ONE

      First Lieutenant Ethan Webb of the Air Force Military Police brushed past the startled aide standing in Colonel Masters’s outer office at Baylor Marine Corps Base.

      “The colonel is—”

      “Waiting for me,” Ethan snapped. “I know.” Lieutenant Colonel Terence Masters, Ethan’s former father-in-law, was always a step ahead of him, it seemed. Ethan and Jillian’s divorce had cemented the bad feelings. He led Titus, his German shorthaired pointer, into the office, found Masters seated in his leather chair behind the gleaming wood desk. Mahogany, he’d been told, nineteenth century. Hard lines, unyielding contours and pretentious, like the man who owned it.

      “You’re late,” Masters said. “And I don’t want your dog in here.”

      “With respect, sir, the dog goes where I go and I don’t appreciate you pressuring my commanding officer to get me to do this harebrained job during my leave. I said I would consider it, didn’t I?”

      Masters gave him a smug smile. “A little extra insurance to help you make up your mind, Webb.”

      Ethan glared. “It’s a bad idea, like I said before. Leave me alone to do my investigation with the team at Canyon, and we’ll catch Sullivan.” They were working around the clock to put away the serial killer who was targeting his air force brothers and sisters as well as a few select others, including Ethan’s ex-wife, marine naval aviator Lieutenant Jillian Masters. Boyd Sullivan was a killer with a flair for the dramatic, leaving a red rose as his grisly calling card, along with a note. “I’m coming for you.” He had earned his nickname, the Red Rose Killer.

      “Your team,” Masters said with a nasty inflection on the first word, “hasn’t gotten the job done and this lunatic has threatened my daughter. There have been sightings near our base indicating he’s zeroing in on her. You’re going to work for me privately, protect Jillian from Sullivan, draw him out and catch him, as we’ve discussed. We’re playing offense here, rather than defense. It’s a Marines thing,