Backblast by Candace Irving (brene brown rising strong .TXT) 📗

as she was that John's actions hadn't led, or even contributed, to an Afghan translator's death. Especially this translator.

Instead, the spook was pissed.

Why?

Tarrington must have been wondering the same thing, because he'd begun frowning too. "Yes, Agent Riyad. Strychnine." The colonel retrieved the blood and tissue samples he'd finished testing and began to pack them up for transport. "Unfortunately, this is not the first case I've heard of in the military. The poison is obtained from strychnos nux vomica and related plants found in southern Asia and Australia, and is quite deadly. Death usually occurs within two hours of a fatal dose. Though strychnine was once available as cathartic pills, it has no true medicinal use. However, since the early sixteenth century, the compound has also been used to eradicate—"

"—rodents. I know." The spook had finally shifted his scowl from the screen to her. "What I don't understand, is how the hell it got on board a naval vessel. Especially since rat poison hasn't contained strychnine for decades."

An excellent question.

Unless they weren't looking for rat poison at all.

Regan had finally placed the case that had been dogging her brain since the beginning of the autopsy, quite possibly the same case to which Tarrington had referred. One of her instructors had shared the details during her CID course—ironically, the same instructor who'd become her mentor and one of Hachemi's many victims: Art Valens.

A decade earlier, Art had been tasked with investigating the death of a married sergeant in Bagram, Afghanistan. During the autopsy, the sergeant's body had displayed the same distinctive rictus and contracted digits as Hachemi's. The coroner had initially suspected rabies from one of the dogs that soldiers snuck onto the airbase.

It hadn't been rabies at all, but gopher bait.

Unbeknownst to the sergeant, the bait had been mixed in with the food his extracurricular girlfriend had been bringing to his quarters. But, according to Art, it had taken time and a hell of a lot of the stuff to kill the sergeant.

Not only had Hachemi been aboard the Griffith for the past fourteen days, he'd been in the brig the entire time.

Did the killer work in the galley?

But even if word about that cave massacre had leaked out and someone in the galley had decided to exchange his or her integrity for revenge, how would a sailor have gotten ahold of the poison?

Rats were one thing. Surely warships didn't have a reason to keep gopher bait lying around?

Then again, "It's possible the ship's rat poison was mislabeled at the factory. If so, the container might actually contain gopher bait. Or perhaps the bait was manufactured outside the States, in a country without stringent pesticide oversight."

As soon as she left the OR, she'd have someone from the carrier hail the Griffith via ship-to-ship comms. Chief Yrle could begin collecting up any bait the Griffith had aboard before she and Riyad even returned.

Naturally, Hachemi's cell would have to be searched too; Durrani's as well.

And soon.

Tarrington nodded. "It's also possible your suspect only intended to make Mr. Hachemi ill. The murder may have been accidental due to his heart."

Riyad ignored the ME's comment as he continued to scowl—at her. "That's what CID's nauseatingly feted agent is going to toss onto the table? A mislabeled carton?"

Regan ignored the feted agent crack as she shrugged. They had to start somewhere. And, frankly, she'd come across weirder over the past few years. Granted, Tarrington's possibility was by far the more likely scenario of the two. But until she had a chance to sit down and work out a timeline of who, besides those two Marine guards, even knew the translator had been coming aboard the Griffith—as well as who had access to strychnine—she was as stumped at the spook.

Except, Riyad wasn't stumped. Far from it. It was right there in that scowl.

He couldn't possibly still believe John was guilty of murder?

But his next words suggested yes. They were also directed not at her but at the ME. "The injuries to the translator's face—"

Tarrington's shake was swift and decisive. "Did not contribute to his death. Mr. Hachemi would've needed to have his jaw wired shut for six to eight weeks, and his nose set into place, but that's all. The poison caused his first convulsion, which in turn caused his heart attack. Without the strychnine in his system, the man would have lived."

There. Surely that was definitive enough?

But if anything, Riyad's scowl deepened, even as he continued to ignore her in favor of the ME. "Can we borrow the microTLC?"

Tarrington nodded. "Certainly. Not only is Agent Chase certified on its use, I don't anticipate needing it over the next twenty-four hours. Possibly longer. My suicide involves a handgun. If my needs change, I'll contact the Griffith."

The ME removed the disposable materials he'd used for the two tests he'd run and closed the case. He turned to pass the microTLC to her, only to be intercepted by Riyad.

Tarrington's brow rose as the spook brusquely thanked him for his time and turned to depart the compartment…with the case.

Wow. Riyad must've skipped military etiquette at his NCIS agent's course, because he'd been nothing short of an absolute jerk since they'd met. With everyone.

As for the microTLC, she didn't care who carted it to the Griffith. The only thing that concerned her was the tests she needed to run—and the results.

She offered the colonel a shrug and her own decidedly more sincere appreciation for his time and expertise during the autopsy.

"You're welcome, Agent Chase. I'll forward my initial report to your email before I depart for Bahrain." With that, the ME resumed packing the samples he'd collected.

She'd been dismissed.

Regan departed the OR.

She hadn't expected Riyad to be waiting outside the door for her, and he wasn't. But neither had she expected to find him at the far side of the otherwise deserted patient ward, already unmasked and with one of those shipboard, sound-powered phones—powered by, well, sound—fused to his right ear and mouth. From the tension knotting up the muscles