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

smart enough to know that an armed special agent wouldn't be all but on his doorstep, trying to talk a man with a package out of moving closer unless it was serious.

Deadly serious.

"Sener, Komm!"

The boy spun around and ran to his father.

The doc grabbed the collar of Sener's green footie pjs and held on for all he was worth before the kid could dart past. "Please, let me take the children to my wife. I will return shortly—I swear."

"But it's your wife I want."

Confusion clouded into Karmandi's bloodless features, before coalescing into full-blown terror as the explanation punched in. Given the two US soldiers at odds in front of him—and who else was in town—there was only one possibility. Ertonç.

Regan risked a step forward, then another.

"I can hear you creeping, Agent Chase."

She froze. And adjusted the aim on her 9mm until it was dead center on the base of those closely-cropped curls. "I'm armed, Evan."

"Figured as much."

She winced at the whisper of Jelly's nearly imperceptible tread closing in as he took up a supporting position on her right.

"Tell that lumbering ox he'd better stand fast too."

Regan caught Jelly's terse, freckled nod in her periphery, even as she focused on the soldier in front of her. "Put the box down, Evan. You don't want to do this."

"Oh, I do. And you know why, don't you? And why it has to be her?"

"I know." The sergeant's logic in choosing the aimpoint for his revenge was chilling, but brilliant. Why murder the man responsible for killing the woman he loved, when LaCroix could let Ertonç live with the horrific knowledge, day in and day out, that the fallout from his decisions in Syria had caused LaCroix to slaughter the only woman left that Ertonç loved…and quite possibly her entire family? Especially since the damage to NATO would be the same. "Now, put the box down."

"Or what?"

"I'll shoot."

"In front of the kid?"

"If I must." And she would. Because he was not getting any closer to that door with those two rigid bodies and that tiny, bundled form. "But it wouldn't be in front of him, would it?" Karmandi had shifted his grip, using the collar of those green pj's to force his son's face behind his quivering, robe-clad thigh.

All Sener could see was the far wall of the paneled foyer.

As for Karmandi, he might be a physician, but she didn't think he'd suffer too many nightmares over the outcome she threatened. At least not regretful ones. Not with his children's lives at stake.

LaCroix left those realities unaddressed. Nor did he order a halt to the fresh wave of muted footfalls along the pavement behind her and Jelly. She flicked a glance toward the parked car's windows and caught the reflected mixed marriage of German and US Army police moving into position amid the pulsing lights.

"If you shoot, I'll drop the box. I put in a mercury switch. It's my specialty. If you've done your research—and given how you look, I know you have—you know I'm telling the truth. One slight tip and—boom. The box explodes and we all die. You, me, the doc and those two kids, along with the rest of that herd of uniformed oxen behind us. Of course, I could be lying. But are you willing to take the chance?"

He was right about the mercury switch. He did have a thing for them. But it was a bluff. One she might've fallen for if she hadn't spotted the slender tag nestled amid that froth of pink ribbon hanging down from those balloons. If he'd attached that tag to the package, she'd have never seen it.

Not from this angle.

She took a step forward. "No."

"No, you didn't do your due diligence? Or, no, you don't care if we all die?"

"No, it won't explode." She took another step, then another. And another. One final step, and she had the 9mm's muzzle pressing into that blond stubble at the base of his skull. She had to give LaCroix credit. He didn't flinch.

"How can you be so sure?"

"The tag."

He actually glanced up. "What about it?"

"It's made out to Saniye."

"So?"

"Most people who wrap up a giant bear will address the tag to the baby." Especially if they've taken the time to toss in all that pink. "You didn't even add Olan's name. You addressed it to Saniye—and only Saniye—because you wanted her to open it." Hell, he needed her to. The sergeant also needed Ertonç to know he knew exactly who he'd targeted. So much so, he'd inked Saniye's birth name onto an oversized tag and hung it from the base of the balloons to increase the odds that at least part of her name would survive the explosion. "That bomb's rigged to go off the moment the general's sole remaining child sees that tag, assumes it's a gift from her father, and opens the box that came with those balloons. Not before. Not after. Now put it down."

The moment LaCroix bent his knees to comply, Jelly moved in, along with half a dozen German and US Army police. Not only were the latter unnecessary, the cuffing was downright anticlimactic. The sergeant just stood there while Jelly hooked him up. Silent, patient. Resigned.

Until Jelly spun the man around.

LaCroix stared at her then, studying her at length for the first time since she'd planted herself on that barstool days earlier. He actually smiled, chipmunk cheeks on full display. "CID, huh? Not quite as fresh from the deli as John Boy thinks, eh? He's gonna be pissed."

She reached for LaCroix's arm, but Jelly shook his head. "I'll take it from here. The locals are multiplying. Reporters and cameras won't be far behind. You'd best leave now, Prez, before your cover's blown far and wide."

As much as she wanted to personally toss LaCroix's handcuffed hide into the back of a patrol vehicle, Jelly was right.

Regan nodded her thanks.

As she turned to depart, LaCroix let out a chuckle. "That's not her only problem. John Boy's got zero tolerance for liars. And