Backblast

by Candace Irving

  Hell, a tainted needle and a hearty smack on the back would've done the trick.

  Again, Webber.

  The rogue SEAL had attempted to stain John's loyalties back at Fort Bragg. He'd clearly succeeded with Scott. How many others had been targeted by Webber?

  How many had he already turned?

  And where around the world—or inside the United States—were they placed?

  But first, she needed confirmation on this placement. "How long have you been working with Zakaria Webber?"

  Her old friend pushed forth another wiry shrug. It didn't matter. His micro-expressions had given him away.

  This was definitely Webber's party.

  And that scared the shit out of her. Given that the man had been sighted at the airport hours ago—and that she'd yet to hear from Riyad—Webber was long gone.

  God only knew where the bastard was headed. Nor did she think Webber would have entrusted his remaining plans to Scott. He hadn't with Durrani.

  But Hachemi?

  The translator must have known something.

  Hachemi had worked with John and his men in Afghanistan. Had he worked with Webber and the SEALs, as well? Was that where they'd find the nexus between the two?

  Because it did exist—somewhere. Why else had Webber gone to such lengths to murder the man once it looked as though Hachemi was willing to make a deal?

  "As much fun as this has been, I'm done talking, Prez."

  She nodded. This really wasn't the place for this anyway. Or the time.

  She'd done her damned job. She could take a minute to sit down and curl up on that couch and stare at those empty sheets until they were filled with the only man she wanted to see right now. Yes, Webber was still out there.

  But Riyad was on the hunt.

  She'd have to leave it to him. At least for today. Especially since the AWOL senior chief was firmly within NCIS' jurisdiction, and not CID's—and hers.

  "Staff Sergeant Tulle, switch the cuffs to Agent Walburn's front. Fold his suit jacket over his hands and get that bastard out of here—quietly." While she didn't give a buck private's ass about preserving Scott's dignity, "We don't need any more attention focused on the embassy or its employees today." She tipped her head toward the coffee table across the room. "I'd also appreciate it if you'd take my laptop and kit with you and hit up the RSO's hospitality one more time." Now that she'd closed her case, at least this part of it, "I'd rather they were locked up while I'm here…distracted."

  She finally turned back around to address a surprisingly subdued Jeffers while Tulle followed through on her instructions. "You're driving them." Because he was not staying here with her.

  For once, the asshole didn't argue.

  Within minutes, save for her and her gnawing personal terror, the room was empty.

  Desperate to kill the quiet that had set in, she returned her call to Palisade and filled the general in on Scott, then hung up and made several more calls to arrange for someone from the Shifa's morgue to pick up Tom Crier's body. Since the embassy had no way to store it, Crier would remain here in the basement of the hospital until Colonel Tarrington finished with his suicide in Bahrain and made his way to Islamabad.

  Given everything else she had left to do to wrap things up, she'd still be around to view the postmortem.

  The morgue tasking finally checked off, she phoned Fort Campbell's Blanchfield Community Hospital next and spoke with Gil.

  During this call, she discovered that although Fort Detrick's makeshift chimeral cure wasn't due to land at Islamabad International for hours yet, the baby upstairs in this very hospital was holding his own. Danyal had also already been given half of the treatment Gil had used on her, including the varicella vaccine and a course of acyclovir. Gil was hopeful. While Danyal was woefully young, the infant brain was more resilient in many ways than adult ones. All they could do was wait.

  As for her, she needed to hang in there. Gil had spoken with the surgical section of the Shifa, too. John should be out of surgery soon.

  She just needed to be patient.

  The admonishment in mind, Regan severed her second call and sank onto the couch to endure the most painful wait of her life. Just when she was ready to venture out to find the surgical section of which Gil had spoken, there was a tap on her door.

  "Come in!"

  She sprang up from the couch and headed across the room, anxious to greet her visitor, only to realize it wasn't Sitara Chaudhry…it was her husband.

