It was vital.
She waited until John paused his stream of gravelly Urdu, then drew in her breath and finished it. "I know your husband did not father your son. I'm not judging or condemning you—and there is no need for me to share your answer with anyone outside this room." At least, not at the moment. "But I must know; was Staff Sergeant Brandt the father?"
As John's gravelly Urdu filled the tiny room once again, Regan watched the horror, confusion and continued shock play out in the muscles in and around the woman's forehead, eyes and mouth.
Inaya's softer, insistent response followed.
"She swears Brandt's not the father. She also swears on the Qur'an that she never slept with him."
The micro-expressions in Inaya's face combined with the trembling tension in her hand as she reached out to grip John's scarred fingers and repeat her words. The woman was telling the truth. As if she'd realized what she'd done—that she'd touched yet another man who was not her husband—Inaya snatched her fingers from John's and knotted them tightly in her lap.
It didn't help. They were still shaking.
Regan knew the feeling.
It was the rest that confused her. If Inaya Sadat was telling the truth about her level of intimacy with Staff Sergeant Brandt, what had she missed during her initial canvass of that electronic photo? Regan anchored her palm against the wall of John's back, hoping to use the support to ratchet down the increase in her own tremors as she pulled the memory of the photo and its frame into the center of her mind.
There, she studied it. Considered the possibilities.
There was only one explanation left.
Brandt hadn't been staring at the woman on his right in that photo, he'd been gazing past her to the man on her right. The staff sergeant hadn't been having an affair with Inaya, he'd been having it with the woman's husband, Aamer Sadat.
"Tom Crier. He's your son's father, isn't he?" Lord, she hoped so. Because she'd just lobbed her last grenade. She was completely out of ammo, at least any that was capable of reaching their true target in time to take him down.
John's shoulder tensed beneath her hand, but he quickly translated.
This time there was no insistent denial. Just a fresh crop of very telling tears. They filled the woman's dark eyes, turning them darker and more luminous. And then, an ever-so-slight nod. The tears slipped free, filling the silence, drowning it out.
More tears followed.
"Do you need me to press her for a verbal yes?"
She shook her head, then realized John was still focused on his duties. He was staring at the sobbing woman in front of them, not up at her. "No. But I could—"
She stopped as the door opened.
Before Regan could turn around, Inaya jumped to her feet, slipping around a now standing John so that she could throw herself into the newcomer's arms.
Aamer Sadat.
It appeared Regan was going to get a crack at the woman's husband after all.
She swiftly catalogued the man's dark hair and eyes, full lips and neatly trimmed beard accenting all that dusky skin as he took the time to soothe his wife's tears before quietly conversing with her. Aamer's backgrounder photo had not done him justice. His wife might be gorgeous; this man was downright beautiful.
No wonder Brandt had fallen hard enough to risk his career.
Aamer also appeared to truly care for his wife. Though the soft pats to her back and gentle soothings of her cheek were decidedly brotherly, they were genuine. As much as Regan hated to admit it, Aamer's sincere affection for his wife provided even more leverage to use against him and his family.
She didn't argue when Aamer opened the door to the tiny room and sent his wife back to the ICU's waiting area.
Silence swirled in as the door closed, pulsing through the air with anticipation.
Regan could feel John standing behind her, supporting her personally and professionally, but ultimately leaving this new interview to her.
She waited patiently. From the gamut of emotions that had passed through Aamer's dusky features during that soothing session with his wife, Inaya had filled him in on everything that had happened since his latest departure from the hospital.
Frankly, she was curious which element Aamer would respond to first. His choice would reveal a hell of a lot, and set the tone for more.
"This treatment of yours. It is coming here soon?"
"Yes."
Relief flooded those same dusky features, cementing Regan's instincts regarding the man and his priorities. "What do you want to know?"
Anything and everything that would help her find the bastard who'd infected that sweet baby lying in the ICU. Because that flood of relief had also confirmed that Aamer Sadat was not a traitor or Webber's contact at the embassy.
But if she was lucky, his answers would lead them to whoever was. "You and Staff Sergeant Brandt were lovers."
She could feel the slight tension behind her as the surprise rippled through John. But that was it. John remained standing where he was and quiet. She was grateful.
It allowed her to focus on Aamer's face and body language. Aamer had not been surprised by her comment.
Wary? Yes.
And, intriguingly, more than a bit relieved.
Or, perhaps, not so intriguing.
As huge as the risk to Aamer would be should his sexual orientation come out in any Muslim country, let alone this one, she understood the urge to shout it anyway. Or at least to whisper it. After all, she'd grown up with her own insidious secrets. Her own dual identity as she'd struggled with what she could share and, more importantly, what she couldn't with her closest friends…including now, as an adult, with Gil and Mira.
And, yes, even John.
As for Aamer, the man finally sighed. He nodded firmly. "Yes. We were in love. Neither Stephen nor I expected it. And with our careers, perhaps we should have resisted. But we did
