by Terri Reed
“I’m fine, Uncle,” she replied. “A little shaken, that’s all.”
“I would imagine so,” Patrick said. “Colleen must be beside herself.”
Felicity made a face. “I haven’t told Mom and would rather you didn’t as well.”
Patrick smirked. “The last thing I want is to be the bearer of bad news to my sister.” He gave a mock shudder.
“Uncle, this is Master Sergeant Westley James,” Felicity said. “Westley, my uncle, Staff Sergeant Patrick Dooley.”
“You’re from the MWD training center, right?” Patrick asked. “I’ve seen you working the dogs.”
“That’s right.” From Patrick’s tone, Westley gathered the man wasn’t a fan of the canines.
Patrick focused on Felicity. “It’s not safe for you to go home. You need to come stay with me. We’re family after all.”
The stiffness in Felicity’s shoulders told Westley she wasn’t keen on the idea. “She’ll have all the protection she needs,” Westley assured the man. “We’re heading to the training center now to pick up a dog for her.”
Felicity shot Westley a look that he couldn’t decipher. He guessed she was thinking that it was against regulations for an MWD to be housed anywhere but in the kennels. He would have to explain when her uncle wasn’t present.
Patrick’s upper lip curled slightly. “Unacceptable. Your mother would never forgive me if I let something happen to you when I could keep you safe.”
“I appreciate the offer, Uncle Patrick,” she said. “But Westley will provide me the protection I need.”
“I suppose you’ll be safe at the training center as well.” Patrick didn’t sound mollified.
“Actually, I’m taking over the role of base photographer starting tomorrow,” Felicity told him.
The man’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “What? Whose crazy idea was that? You’ll be out in the open. Exposed. Unacceptable!”
Though Westley agreed with the man’s assertions, he remained silent. He would let Felicity fill in her uncle on Westley’s role.
“The base commander’s order,” she said. “And Master Sergeant James will be with me.”
Westley met Patrick’s narrowed gaze. “You’d better keep her safe.”
“I plan to,” he replied.
Felicity let out a small huff of air. “We need to get back to the training center so I can collect my things.”
Patrick walked outside with them. The temperature had risen on this April afternoon, warming the air to a nice muggy level that immediately dampened Westley’s skin. Walking to the other side of base wasn’t an appealing thought. “Patrick, would you give us a ride back to the training center?”
“Of course,” he said and led them to a jeep parked across the road.
The vehicle smelled faintly of a scent Westley couldn’t identify. He rolled down the window for fresh air. The ride to the center took all of four minutes.
Felicity gave her uncle a quick hug before he drove away, leaving them standing outside of the center.
“I didn’t realize you had more family on base,” Westley said as they walked toward the entrance.
“We aren’t super close,” she confessed. “Uncle Patrick and my dad used to be friends when they were young. That’s how my parents met, but as Dad moved up through the ranks and into the OSI, he and Patrick grew apart.” She let out a bitter-sounding laugh. “My parents grew apart, as well.”
“Divorced?”
“Yes.” She stopped to glance his way and shielded her eyes from the sun. “What about your parents?”
Acid churned in his gut. He had to ask, had to know. “What did Agent Steffen tell you?”
“Why do you assume he told me anything about you?”
“Because something he said upset you,” Westley replied. “Something that you don’t trust me enough to talk about, so I gathered that meant he warned you off of me.”
Speculation entered her blue-green gaze. “No. What we talked about had nothing to do with you.”
Relief swept through him. And he felt idiotic for his paranoia. “Good.” He started walking again, intending to put the whole subject behind them.
She hurried to keep up the pace and put a hand on his arm before he could open the door to the training center. “But now I’m curious. You never talk about yourself. Why would I need to be warned off of you?”
Westley’s mouth turned to cotton. Of course. The woman was curious. Felicity liked to talk and to hear others’ stories. He’d seen and heard her on numerous occasions with the handlers that came to the training center and with the other trainers. She had a way about her that people found engaging and comfortable.
Right now, he felt anything but comfortable. He wasn’t going to spill his guts about his past if he didn’t have to. The things his parents had done didn’t have anything to do with his present life. Nor with his ability to protect Felicity. “Sorry. Not going there.”
“I know you’re my superior, and I’m to follow orders,” she replied, “but I figure since we’re going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future, we may as well get to know each other a bit better.”
He faced her. “There’s nothing to know.”
“Sure there is. Where did you grow up?”
The determination in her expression didn’t bode well. The tenacity that would make her a great dog trainer one day also meant he wasn’t getting out of this conversation easily. The only thing to do was give her the basics that anyone could read in his official personnel file. “I grew up in Stillwater, Oklahoma. My father passed on years ago.” In prison, but he kept that tidbit to himself. “And my mother is...” He didn’t know where Lori Jean James was. Last he’d heard from her, she’d been in Nevada. “We aren’t close.”
“I’m sorry,” Felicity said.
