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

Just like that, another instant, one-eighty shift. This one, defensive. The quintessential man who'd been caught in the act. If there wasn't so much at stake, it would've been amusing. But there was, and it wasn't.

How to get him to admit it?

Brazen.

"John…does General Ertonç have medical issues? Is that why he's really in Hohenfels? And why he arrived so early? Does he need treatment?"

"No." That was it.

It was enough. Not a single micro-expression flitting across his face betrayed that succinct response. John was telling the truth. But there was something else threading through his features. Relief. She was close enough to gauge that telltale pulse now too. Its normal, sedate pace had spiked. John might not be lying, but he was concealing something. Something big.

Before she could press him further, his phone pinged.

"Just a sec." He retrieved the phone from his pocket as he turned away, using those irritatingly hefty shoulders to shield the screen as he checked his text app. A split second later, his pulse skyrocketed.

"What's wrong?"

Preoccupation and worry overshadowed his smile as he turned back, the app already closed. The number on that sent text, gone. "Just a minor snafu." He might've been telling the truth before, but he was lying his ass off now. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I have to go. But I'd like to finish this conversation. Tonight? We never did have dessert."

The hell they hadn't. But she did need another crack at getting inside LaCroix's room, with or without John's assistance. Or knowledge.

She matched his terse smile and raised him a nod. "Sure."

"Great. I'll call you."

Her subsequent nod went unseen, at least by John. He was already striding around the nurses' station. The younger nurse stared after him, pensively tracking his determined movements as he passed the dormant elevator to take the stairs.

The nurse who'd spoken with that doctor.

Karmandi. Numbers she remembered. Names, not so much. But that one, Regan knew she'd heard before, and recently. To discern when and where, she'd need a first name. Fortunately, that was easy enough to get.

Regan stepped up to the counter as the younger nurse sighed and turned back. "Entschuldigen Sie, wie lautet Doktor Karmandis Vorname?"

"Olan."

Hmm. No reaction from the recesses of her brain. She smiled her thanks regardless and turned to follow the captain's path around the station.

Like John, she ignored the elevator. Her boots echoed as she entered the stairwell to descend the concrete steps…and only her boots.

Whatever had been in that text of John's, it must've been serious enough to have caused him to descend at double-time, because he was gone.

Despite the phone burning a hole in her pocket, Regan forced herself to wait until she reached the klinikum's main ER doors. Only when she spotted John's silver Wrangler pulling out of the lot, did she retrieve her phone and punch in her fellow CID agent's number.

Jelly answered on the first ring. "Whatcha got?"

No idea. Yet. "Do me a favor—open your laptop and run the name Olan Karmandi though your case file research and tell me what pops." Something would. She was sure of it. But what?

"That with a 'K'?"

"Yes." She'd run across it recently, all right. And in print. Because she could see the spelling in her head.

"Give me a sec. I'm not at my desk."

Jelly's off-key whistling filled her ear as she headed for her Tiguan. She had barely unlocked the driver's door and slipped inside when Jelly's whistling sputtered, then died a violent death—strangled by his curse.

His subsequent calm, "Hey, Prez, where'd you get that name?" gave her more pause.

"Here at the klinikum. He's a doc in oncology. I just watched Garrison hash something out with the man. I don't know what. Why?"

"'Cause the name's Kurdish. But that's not all. It's also the last name of the PKK terrorist who took credit for that explosion in Inçirlik last year. Royar Karmandi rigged the bomb that took out both the general's sons."

Holy shit. That's where she'd seen it.

Were Olan and Royar related?

Even if they were—especially if they were—why was John meeting with the doc? More importantly, why had Ertonç sent John here on his behalf? Because Ertonç had sent him. Those phone calls in the conference room all but proved it. Not to mention John's purchase of that phone in the first place, along with his body language with the general up on the stage—and at dinner in his kitchen last night. John hadn't lied. He did respect Ertonç. So much so, he'd come to the klinikum in the general's stead.

To do what? Negotiate?

It was the only scenario that made sense. Backchannel overtures were common enough in both geo-political and military arenas. Hell, in light of the volatile natures of war and detente, those overtures and the equally classified conversations that followed were often essential.

This one fit right in.

General Ertonç had known John for years and obviously trusted him. John also clearly knew the doc. And there was John's branch. If there was an overture to make, a Special Forces soldier was a solid choice to make it. It would also explain John's proactive protective posture toward the general, as well as his secrecy regarding that posture. It could even explain John's deteriorating relationship with his houseguest, Sergeant LaCroix. And his purchase of that burner phone.

But something was missing. Something critical.

Why would Ertonç even want to broker a deal—any deal—with a Kurd, let alone a Kurd possibly related to the one who'd taken credit for murdering both his sons? And did that rationale have anything to do with LaCroix?

"Prez? You still there?"

"Yeah." Just distracted. Seriously so. "Jelly, can you—"

"Run Olan through the system and see what comes back?"

"You read my mind. Dig deep. I want everything you can find on the doc. Where he lives, who he sleeps with, and how often. Hell, I want to know what brand of toilet paper he prefers, and how much he pays for it. But I especially want to know if he's related to our good friend Royar."

"I'm on it."

"Also, let Brooks know I've