Backblast by Candace Irving (miss read books TXT) 📕

That stubbornness wasn't about to bend, and she didn't have the strength left to argue. Not after the barrage of memories that had pummeled in during her shower.

She crawled into the bed.

To her surprise and shamefully profound relief, John followed, carefully shifting her body over as he wedged his titanic frame in beside her, trousers, size-fifteen combat boots and all. He was using his body as he had in his driveway when his irate houseguest had shown up after dinner. Only here, now, he was deliberately shielding her from the ship and what had happened aboard it tonight…as best he could.

It was working.

Her back was to the outer bulkhead of the vessel, her face pressed up against his battered chest as he pulled her close, wrapping those solid, cocooning arms around her. All she could see was that endless expanse of muscle and those crisscrossing scars.

Damn, she'd missed them.

She closed her eyes and melted into his support. Given what they were and were not wearing, and more importantly, where they were, this should have felt wrong. But it didn't. If anything, it felt so very right it was terrifying. She was as human as the next soldier, female or not. She'd needed another before. But lately?

She'd needed him.

She had no idea how long she remained there, cradled against the length of his body, absorbing the soothing drum of his heart and the musky, lulling warmth of his skin. Eventually, the shards of ice that had begun to splinter into her bones before she'd even reached the stateroom began to thaw. The trembling eased. Even her arm relaxed.

Her fingers were still quivering off and on, but the tremors were subtle now. So much so, she could almost pretend they didn't exist.

Almost.

"You okay?"

The words rumbled against her forehead, cheeks and lips. She refused to open her eyes, but she did shake her head in answer as she resigned herself to the truth. She had no choice. She could lie to the entire world with ease, even lie to herself.

But not to this man. Never again.

"I fucked up."

"You did not."

She appreciated the support. But, yeah, she had.

More than she'd ever feared possible.

Nor had she needed that verbal accusation Agent Riyad had flung in her face when he'd vaulted into the brig, because she'd already internalized it.

John shifted, allowing just enough air between them so that he could hook his fingers beneath her chin and use them to gently force her to meet his stare.

The determination had returned. And it was darker and more firmly entrenched than before. "You did not do this. There was no way you could've known that bastard had those scissors. This is on Brandt and Vetter. And, trust me, they know it. Vetter's already taken responsibility. The corporal knew Durrani was getting his stitches out. But he was so focused on getting that rattled corpsman out of the cell after Durrani slammed into her, he didn't even think about scissors until he was laying the man's body out on the deck—just as that bastard of a doc intended."

Silence settled in as John finished.

She left it lying between them, punctuated by the rhythmic creaking of the piping and venting in the compartment.

"I mean it, Rae."

That much was clear by the insistent storm that had overtaken his stare. But how had John even found out about Durrani and those scissors? Hell, why was he even here, in her stateroom and not his? He hadn't left on his own, had he?

For a split second, trepidation reigned.

John shook his head. "Palisade."

Great, first Yrle, and now this man was reading her mind. Frankly, she preferred the former. Because there were far too many things she never wanted John to discover, much less from her.

Still, the panic eased.

"I assume the general came aboard during that last helo ops?" The one the bridge had called away while she'd been standing over Durrani's body, definitely more rattled than the suture-removing corpsman had been.

John nodded. "His plane had just touched down at Andrews Airbase when he got the word about what I'd done to Hachemi. Palisade had it refueled and a fresh pilot and crew brought onboard, and immediately took off for Al Dhafra. The ship sent their second Super Stallion out to grab him while you and Riyad were on the carrier for Hachemi's autopsy."

Hachemi's autopsy—

But John had not only read her mind again, he was already nodding. "Strychnine." Disgust filtered through the gray, blackening it as he shook his head. "Hell, I never denied wanting to shut that bastard up so badly that I snapped. I admit I intentionally cracked his face into that bulkhead. But poison? There is no way I'd feed anyone that cowardly shit. Palisade knows it, too. When he found out that Riyad still had me confined to quarters, he went ballistic. Ordered my release on the spot."

From there, John had headed directly here.

That was churning through the black clouds too. Along with the rest. John being told what Durrani had done in front of her tonight…and how he'd accomplished it. Thank God John hadn't arrived before she'd managed to scrub the blood from her face. She wasn't sure she could've handled his seeing her like that.

Though really, finding her on the floor of the shower, cowering in the corner, couldn't have been much better, could it? For either of them.

"You know…I've never killed a man before."

Oh, after nearly nine years in the Army, she'd seen plenty die. And as an MP and then CID, she'd dealt with the fallout of far too many additional deaths. She'd even shot two men over the years. But, somehow, she'd managed to never actually kill one.

Until tonight.

"Rae, that bastard killed himself. Even Riyad was forced to admit that Durrani intentionally committed suicide."

Part of her wanted to believe him, desperately. The rest just couldn't quite get there.

If a lie of omission was still a lie, surely failing to notice that a man was primed to slit his throat and bleed out in front of her—and had