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But Jane still had no concrete evidence to tie Wendy Warmcox to this dangerous arms dealer named W. Frustrated, she leaned back in her desk chair, propped her feet on her desk, cupped her hands behind her neck, and closed incest rape stories her eyes. For the umpteenth time, Jane replayed in her head the mental tape-recording of the briefing that M had given her about W the previous day. Jane desperately wanted to remember something, anything, that would identify Wendy Warmcox as W's wife. But she finished playing back the briefing in her mind, and still had nothing. Jane leaned forward in her chair, set incest rape stories her feet back on the floor, picked up the stack of the Agency's surveillance photos of W again, and tossed them onto her desk. She spread the photos out, so her eyes could scan them all at once. As Jane looked at each photo, her frustration increased. Nothing in that photo. Nothing here. Nothing, nothing, and still more of nothing.

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