by Terri Reed
Setting her camera bag on an empty desk, Felicity peered at him with curiosity shining in her eyes. “Do you ever think you’ll have your own kids?”
“Me?” He nearly choked on the word. “No. What about you?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. If I find the right man to share my life with.”
He told himself to forget it. It was none of his business but the words flowed off his tongue before he could stop himself. “Ever been close to walking down the aisle?”
She let out a laugh that was half bitter and half self-effacing. “Hardly.” A flicker of hurt crossed her face before she turned away to busy herself unpacking her bag. He didn’t like to think some guy had caused her pain.
“Why do you say it like that?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t found anyone I click with, I guess. The men I’ve dated were disappointing.” Her lips twisted. “Or rather I was the disappointment. Maybe my expectations are too high.”
He couldn’t imagine anyone being disappointed in her. She was fun and smart, and pretty. “You have criteria?”
She smiled faintly. “Yes. I want sparks,” she said. “I want to be loved as I am. I want to share my faith as well as my life with the man I give my heart to.”
“Those sound reasonable,” he murmured. He wondered if she felt the sparks that he did whenever they were together. Probably not.
It was best not to let himself put too much stock in his attraction to the lovely sergeant. Their situation was temporary. They both had jobs to do. And when the killers—Boyd and the person who murdered her father—were arrested and locked away, Westley and Felicity would return to the training center and life would resume as before. And if he kept telling himself that eventually he’d make it happen.
She peered at him with curiosity shining in her eyes. “What about you?”
He should have expected the question. His stomach twisted. “Marriage isn’t something I plan on tackling.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
How could he explain he was afraid his father and mother’s pattern of behavior would somehow play out in his life? That he wouldn’t ever risk letting anyone close enough to find out?
The door to the photo lab opened and Commander Lieutenant General Hall walked in, saving Westley from replying. Westley and Felicity snapped to attention and saluted.
Lieutenant General Hall returned the salute. “At ease.”
Relaxing, Westley moved aside to allow the lieutenant general to address Felicity.
“I see you’re settling in,” Lieutenant General Hall commented.
“Just starting to, sir,” she said.
“You know your assignment?”
“Take as many photos as possible all over base in the hope I capture Boyd’s image,” she replied. “Or his interest.”
Westley’s gut clenched at her words. He’d be with her, by her side to protect her, but it didn’t make stomaching the fact that she was being dangled out like a piece of squid to hook a shark any more appealing.
Lieutenant General Hall clapped her on the shoulder. “You’ve got heart, Staff Sergeant Monroe. Your father would be very proud of you.”
Surprise marched across her face before her expression softened. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me.”
Westley wondered why she always appeared amazed when anyone mentioned her father’s pride in her.
“Sir, I’d like to carry a service weapon,” Felicity said.
Lieutenant General Hall frowned. “Only Security Forces personnel are allowed to carry on base. It would raise too many questions if the base photographer carried.”
Westley sensed her frustration. He could appreciate her need to have a sidearm. But she would have to be content to have him and Dakota at her side.
“Master Sergeant James,” Lieutenant General Hall said, focusing his eagle-eyed gaze on Westley. “I trust you and your dog will keep Staff Sergeant Monroe from harm?”
Squaring his shoulders, Westley met Lieutenant General Hall with a level gaze. “Of course, sir. With our lives.”
Westley heard Felicity’s sharp inhale but he kept his attention on Lieutenant General Hall.
“Very good. Keep my office informed and be careful.” Lieutenant General Hall left the room.
Once the door closed, Felicity stepped close and scrutinized him with a pinched brow. “Did you mean that?”
He blinked, unsure what she referred to. Was she jumping back to their conversation about marriage? “Excuse me?”
“That you’d protect me with your life?”
Relieved by the question, he nodded. “Absolutely.”
Looking pleased, she grabbed her camera. “Then we’d best get to it.”
* * *
Felicity had been the base photographer for two days and she loved it. Some of the photos would be used for PR, others for the base newsletter, website and social media.
She loved the freedom to roam unfettered, to capture moments that might otherwise go unnoticed. Loved the joy of not having to be exacting with the lighting and the composition of the shots, but rather catching unposed, unscripted action shots of airmen going about their day, or contemplative images of the various personnel across the expanse of the base.
And having Westley and Dakota at her side, knowing they had her back, allowed her to focus on the camera.
They stopped at the edge of the training obstacle course, where a basic military-training unit ran through the obstacles. She adjusted the f-stop and clicked off a multitude of shots. And she knew that some were spectacular. Not all, but there would be some she’d be proud of. Over the last two days it seemed she’d taken more pictures than she had her whole life. The SD card was nearly full. They’d taken a few breaks to eat lunch, to let Dakota rest and to use the facilities. Soon they would stop for the day and head back to base command.
A gust of wind whipped her hair into her eyes. Her braid had completely fallen apart over an hour ago, so she’d tied her hair back with a rubber band, but the ends were still giving her grief in the Texas breeze.
