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

"I confirmed strychnine."

"Well, then." She reached out and caught the scissors as they finally slid past the edge of the counter. "You repack the microTLC while Chief Yrle and I gather up the evidence and get it tucked back into the safe before it ends up on the deck."

Surprise entered those dark eyes at her seemingly easy acquiescence.

Wariness joined in.

But he did step forward, returning the unexpended chromatography testing supplies into the foam slots quickly, neatly…and absently.

Yeah, he had experience with the machine. A lot of experience.

And that was more than curious.

As the master-at-arms chief moved deeper into the compartment, Regan wondered how much the woman had read into what had just transpired during the confrontation she'd shared with the spook—and what the chief's conclusions had been. She suspected she'd find out soon enough. But for now, Yrle's bland expression as she accepted John's ACU blouse and the coffee cup before rounding the corner to re-stow the evidence in the safe revealed precisely…nothing.

Impressive.

Riyad had done himself a disservice by pissing the woman off this morning.

She wouldn't be making the same mistake.

Regan handed over the bait next. She was about to thank the chief when the sound-powered phone hanging from the bulkhead beside the safe buzzed.

The chief closed the safe and secured the lock before answering the phone. "Master-at-arms office, Chief Yrle speaking."

The creaking of the pipes and venting in the overhead took up a pronounced chorus as the woman listened to whoever was on the other end of that line for several moments…as she frowned into the receiver.

"Hold on." Yrle turned all the way around to the counter and held out the phone. "Ma'am, it's Corporal Vetter. Durrani heard this last helo ops; he thinks you were on it. The prisoner's demanding to speak with you."

Demanding?

Regan stepped around the counter and accepted the phone.

Yep, demanding he was. In fact, that was a serious understatement. She could hear the bastard bellowing her name in the background while the receiver was still a good ten inches from her face.

"Hello, Corporal. I understand the prisoner is ready to talk."

Vetter's sedate southern drawl filled her right ear. "Evening, ma'am. You could say that. He's been asking to see you since two helo ops ago. Neither Brandt nor I confirmed that you left the ship, let alone returned, and the doc's been bellyaching rather loudly about that lack of confirmation ever since."

"Understood." She shifted her attention to Riyad and caught that murky, perpetual scowl of his as the man snapped the microTLC's case shut. "Corporal, I may have a few minutes to chat before I turn in. Why don't you go ahead and seat Dr. Durrani at the interview table in his cell while I run my errands? I do have a few things to take care of beforehand, though. It was a long flight." An even longer autopsy. "I could use a cup of joe. I'll be down…eventually."

She could practically feel the corporal's grin through the line. She could definitely hear it. "Yes, ma'am. I'll take care of that for you pronto. And…enjoy your coffee."

"I will." She might even bring a cup for the Marine.

Regan passed the phone back to Yrle.

The chief slotted the receiver home. "How long are you going to make him wait, shackled to the bar welded to that table?"

Regan rubbed the thin scar above her right temple. The one she'd earned during the wee hours of Christmas morning just over two weeks ago when this entire, twisted case had begun. When Durrani's first victim, Sergeant Blessing, had finally succumbed to the hallucinations brought on by that damned psycho-toxin and had unwittingly stabbed his beloved, pregnant wife, killing her and his unborn child.

What she wanted was to leave the bastard who was really responsible for that stabbing chained to that table for the rest of his unnatural life. But since the CO of this ship, as well as the upper echelons of the US Army, would eventually frown on that, "I am thirsty. And I did miss dinner. Do they have chow aboard this ship at night?"

The depth of Yrle's grin sufficed for both the chief and Vetter. "Yes, ma'am. In fact, midrats—midnight rations—are still being served in the enlisted galley. And the coffee's so strong, engineering's been rumored to run the emergency generator off it."

"Sounds perfect. Got everything secured in here?"

The chief nodded.

"Then, let's go."

Riyad's brows shot up. "Are you seriously headed down to the galley?"

She offered a shrug as both she and Yrle came to a halt beside the door. "Why not? I'm hungry." And she could definitely use a hit of that intriguing, Navy-enlisted-style caffeine—perhaps two. Not to mention, she could use a bit of time and distance from the asshole looming over her so she could collect her thoughts and plot her coming strategy before she went down to the brig to deal with the next one.

"What time do you plan on reaching the brig, Agent Chase?"

She met that familiar displeasure and held it as she considered Durrani's sparse, shipboard cell. The steel chair he was undoubtedly already seated within. The equally unyielding steel bar both wrists were now shackled to. "About an hour. Could be longer. Depends on what's on the menu. I am partial to omelets."

"Make it an hour. And I'll be joining you."

The hell he would. She wouldn't even risk having Yrle in that compartment while she laid her trap for Durrani, and she actually trusted the patiently waiting chief.

"Sorry, this is one-on-one. No backup required." Or desired.

Not unless the backup in question was on her personal, mission-tested, I got your six covered list. Which this man was decidedly not.

"On the carrier, you claimed you needed it. In fact, that's why you purportedly asked for the microTLC. Because you wanted Garrison in that compartment with you."

He really did not get this. Any of it.

Much less her.

Frustration finally seeped into her sigh. "Damn it, Riyad. Nothing I've done since I came aboard this ship has been about what I want. It's been