by Terri Reed
“Felicity!”
Recognizing her uncle’s voice, Westley relaxed and gave Dakota the hand signal to stand down.
Pushing past Westley, Felicity called out, “Coming.” She quickly tucked the necklace back beneath her uniform before hurrying out of the office. She didn’t need to tell Westley not to mention the key. No reason to get her uncle needlessly worked up about her father’s death when they had no hard evidence to prove he’d been murdered.
Westley and Dakota followed right behind her. They found Patrick standing in the middle of the living room with his mouth agape. He rushed to Felicity and pulled her into a crushing hug. “Are you okay? I heard something happened here. Who did this? Did the Red Rose Killer come back?”
“I don’t know, Uncle,” she said, her voice muffled in his shoulder. He smelled of the cigars he relished and Old Spice. His uniform was rough against her cheek.
“See, I told you, you need to come stay with me until this madman is captured,” Patrick said. He pulled back to stare at her with worry lines crinkling his forehead. “If anything happened to you—” He blew out a noisy breath. “My sister couldn’t take the shock.”
Felicity appreciated his concern but she didn’t want to dwell on her mother’s reaction. “Nothing is going to happen to me. As you can see, I’ve got protection. Dakota and Westley will keep me safe.”
Patrick’s lip curled as he eyed the dog.
“He’s a good dog. Protective.” Felicity knew from her mother that Uncle Patrick had had a bad childhood experience with a dog.
Patrick met her gaze. Concern darkened his expression. “You shouldn’t stay here, though,” he argued. “Look at this place. It’s a mess.”
“It’s my home,” she said. “I’ll clean it up. I’m not letting the likes of Boyd Sullivan drive me out of the house I shared with Dad.”
Patrick dropped his chin slightly. “Your father is gone, pumpkin. He wouldn’t want you to risk your life by staying here out of sentimentality.”
“It’s not sentimentality,” she replied. “It would be too hard to pack up and move. Besides, if Boyd is on base and watching, then he’d know where I was going.”
Patrick frowned. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” Westley said.
Felicity’s gaze whipped to him. Figures he’d side with her uncle.
Westley held up a hand as if to ward off an argument from her. “But Felicity is correct. Any move would draw more attention to her. Dakota will be staying with her, and I’ll be close by at all times.”
She smiled reassuringly at Patrick. “See. I’ll be taken care of.” It grated to say that. She could take care of herself. But then again...if she’d truly been Boyd’s intended target last night at the kennels, she clearly needed the backup.
“If you’re sure.” Patrick rubbed the back of his neck. “I could stay here with you.”
“No!” She practically shouted the word and then grimaced at the sound of panic in her voice. The last thing she wanted was to have her uncle fussing over her. He’d be pushy like her mother. “I mean...no, thank you. I don’t want to put you out. I’ll be fine.”
Patrick glanced around and then his gaze settled back on her. “You have my number. If you need me for anything, you ring me. I’ll check in with you often.”
Deciding that was as good as she’d get, she nodded. “That would be great. I’ll call if I need to.”
“All right, then.” Patrick narrowed his gaze on Westley. He spared Dakota a parting glance and a shudder, then said, “Promise me you won’t let anything happen to her.”
“I promise.”
Westley’s deep voice wrapped around her. He was a man who kept his promises, but how could he make this one when there was no guarantee he could keep it?
* * *
Felicity eyed the Office of Special Investigations. They were here to bring the key to Agent Steffen, though she wasn’t sure that it mattered. She doubted Ian would know what the key unlocked.
They’d driven over in her two-door compact car with Dakota sitting on the back seat. Westley hadn’t balked when Felicity had climbed into the driver’s seat. She’d been half-convinced she’d have to argue with him to drive her own car, but instead he’d relaxed into the passenger seat after adjusting it to accommodate his long legs. His wide shoulders took up the whole seat and hovered close to her shoulder. If she leaned a little to the right, they’d be touching, which made her hyperaware of every bump in the road.
She’d parked in front of the building and now she hesitated. She hadn’t been to her father’s office since his death. Memories threatened to swamp her. She fought them back with as much energy as she could spare, afraid if she didn’t keep them at bay she’d drown.
She forced herself to slip out of the car and meet Westley and Dakota on the sidewalk. She noticed that Westley’s gaze scanned the area, his hands on his utility belt, before he gave her a nod to indicate she should go ahead of him.
The receptionist smiled softly at her with sadness filling her eyes. Felicity had known her since she was ten. The tears were hot on the back of her throat. She could feel Westley’s gaze, but she didn’t dare look at him or the tears would start flowing. She had to be strong. They had a killer to catch. And a mystery to solve.
She led the way down the hall. The building was quiet on this late Sunday afternoon. The carpet beneath their feet snagged at Dakota’s nails.
Felicity stopped short outside a closed door halfway down the hall. Her father’s name still graced the name plaque. A spasm of longing hit her. On a whim, she slipped the key from beneath her uniform jacket and took off the necklace.
