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

to keep a low profile. It would've been difficult if he'd wanted to. Not only was John also in ACUs, he was deep in conversation with a dark-haired, lightly bearded Middle Eastern male sporting a white physician's coat.

Curiously, she had the distinct impression that John and the doctor knew each other, and well. Though they looked to be roughly the same age, the doc was at least half a foot shorter and a good hundred pounds lighter than the captain.

Both appeared unfazed by the inequity as they stood toe-to-toe, locked in a polite, though seemingly fundamental, disagreement.

Even more curious, John appeared to be losing.

Regan could feel his frustration from where she stood. He was doing his damnedest to keep it hidden, as he had the night before with his anger with LaCroix before she'd driven away. But hints were bleeding through, mostly in the faint tension in his shoulders and jaw. Though she wasn't close enough to verify, she suspected that telling pulse of his was clipping along at a daunting pace.

What were they discussing?

Even if she'd been close enough to catch more than every tenth word, she wouldn't have known. The men weren't conversing in German, English or Turkish, near as she could tell. According to the captain's record, John was also fluent in Pashto, Arabic and Farsi. They didn't appear to be using those either.

Whatever the language—and subject—John refused to give up. He dipped his head as he made another seemingly earnest attempt at persuading the doctor, but the man held firm. Another longer and frustratingly quiet comment from John, and the doctor finally appeared to weaken.

Several more earnest comments followed before the doctor's grudging nod signaled his surrender to…what?

She was contemplating brazenly heading over when one of the nurses at the station glanced up from her phone and politely interrupted the men.

Regan opted to inch closer instead.

Unfortunately, her street-gleaned German didn't include medical jargon. She was able to catch the doctor's name, though.

Karmandi. She'd heard it before…but where?

Karmandi responded to the nurse in German and turned to John, switching back to whatever language they'd been using as he appeared to make his apologies before turning to head down the opposite corridor.

Now what?

Brazen was still her best bet. Given the ticking bomb attached to the case, and quite possibly the general's life, it was her only bet.

Retrieving her phone from her trouser pocket, she opened her text app to a stateside friend's innocuous conversational stream as she strode, seemingly absorbed, out from her secluded spot and around the nurses' station—smack into John's titanic back.

He spun about, his hands shooting out to engulf her arms as he steadied her. "Rachel?"

"John?"

Pure, unabashed pleasure flooded his features. "What are you doing here? This is a—" Fear punched to the fore as the realization of precisely where they were drove home. Panic joined in as John's gaze swept her from head to toe, searching for something he clearly did not want to find—broken bones, bruising, blood.

Relief followed as he found none, only to evaporate when confronted with the reality that if she'd had an accident, she'd have gone to sick call like any other soldier at Hohenfels. She wouldn't be here, thirty minutes away, at the Klinikum Sankt Joseph. On this floor.

"This is the cancer ward. Are you…okay?"

It was her stomach's turn to knot as she felt his panic return. Surge. She was going to hell. That revealing catch in his voice had sealed it.

She pushed the guilt aside. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you're here." Just like that, his demeanor shifted one hundred eighty degrees as professional overtook personal. "If you're okay, why are you here? Now?" Suspicion shredded his remaining concern. "Are you following me?"

Brazen. She had to see this through.

She'd caught the sergeant's expression last night along with John's as she'd backed out of his drive. LaCroix was ready to blow. Given his skills, that was a particularly dangerous state for the man—and General Ertonç.

"Why would I be following you?"

"I don't know. But if you're not, what could possibly bring you here?"

"My story."

His stare darkened, sharpened. "The general?"

She nodded. "I'm following a lead." She pushed a light shrug to the fore, damning herself that much more. "Well, more of a loose end. Either way, I need to get it tied it up before I can file my article." She held up her phone. "The general had his on the table during our interview. A number came across the screen during a call. I, ah, have this thing for numbers."

"A thing."

"Hmm. I see them once, and I remember them." Even upside down and sideways. "It comes in handy in my line of work." She could only hope he never found out just how handy. "I didn't realize it at the time, but I'd scribbled the number in the margin of the draft I showed Captain Vaughn. He asked, so I told him where it came from, and that the call had unsettled the general. Vaughn was curious too. He said I should follow up, see where it led. And it led—"

"Here."

It wasn't enough. She could still see the tension lingering in the press of John's lips, that nearly imperceptible lock to his jaw. Not surprising, since he knew damned well that the phone was a burner.

"How did you trace the number?"

"Oh, that was easy. I didn't." She waved her phone once more, before tucking it in her cargo pocket. "Captain Vaughn has a contact with a local phone company. The guy came through with the information this morning. Unfortunately, all he could provide us was the location of the calls. I'm still not sure why there wasn't a name on the line, but I figured what the heck, I'd stop by and see if anything stood out. I guess it did—" She nudged a smile laced with warmth and more than a bit of infatuation to her lips. "Because I found you."

The remaining tension eased. He'd bought it.

Time to switch tactics, before he changed his mind. "So, why are