All he heard was his panting breath and heavy footfalls as his boots slapped against dead leaves.
Where are You? he wanted to ask.
Where have You been?
Years ago, he’d prayed just as desperately when his partner had been shot while they’d been responding to a domestic violence call. Justin had been a rookie military police officer. He’d been assigned to work with Corbin Williams—a twenty-year veteran of the Security Forces. They’d been partners for four years, and in that time, they’d become good friends. Corbin had included Justin in family events, invited him to church, helped him mature as a Christian.
And then they’d gone on the call that had changed everything.
One shot fired by a drunken airman and Corbin had fallen. The bullet had punctured his lung and lodged in his liver. He’d lived long enough to see his wife and his kids at the hospital. During surgery to remove the bullet and repair the damage, his heart had stopped.
Justin’s desperate prayers hadn’t saved him.
His prayers hadn’t eased the heartache of Corbin’s family.
If Corbin had been around, he’d have told Justin that God works even the difficult times into good things.
And maybe he’d have been right.
Justin had gone into K-9 work because he hadn’t wanted to lose another partner. Corbin had been his first and last human partner. Over the years, he and K-9 partners had stopped a lot of criminals and saved a lot of lives.
Corbin’s widow, Alexis, reminded Justin of that when he visited. She lived in Houston now. The kids were grown. She had grandkids. And she never doubted that God was with her. That He loved her.
Justin tried to have that kind of faith.
More often than not, he failed.
Right now, though, he wished he could hold on to the promises that Corbin had so often quoted when they were on the job together. He wished he could access the kind of belief in God’s divine plan that didn’t waver. No matter the circumstances.
Instead, all he managed were quick, desperate prayers that seemed as ineffective as umbrellas during hurricanes.
Up ahead, lights gleamed through the trees. Not house lights. Streetlights.
Sullivan was running toward an escape vehicle.
The thought left Justin cold.
He’d been hoping they had him boxed in.
“He has a vehicle waiting,” Ava said, echoing his thoughts.
“Radio in our location. See if we can get some manpower here. We’ll want to block the road...” His voice trailed off as Quinn suddenly appeared. The Malinois ran to him, jumping up and planting his feet on Justin’s chest. One quick bark, and the dog was off again.
“He’s found him,” Justin yelled, racing after the dog.
The trees thinned out and the forest opened up into a grassy field. Beyond it, he could see a brick building and an empty parking lot.
The church.
He and Portia attended every Sunday, and it didn’t surprise him that Boyd would go there. He loved instilling fear. This was a place Justin felt comfortable and at ease. Boyd wanted to change that.
Behind Justin, Ava was speaking quickly, relaying their location, calling for police presence at the church and on the streets surrounding it.
Too little too late.
Sullivan had planned this well. He’d parked far enough away to have built-in escape time. He’d parked close enough that walking had been easy.
And he’d made a stop at the empty property, broken in, turned on some lights. Stretched the Security Forces thinner by giving them another location to search.
“I want this guy. Tonight,” Justin muttered as he raced across the field. He could see Quinn, moonlight glinting in his fur, his body tense as he loped through the grass.
He was heading straight toward the church, not sniffing, not searching. He’d seen his prize, and he was leading Justin to it.
A car engine revved as Quinn reached the parking lot, and Justin’s pulse jumped, his hair standing on end.
Quinn was heading into the fray, ready to take Sullivan down. But a car was a deadly weapon, and Justin wasn’t willing to lose another partner.
“Front!” he yelled, and Quinn’s ears twitched, his powerful body jerking to a stop.
He swung around, running back toward Justin as a vehicle raced around the side of the building and sped straight toward them.
Justin pulled his firearm, aiming for the car’s windshield. His first shot shattered the glass.
The car spun to the left, the engine revving again as Sullivan fled. Of course he wouldn’t stand his ground. He was a coward. Just like most bullies.
Justin fired another shot, taking out a back tire. The car fishtailed but kept going, crippled but still functioning. Hopefully not for long.
He radioed in a description of the vehicle, offering a partial plate number and asking that gate security officers be made aware of the situation. He doubted Sullivan would attempt to drive off base, but he wanted to be prepared if it happened.
Quinn whined, still sitting in front of Justin, staring into his face as if he had some secret message to convey.
“What is it, boy?” Justin asked.
Quinn jumped up, front paws on Justin’s chest for a second before he sat again.
“That’s his indication,” Ava commented. Not a question, but Justin nodded. Sullivan was gone, but Quinn had something else he wanted to go after.
“Go get it, Quinn,” he commanded.
The dog bounded away, running into the parking lot, away from the pebbly pieces of glass that glinted in the moonlight. He reached the church, rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.
“Do you think we should call in the bomb unit to check the church?” Ava asked. “I wouldn’t put it past Sullivan to use something like that as a distraction.”
“I don’t think he planned on being followed back here, so I think we’re in the clear.”
