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

the flood lights cut out, suffusing the entire visible world in a cold, inky black.

"We should go inside."

"Yes, ma'am. Would you like to head to my office to examine the rat bait?"

What she wanted to do was go directly to John's quarters and let him know that he wasn't guilty of murder. But she wouldn't.

Instead, she'd do her job.

"Yes." It was time to fire up that microTLC the ME had loaned her. "I'll need you to serve as a witness while I test the bait, as well as the dregs of coffee from that cup in the conference room this morning."

And, then she'd see John.

No matter the results, or any new arguments the spook provided.

"Certainly." Yrle pointed toward the starboard side door in the Griffith's superstructure. "This way."

They crossed the deck in darkness and silence. Once they'd passed through the skin of the ship, the chief led the way to her office.

Halfway there, Regan suspected that whoever was up on that bridge had ordered up a change in course, because the ship's rocking and rolling had eased a bit. The Griffith was also quieter than it had been when she'd left, though the lack of manmade sounds made the hum of machinery and subdued creaking of pipes that much more noticeable.

Still, the noise was calming, lulling. As was the red lighting of the dimly lit passageways they traversed.

By the time they reached the master-at-arms shack, the standard white lighting inside was almost too bright. But that wasn't what jarred her.

It was Riyad.

The spook stood with his back to her, flush with the waist-high counter, the microTLC kit already open in front of him. A collection of expended plastic developing chambers, stunted cotton swabs and tiny, acetonitrile-mixing baggies were strung out along the top of the counter to the spook's right—along with a turquoise-tinted brick of rat bait and the used coffee cup she'd signed into evidence.

And something else.

Was that John's ACU blouse? The one she'd also signed into evidence?

She stepped closer, spotting the flat-black embroidered, major's oak leaf cluster on the center placket—and more—before Riyad had a chance to turn around.

It was John's. The implications were downright stunning.

To her case.

She could make out the lash of dried coffee and the copious splatters of Hachemi's high-velocity blood across the breast pockets and collar of John's uniform. She'd also noted the three tiny squares of camouflaged fabric that were missing. Given the crisp edges, the fabric squares had been carefully cut out for testing. But the missing fabric wasn't anywhere near that dried lash of coffee.

They'd been taken from the generous splatter of blood. Blood that had already been tested aboard the carrier during that autopsy.

There was only one reason. One person. Someone an NCIS agent believed was capable of lying on behalf of the US Army. And it wasn't her.

Colonel Tarrington.

Riyad had been actively seeking proof that one of the military's leading and heretofore unimpeachable medical examiners had deliberately falsified evidence.

For John.

What the hell was going on?

13

By the time the NCIS agent turned around, Regan had instinctively drawn on her father's duplicitous DNA and masked her shock.

Riyad had not.

She spotted the spike of guilt that invaded the man's hardened features and opted for furious, proprietary…and downright dumb.

Leaving Chief Yrle to mark time at the door, Regan stalked up to the counter and jabbed her index finger into the spook's sinewy chest for good measure. "What the hell do you think you're doing? If your ineptitude has tainted my evidence, I'll have your badge pulled so fast they'll be hauling your ass off this boat by dawn—as a civilian."

It worked.

Oh, he was still pissed. At her, and at nearly getting caught in the act. Heck, he was unquestionably still livid with John, too. But the man had no idea she'd seen those distinctive, missing squares. From the way Riyad immediately swung back to the counter to smoothly fold the stained ACU blouse in on itself, effectively concealing his handwork as he returned the evidence to its bag, he was willing to do just about anything to keep it that way.

Once again, there was only one reason. He did not want her knowing he'd doubted Colonel Tarrington's impartiality. At least not yet.

But why?

And who, in addition to the spook, shared that doubt? Because someone did. And whoever it was, they were seriously high up on the food chain. Riyad's and hers.

General Palisade and USASOC?

Or Palisade's boss, Admiral Kettering, and USASOC's higher headquarters, USSOCOM?

At the very least, there was a parallel investigation going on. One to which she and Colonel Tarrington were not privy, much less John.

Another, even more insidious thought gave her pause.

Had the NCIS agent gone rogue? The one turning to face her with that familiar scowl leveled her way yet again?

It was possible. Based on the fine lines that had already begun to set in at the outer corners of the man's eyes, he had roughly ten years on her twenty-six. Riyad might be new to investigations, but he wasn't new to life. To temptation.

Disappointment.

Christ. She couldn't afford the distraction of an interagency face-off, let alone a less than forthcoming partner operating with his own hidden—and possibly nefarious—agenda. She had another critical confrontation to prepare for.

Her showdown with Durrani.

Despite the hour, it was to her advantage to keep the doc waiting on her for a bit longer. But if she waited too long, she'd blow that advantage.

And then where would her mission be?

Regan turned to the counter as Riyad retrieved the remaining evidence bag he'd unsealed. He tucked the coffee cup inside and closed it, then obtained a fresh bag for the turquoise brick of bait he'd tested. He sealed that bag as well, then logged the rat bait into evidence, that dark displeasure of his deepening as he noted her deliberate scrutiny.

A weighted sigh filled the master-at-arms shack. His. "I do know what I'm doing, Agent Chase. With our evidence and the microTLC. You seem eager to forget that there are two professional investigators aboard this vessel, both capable