Covert Evidence by Rachel Grant Read Free Book Online

constantly.” He touched the spot between her brows. “And you get an adorable wrinkle here, when you are delayed—like when the cab was stuck too long at an intersection.” He leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, “It makes a man wonder if you time everything.”
    Her entire body flooded with heat at the innuendo. As if that wasn’t enough, his lips brushed her ear. “Lavender,” he murmured. “Nice.”
    She shivered. She should be put off, but that recklessness that had been eager for this dinner now considered skipping the meal all together. She might need to thank Suzanne for throwing a box of condoms in her suitcase when it hadn’t occurred to Cressida she might want them.
    She was here to gather information for her dissertation, she reminded herself, which would start when she spoke with Berzan after he got off work this evening. No sex with John Baker, no matter how well this date went.
    She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
    He pulled back. “Hungry?”
    “Starving,” she said truthfully. She’d had only a paltry pastry this morning at the airport and had woken from her long nap feeling ravenous.
    He held out an arm. “The restaurant I mentioned is only a few blocks away. You up for a walk?”
    “Absolutely.” She took his arm, enjoying the feel of his firm bicep and the crisp, soapy smell of his skin. The sultry evening air enveloped her in a warm embrace.
    They reached the restaurant, a small, cozy space she would never have guessed was a restaurant from the tiny sign and storefront. Inside it smelled heavenly, roasting meat, spices, and flatbread. The savory scents reminded her just how hungry she was. They were seated quickly, and John conversed with the host in Turkish, who nodded and smiled and then disappeared into the kitchen.
    “The food here is more Kurdish than Turkish, so I ordered some samples for you to try. Hope you aren’t feeling homesick for a burger and fries.”
    She shook her head. “No. I’m game to try new things. It all smells wonderful.”
    “They don’t usually serve alcohol here, but the owner has a few bottles of wine he keeps handy for non-Muslim friends. They have a nice Italian wine that goes well with the lamb köfte .”
    She cocked her head, impressed by the fact that he was considered a friend by the proprietor. “Do you come to Van often?”
    He shrugged. “Now and again.”
    A man came to their table and greeted John warmly. John introduced Cressida, startling her when the fake name was the only word she’d understood. Damn. She should probably tell him the truth. She held out her hand to the proprietor, but the man smiled and crossed his arms.
    “He offers no offense. He’s devout and can’t touch a woman who is not part of his family after washing, before prayer. And the Mu’adhin is about to deliver the Adhan for Maghrib .”
    Cressida nodded and smiled. “I understand. It’s nice meeting you.”
    The man beamed and spoke rapidly to John before nodding to her and leaving.
    “It’s going to be hard for me if I don’t have a translator, isn’t it?”
    John nodded. “Not many speak English here. You haven’t arranged for a translator?”
    “I did, but he’s working right now, so we haven’t connected. I’m hoping to hear from him tonight, after he gets off work.” She leaned forward. “It’s a shame you’ll be busy with your job, or I’d offer you the money I was going to pay Berzan.”
    “Berzan?” he asked.
    “He’s the brother of a man I hired in Antalya for some translation work.”
    John’s eyes flattened, but the look passed so quickly she almost wondered if she imagined the cold, hard look. But the chill that trickled up her spine said it had happened.
    The waiter arrived with the bottle of wine followed rapidly by the tray of samples John had ordered, and the unsettled feeling passed.
    As she tried each item, John explained the dish, warning her before she sampled the raw meatballs—the Turkish version of