  She returned the chief justice's traditional greeting, grateful she'd re-donned the now thoroughly crushed dupatta after her shower. This was one man who did not deserve slighting, however unintentionally. "Sir, I—"

  "Harun, please. We are friends, no?"

  That, they were. "Yes. Please call me Regan—or Rae."

  Heck, this man and his wife could call her whatever they wanted. The two could also call on her for the rest of her life.

  She'd be there, ready to assist, very few questions asked.

  "My wife phoned me. Your husband's surgery is complete. He is in recovery now, and they should be bringing him to your room shortly. All went very well. Most importantly, I am to tell you that a graft was not required."

  Oh, thank God.

  Both her hands trembled along with her entire body as the relief seared in. "Thank you so much for letting me know." But as to that misconception of his, the one she'd accidentally perpetuated with the rings she still bore, "I need to tell you, though. I'm not—that is…Major Garrison and I, we're not married." She held up her steadier hand. "These were necessary for our recent covers."

  But Harun simply smiled and shook his head. "The formal ceremony will not be long in coming. For the major, he is already wed in his heart…as I suspect you are, as well. And from the brief exchanges my wife and I were honored to witness in your embassy conference room and after, there will be no going back, for either of you."

  Yeah, she wasn't touching that one.

  Not even with him.

  But there was something else she needed to clear up. "I have another confession, too—well, a correction really. I've spoken with someone who saw the shot being set up. The one that injured John. The shooter, he wasn't aiming for you. I heard what you did for John and what you said this morning when you donated blood on his behalf. You deserve to know the truth."

  This time the man shrugged. "Perhaps. But if this bullet had been fired at me, the major would have stepped in to shield me. So…no matter. We shall keep this to ourselves, yes?"

  Leave it to a lawyer to split that hair.

  This time, she smiled. Nodded. Because his assessment was the truth. "Yes, we'll keep it between us. And, yes, John definitely would have shielded you." It was one of the reasons why John had been up on that platform. And one of the so very many more reasons as to why he'd managed to invade her heart.

  Harun was right about one thing. Now that John was firmly inside her heart, there was no getting him out. There was no point in even trying.

  Not that she had any idea what she was going to do about that.

  "I, too, have a confession."

  Chaudhry had a confession? For her?

  But, again, the man nodded. "It is the reason I told my wife that I would come here to tell you the news about the major. Our prime minister, he was given access to something that perhaps a man of his leanings should not have been given."

  Oh, Lord. "My background investigation."

  "Yes. He shared the contents with me while he was attempting to sway my opinion on…other matters. This was not right and, yet, perhaps Allah intended it. For having been privy to knowledge of your past that I should not have, I am able to come here to assure you that it does not matter. You are not the sins of your father. Some of my people might disagree, but I do not. His disgrace is not yours. You need not bow your head in shame. For through your relentless quest for the truth, no matter where it lies, you have restored your family's honor. Any man would be proud to call you
daughter. I would be proud. I, as well as my wife, am also in your debt—as well as our country. Major Garrison's, too. Remember that. And now, my wife awaits. I must take her home, finally, so that she may begin to grieve."

  "Sir?" She ignored his silent, frowning reminder to use his name. "If you've been briefed on my background, I'm sure you know the rest."

  "Your mother?"

  "Yes. I just wanted to tell you and your wife—that is, please hold fast to something as you both mourn your daughter. The pain? I can't lie; it doesn't ever really go away. Especially when you've seen that horror with your own eyes. But…it does lessen. Eventually. And you both will find joy again, I promise. Especially since you have each other, and Allah, to lean on."

  He nodded once at that, and left.

  She retrieved her phone as the door closed and quickly texted Tulle the outstanding news. She made yet another call to Palisade to update him on John’s condition as well, then returned her phone to her pocket to resume the wait.

  Less than five minutes later, John arrived as promised.

  Unfortunately, he was fast asleep.

