Aimpoint, Candace Irving [best love novels of all time TXT] 📗

up a good five weeks from now, which is why I was co-opted. A number of the intended assets are still on other assignments. But the general arrived tonight—out of the blue and on his own dime. Not his government's, and not ours. Why? And why show so early? Even your boss doesn't have an explanation."

She didn't have an explanation either. Yet. But she'd stake her badge on the fact that LaCroix had been tipped off about the change in plans. "According to Captain Garrison, LaCroix and the nurse were serious. That mood deterioration your SEAL noticed? Garrison pinged on it too. It began with Carys Kaide's death. That text LaCroix blew up over tonight? It came in right around the time you were here, getting your orders to report for the Ertonç detail. Someone must've let the sergeant know his nemesis had arrived early."

LaCroix had been livid because the bastard who'd murdered the woman he loved was not only alive and thriving—but now less than ten miles away.

"You're right." Mira nodded. "Motive and target; we've got 'em both. I knew I was smart to bring this to you."

Yeah, well. Motive and target were all they had. And both were as circumstantial as the rest. Nor had LaCroix actually done anything wrong—that they could prove. If they brought him in for questioning and he clammed up like Platt, they'd lose any chance of figuring this out before it was too late.

And if Garrison was involved?

Damn it. She hated it when Brooks was right.

Regan purged her excess frustration with a sigh. "It's not enough." But she knew when and where she had a shot at gaining access to more. "I'm having dinner with the captain tomorrow at his place—and, apparently, it's LaCroix's too. I'm not sure when the sergeant moved in, but it seems he and Garrison aren't just friends. They're housemates." All the better for their investigation. Because if there was a way to finagle a look inside the sergeant's room and his private life, she'd find it. "I need to take another look at Garrison's file, LaCroix's too. Where's Jelly?" She hadn't spotted her colleague's freckled face and unruly strawberry mop on the way in.

"His wife called. Their two-month old spiked a fever. He left to meet them at the ER. Should I pull him back?"

"No. He'll have left me a printout of his notes in his drawer. I'll find them before I leave."

Dinner. Garrison. Reality bit in.

Hard.

Damn it, it was just a meal. She'd get in and out, unscathed. She had before. Many times.

She caught Mira's sigh. "Okay, spill it."

"Spill what?"

"Whatever's bugging you. You've got that look; you've had it since you marched in here."

She had a look?

Crap. She must. Because something was bugging her. He was bugging her. And not in a good way. Garrison hadn't noticed, had he?

"Well?"

"He's…handsy."

"Jesus. He didn't—"

"No." She'd have halted that instantly—and painfully. On his end. "The guy's just—" How could she put this? "He keeps touching me. It's…"

"Irritating?"

"Suffocating." All those…little touches. They made her feel trapped. As though she was a kid again with no say over her own body. No right to her own private space. Hell, no one made it through as many foster homes as she had without confronting it.

Though she'd been lucky. Because there was touching and there was touching. And foster kids—girls, though yeah, some boys too—often got the twisted and very ugly end of the latter.

Regardless, this was going to be a rough one. Made rougher by an anniversary she'd been trying to ignore all week. Hell, all month. Unsuccessfully.

"You want to talk about it?"

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit. I'm sitting right here. I can see your face. And I can read a calendar. Tomorrow's bound to be a lousy day."

"I said, I'm good." To prove it, she stood. Or maybe it was just to escape that stifling sympathy. It was almost as claustrophobic as the captain's grabby grip. "I need to get those notes from Jelling's desk. Need a refill?"

Mira recognized the feigned urgency for what it was, but she shook her head—and let it go.

Regan took advantage of the reprieve before her friend could change her mind, departing to track down her fellow CID agent's notes. She found them right where Jelly usually left them. She retrieved the ever-thickening folder, which had her real name scrawled on a yellow sticky attached to the front, and returned to her office.

By the time she arrived, Mira's attention was fused to her glowing screen. Thank God. Regan had enough to deal with without churning up the rest.

She sank into the armchair beside her desk and hooked the heels of her leather boots over the edge as she cracked open Jelly's notes.

Two paragraphs in, it hit her. "Why are you here?"

Mira glanced up from her screen. "Uh, I believe you asked me to come."

"I mean still. Don't you have a security briefing to attend?"

"Nope." She tapped the top of the laptop's screen. "Got it all right here; it's a plug and play. I'm reviewing it now. Basically, I'm just precautionary backup to the backup, at least for tomorrow. My duties'll be reassessed after. No doubt once the Protective Service Unit's had a chance to see who they can grab to work the remainder of the job."

Regan closed the folder and dumped it on the corner of her desk. "Are you saying PSU's opening security posture is canned?"

Mira nodded. "At least the first gig. I'm to show up at an auditorium across post tomorrow at fourteen hundred for a kickoff speech by the general, followed by some special, invite-only meet-and-greet with the…" She glanced at her screen. "Wolverines."

Regan thumped her boots to the floor. "Wolverines? As in Special Forces? As in the training team to which LaCroix and Garrison are currently attached?"

Both men would be there. At that speech and most likely at the private meet-and-greet.

Worse, if PSU was using a canned protection scenario, there was an outstanding chance that same scenario was one LaCroix and/or Garrison had red-teamed and vetted—personally. In