“Here. Hold this.” She handed her camera to Westley so she could free up her hands. Then she adjusted the strap of her camera bag across her body into a more comfortable position.
After securing her hair into a bun at her nape, she took the camera back and lifted the lens to her eye, clicking through more shots. Something in the background moved in the woods beyond the young airmen. She zoomed in.
A tan dog peeked out from around the trunk of a tree. Her heart rate ticked up. “Westley, there’s a Belgian about forty meters straight out behind the tree with the crooked top.”
She handed him the camera so he could use the lens to see what she had. “Niko.”
Taking the camera back, she said, “You should go get him.”
“We’ll go get him,” he countered. “Come on.”
Inordinately pleased by his inclusion of her even though she knew he simply wanted her near for her safety, she jogged with him and Dakota to the wooded area that made up the back part of the base.
Westley whistled, catching the dog’s attention. “Niko. Come.”
The dog hesitated. Felicity was afraid the dog would bolt. From her camera bag she grabbed the banana she’d taken from the commissary at lunch. She unpeeled the fruit and then broke off a piece. Holding it in her hand so that it was visible to the dog, she dangled it low against her thigh. “Come. Treat.”
Niko’s nose twitched, then he was loping toward her, clearly wanting the offered banana. As soon as his mouth touched the fruit, Westley grabbed Niko’s collar.
Westley met her gaze. “Well done.”
She blinked. For a moment her old defenses rose, making her wonder if he was mocking her after the tirade she’d heaped on his head about being stingy with his praise, but his expression was open and his approval ap
peared genuine. She grinned. “Thank you.”
Westley threaded Dakota’s lead through Niko’s collar so the two dogs were tied together. “Let’s get this guy to the vet and make sure he’s okay.”
They loaded the dogs into Westley’s vehicle and drove to the other side of the base. The vet checked out the dog and declared him slightly dehydrated but otherwise in good health. Felicity was thankful. She worried about the remaining missing dogs and prayed they would be found soon.
“They’ll start making their way back. Just like Niko did,” Westley told her as if he sensed her anxious thoughts.
Strange that in such a short time they would be so connected, she thought. “I’m sure you’re right.”
After dropping Niko off with Caleb at the training center and feeding Dakota dinner, Felicity was anxious to get the photos uploaded so she could go home and put her feet up.
Once they arrived back at base command, she made quick work of uploading the images and sending them to the FBI database. As she settled into the passenger seat of Westley’s vehicle, she yawned.
“Don’t fall asleep on me yet,” Westley told her. “We’ve got to go to the BX and buy some more groceries.”
She groaned. “Can’t we order something to go?”
He let out a scoffing laugh. “I have a feeling you do that often.”
“It’s easier,” she admitted. Most nights she was too tired to bother with making her own food.
“Fine. How about a hamburger and fries?”
“I’ll take a hamburger and a salad,” she countered.
They drove to the nearest burger joint located near the BX, ordered and headed back to her house. He unpacked the takeout bag while she filled glasses with water and snagged her favorite salad dressing from the refrigerator. Westley blessed their meal, and then dug in to his burger and fries.
She shook the bottle of dressing before pouring a generous amount over the lettuce and assorted vegetables.
Westley raised an eyebrow. “Drowning your greens, huh?”
A low rumble emanated from Dakota’s throat. His gaze was on Felicity. She made a face. “What’s he doing?”
“I don’t know,” Westley said. “Dakota, sit.”
The dog continued to stare at her while he obeyed the command.
Stabbing her fork into the salad, she took a bite.
Dakota barked and jumped onto the table. Using his nose, he knocked her salad to the floor, making a huge mess.
“Hey!” she protested.
Dakota put his nose to Felicity’s mouth and whined. She held herself still, unsure what was happening. Would the dog attack? She couldn’t wrap her mind around his strange behavior.
Westley scrambled out of his chair and grabbed Dakota by the collar and yanked him to the floor. “I’ve never seen him do that before.”
Felicity’s stomach roiled. Sweat broke out across her body. “I’m going to be sick.”
She clamped a hand over her mouth and swallowed convulsively.
“Felicity!”
She heard Westley’s voice, heard the panic, the fear, but she couldn’t respond as the world titled, swam out of focus. She listed to the side, sliding off the chair onto the floor, but the impact barely registered. Her mind screamed a warning. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
EIGHT
Heart pounding in his ears, Westley dove to his knees beside Felicity where she’d fallen to the kitchen floor. Dakota whined. He’d dropped to his belly, his nose stretched out to Felicity.
Her eyes were closed. Westley couldn’t tell if she was breathing.
Please, Lord. I can’t take another death.
Lungs frozen in dread, he pressed his fingers against the tender skin of her neck. He felt the steady thrum of her pulse beating there. She was alive. The tight vise that had gripped his chest expanded, allowing him to breathe. Had she had a seizure? That would explain Dakota’s behavior. Some dogs had the uncanny ability to sense an oncoming seizure. Westley had never seen it happen and hadn’t known Dakota was that sensitive.