Her compassion annoyed him. He didn’t want her pity. “Look. None of that matters. I have one focus right now. That is protecting you.” He yanked open the door. “The first thing we need to do is find Glory. She’ll be the best dog for you.”
He didn’t need to read Felicity’s mind to know she wasn’t pleased with him. It was written in the tiny V between her eyebrows and the irritation in her eyes.
Inside the center, Felicity went to gather her things from the locker room, while Westley headed for the dog kennels at the back of the building. He passed one of the long-time trainers, Rusty Morton. Westley liked the guy well enough.
Rusty paused to salute. “Master Sergeant.”
Westley returned the customary salute. “At ease. How is it going?”
Rusty relaxed. “I’m headed out to see if I can find more of the dogs. Someone reported seeing some in the woods at the far edge of base.”
That was concerning. Six hundred acres of rough terrain and steep canyons could pose a danger to the canines. He hoped nothing bad befell the dogs. “I’ll be praying you find them.” And praying the canines were unharmed. “I’ll head out soon to search as well.”
“Yes, sir.” Rusty hurried away.
Why Westley clung to the faith of his childhood, he didn’t know. Habit maybe. Or deep inside, maybe he still wanted to believe God answered prayers. So he prayed that Rusty and the other trainers out searching for the dogs had success.
Westley entered the large open space where numerous kennels lined the walls. Dogs barked in greeting. He was pleased to see so many of the dogs had been returned unharmed.
“We have about sixty dogs still missing,” Caleb Streeter told him. The tall, muscular officer was refilling water bowls. Because Caleb and Westley were the same rank, they dispensed with the protocol of saluting.
Westley was surprised by the number and tried not to be disheartened. The dogs had to be somewhere on base. But where?
“I need Glory,” Westley said as he stopped in front of her empty crate. �
�Where is she?”
“She’s one of the sixty.”
“No way!” Westley couldn’t believe it. “Glory is a rock star. She’d come when called.”
“I know. I don’t get it,” Caleb said. “Liberty, Patriot and Scout are missing, too.”
“That’s just weird.” And worrisome. Westley rubbed the back of his neck, where tension had taken up residence. The four German shepherds were superstars in the making and very valuable to the military. They should have been easily recalled. He hoped and prayed they weren’t hurt, or worse. Anxiety ate at his gut.
His gaze collided with the dark eyes of an all-black German shepherd named Dakota. A measure of relief eased some of the pressure knotting his muscles. Dakota was a good candidate for Felicity. The mature, multipurpose dog excelled in his training and had a good balance of aggression and excitability that was needed for patrol work. He’d been deployed with his handler on two missions overseas before coming back to the training center to be paired with a new handler after his handler had been injured. “You’ll do nicely, Dakota.”
The dog perked up hearing his name. Grabbing a lead, Westley released the dog from his kennel and latched the lead to his black collar. The dog was a two-year-old veteran well trained in protection. Westley was confident that Dakota would keep Felicity safe.
Westley explained to Caleb the situation of the Red Rose Killer and Westley’s detail to Felicity’s protection.
“Man, that’s rough,” the other trainer said. “What can I do to help?”
“I need you to take over the day-to-day tasks while I’m on this detail.”
Caleb’s blue eyes grew wide. “You got it.”
Surprisingly, Westley didn’t mind giving up control of the program. It was only temporary and he knew the dogs would be in capable hands. Taking Dakota with him, he went to find Felicity, who was talking with base reporter Lieutenant Heidi Jenks in the training center break room.
He saluted the officer while Dakota sat at attention.
“At ease,” Heidi said as she returned the salute.
Turning his gaze on Felicity, he hoped she hadn’t given away any details. “What’s going on?”
Felicity smiled easily. “Just chatting. Do you know Heidi? She’s my neighbor.”
“Only by reputation,” he replied.
Pushing back her long blond hair, Heidi said, “I was hoping you all could tell me about the missing dogs and the two trainers who were murdered here last night.”
“No comment,” Westley replied. “Felicity, we need to go.”
Heidi scrambled from her chair. “Wait. Give me something. Do you have any info on Chief Master Sergeant Lockwood’s murder?”
“Sorry, Lieutenant. You’ll have to contact the base commander for information.” He gripped Felicity by the elbow and hurried her out of the center. Once they were away from the reporter, he said, “What did you tell her?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “I know better than that. My dad was OSI, you know.”
“Right.” He took his cell phone from his pocket and sent a text to the training staff telling them Caleb would be in charge and not to talk to the press.
“I thought you said Glory was the dog for me,” Felicity said, petting Dakota. “Not that I’m complaining. I like this guy a lot.”
Westley relayed what Caleb had told him as they hurried toward base housing.
“I have to believe we’ll find the dogs,” she said, though a thread of anxiety wove through her tone.
“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” he replied.
“Is that a bad thing?”
He shrugged. “It leaves you open to disappointment.”
“Maybe. But if I go around expecting disappointment then I’m sure to find it.”
He marveled at the way her brain worked.
