Aimpoint by Candace Irving (best mystery novels of all time .TXT) 📗

Mikel's still digging. Let's just say, we've piqued the man's curiosity. He's triangulating the location of those two calls, and any others from that number, as we speak. I'll let you know what he finds out. Meanwhile, Mikel was able to give me the name of the vender who sold the burner." The diesel's rumble died out. Moments later, Regan caught the slam of Jelly's driver's door. "I'm in front of the kiosk in question now; it just opened. I'll call you when I'm out."

"Good luck. I'll be waiting."

Regan hung up. She was about to dump her phone on the kitchenette's table when it resumed trilling.

Once again, the number scrolling across the screen was a welcome one. And, once again, it traced back to one of her colleagues—Mira. "Hey, stranger. Fancy hearing from you. You sure you have the time to call me?"

"Oh, God, Rae. I am so sorry. I know I was late backing you up—"

"Again."

Mira's sigh filled the line as she absorbed the hit. "You're right. First the bar, then your dinner. I got hit with an emergency change to the babysitting schedule—a double shift to boot. The general was nice enough about it, but I couldn't very well explain away a call to you while I was actively watching his back from inside his rooms. The second he went to the bathroom, I jumped; I swear. I just got off duty. I'm on my way to my rental car now."

Which would be why Mira hadn't been waiting impatiently for her at the Lodge when she'd arrived home last night, anxious to grill her about what had happened. "That's okay. I'll forgive you. Someday."

"Thank you. So, how'd it go? King Kong stop beating his chest long enough to give up anything new?"

"Maybe."

That argument in John's driveway flashed in as Regan retrieved her mug of coffee and took a sip. Damn Brooks and his intense paranoia. If he'd authorized the tail on LaCroix, they might've actually known what was said after she'd been forced to depart. As it was, she'd have to return to John's home to explore the lead—and risk a second course of stir-fry and the disconcerting dessert he'd served up afterward.

She didn't get it. Like Mira, she'd never been into gorillas. Worse, she swore this particular one knew her interest had been grudgingly gained. It was as though John had sensed her reluctance all along and had known he'd have one shot at changing her mind. And, damn him, he'd actually succeeded. Where did that leave her? Them?

This case.

Because she still had a job to do. From that tantalizing glimpse she'd caught of John and LaCroix squaring off, she was more convinced than ever that not only did the sergeant have vengeance seething in his heart, he was nurturing it.

The general's days were numbered, all right. Quite possibly, his hours.

"Rae?"

"Yeah?"

"I thought I lost the connection. You okay?"

Hell, no. "Absolutely." She polished off the contents of her mug and headed for the sink to rinse it out. "Just waiting for the caffeine-fueled focus to kick in."

"So…what did you get?"

"A fresh angle." One that could just crack this case wide open—if she could get Brooks to agree. "But first, I just got off the phone with Jelly. We hit a snag with the Ertonç number; it connects to a burner. Stay tuned though. Jelly's source is still on it. As for the angle, we got a positive hit regarding John's current digs. Jelly scored a visual on the lease to that house. John signed it—but LaCroix's name is not on it. Anywhere." Meaning that while she couldn't search the sergeant's room without permission and have it stand up in court, John could. "Also, they nearly came to blows last night as I was leaving. If I can get Brooks to let me bring him in on this, I think John might agree to search—"

"John?"

Crap. She really did need that coming jolt for focus.

Regan turned to press her suddenly pounding forehead into the front of the refrigerator. It didn't help. "Yes, John. That's his name."

She heard Mira's car door slam—but unlike Jelly's, this engine didn't fire up. "I know that's his name. But you don't call them by their names. Not the first ones."

"That's not true. I've gotten cornered into it before."

"Not when they're not around."

That was true.

Trapped, she went on the attack. "Why'd you call me anyway?" If Mira was in her car, she hadn't been home to decompress yet. Shower. Eat.

Sleep.

"Fine. We'll discuss John and what he might do in a minute. But first—I just got a call too. Kevin Walsh."

Regan pulled her forehead from the fridge and turned around to lean back against it. "Your SEAL buddy?" The one who'd provided Mira's initial intel on LaCroix's deteriorating attitude? An attitude that had gotten so bad it had apparently led to the sergeant getting kicked out of his apartment last week.

"Yeah. Kev just surfaced from his latest mission and got my message about Ertonç. Like Garrison, he dealt with Ertonç when he was still a colonel in Afghanistan, though roughly three years later than your captain. According to Kev, there's some seriously foul blood between Ertonç and the Kurds. He loathes them."

No stunner there. "A lot of Turks do." Hence the blood-letting establishment of that so-called Syrian safe zone.

"True. But Kev got the feeling Ertonç's disagreement was personal. How personal, he doesn't know. Just that Ertonç would shut folks down—and harshly—if anything even remotely positive about the Kurds came up in discussion."

Now that was interesting. It also begged the question: did Ertonç hate Kurds with the standard, all-too-common Turkish disdain…or was there something more specific to his hatred? Say, a particular cause?

More importantly, did that hatred have anything to do with the reason his sons were targeted for death by the PKK in that car bombing the year before?

Before she could pose the query to Mira, her phone beeped. "Hang on. I've got another call coming in." She pulled the phone away so she could check the