  Two young men removed the empty bed from the room first, then rolled John's slightly wider one into the room, slotting it, and his IV stand and monitors, into place. Regan waited while a nurse adjusted the IV and those monitors on John's right then offered a soft invitation in English to press the call button if she needed anything.

  And then the nurse, too, nodded politely and left.

  Unable to return to the couch, she moved up the left side of John's body, near his head. She traced her fingers over his warm brow. She might as well have used her right, because her entire left hand was still trembling too, albeit with relief.

  When her light touch failed to rouse him, she moved on to the growth on his jaw, savoring the texture. She didn't know if it was the lingering effects of the anesthesia or the more normal exhaustion his mind and body had suffered, given that neither of them had slept the previous night, but that soft touch failed to rouse John too.

  Unwilling to head over to the couch to curl up alone, she slipped off her shoes and tucked them beneath the bed. Her dupatta went onto the small plastic set of drawers beside the headboard. Her 9mm and credentials, she slipped beneath John's pillow.

  Only then, with her phone still in her back pocket, did she quietly slip herself up into the bed beside him. She lay on her right side, taking up as little room as possible at the very edge of the mattress. Satisfied she wouldn't injure him, she stretched up to kiss the side of his cheek, then moved on to his ear to whisper the one thing John had asked of her while they'd been in that bed together at the Serena. The one thing he needed. Her assurance that she could get past what he'd flung at her all those months ago in that parking lot; that she already had.

  "I don't hate you."

  With that, she laid her head down onto the pillow beside his. He was last thing she saw as the exhaustion took over and the numbing darkness slipped in.

  John woke before her—and with that smile and that colossal ego of his firmly intact. She knew, because she could feel it swelling, even as she pushed through the layers of sleep that were clinging to her brain.

  Regan opened her eyes anyway.

  That deep, dimpled fold greeted her. "If I'd known what it took to keep you by my side while I slept, I'd have arranged to take that bullet sixteen months ago."

  Her hand came up, instinctively covering his mouth. "Don't. Don't ever tease about something like that." Not after today.

  His left arm, the one that had somehow made its way beneath her while she'd been sleeping, pulled her closer until she was lying atop the uninjured portion of his groin and his hospital-gown-clad chest. "All right. I promise."

  While he was at it, she wondered if she could get him to ensure that he'd never get shot or seriously injured again. Because her nerves just couldn't take it.

  Though, oddly, speaking of her nerves, the ones in her right hand and arm had quieted down significantly.

  Because of her nap? Or because John had been holding her?

  Though she suspected the credit lay in equal parts with both, there was no way she'd admit to it. The man's arrogance was inflated enough as it was.

  "Did I dream it?"

  She shook her head, not willing to tease him about something that was so close to his heart either. Arrogant or not, he deserved the truth.

  "Would you tell me again, now that I'm completely awake?"

  She reached up, just as she had earlier when she'd given in to temptation and the relief of finally having him in the room, warm and breathing. She traced her fingertips along his brow and through the cultivated thicket beneath, before she settled them into that mesmerizing fold. Only then did she lean closer, this time looking directly into his eyes as she said it again. "I don't hate you."

  Like him, she'd tried, but failed…spectacularly.

  His soft, slow sigh eased out, filling the air between them, and then that fold deepened.

  "Although—" She glanced down at the rings he'd surreptitiously tucked into her palm when he'd assisted her from the car at the Serena. "—I should also tell you that, for a man who supposedly detests lies, you set up a whopper. And don't bother telling me it was merely a lie of omission. Because it still counts. And what the devil happened to taking it slow this time, and patience?"

  "Ah."

  "Don't ah me."

  If anything, the crease that cut down into that thicket deepened that much more. "You're an outstanding detective. I knew you'd figure it all out."