“Would you mind if we say a prayer for the dogs’ safety?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.
“Be my guest,” he said. He’d like to think God would hear and deliver on their request. Maybe he would for Felicity.
She bowed her head. “Lord God, please watch over the missing dogs and bring them back safely. Watch over the whole base, Lord. Keep everyone safe from Boyd Sullivan. Amen.”
“Amen,” he mumbled.
When they reached her house, crime-scene tape fluttered around the mailbox, slamming home the reminder of the danger lurking on base.
Before Felicity could step inside, Westley halted her with a hand on her shoulder. “Let Dakota go first.” If the Red Rose Killer was waiting inside, the dog would alert.
He unhooked the lead from the dog’s collar. “Search,” Westley told Dakota.
The dog went inside. Westley tensed, waiting for some sign of alert to trouble. A few moments later, Dakota returned without alerting.
“It’s safe,” Westley said.
Felicity stepped inside and let out an audible gasp.
Westley followed her, taking in the disarray of the living room. Either she was a messy housekeeper or someone had ransacked her house.
FOUR
Felicity clenched her fists at her sides, taking in the damage done to her house while she’d been at the briefing.
The stuffing from the couches littered the floor like little puffy clouds. All the books from the shelves were strewn about. Framed photos had been knocked off the walls, the glass shattered. A sense of violation seeped through her bones.
The blatant destruction was worse than the subtle signs of intrusion that had caused her to question her sanity. Now she knew without a doubt she wasn’t going crazy. Someone had been in her house, searched her house. Was it the person who killed her father?
Dread nipped at her. Had the person found what they were looking for? Was it the evidence in her father’s last case that had gone missing?
If so, then what chance did the OSI have of catching the person who took her father from her?
“I take it this isn’t how you left things this morning.” He took out his phone and reported the break-in to base security.
Westley’s wry comment grated on her already taut nerves.
She whirled on him. “No. This is the work of a killer.”
“Why would Boyd want to wreck your house?”
She snapped her jaw closed and clenched her teeth. Should she confide in Westley? The question poked at her like a cattle prod. Ian had said not to trust anyone.
Agitated, she hurried through the house, seeing the same sort of ransacking in every room, though her bedroom wasn’t nearly as torn apart. But the majority of the chaos was concentrated in her father’s office. His file cabinets had been emptied, his desk drawers dumped in heaps.
“Someone seemed to be searching for something important to them,” Westley mused.
She wondered how much help he could be in figuring out the mystery. The man was smart.
Aware of Westley and Dakota dogging her steps, she wrestled with the need to tell Westley the truth. There was no reason why she shouldn’t trust this man. Working for him for six months had shown her he was a man of integrity. Surely, he wasn’t involved in her father’s death. Yet, reluctance kept her silent.
He cocked his head and studied her. Dakota sat and mimicked the man. Felicity shook her head, amused despite the circumstances. Seemed like both males were analyzing her.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Westley’s question jerked her gaze to meet his intense stare. Her heart pounded as her instinct warred with Ian’s directive.
“Felicity, I can’t protect you if I don’t know what is going on.”
True. Westley was the only one standing between her and a potential killer.
Two killers, in fact.
And if Westley didn’t know there was more than one threat out there, then how effective could he be? And once Westley
knew everything, he could help catch her father’s murderer. She’d ask Ian for forgiveness later.
“This wasn’t the work of Boyd Sullivan. At least, I don’t believe so.” There was the slimmest possibilities Boyd or his accomplice had trashed her home, though their motive was a mystery.
Westley’s eyebrows rose. “Then who? Why?”
She inhaled, blew out the breath and then said, “My father’s death wasn’t an accident.”
Westley frowned. “What do you mean? How so?”
Her stomach clenched. “Agent Steffen believes that the last case my dad was working on is why he’s dead. My father had a lead on a hit-and-run off base. His case notes are missing.”
“So that’s what Agent Steffen wanted to talk to you about. He thinks your father’s death was no accident. That he was...murdered?”
Bile rose to burn her throat. “Yes.”
“Felicity—”
She could hear the need to comfort her that had been in his voice earlier, when he hugged her. “Don’t. Please, Westley, just don’t. Not now.”
Westley rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Okay. Okay.” He looked around the office. “So this was someone looking for the evidence your father had.”
Grateful he was refocusing on something they could both handle, Felicity blew out another agitated breath. “I believe so. The question is did they find what they were looking for?”
“This morning, when you thought there was someone in your house, there really was.”
The grim reality of how vulnerable she’d been sent a shiver of terror down her spine. To cover her fright, she bent to pick up a broken picture frame.
“Don’t.” He echoed her plea; only from him, the word was a command.
She stilled.
“The Security Forces crime-scene techs need to dust for prints and look for particulates.”
Of course. She straightened and stared down at the smiling face of her father, his arm wrapped around her on her sixteenth birthday. Tears burned her eyes. She held them back. No way would she cry in front of Westley. “I miss him so much.”
