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

morning after they'd arrested LaCroix. Not only had father and daughter reconciled, but the entire Karmandi family had disappeared into thin air last week, along with Ertonç. It seemed new identities were in order. And this time, the general had been included—following a tragic collision with a fuel truck on the autobahn that managed to burn so hot, there was nothing left of the man but the DNA they'd managed to extract from a tooth.

She had no idea where they'd gone. Nor did she want to know.

It was better that way. Just as she was better off without John. Lord knew he was definitely better off without her.

Apprehension filtered through the malaise.

"Mira?" For someone who'd called to chat, the woman wasn't being all that chatty.

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong?" Washington, DC, was six hours behind Germany, something the NCIS agent was well aware of. "Why are you calling this late?" And why was she asking about John?

And there was that odd, reluctant tension on her friend's end of the line. Regan could feel it thickening in the silence. As though Mira had something significant to say…but couldn't quite bring herself to say it.

Nausea sloshed into her gut as she glanced across the room. Her TV was off. Mira's wasn't. And she was calling.

Had there been a training accident at Bragg? Or was John already deployed? Had something happened? Another one of those goddamned bombings in the world?

Was he injured—or worse?

The nausea began to churn in earnest. "Is John…okay?"

"He's fine—at least, I think so. I haven't spoken to him since I left Hohenfels. But, uh, turn on the news."

Regan was already striding toward the TV. If Mira wasn't calling about John, had someone figured out Ertonç wasn't really dead—and had taken pains to ensure the man became so?

Too tense to translate, Regan snatched the remote off the coffee table and punched in the channel number for the local, English-language cable news network.

She needn't have bothered. The succession of photos that were flashing across the screen transcended language.

"Sweet Jesus."

Whoever said a picture was worth a thousand words had woefully underestimated the amount. Because those were worth a million. At least to her. The photos were of Sergeant First Class LaCroix, John Garrison…and her. But while John's face had been thoughtfully blurred out by the network, LaCroix's and hers had not. She rated several pictures, in fact. Her official Army mugshot, a candid of her in civilian clothes…and a slightly out-of-focus view of her with Rachel Pace's hair before she'd had a chance to have it dyed back to her normal, muddy brown.

The commentary? That was so much worse.

The remote clattered to the floor.

Her phone nearly followed.

"Yeah, I know, Rae. It's bad." She could hear Mira grinding her teeth. "The upshot? According to LaCroix's lawyer, the Army knowingly pimped you out. Basically, they're saying you set out to screw Garrison in order to make your case. Don't worry. It won't hold up, and you know it. So does LaCroix. He's just pissed. Even his bastard of a lawyer admitted John wasn't the target of the investigation. Heck, you'd cleared him of suspicion several times over before that night—along with me and Agent Jelling."

She nodded numbly. She had. They all had.

But that wouldn't matter, would it?

Not to her still gun-shy boss and certainly not to John. In fact, John's anger and humiliation were bound to be reinforced by this. Magnified.

LaCroix had planned on that too. The bastard's twisted, personal payback for John bringing that laptop of his into CID and signing a statement regarding the breach of those encrypted files on John's work computer.

She finally understood that smirk.

LaCroix had gotten his revenge after all, and then some. General Ertonç was alive, but his career was toast. Saniye, her husband and their kids had been uprooted and forced into hiding. Hell, even Turkey was eyeing NATO though a serious squint—as they fluttered their geo-political lashes and blew kisses at Russia.

And as for her? She'd dared to thwart LaCroix's initial plans by intercepting that first, physical, bomb—so the sergeant had ruthlessly constructed another. This second one might have been virtual and crafted on the fly, but with it, LaCroix had succeeded in blowing her career as an active, undercover investigative asset into oblivion.

She could still feel the molten shrapnel raining down. The devil with the slur against her reputation, her face was on the international news.

What the hell was she supposed to do now?

* * *

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Are you ready for the next

Regan Chase case?

BLIND EDGE:

What if the one person you can’t trust

…is yourself?

BLIND EDGE is Book 2 in the Deception Point Military Thriller Series.

Turn the page for a sneak peek!

Sneak Peek - BLIND EDGE

Book 2 in the Deception Point Military Thriller Series

Prologue

The Bible was wrong. Vengeance didn't belong to the Lord. It belonged to him.

To them.

To the twelve soldiers who'd stumbled out of that dank, icy cave, each as consumed as he was by the malevolence that had been carved into their souls. A second later, the night breeze shifted—and he caught a whiff of him. He couldn't be sure if that rotting piece of camel dung had been left behind as a lookout or if the bastard was part of a squad waiting to ambush his team. When the combined experiences of countless covert missions locked in, allowing him to place the stench wafting down along with stale sweat and pure evil, he no longer cared. Because once again, he smelled blood.

Fresh blood.

It permeated the air outside the cave, as did the need for retribution. As his fellow soldiers faded into the wind-sheared boulders, he knew they felt it too.

By God, they would all taste it.

Soon.

He shot out on point. There was no need to glance behind as he reached the base of the cliff and shouldered