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

those murky pools of frozen blood in the flesh…and in her current, all too crystal-clear nightly dreams.

The faux compassion strengthened. "It has not been long since your coma, Agent Chase. These things take time. You will heal."

She didn't doubt it.

Okay, she did doubt it. Particularly in the darkest, loneliest part of the night. Right around the time when she began to wonder if she'd be able to control those tremors long enough to pass her looming weapons qualification without one hijacking her grip and knocking her aim off at the last millisecond.

And if she couldn't control them?

Her undercover career had already been demolished. Thanks to Germany and Evan LaCroix, being an investigator was all she had left.

If she couldn't pass her quals, what would that do to the remainder of her career with CID? Any future livelihood?

The possibility of a real relationship with John?

Not only did she not have the answers. She wasn't even sure she wanted them. But there was no way she was confessing any of that to this asshole, let alone seeking medical advice from the man. For a career obliterating and potentially permanent neurological condition he'd caused, no less.

Even so, his reassurance wasn't what intrigued her. It was the effort behind his phony concern. The doc was genuinely attempting to connect with her.

Why?

What did he have up his sleeve? "You said many reasons. What else bothers you…on my behalf?"

"How well do you know the men with whom you work?"

Ah, so that was where this was headed. Divide and conquer. He planned on impugning her colleagues' integrity. Shaking her faith. It was a solid, time-tested tactic. But it wouldn't work. Not only was that tactic an Army CID agent's bread and butter, she knew John. Warts and all. Accepted them.

Riyad, however…

But while she admittedly knew the spook a fraction as well as she knew John and trusted him even less, her so-called partner still ranked above the bastard seated across from her. The one still gauging her micro-expressions and reactions just as closely as she was gauging his.

Durrani was definitely trying to get into her head, any way he could. And she was more than curious to see just how far the doc was willing—and able—to go.

Know thy enemy, know thyself.

Sun Tzu had been dead on with that one. Even if Durrani wasn't a proponent of ancient military philosophy, she suspected he'd taken the Chinese general's advice to heart years before. How else had the doc succeeded in decimating nearly all of Captain Mendoza's A-Team and slaughtering the women in that cave, and then nearly succeeded in blaming the entire, grisly crime on Captain McCord and his men?

Not that Durrani's implied offer wasn't tempting. If Agent Riyad had made it onto Durrani's radar before she, John and the rest of John's men had managed to take the doc down in Charikar, there was an outstanding chance Durrani had dirt on the spook. Unfortunately, anything Durrani placed on the table would, at the very least, be tainted by association and definitely suspect, especially since the man was clearly intent on trying to use it against her.

So…why had the spook tensed? And why was Riyad shifting closer to the entrance to the cell? It couldn't be in an attempt to hear better. Not with the recording app on her phone still ticking away, sucking up their conversation for posterity.

Good Lord, Riyad was in the doorway now. For a moment, she actually thought he was going to stalk all the way inside.

Evidently Corporal Vetter thought so too, because the Marine came to his feet and moved up to grip the spook's arm and pull him back.

Riyad jerked his head to his left. He stared at the Marine. Hard. For a split second, she suspected he was going to take the corporal down, right then and there. Even more startling, in that moment she had the distinct impression Riyad was more than capable of doing it. Despite the fact that the Marine had a good two inches and roughly forty pounds of honed muscle on the spook.

Just who the hell was he?

To her shock, the Marine backed down—and off.

Riyad remained in the doorway, once again utterly focused on the man within.

"Agent Chase?"

She snapped her attention back to the table and fused it on the lying, pretty boy seated across from her and not the one lurking just outside that door. Waiting.

For what?

"Is something amiss?"

It took every ounce of discipline she possessed to keep her thoughts from seeping through as she shook her head. Smiled. "It's nothing."

"Are you certain?"

Not by a long shot. "Absolutely."

Was it her imagination, or had the ship's motion grown worse while she'd been watching the corporal and the spook square off? Even the creaking in the venting and pipes was more pronounced. The Qur'an slid into the upper edge of her folder, jamming in firmly enough that a folded-up sheet of paper jarred loose. It was now peeking out from between the pages at the back of the book.

Curious, she tugged the square free and unfolded it.

It was the photo of the seventh woman from the cave.

"I placed it there to keep it safe. After all, it is far too easy to lose that which is important to us, is it not? Especially equipment."

Equipment? This was an image. Of a murdered woman with someone else's child lying atop her violated abdomen, no less.

What on earth was he alluding to? Because he was definitely alluding to something. That word was not a missed attempt at a thought lost to translation. Nabil Durrani's store of English nouns was as vast as his overblown ego. Unless—

Shit.

Apprehension prickled up her spine. Had the doc heard Riyad earlier, before she'd arrived? Did Durrani suspect the spook of remaining in the outer compartment? Or was he simply hoping Riyad would review the recording on her phone later? Was that odd phrasing meant to convey something known only to the two of them?

If so, what?

She was about to expose Riyad and invite him into the