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

cell, if only to study the interplay between the two men, when a powerful wave hit the ship, jolting the entire compartment upward, before causing it to plummet straight down, along with the table between them. The Qur'an went flying over the edge, landing with a thud on the deck beside the metal legs of her chair, along with the manila folder and her phone.

Regan grabbed the folder before the contents could spill out, then the phone and book. Fortunately, the recording app was still running. She set the phone and the Qur'an on top of the folder and laid all three on the table between them.

"I apologize." That tome might not be holy to her, but it was to a significant percentage of the world's population, including the monster seated across from her.

To her surprise, the monster shrugged. "All is well—and as Allah wills."

Whatever.

She wasn't impressed with his take on anything with respect to that book, any more than she'd been with her grandfather's rigid interpretation of the Bible, let alone how dear ol' papaw had used that interpretation as an excuse whenever he'd decided to take out his anger and frustration on her backside.

Neither her grandfather, nor this man, was truly religious. Both simply used whoever was upstairs for their own rationalizations and ends.

"And how is your lover faring?"

Her stomach lurched—and it had nothing to do with the newfound rhythm of the ship.

Durrani didn't know she and John were involved, did he? Much less that John was still aboard the Griffith and confined to his quarters?

"Pardon?"

That irritatingly smooth smirk returned. "I was given to understand that you and Major Garrison had renewed your relationship. Am I incorrect?"

So he did know. But he was also fishing for more.

Neither was surprising.

Durrani had chosen two of John's captains and their respective A-Teams for his heinous plans. He would've been a fool to skip investigating John as well. And though the doc might be a monster, a fool he was not.

Sixteen months ago, the salacious relationship she and John shared in Hohenfels had made the international news. CID and all of Special Forces had been privy to details that even the media hadn't managed to ferret out. As an Afghan translator employed by the US Army at the time, Hachemi might have known some of her fellow agents, and Hachemi had definitely worked closely with SF. Hachemi would've eagerly shared any dirt he'd gleaned on John with Durrani as the men had plotted that two-pronged terror attack on those pregnant women and John's men.

And then there was her presence with John on that mission to flush out Durrani in Charikar. The bastard was simply connecting the dots.

Hoping she'd choke on them.

She matched that smooth twist with her own. "The major's fine."

"Excellent. I offer my congratulations on repairing an…unusual relationship. And my sympathies, of course. To have called you a whore in that parking lot. Well, a Mata Hari, but—" That twist of his finally shifted into a deep, disapproving frown. "—it was clear what he really meant, was it not? And so…humiliating. But you two have managed to work through your differences, yes? He trusts you in his bed now? This is good. Still, the major's mood has been dark this past week. Are you completely certain he has forgiven you?"

Okay, Hachemi could have shared a lot of the above. But not that name.

Mata Hari.

There'd been two people in that parking lot outside CID that night—John and herself. And John wouldn't have spoken about what transpired. Ever. She sure as hell hadn't told anyone, not even Mira or Gil. Which meant someone else had been there.

Watching John. Listening. Deliberately gathering intel on him.

Sixteen months ago.

The traitor she was after?

Riyad?

She had no idea. But two things were clear, and the second was even more chilling than the first. One, whoever had overheard the conversation in that parking lot had shared it damned near verbatim with Durrani. And two, given what she'd just learned, there was an excellent chance that Durrani and their unknown traitor had been plotting that cave massacre, the chimeral attack on John's men and whatever was still to come for a lot longer than anyone suspected.

But what Durrani failed to realize was that here, now, he'd tipped his hand. If she continued to play her cards right—and kept her own bent and battered aces out of sight—she just might be able to use the first mystery to solve the second.

She deepened her smile until she could feel it. "As I said, the major and I are fine, as is our relationship. Though I do appreciate the free shrink session."

"Ah, you have been checking up on me. Investigating my life."

No. But she'd read the reports during the flight to Al Dhafra from the agent who was. Nate Castile had included quite a bit of truly intriguing information.

"I admit, I was curious, Doctor. Especially with regard to your academic studies, given that chimera you injected into me. Though I'm not sure I feel comfortable with your mental assessments." She held up a hand as his mouth opened. "I know, I know. You got your bachelors in psychology. But really? With those grades?" Her pointed tsk, tsk briefly overtook the rolling and creaking of the ship. "They weren't the best, now were they? It's a wonder they awarded you that degree at all, much less let you into medical school. You must have licked and polished the boots of just the right admissions administrator."

Lord knew, it wouldn't have been a woman's.

The smile evaporated. The thin line left behind was as acerbic and as pissed as Durrani now was. "Perhaps I would have fared better had I had you to study back then. For you, Agent Chase, are a truly fascinating subject. While I suspect there are several detectives within your army with police officers for fathers, how many have fathers who were so dishonest, they were murdered by a fellow policeman? And your mother?" This tsking was his and considerably louder than hers