Backblast by Candace Irving (miss read books TXT) 📕

But someone had.

"Rae, I did not tell him about the hairs."

"I know that." She might've doubted John's integrity weeks ago, at the beginning of this investigation, but she didn't now. Nor would she again. Not after everything that'd happened since. And she sure as hell couldn't doubt John's integrity when he'd been willing to go to prison because he believed he'd killed Hachemi in anger.

"So, who told Mac? Do you know?"

She shook her head. "I have no idea. But if whoever leaked those hairs and the traitor are one and the same, we can track him or her through my BI."

Whoever had shared the contents of the background investigation that'd been run on her prior to the granting of her top secret clearance, had either pulled her BI and read it personally…or knew the person who had.

John scrubbed at the growth on his jaw as he blew out his breath. "What else did you get? Though I gotta say, that's a hell of a lot more than either I or your NCIS counterpart were able to ferret out, and we worked on those two bastards for a week."

And therein lay the rub. She still wasn't convinced that Riyad had wanted answers. Though his reaction tonight had gone a long way to refuting the suspicion.

If the spook was dirty, why had Riyad been so livid when he'd found Durrani dead in that cell tonight? He should've been relieved.

But he definitely hadn't been.

One thing was still certain, "Riyad thinks you're the traitor."

Of all the times for that dent of John's to carve into his cheek, this was not one she'd have figured was in the running. Then again, the smile it flanked was decidedly grim. "Yeah, I figured that out this past week. Would've said something to you earlier this morning but the man was standing right there. By the time he left to take that call, I figured I'd already tossed enough rotten meat onto your plate."

"Why would he even suspect you? For that matter, why would he risk entering that cell tonight when I was making progress with Durrani? Because he nearly did. Durrani pretended to make some offhand comment—but it was deliberate—about equipment, and Riyad almost vaulted through the door. I thought he was going to take Vetter down when the Marine moved in to stop him."

"Equipment?"

She nodded. "Possibly…lost equipment?"

John's hand made another pass through the unruly growth on his jaw. Anyone else might've deemed it identical to the first. It wasn't. There'd been a pause at the start. It had been almost infinitesimal. And, yet, that pause had reverberated through her gut like a bunker buster bomb going off deep inside a stateside hardened target.

John knew something. Something he was loath to share.

Even with her.

"John?"

Another pass though that unruly thicket.

The aftershocks multiplied. "You know why Riyad's got it out for you, don't you? And you know what Durrani meant by that comment. The two are tied together, aren't they?"

"I think so. I need to look into it first. Confirm a few things."

A few classified things. Otherwise, why not offer them up now, given everything that was going on?

"Christ." That scarred hand made yet another pass, causing her gut to clamp down hard, because this pass had been followed up by an even more telling sigh. One that was almost a growl. "I need to get off this boat, Rae. Make a phone call in private, several in fact. Call in a few markers. Get some damned answers."

"And then?"

"And then I'll share. With you—and Palisade."

Another bunker buster dropped in, and this one exploded deeper still. If John hadn't even confided in the general yet, this was worse than she'd feared.

16

Her bed was moving.

No…rocking.

Regan kept her eyes closed, savoring the soothing motion as the fog of not nearly enough sleep ebbed, leaving behind a budding headache as well as the nagging need for caffeine that had caused it. She was still in her rack aboard the Griffith.

But John was not.

It had taken sixteen months, but she finally understood how he'd felt the night they'd slept together in Hohenfels. She'd heard his confusion and loss as he'd woken to an empty bed and called out for her…while she'd been sneaking out the back door.

Yes, she'd had an excellent reason for leaving then. And, yes, he'd had an equally solid reason as to why he'd slipped out of this metal cradle and her stateroom in the middle of the night. But that didn't make this cold emptiness any easier to bear.

Worse, she had all that remaining blood to confront.

The stains would've dried and would be set in by now, turning the tan leather of her combat boots a nauseating shade of rust. It was in the cracks and crevices of her sidearm too, along with her holster and her keys. Even her credentials had been embedded with Durrani's parting revenge.

Where she'd find the hydrogen peroxide to get it all out while trapped on a warship in the middle of the Arabian Sea, she had no idea.

Sickbay?

Not an option. Mantia would be there.

She'd successfully avoided the ship's doc last night, but only because of Chief Yrle's quick thinking and willingness to cover for her. She wouldn't be so lucky again. Not after the way her hand and forearm had begun to flail around like gasping fish out of water before she'd even left the brig. The doc would insist on examining her. Quite possibly, deem it necessary to shoot off an obligatory physician-to-physician assessment to Fort Campbell…and Gil.

If Mantia didn't opt instead to head directly to whichever stateroom Palisade had been assigned and rat out her decompensating psyche the moment the general woke.

What time was it?

Her alarm hadn't gone off. Regan felt for the wide, grosgrain band on her wrist. Her watch wasn't there. Confused, she opened her eyes.

Near pitch black greeted her.

John must've turned off the desk lamp prior to his departure. With the stateroom's porthole sealed shut, all she could make out on her wrist was