Top Secret Target. Dana Mentink
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she was wearing ballet flats instead of hiking boots. It didn’t hold a candle to the pain inside her. Baby was gone. The sun was low in the sky and there was still no sign of the old cat.
The cop had trudged back to the car after she’d promised to follow in five more minutes. With each second her breathing grew more panicky, sweat making her palms clammy. Ethan and Titus continued to prowl through the bushes, but even the dog could not seem to catch a scent of Baby.
Ethan clumped out of the bushes, wiping sweat from his brow, and faced her. “Uh, I’m sorry your cat ran away,” he said, not exactly looking her in the eye.
She rounded on him. “She didn’t run away. Your dog scared her.”
Now he turned eyes the color of melted chocolate in her direction. “Look, I’m really sorry, okay? I’ll keep searching, or maybe I can get you another cat.”
“Another cat?” she snapped, fury taking her breath away. “And if Titus there got lost, you’d just give up on him and get another dog?”
“No way, but Titus is a dog. I mean, uh, what I meant was, you know, cats can take care of themselves.”
She stared at him, tears pricking her eyes. “For your information, Baby can’t. She’s sixteen and she’s in poor health. She’s been the only one...” She swallowed hard. There was no way she was going to unload all of her big fat messed-up life at the feet of this insensitive blockhead. “Never mind.” She stalked past him, but he grasped her arm, his fingers strong but gentle.
“Hey, wait. I’m sorry. I was being a jerk. I’ve only been back a couple of months and I think I’m rusty at some things. I know the cat means a lot to you.” His gaze was soft, or maybe it was a trick of the failing sunlight. Either way, she couldn’t answer over the thick lump in her throat.
“I...” He sighed and shook his head, letting her go. “I lost a dog before Titus to a grenade. It hurts, no matter how you lose them. I, um, I’ll keep looking. Give me your cell phone number and I’ll text you if...I mean, when I find her, okay?”
Still unsure of her powers of speech, Kendra managed to give Ethan her cell number and programmed his into her phone.
“Ms. Bell?” Officer Carpenter called. “It’s time to go.”
She raised her chin and blinked hard, fighting for composure as she allowed the cop to usher her into his car.
Sitting next to the empty carrier, she was overwhelmed by the thoughts that she’d been blotting out the last few hours. Someone—maybe Andy, maybe the Red Rose Killer, maybe none of the above—had tried to kill her. That was not a new experience for a private investigator and a former bounty hunter, but this person had gotten very close to getting the job done. Muscles deep in her belly began to quiver.
And now Baby, the only creature in the world whom she loved and who loved her back, was gone, lost in the woods, an old cat, easy prey. She squeezed her hands together to stop the shaking.
You’ll find her, she told herself savagely. Right after the police interview you’ll come back and you’ll find her. Baby had chosen somewhere to hide, that was all.
Lord, she prayed, bring Baby back and help us both find a place like that.
As they drove through the shadows, her newfound faith was not enough to screen out the memory of the bullets fracturing the windshield, boring into the trees.
She was just like the cat. Easy prey.
After hours of fruitless searching Ethan made it back to Canyon Air Force Base. He’d done his best, but there was simply no sign of the cat. Titus was ready for a cold drink of water and some grub and so was he. Maybe in the morning...
As he unloaded Titus from the truck, they both caught the sound of whimpering coming from the bushes in his front yard. Titus dashed toward the foliage, tail wagging. Ethan followed, getting down on his knees as the soft cries turned into full-blown yips.
Titus was nose to nose with a gangly puppy, a Malinois with pointy ears and a dark muzzle. The ears were erect and the tongue was out, busily bathing Titus.
“Hey, fella,” Ethan said. “How did you get here?” He was close enough now to see that the puppy was wearing a filthy training center collar.
Ethan’s throat constricted. It was one of the animals that had been let loose by Boyd Sullivan when he killed the two K-9 trainers and left his signature red rose calling card. With Titus’s encouragement, he coaxed the dog to come out. It didn’t take much, as the poor critter was clearly weak and terrified. The pup was skinny, his ribs protruding. He smelled of garbage, which was where he’d probably been scrounging for food to stay alive for so long. Ethan noted a long gash in the dog’s side. His anger at Sullivan kindled fresh and hot. How could a guy who’d once wanted to become a K-9 trainer let hundreds of dogs loose to be injured or worse? But Sullivan’s twisted sense of revenge didn’t stop there. He’d killed a commissary cook a few miles from base, and some of those in his basic training flight group had received roses and threats...including Jillian.
Ethan poured some water from a bottle into his cupped palm and the dog lapped at it eagerly while Titus gave him a thorough sniffing. Wrapping the pup in his jacket, Ethan ignored the growling in his stomach and loaded both dogs into the truck.
In twenty minutes he was pulling up to the K-9 training center. He’d called Master Sergeant Westley James and his new wife, base photographer Staff Sergeant Felicity James, on the way. At the entrance to the training yard, Westley waited, a head taller than the petite Felicity, his face grave.
“Another one found,” Felicity said, cooing to the puppy. “He’s skin and bones. I’ll get him to the clinic.”
Westley shook his head. “If I could just get a lead on Sullivan...”
“You and everyone else,” Ethan said. “We’re all hoping to be the one that brings him down.”
“And his accomplice,” Felicity added. “He isn’t doing all these things without help.”
Someone was helping Sullivan certainly, but the list of suspects shifted constantly, and the team assembled to track down the killer was growing more and more frustrated.
Trainer Rusty Morton rushed over, tossing the rag he’d been using on the ground. “Oh, man. Is that Rocket? I heard he’d been sighted on and off in the woods and raiding garbage cans. I left out food and water where they said they’d spotted him.” He leaned over to stroke the dog’s ears tenderly. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, buddy.”
Puzzlement played across Felicity’s face as she handed the dog into Rusty’s arms. “Hang on to him for a minute while I alert the vet, okay?”
Ethan shared her uncertainty. Rusty was on the list of Sullivan’s potential accomplices, under scrutiny from the investigation team as he’d been a friend of Boyd Sullivan’s during their basic training days.
But Ethan saw tears shining in the guy’s eyes. They weren’t fake, he was certain. That contradicted Ethan’s earlier suspicions. He made a note to mention it to the investigative team leader Captain Blackwood. Surely a guy who loved dogs as much as Rusty wouldn’t have helped Sullivan let the animals loose, would he?
Ethan thought about his friend Landon. Man, he missed talking to him about anything and everything.
“You okay?” Felicity asked.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Just thinking about Martelli.”
“We miss him, too,” she said quietly.
Ethan’s phone rang and he moved away to answer it, Titus roaming the enclosed yard.
“Heard you got into some trouble near Baylor, Lieutenant,” Justin Blackwood