Page 58 of Crosshairs

“I’m glad I did too.”

How different their relationship was from last night, when he could’ve cut the tension with a knife. Did he dare hope ...

His past washed over him like a tsunami. Linc couldn’t allow himself to even contemplate a relationship with her until she knew the whole story of why he wasn’t an FBI agent. He wasn’t sure this was the right time, though, and reached for her cup. “You need to get some rest.”

She stayed his hand, her fingers lingering on his. “I’d rather hear that story you said you’d tell me.”

Her touch was like an electric current burning its way to his heart. He raised his head. Ainsley waited expectantly, her blue eyes soft, trusting. If he told her what happened, she would never trust him again. His head said don’t do it, but the words that came out of his mouth were different. “Are you sure?”

“It can’t be that bad. You’re not in prison, so you didn’t kill anyone.”

“But I did.”

“I don’t believe you. Tell me what happened.”

He leaned against the back of the chair, sorting out his thoughts. Linc had played the scenario out so many times in his head. “It started one day in October,” he said slowly. “The team was sent to a housing project in Chicago. This gang leader was threatening to blow up the block. Had two hostages. Never did know who they were. Adrenaline was pumping. The target was pacing in front of a window...”

This wasn’t a story Linc shared with many people. He didn’t know why he was telling Ainsley, but he found the words spilling out of him.

“I had him in my crosshairs, and then he disappeared. Through my earpiece, I heard my supervisor say the target was coming down the steps.”

Beside him, Ainsley tensed and leaned closer.

Linc couldn’t pull himself out of the movie playing in his head.

Two hundred yards away, he scanned the area through the rifle scope, lining the crosshairs on a spot in thealley between the two apartment buildings. Intel indicated the alleywas where the target would emerge.

A figure darted into his line of sight from the alley, a kid withhis arm pulled back and a round object in his hand. Grenade? It wouldn’t be the first time thegang leader used a boy to kill. Linc’s fingertightened on the trigger.

His breathing stilled. Sound faded tonothing.

He’d never killed a boy before.

Motion to the right. Another boy appeared and the first kid tossedthe object to him.

Linc backed his finger off the trigger. Sweat poured down the side of his face. Abaseball. Nothing but a baseball. He swallowed down the bileracing into his throat.

Now he looked at Ainsley’s ashen face. “So, I almost killed an innocent boy.” He swiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Even now, thinking how close I came to killing this ten-year-old kid, it breaks me out in sweat.”

“You never would have gotten over it,” she said softly. “And that’s why you quit the FBI?”

“No, but it was the beginning of the end,” he said. “The end came a couple of months later in a similar situation. Terrorists were holed up in a farmhouse in Iowa. They were planning to bomb the state capitol, and I was supposed to provide cover while the other agents stormed in...”

“What happened?”

He licked his bottom lip. “Our supervisor held us back. An hour or two passed without any action, and I was getting bored. That’s when Blake and three other FBI agents moved into place. They had to be ready when the command was given. Suddenly there was movement in the window. I had the terrorist in my crosshairs...”

Linc stared straight ahead.

Ainsley placed her hand on his. “You don’t have to tell me.”

But he did. He wanted her to know what happened so she would understand why he couldn’t carry a gun. He gripped the coffee mug, and she released her hand from his.

“Like I said, I had him in my crosshairs. The command was given for Blake to move in. I was ready. Then, in the blink of an eye, I was seeing the kid instead of the target. I...” He licked his lips. “I couldn’t pull the trigger. I just stood there. The terrorist saw Blake. I snapped out of it when I heard the gun fire. Then I took the terrorist out. I was only a millisecond late...”

“But Blake was shot,” she said softly.

“Yes. In the leg.” Linc swallowed. “He lost his leg. Two years later, he killed himself.”

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