“He’s been excelling at staying a step ahead of us, Captain,” she reminded him. “Anything is possible.”
“I agree, but he had no reason to believe I’d be able to follow him here. He planned to kill me in the woods, and he isn’t used to failing. He’d have assumed he was going to get the outcome he was looking for.”
“He is cocky and arrogant, so you could be right. That will work out well for us. Arrogant, cocky people tend to make mistakes.”
“And mistakes get criminals caught.”
They rounded the corner of the building to find Quinn standing beneath a streetlight. Ears back, muzzle down, he stared at something that lay on the ground.
“Off!” Justin commanded. Quinn was well trained. He wouldn’t touch the item. He wouldn’t eat it.
But Sullivan was familiar with the K-9 team. He’d been observing it for months. He had to know how tight the bond was between handler and K-9 partner. Justin wouldn’t put it past him to try to poison the dogs. He certainly hadn’t cared about releasing the well-trained dogs from their kennels.
“Heel,” he said as Quinn reached his side.
The dog did as he was commanded, stepping into heel and matching his pace with Justin’s.
Justin motioned for Ava to stay back, then approached the streetlight. After a few steps, he could see the item clearly. Items. A long-stemmed red rose lying on top of a piece of paper. He crouched beside it, pulling out his phone and snapping a few photos.
“What is it?” Ava asked, approaching cautiously.
“A rose.”
“Sullivan’s signature,” she murmured. “Is that a note?”
“Yeah. It says, ‘You’re next.’”
“Did he think you hadn’t already figured that out? He did kidnap Portia to get to you.”
“He’s enjoying the game. He won’t be for much longer,” he responded grimly.
>
“Let’s see if we can track the vehicle,” Ava suggested. “He won’t get far with a blown-out tire. Once we find the car, we should have no problem tracking him from there.”
“You are Search and Rescue, Ava,” Justin pointed out. Ava had been key in helping to locate many of the dogs Boyd had freed from the base kennel, and she continued to search for the ones that remained missing. A few months ago, she’d helped find a child who’d been missing from a school trip. During her search, she’d come face-to-face with Sullivan. Since then, she seemed determined to be part of the team efforts to bring in the serial killer.
“And?”
“Security Forces will handle searching for Sullivan.”
“We’re all part of the same team, Captain,” she reminded him. “And Roscoe’s got a great nose. The scent is fresh. Now is the time to go.”
She was already walking toward the street, Roscoe beside her.
“He’s not trained in apprehension or attack, and Sullivan won’t care whether he takes out a mild-tempered Labrador or a high-energy Malinois.”
She hesitated. He’d known she would.
K-9 teams were strongly bonded, and no handler would put a dog into a situation he hadn’t been trained for.
“Are you taking Quinn?”
He wanted to, but three Security Forces vehicles were speeding into the lot, officers jumping out and running toward him. He could count on his MPs to do everything in their power to apprehend Sullivan, but if Sullivan slipped through their fingers, he knew where he needed to be. At the hospital.
Portia was there with Gretchen, who was injured.
The thought of either of them coming up against Boyd made his pulse race.
“I’m going to the hospital. I need to make sure Portia and Gretchen are okay,” he responded, his attention on the officers who were moving toward them. Tech Sergeant Linc Colson was there, opening the back hatch of his vehicle and letting his rottweiler out.
Good.
Star was a trained attack dog. She’d be able to take Sullivan down easily. If they were able to track him down.
“Captain,” Linc called, raising a hand in salute. “I hear there’s been another run-in with Sullivan.”
“He killed a bodyguard and kidnapped Portia.”
“Does he still have her?”
“Gretchen and I managed to free her, but Sullivan slipped through our fingers. Again.” He filled Linc in on what had transpired, giving a description of the car and the direction Sullivan was heading.
Hopefully it would be enough.
The Red Rose Killer needed to be brought to justice before anyone else was hurt or killed.
“We’ll do everything we can to bring him in,” Linc assured him. “Are you heading to the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Take my vehicle. I can catch a ride back to headquarters and grab the SUV later.” He tossed keys in Justin’s direction, issued a terse command to Star and jogged away.
Justin wanted to believe they’d find Sullivan.
He wanted to believe tonight was the night that this months-long nightmare would end, but Sullivan had eluded them over and over again. He’d killed an airman, stolen his uniform and used it to blend in while he was on base.
He was smart, and he had no conscience, no remorse.
If he got his hands on Portia again...
Justin shook the thought away, calling to Quinn and loading him into the back of Linc’s vehicle. He shut the door with a little too much force, angry with himself for allowing Sullivan to escape again. Angry with God for not ending things.
Corbin had believed that there was a reason for everything. He’d often told Justin that God’s plans weren’t always clear, but they were always good.
Maybe he’d been right.
Probably he had been.