He yanked his phone from his pocket and dialed 911. He quickly explained to the dispatcher the issue and gave the address. Keeping the line open, he set down the phone and placed a hand to Felicity’s cheek. Her skin was clammy.
The pungent odor of the salad dressing invaded his senses. His mind replayed the scene in his head. Dakota had acted strange immediately after Felicity had opened the dressing bottle. If the dog’s disobedience wasn’t enough, he’d attacked her salad bowl, sending it flying.
A knot of apprehension twisted in Westley’s gut. His gaze flew to the dressing bottle still standing on the dining table. Had the contents been tampered with? Had Dakota picked up a deadly scent?
Fear sidled up and choked him.
The sound of sirens rent the air. He jumped to his feet and ran to the front door, opening it wide and urging the paramedics inside.
“She’s got a pulse but it’s weak,” he told them. “I think she may have been poisoned.”
“Westley?” Justin rushed to his side. “I heard the call come in.”
Glad to have his captain’s support, Westley told him what had happened while the paramedics tended to Felicity. “The dressing. It needs to be tested for poison.”
“I’ll take care of it and Dakota,” Justin said. “You go with Felicity.”
Westley nodded and hustled after the paramedics as they loaded Felicity into the back bay of the ambulance. Taking a seat on the bench next to her, he took her hand. “Felicity, stay with me, okay?”
She looked so vulnerable lying there with an oxygen mask covering half her face. He hated seeing her like this. He wanted her to wake up and chew him out again. He wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh. Feelings he’d been trying to contain bubbled up, escaping the compartment he’d stuffed them into. If he was being honest with himself, he would admit that he’d grown to care for the young staff sergeant. No, care wasn’t the right word. He was falling for her in ways that terrified him. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She had to be okay.
He bowed his head and silently prayed like he’d never prayed before.
At the hospital, Felicity was whisked away behind the closed doors of the emergency room. Westley was barred from following. He paced the waiting area as frustration and fear spiraled through him.
He spotted First Lieutenant Vanessa Gomez at the nurses’ station and rushed over. “Lieutenant Gomez.”
“Master Sergeant James.” She acknowledged his salute. “Can I help you?”
“Yes.” He told her about Felicity. “Can you check on her? Please?”
“Of course.” Concern laced Vanessa’s voice. Without another word, she hurried through the swinging door and disappeared.
An interminable amount of time ticked by as Westley continued to pace until Vanessa finally returned. “Dr. Knight will be out shortly to talk to you.”
“Is she...” He couldn’t get the words to come out.
“They are working on her.” Compassion shone in her eyes. “You have to trust she’ll be okay.”
He nodded. He wanted to trust that God would save her. Westley hated the feeling of helplessness stealing over him.
Finally, a doctor in a white lab coat approached. The name tag on his breast pocket read Dr. Trevor Knight. “Are you Master Sergeant James?”
“Yes.” Westley’s heart stuttered as he waited to hear the news. “How is Felicity?”
“She’s going to be fine,” Trevor assured him. “Because of the suspected poison, we administered activated charcoal and pumped fluids to flush her system. We heard from Security Forces that the tainted salad dressing contained crushed hemlock leaves. Very toxic and fast-acting. If you hadn’t reacted swiftly...” The doctor didn’t say it, but Westley knew the potential outcome. “But the staff serge
ant ingested such a small amount that there shouldn’t be any residual aftereffects.”
“Thank you.” Palpable relief coursed through Westley’s veins. “When can I see her?”
“She’s resting now, but you’re welcome to sit with her,” Trevor said. “Follow me.”
He led Westley to a private room. Felicity was lying in the bed, a blanket tucked around her as she slept. Her loose, light brown hair spilled over the pillow, making his mouth dry. He moved to sit beside the bed and brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face. Dark lashes rested against her cheeks.
He took her hand, so soft and warm, and settled back to wait for her to wake up, though he had no idea how to proceed from here. He’d grown attached to this beautiful, spirited woman. But how could he ever act on his feelings when doing so would jeopardize both of their careers in the air force? No, he had to find a way to stuff his emotions back into their boxes and maintain a professional distance from Felicity.
Unfortunately, he had a feeling that might be as easy as bottling her laughter.
* * *
“You’re going to be okay.”
Felicity pressed her lips together to keep a chuckle from escaping. From the moment she’d awoken in the hospital with Westley holding her hand, he’d been comforting, soothing, and had assured her that she hadn’t ingested enough of the poison inside the tainted bottle of salad dressing to cause any permanent damage. “So you’ve said for at least the tenth time.”
After being discharged, Westley had brought her home and insisted she rest on the couch. He’d put an afghan over her, fluffed a pillow behind her head and brought her a tall glass of water.
She should be annoyed by his incessant need to treat her like an invalid except the relief, concern and tenderness in his eyes made her heart pound. She couldn’t deny she liked having his attention, the good kind, lavished on her. He made her feel special and cared for. His haggard appearance was testament to having slept by her bedside in the hospital last night. Only a man who cared would do that, right?
She had no idea what to do with the thought, so she tucked it away for safekeeping.