  Oh, good Lord. "You are such—"

  "An ass. Yeah, I know." That irritating twinkle entered the gray. "But I'm your ass. And, apparently, your gorilla. As for taking it slow and patience—what do you call sixteen months? I think I've been damned patient." He reached down to wrap his fingers around hers. He lifted her hand from his chest, tilting it so that the diamond gleamed as brightly as that warm, steady stare of his. "And I'd like to point out that you haven't taken these off. So, I should probably warn you…there's a ceremony that goes with these rings. One that'll involve both of us."

  "I've heard that."

  He let her fingers go and captured her chin, lifting it up so that she couldn't evade that now very serious gray, even if she'd wanted to. "Then, what do you say? I have my company chaplain on speed dial. There's no wait in Kentucky…I checked. We could head over to the post chapel when our flight lands. Grab two passing soldiers as witnesses and give Chaplain Ross an uplifting duty for a change. We've both even got a couple weeks of downtime coming so we can recuperate. We can call it a honeymoon. Unless you want a big thing with all the trimmings. I can wait for that if I have to."

  She'd never wanted a big thing.

  Heck, she'd never even thought she'd have this. Him. But now that she did, she did not want to lose him—ever. That bullet had made it excruciatingly clear to her. All she could do was pray that she didn't screw this up. Again.

  "Rae?"

  "Okay."

  His brow hiked. "Okay?" His thumb scraped along her bottom lip. "Just to be clear—okay, you'll marry me? Or, okay we see the chaplain when we land?"

  "Both."

  This time, that mesmerizing fold cratered in as he pulled her even closer so he could slant his mouth down to capture hers in a brief, searing kiss. "Okay."

  And that was that.

  Her gaze drifted to the rolling hospital tray table on his right as he allowed her to settle back against his chest. Her phone lay on top. It had been in her back pocket when she'd fallen asleep. It must have rung, waking him.

  "How much do you know?"

  Her cheek lifted along with his chest as he shrugged. "Pretty much everything. You've been asleep for at least five hours."

  She checked her watch.

  Closer to seven.

  Yikes. She could only imagine what the nurses had thought. "Why didn't anyone wake me and kick me down to the couch?"

  "I wouldn't let them." He reached out to
tap her phone briefly. "I should probably also confess that I've been fielding your calls all afternoon. Tulle and General Palisade filled me in on most of it."

  If that was the case, he probably knew more than she did now. "Does Riyad know about Scott? And that he was working with Webber?"

  "I don't know. Palisade hadn't heard back from Kettering when we spoke. But I also fielded a call from Fourche. He says the chimeral cure is already in the boy. Now it's wait and see over the next few days, but it's looking good so far."

  Thank God.

  "Also, Palisade had some interesting news. Jeffers has been removed from his post. Evidently when the ambassador found out why Jeffers was in Crier's office before he ate his gun, she had him fired on the spot. Seems Jeffers had placed the sole blame for yesterday on Crier's shoulders, screamed at him for not being able to prevent the leak of those photos and the cave info that led to the mobs around the country."

  Jeffers had been fired? "Frankly, it couldn't have happened to a crappier guy." After all, if there were signs to miss, Jeffers had missed them too.

  Even worse, she suspected that Jeffers had known all along that Crier had fathered the Sadats' son. Yet, he'd pounced anyway. His tantrum might not have caused Crier to commit suicide, but the stress had probably helped the decision along.

  At least the boy had a chance at recovery now. That was something.

  She reached up to trace her fingers along John's jaw, just because she could.

  To her surprise, his smile turned sheepish as he scrubbed the opposite side of his face. "Yeah, I should probably shave this off when we get home."

  She shook her head.

  It was a mistake.

  His brow rose as that fold, and that ego, slipped back in. "You like it."

  Hell, yes.

  "Maybe."

  He laughed. "Oh, you definitely like it." His arm tightened briefly. "All right, I'll keep it. Though you're lucky I'm SF. Kind of a perk given some of the shitholes they end up sending us to. Hell, sometimes relaxed grooming standards are the only perk."

  Oh, she was lucky, and about a lot more than just that cultivated scruff. But speaking of SF, "I need you to work with me when we get back. On the range."