirked questioningly as she continued to watch while he tossed his holster and the 9mm tucked inside onto the desk, before starting in on his backup firearms and concealed knives. The final nest of weapons could've outfitted a third-world junta.

She ignored the weapons and stepped closer, her intention clear.

Those proprietary hands she'd missed so damned much slid