“Worth a try,” she murmured at Westley’s questioning look. She put the key in the lock. It didn’t fit. She hadn’t really expected it to. If the key was so important that her father went to the trouble of hiding it in a secret compartment in his desk, it wouldn’t be so mundane as to be a key to his office.
“Is the door locked?” Westley asked.
She tried the handle. It opened easily. She stepped inside and breathed in. She knew it was a trick of her mind, but she inhaled the lingering scent of her dad’s citrus aftershave. Her heart ached and grief twisted in her belly.
The office walls had been stripped of the framed photos and certificates that had once decorated the space. The desk was bare and the filing cabinet drawers were open and empty. She wasn’t sure why seeing the space so barren left her feeling empty and grief-stricken.
She guessed the reality that he was truly gone couldn’t be denied here. At home, his things were still touchable, as if waiting for his return. Maybe her uncle was right. Maybe she was staying in the house out of sentiment.
Her friend Rae Fallon, a rookie fighter pilot, needed a roommate. Maybe Felicity should consider moving into Rae’s apartment.
She shrugged off her thoughts. Right now, she and Westley had a task to do. She couldn’t let herself fall down a rabbit hole of sorrow.
Turning to leave, she bumped into Westley. His hands steadied her. She couldn’t deny she liked the way warmth seeped through her jacket to touch her skin. She looked into his eyes. The compassion in his gaze brought on a burn of tears. She blinked to keep them at bay.
“It’s okay to grieve,” he said. “You’ve been so strong this past month.”
“I grieve,” she said. “In private.” Where no one could judge her for the noisy sobs and the red-rimmed eyes.
“I want you to know you don’t have to keep everything in all the time,” he said.
She shrugged away his hands. “You sound like a shrink.”
His mouth lifted at one corner. “Doling out advice I was given a long time ago.”
She recalled he’d mentioned his father had passed on. “How old were you when your father died?”
Westley stepped back, his expression closing
like a door in her face. “Seventeen.”
“Had he been ill?” she asked gently.
“Let’s just say things weren’t good and leave it at that.” He gestured toward the door. “We need to see Ian.”
Obviously, Westley had no intention of sharing his past with her. To him, she was an assignment. Nothing more. She couldn’t help disappointment from burrowing deep inside, even though she knew it was silly of her to feel anything where Westley was concerned. Better for them both to remain detached.
Westley moved to the exit with Dakota at his side. He stopped in the doorway, looking both ways before allowing her to exit in front of him.
They knocked on Ian’s office door. It whipped open and Ian’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Is something wrong?”
“We think we found something important,” Felicity said and showed him the key while explaining about the secret compartment in her father’s home desk.
He waved them inside the office and examined the key. “You have no idea what the key opens?”
“None,” she and Westley said in unison. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder facing the older man.
“Neither do I.” Ian handed the key back to Felicity. “It could be nothing.”
She frowned. “But why would he hide this then?”
“I don’t think that’s relevant to your father’s murder. For all we know the key could have been in the desk for years. The piece was an antique when he bought it, right?”
Her shoulders slumped. She hadn’t thought of that. Maybe the key wasn’t her father’s. Her fingers closed around the piece of metal, the edges digging into her skin. She’d really hoped she’d found the means to uncover her father’s murderer.
Ian picked up his jacket and shrugged it on. “Right now, I have to focus on the Red Rose Killer.”
Her stomach knotted. “Has Boyd Sullivan struck again?”
By the grim set of Ian’s jaw she knew the answer before he spoke. “We believe so. The commissary cook that had been reported missing this morning, Stephen Butler, is dead. His body was found in a trash bin of an off-base local restaurant. His uniform and ID weren’t found at the scene.”
“Boyd dressed like Stephen and used his credentials to get on base,” Westley stated.
“That’s the going theory,” Ian replied. “I’m heading to the morgue to verify the cause and time of death.” He met Felicity’s gaze. “Be careful. I’ll see you both tomorrow morning.”
Felicity and Westley walked out with Ian. As they entered the reception area a man rushed forward, holding a cell phone. Felicity winced at the sight of base reporter John Robinson. With his red hair and horn-rimmed glasses, he looked more like a caricature than a serious journalist.
“Agent Steffen,” John said, holding out the phone with the speaker pointed at Ian. “What can you tell me about the Red Rose Killer? Have there been any more developments?”
“No comment,” Ian said with a frown and continued walking.
John shoved the phone in Felicity’s face. “You’re a target. Why would Boyd Sullivan, known as the Red Rose Killer, want to hurt you?”
Following Ian’s lead, Felicity said, “No comment.” She and Westley pushed past the reporter.
“Aww, come on, guys,” John complained as he followed them out to the sidewalk. “The base is in an uproar. The personnel deserve to know what’s going on.”
Westley put up a hand to prevent John from following them. “Lieutenant General Hall will make a statement when he is ready. Until then, back off.”
John’s mouth turned into a petulant scowl. “What is the lead MWD trainer and—” John flicked a glance at Dakota “—a guard dog doing in the OSI offices? Are you providing protection for Staff Sergeant Monroe?”
Westley stepped into John’s space and stared him down. Dakota growled, clearly sensing his handler’s tension. “I said back off.”
