Backblast by Candace Irving (miss read books TXT) 📕

The unwavering intensity in that stare, the rigid set of his jaw, not to mention the subtle bunching of muscle taxing the fabric of that long-sleeved polo as he leaned toward her. Together, they spoke volumes, and they were all communicating the same message.

He might still be pissed, but he wasn't lying.

Except, it didn't make sense. How had the spook even known how to turn that machine on, let alone prepare the samples and run the chromatography tests?

Yes, Riyad was NCIS. And, yes, the man had undoubtedly been exposed to the microTLC and other forensic equipment during his paltry forty-six days of Navy special agent training. But by his own admission, he'd also headed up only a single case before he'd arrived aboard the Griffith.

A traffic accident.

Regan studied both the fresh and expended supplies cluttering the counter. The latex gloves covering his hands. She had no idea where Riyad had actually gleaned his skills, but they were solid. And, tonight, he'd thoroughly abused them.

While she'd been up on the flight deck, conversing with Chief Yrle, Riyad had been down here, surreptitiously testing the ship's bait and that coffee.

Hachemi's high-velocity blood.

Even more telling, given the order of the forensic samples that were lined up beside the machine, he'd tested the blood first. He hadn't wanted to risk her arrival before he'd had a chance to compare his personal results to the ME's official findings.

Riyad had also methodically organized his test strips from the microTLC as though he'd done so countless times before. And next to those strips?

A scrawl-filled memo pad and a smartphone.

She'd bet her pending promotion to chief warrant officer three that he'd taken photos of the results with that phone. Recorded his own case notes. The ones on the upper sheet of that memo pad; the ones that had been written in Arabic.

Riyad was of Saudi descent. Had he written in a potential native tongue out of habit?

Or was there another reason? One that connected this man—not John—to the remaining prisoner in the Griffith's brig?

The spook finally realized he'd left his notes in the open. Within moments the memo pad had been smoothly retrieved, closed and slipped into a pocket in his cargo pants.

A chill slithered down her spine as that scowl actively evaded hers.

She'd been furious with Riyad aboard the carrier when she'd informed him that he was her best suspect, but she hadn't been serious.

Was she wrong?

Her gut voted no. At least regarding the murder.

But something was definitely off about the man, and his actions. Everything from his anger with Chief Yrle over John's desire to conduct a one-on-one, former "comrade-in-arms" interrogation with the translator, to the spook's willingness to suspect one of Uncle Sam's preeminent medical examiners of tampering with evidence.

Unfortunately, she couldn't afford to press Riyad about any of it, much less those unusual notes and the missing squares of fabric.

Hell, she didn't even have a credible working theory to tie it all together.

Damn it, she needed to speak to John—about Nabil Durrani and her so-called partner…and their potential connection.

There was only one way to accomplish that tonight. "Well?"

One of those peeved, too-pretty brows rose. "Well, what?"

She jerked her chin to the evidence bag containing the cup from the conference room. "You tested the dregs from the coffee. What were your professional results?"

"Strychnine."

She nodded calmly, almost amused to find him attempting to discern her own micro-expressions. Almost. Unfortunately for the spook, her tainted genetics all but guaranteed that he'd only see what she wanted him to see.

And, right now, that wasn't the truth.

"You don't seem surprised, Agent Chase. Or disappointed."

She offered a shrug. A positive result had always been a possibility. As for her disappointment? Oh, it was there. But it was conflicted.

As was she.

In the short term, a negative result would've been preferable, since it would've allowed her to bring John into that brig to assist her with Durrani—and, yes, let him know sooner, rather than later, that he wasn't guilty of second-degree murder. A positive result was a bit more complicated. Mostly because she hadn't yet had a chance to establish how the coffee had made it into the conference room—and who'd had access to the cup before the translator had begun drinking from it.

But in the long term? The presence of poison in that cup was an absolute positive. Because she now had something to trace.

If the strychnine was truly there.

"Well?"

It was her turn to raise a brow.

"Does the result I found with the coffee affect your faith in the major?"

"Not in the slightest." But it would affect her actions.

After all, this man had provided the results. She no longer trusted his word any more than the spook had trusted Colonel Tarrington's. Hence, she'd be coming right back to this compartment along with Chief Yrle after her meeting with Durrani, so she could double check those "results".

She tipped her head toward the bagged evidence. "What about the major's ACU blouse?"

The spook's entire body tensed. The effect was subtle, but it was there. "What about it?"

"It was laid out on the counter when I arrived." She pointed toward the pair of scissors partially concealed behind a bucket of rat bait. The ones that were in danger of sliding off the counter with the next roll of the ship. "The remaining dregs in that cup were sparse to say the least. I assume you used those to cut off a sample of the coffee-stained fabric so you could test that as well."

"I did."

The hell with omission. Whatever Riyad's true tasking aboard this ship, he was willing to lie bald and outright to accomplish it.

But he hadn't inherited her father's ignoble skills.

Riyad might not have spotted her lies during their chat, but she'd just nailed his ass to the proverbial wall on another one of his. Not only had the tension in his body ratcheted that much tighter, it was now backed up by the flagging tic that had taken up residence at the outer right edge of his jaw.

She nudged another