Page 1 of Crosshairs

CHAPTER 1

ADAM GLOSSNER HAD to work hard to conceal his smile, sitting on the edge of his three-year-old son’s tiny bed. The little boy giggled as he squeezed the doll again. A shaky, recorded voice said, “Oh, geez. C’mon, Rick.”

Brooke, Glossner’s six-year-old daughter, snickered from the other bed.

Glossner said, “Are you sure you’ve never watchedRick and Morty?”

The little boy kept smiling and shook his head.

“How did Grandpa know you’d like this Morty doll?”

Jeremy shrugged his little shoulders and kept the huge grin on his face. From the other bed, Brooke said, “Grandpa is smart. He said that’s why me and Jeremy are smart. It skips a generation.”

Glossner couldn’t keep from laughing out loud at that. His father often threatened to buy the kids a drum set if he didn’t getto see them enough. All Glossner could do now was hug his son and do the little ritual where he tucked the blankets tightly around him. Jeremy was an amazingly still sleeper. Glossner would often find him in the same position in the morning. The boy looked like a tiny mummy.

He stepped over to his daughter’s bed and leaned down to give her a kiss.

Brooke said, “Daddy, can we go to the LEGO store soon?”

“Sure. What’s my engineer need this time?”

“They have a new Star Wars collection. I just need one more TIE fighter.”

“Wow. When did you guys go full science fiction on me?”

Brooke smiled and said, “We’re not from the olden days. We grew up this way.”

Glossner snorted. “Six whole years of growing up. Nothing like the dark ages I had to live through.” He kissed his daughter on the forehead. “Once upon a time, I had to watch the commercials during Giants games. No fast-forwarding and no pausing either.”

“Really? All the commercials?”

“Yep.”

Glossner slipped out of the bedroom and down the hallway. His wife, Victoria, stepped out of their bedroom suite. She still could walk a runway as a model but looked like she was going out for a jog, in shorts and a T-shirt. She liked to sleep in the same clothes she intended to work out in the next morning.

“I love how Brooke lets Jeremy sleep in her room,” Glossner said. “It’ll be helpful when more siblings arrive.”

His wife said, “You better not expect too many more kids. I’ll be too old before you have the volleyball team you want.”

He chuckled as he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “We’ve got plenty of time. Want to come out on the balcony with me?”

Victoria shook her head. “I have to give my sister a call, then I’m down for the count.” As she turned to walk past him, she gave him a swat on the butt. “Not bad for a guy who doesn’t have time to work out.”

A couple of minutes later, Adam Glossner stood on his third-floor balcony, gazing out at the park in front of his apartment and the Hudson River beyond it. The air was cool but not uncomfortable. No snow so far this year, but that was always iffy before Thanksgiving. The wind was from the east, so he didn’t catch that salty smell that came off the river. He held a snifter of brandy in his left hand. He’d given up smoking cigars in the evening when Brooke told him they smelled gross. He had to admit he felt better for it.

He could see the three closest buildings around a bend in Riverside Drive. Something caught his attention. A movement on one of the lower balconies. Then a boat on the river distracted him. He took a sip of the Rémy Martin Cognac and gazed back out at the river.

His brain didn’t have time to process the sound of the bullet before it punched into the side of his head and sent him tumbling through the open French doors onto the Italian tile they’d just paid a fortune to have laid in their living room.

CHAPTER 2

I LAY IN bed, appreciating the dark bedroom. The apartment was quiet. With ten kids, that was rare. My wife, Mary Catherine, had been pushing both of us toward a healthier lifestyle. That included a couple of minutes of focused breathing and meditation every morning. This was my time to breathe and meditate.

I could hear Mary Catherine’s light snore. It was cute. Not that I could ever tell her that. She had the belief that she never snored. As Trent once said to her, “You claim you don’t burp. But I’ve seen you burp a couple of times. According to my debate class, that would negate your entire premise. Besides, everyone burps.” That had earned my youngest son a stern look and a small portion of roast pork with rice and beans. It also put Trent on notice that Mary Catherine really didn’t care for him pointing out her personal habits.

I was mature and experienced enough to know never to make a similar comment. I didn’t care if Mary Catherine burped after apepperoni pizza; I’d act like I didn’t hear or smell anything at all. Maybe that was the secret to our very happy marriage. That or the fact that we’d been married less than two months.

Then my cell phone rang. As I picked up the phone, I saw that it was my boss, Harry Grissom, calling me at 6:01 a.m. There was only one thing he’d be calling about this early.

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