The proverbial lambs to the slaughter.
In their defense, why wouldn't they go? Durrani had been their doctor; they'd trusted him. And they'd paid with their lives.
Along with those of their children.
It took every shred of self-control she possessed to mask her rage as Regan lifted the photo of Jameelah from the folder to reveal the close-up of the woman beneath. This one was just as horrific as the first. "Zimal trusted you too. Along with Asali, Ilma, Yalina and Shaima."
With each new photo, that goddamned smirk deepened.
The bastard was getting off on the evidence of what he'd already done—along with his strengthening belief that she had no clue regarding the rest.
Even better.
She laid the corresponding photos out along the table, then tapped the final one. This close-up was of the woman they'd yet to identify.
Regan waited.
The rhythmic creaking of the surrounding metal grew louder in the silence that followed.
Durrani finally broke it. "You have no name for that one, do you? This is your mystery."
"Correct. It seems this woman wasn't a patient at Malalie. What's even more interesting is that she wasn't pregnant either. At least, not when she was murdered."
"Really. You are certain of this?"
"Hmm." She moved her hand back to the beginning of the line, tapping the second photo more forcefully than she'd intended to mask the sudden tremble in her fingers. "Forensics has since proven that Zimal was carrying twins. You placed one of Zimal's babies—" Control over her fingers reestablished, Regan returned them to that final, horrific photo. "—on this woman's corpse. After you'd mutilated her, of course."
"Of course."
His voice was still smooth. Controlled. That smirk still infesting the man's dusky features. But he couldn't take his eyes off that final photo.
He was mesmerized.
Utterly.
She was right. That final victim's identity was crucial to whatever this bastard still had up his sleeve.
"Who is she, Doctor?" And was her identity also connected to the traitor Agent Riyad was really seeking?
That dark stare finally shifted. To her. It lingered on her face for several moments, then slid down her right arm. It stopped at her hand.
Narrowed. Assessed.
"You appear to be well, Agent Chase. Quite recovered from what must have been a difficult time in hospital…but you do have a slight tremor in your dominant hand. Of course, that tremor could be a simple manifestation of nerves over speaking with me. But given your general demeanor today and your self-assurance at our last meeting, I suspect not. Therefore, it must be related to your recent…illness. A lingering repercussion if you will. But is it permanent?"
Shit.
Then again, he'd changed the subject, not her. In doing so, he'd shown his own not-quite-steady hand. More importantly, he'd given her the confirmation she needed.
That woman was the key.
She smiled. "I am doing well. Thank you for noticing."
"Perhaps you would care to…satisfy my curiosity?"
"About my hand or the overall positive state of my health?"
"The latter first, please. You must admit, it is…unexpected."
Not to mention the reason she was here, aboard this ship.
He wasn't just curious; the man was consumed.
So much so, he'd played his best card to get her here. No surprise there. He'd injected an entire vial of that shit into her veins personally. She should be dead. And yet, as far as he could tell, here she was, sitting across from him, back in an American Army uniform with little more than a finger wiggle to show for it.
He might have schooled those smooth, dusky features, but he couldn't kill the fire that was finally warming up that stare, until it was all but smoldering.
He was dying to know why.
That same burning professional need to know had been this man's downfall in Afghanistan, allowing her the time she'd needed to clear her head after she'd woken from that anesthetic gas and freed herself from those handcuffs. Only then, the twisted doc had been demanding to know why John and his fellow SF soldiers were still alive.
Why be surprised that he'd risk everything for an answer about her health now? Because that was what it was going to take for him to get those answers.
Everything.
She shrugged. "Actually, the current state of my health's not all that unexpected. No offense, but I've got an outstanding doctor of my own. He's quite the miracle worker." Even if Gil had spent the past week pissing her off. "As you said, I'm good to go…along with several of the other men you injected that chimera into."
That dark stare narrowed thoughtfully. "You mentioned Major Garrison's immunity in Charikar. And that of another…Sergeant Tulle."
"I did. Major Garrison and Staff Sergeant Tulle are immune to the chimera. But I'm not. Or, rather, I wasn't…along with several others."
That got his attention. "There are more survivors?" His fingers actually tightened to fists as he leaned all the way into the bar, just off the edge of the interrogation table. "How many survived? Did any succumb to coma? What course of treatment was administered to them while they were ill?"
She waved her hand. "Oh, I don't know the particulars, Doctor. I'm just a simple criminal investigator. The explanation was all medical mumbo jumbo to me when I woke in the ICU. Of course, I can give you the layman's version—which, granted, won't amount to much. Or, I can give my doctor permission to initiate a ship-to-shore call and share all the gory details of my case with you. Heck, I'll even toss in a copy of my recent medical records for your lengthy perusal…for a name." She reached out and gently tapped the final photo that still lay between them. "Her name. You tell me who this woman is and I'll grant you full access to the documentation detailing my