John held up his hands and moved away. “Fine.”
Felicity glanced at Westley, glad she wasn’t the one at the wrong end of his anger. When he put his hand to the small of her back to propel her down the sidewalk, heat seared through her uniform to warm her skin.
“You handled him well,” she commented.
Westley blew out a breath. “He’s harmless, but I don’t want him making a pest of himself to you. The last thing we need is a nosey reporter poking around into what we’re doing. If we’re going to find the lock that key belongs to, we need to fly under the radar with our investigation.”
She paused to stare at him. “So you believe the key is important?”
He seemed to contemplate the question. “My gut tells me yes. But maybe it’s wishful thinking.”
That she understood. “I feel the same. The key looks old, but not like an antique.”
“It won’t hurt anything for us to keep our eyes open for a lock that it might fit,” he said.
“Sounds good to me.” She was glad to know he was on the same page as far as finding her father’s killer. “The goal is to attract Boyd but not the attention of anyone else.”
“Right.” Westley’s phone dinged. He checked the incoming text message. “A couple more dogs have been found.”
“That’s good.” She sent up a prayer that all the animals would be recovered safely. “What is the total count now?”
“We’re still missing over forty dogs,” he replied. “I can’t grasp that Glory, Patriot, Liberty and Scout haven’t returned.”
“That’s strange,” she said. Worry twisted through her. “You don’t think anything bad happened to them, do you?”
“I hope not. The dogs are valuable. All of them,” he said. “But those four are our cream of the crop.”
In his tone she heard the same anxiety she felt. Before she thought better of it, she threaded her fingers through his and gave his hand a squeeze. “They will be found.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” he said as he paused to open the driver’s side of her car. “I hope they didn’t find a way off the base.”
“That would be scary,” she said.
A Security Forces vehicle rolled up behind them and Ethan Webb leaned an elbow on the open windowsill. “Hey, you two. Where are you headed?”
Felicity assumed they’d go back to her house, but then her stomach rumbled, making her aware she hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of the lunch she’d grabbed at the training center before she and Westley had gone to her house. She wondered if Westley had eaten today.
“I’m starving,” she announced rather unceremoniously.
Both men stared at her.
She shrugged. There wasn’t much in the way of groceries at home. “I want tacos and chips and salsa from La Taqueria.”
Westley chuckled, a sound that sent a little tingle down her spine. “Then the BX it is.”
The BX was the base’s shopping center filled with popular restaurants and dry-good stores.
“I’ll join you after I kennel, my partner, Titus,” Ethan said.
“We need to take Dakota to the training center as well, so he can have his dinner,” Westley said.
“Meet you there.” Ethan drove away.
Felicity drove to the training center. Once there, they fed Dakota and checked on the dogs. Then they met Ethan outside. He was talking to Rusty.
Westley returned the salute. “Caleb tells me you brought in Winnie and Lacy.”
Rusty nodded. His hazel eyes were troubled. “Yes, sir. They were wandering around the church grounds. Pastor Harmon called.”
“There are more out there,” Westley replied, a note of anxiety threaded through his words. “We need to find those dogs.”
“Yes, sir.” Rusty hustled away.
“You could have told him he’d done a good job,” Felicity said to Westley. “A little encouragement goes a long way.”
Westl
ey cocked his head and studied her. “You don’t think I’m encouraging?”
She barely stifled a snort. “No. You tend to be direct with your criticism and withhold your praise. And frankly—” She lifted her chin. Time to stand up to him and say what she’d been holding in for months. “It bugs me. It would be nice if every once in a while you said ‘Well done. Good job. Way to go. You did good.’”
Westley raised an eyebrow. “If I’m not correcting you, you’re doing it right.”
The urge to roll her eyes was strong but she resisted and smiled sweetly. “Sometimes it’s helpful to hear some encouragement.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” he said in a tone that grated on her nerves.
Ethan’s laugh reminded her they weren’t alone. “You two sound like an old married couple.”
Felicity shot Ethan a glare. “Not even.”
“We’re moving from hungry to hangry,” Westley murmured.
She opened her mouth to ask him how he dared to say that, but then she realized he was correct. Her hunger was making her irritable. “You’re right.” She sighed. “Can we go now?”
“I’ll meet you there,” Ethan said and headed to his vehicle.
“Your chariot awaits,” Westley said with humor in his expression as he gestured to her car. Her insides turned to liquid and her heart did a little two-step in her chest.
The old adage Be Careful What You Wish For came to mind as he grinned at her. She’d wondered what it would be like to see him really smile when the force of a small grin was like taking a set of paws in the gut. How on earth was she going to survive spending so much time with him if he could make her knees weak with one grin?
SIX
Sated, Westley pushed his empty plate away. He’d enjoyed this respite except for the weight of the missing dogs pressing on his mind. The restaurant was noisy with conversation and music playing from speakers in the corner. A television attached to the wall showed a muted soccer game. Every time one of the two teams scored, the crowd cheered. Westley and Felicity sat side by side with their backs to the wall. He liked being able to see who was coming their way and to observe the crowd.