But Justin could see no reason for people being murdered. He could think of no good plan that involved innocent lives being lost. He’d become a military police officer because he’d believed that justice should always prevail. He’d believed that good should always win. He’d wanted to make a difference in the world, and he supposed that he had. God had used him to help dozens of people. He’d used him to solve hundreds of crimes. Justin acknowledged that, and he was grateful for it.
But this case?
It was eating him alive, because no matter how much time was put into it, no matter how many hours were spent pursuing leads, no matter what they did to try to stop him, Boyd Sullivan remained free.
“Not for long,” he promised himself as he started the SUV and pulled out of the parking lot.
* * *
God was always good.
Even in the tough times.
Henry had said that often during the years they’d been together. He’d lost his father in a car accident. He’d been diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. He’d gone through chemo and radiation and been so sick he couldn’t get out of bed.
And, to him, God was still good.
Funny how Gretchen had forgotten those words, forgotten how confident Henry had been when he’d said them. He hadn’t been afraid to die. He hadn’t been afraid to be sick. He’d lived life to the fullest until the very end.
She remembered that.
Just like she remembered his smile and his laughter.
He’d be smiling now if he were there. Joking with her while she waited for the doctor to stitch the wound in her upper arm. He’d always been happy and confident and fun. Without him, she’d become too somber and too focused, too intent on her work.
At least, that was what her closest friends said.
That may or may not have been one of the reasons she’d agreed to take the assignment at Canyon Air Force Base. She’d been at Minot Air Force Base for several years. The community there was small and tight-knit. People knew each other well, and most of them cared a lot about the happiness of their comrades.
Over the past couple of years, Gretchen had been invited on double dates, set up on blind dates and encouraged to step out of her comfort zone by friends, coworkers and acquaintances.
Apparently, there was a timeline for grief, and she should have reached the end of hers.
And in some ways she had.
Grief had faded into quiet sadness for what she’d lost and into bittersweet joy for what she’d had. But that didn’t mean she wanted another relationship. She’d tried to tell her friends that. She’d tried to explain it to coworkers, but Gretchen’s single status was a constant source of discussion on base, and frankly, she’d had enough of it. When she’d been asked to take a temporary transfer and train for a leadership position at another command post, she’d jumped at the opportunity.
In the months since then, she’d missed her friends and community in Minot, but she hadn’t regretted the decision to leave. Even now, sitting on an exam table, arm bandaged, waiting for the doctor to return with a suture kit, she wasn’t sorry she’d come to Canyon Air Force Base. She’d learned a lot, and would continue to do so for the next four weeks. At the end of that time, she’d return to Minot and begin putting together the new K-9 unit there.
Or leave the military.
She’d almost completed eight years of active service. Her commanding officer had reminded her of that when he’d offered her the temporary transfer: You’re young. You can move up the ranks and make a name for yourself, or you can leave and start a new career. The choice will be yours. Either way, we’ll expect you to spend the last six months of your assignment setting up our new K-9 unit and putting airmen in place who will be an asset to it.
She’d agreed, because she’d needed a change of pace, because the transfer had seemed interesting, because she was always willing to learn something new.
But she’d had no idea whether she’d return to take the post as head of the Minot K-9 Unit. If she did that, she’
d be committing to another four years in the military. By the time she left, she’d be thirty-two. Which shouldn’t matter. She loved being an MP, but the truth was, she’d never intended to make a lifetime career of it.
“Are you okay?” Portia asked. She’d been brought to the hospital triage room at Gretchen’s insistence. Anything else had been out of the question. No separate rooms. No being interviewed by the MP who was waiting in the corridor. Gretchen planned to keep Justin’s daughter within arm’s reach until he arrived and could take over her protection.
“Right as rain,” she responded, offering the teen a bright smile.
Portia didn’t seem convinced.
She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear and frowned. “This is all my fault. I should never have blogged about the Red Rose Killer.”
“You shouldn’t have blogged about him, but that doesn’t make this your fault.”
“You don’t have to be nice to me, Gretchen. I know that everyone my dad works with is mad at me for what I did.”
“Who gave you that idea?” she asked, looking into Portia’s bright blue eyes. She was a quietly pretty girl. No makeup. No oddly colored hair. Just a sweet-looking kid with dark circles under her eyes and sorrow in her expression.
“No one. It’s obvious. I was writing things that my dad discussed with the team, and I was putting everyone at risk.”
“Is that what your dad said?”
“Yes, and he’s right.”
“You’re a kid. Kids make mistakes.”
“My mother always said that mistakes happen. It’s what we do after we make them that defines us as people.”
“Your mother was a very wise woman.”
“Yes. I wish...”
“She was here?” she guessed, and Portia shrugged, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“I guess that’s the way every kid who loses a parent feels.”
“That doesn’t make it an easy feeling to have.”
Portia met her eyes again. “No. You’re right. It doesn’t. Do you think my dad is okay?”
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