The Military K-9 Unit Collection. Valerie Hansen
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“He must have had help,” the commander of the airlift wing pointed out.
Lieutenant General Hall once again raised his hand and the room quieted. “If he holds true to form, he will most likely go after anyone he deems has wronged him. No doubt Sullivan blamed Chief Master Sergeant Lockwood for the dishonorable discharge.”
Westley’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. Boyd would pay dearly for his evil deeds. Westley prayed no other lives would be taken by Boyd’s hand.
“We must consider Sullivan will go after those in his basic military training.” Lieutenant General Hall nodded at Brenda.
She opened the file folder in her hand. “I’ve compiled a list of the personnel currently on base who were in the same training class as Boyd Sullivan.”
“Our first order of business is to secure these individuals and anyone else who had prior interaction with Boyd,” Lieutenant General Hall interjected. “Then we will root out the person who has helped this predator get on base.”
As Brenda read the names, Westley tried to remember if Tamara or Landon had been in Sullivan’s BMT group, or even been on base at the time. He didn’t think so.
“Staff Sergeant Felicity Monroe.”
Hearing his trainer’s name jerked Westley’s thoughts back to the conference room. Felicity. His stomach dropped as his pulse spiked. She was supposed to have been on duty last night, but had changed shifts.
Had she been Sullivan’s intended target?
Fear streaked through his system like a fighter jet heading to battle. He couldn’t let another person for whom he was responsible die. Not on his watch. He had to protect her.
Without asking permission, Westley raced out of the auditorium. He had to find Felicity.
* * *
Felicity’s search for the dogs wasn’t going very well. With the base alive and on alert, the dogs sensed the anxiety rippling through the air and were skittish. She moved with a slow, easy gait so as not to spook two dogs in her sights, a three-year-old German shepherd named Tiger and a two-year-old Belgian Malinois named Riff. Both were sniffing around the commissary.
As she approached, both dogs lifted their heads to eye her, their tails swishing.
“Come,” she commanded while holding a treat in her hand against her thigh, which would bring the dogs in close enough to grab by the collar.
Tiger abandoned his sniffing to comply. As he took the treat from her, she hooked her fingers beneath his collar and swiftly attached a leash to the ring. Now to get the Malinois.
“Riff,” she said. “Here, boy.”
The dog’s ears twitched but he made no move to obey. She and Tiger stepped closer. Riff moved away, nose back to the ground. Frustration beat at her temples. “Come on, Riff.”
The dog had done well inside the confines of the center, but out in the open, not so much. Now she understood why Westley had said the dog wasn’t ready to be paired with a human. She’d disagreed at the time and had even accused him, albeit silently, of holding back Riff because he didn’t like her. Now she knew her boss had been right.
Riff had a long way to go in his training. She didn’t relish admitting that to Westley. He’d give her that tight-lipped nod that irritated her nerves and made her feel as if she didn’t measure up to his standards. Her commanding officer certainly knew how to push her buttons...unfortunately.
Tiger spun around and barked, his tail rigid and his ears up.
Seconds later she heard the sound of pounding feet and her adrenaline spiked. She reached for her pepper spray with her free hand and whirled with the can up and her finger hovering over the trigger, ready to protect herself from an assault.
Westley held his hands up, palms facing out, as he skidded to a halt. “Whoa. It’s me.”
Not Boyd, as she dreaded. Heart racing, she lowered the canister, thankful she hadn’t let loose a stream of stinging spray.
Tiger relaxed and moved closer to Westley.
Felicity took in a deep breath. Exasperation made her voice sharp when she said, “You scared me.” Her gaze jumped to Riff as the dog ran away. “Riff!”
The dog disappeared around the corner of the building.
“You were right,” she conceded. “We need to work on his recall.”
“We will,” Westley assured her as he took Tiger’s lead from her hand. “Right now, my only concern is you.”
The grim set of his jaw alerted her heightened senses. Had she done something wrong? Made a mistake? Her defenses rose, making her straighten. “Me? I’m doing my best to bring the dogs in.”
For a moment, confusion entered his gaze then cleared. “Lieutenant General Hall believes Boyd Sullivan is targeting those who were in his basic-military-training class,” he replied, his voice harsh.
She took a step back. The same alarm that had flooded her this morning, when she’d thought someone was standing at the foot of her bed, seeped through her now. Had it been Boyd? A shudder of revulsion worked over her flesh.
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” she said. At Westley’s arched eyebrow, she added, “Neither Tamara nor Landon were in our group.”
“Exactly,” he said. “I think you were his intended target last night.”
She sucked in a breath. Her lungs burned as his words sank in. She swallowed convulsively as her mouth dried from the terror that was already pumping in her blood. She shook her head. “You can’t know that for sure.”
Was she responsible for her friends’ deaths?
A spasm of guilt and pain twisted her insides. She wanted to fall to her knees and ask God why, but with Westley standing there, she remained upright and silently sent up the question. Why, Lord?
“He also killed Chief Master Sergeant Lockwood.”
The air swooshed out of her lungs. The basic military training commander. The one who’d kicked Boyd out of the air force. Felicity was friends with Maisy Lockwood, the chief master sergeant’s daughter and a civilian preschool teacher.
Agitation revved through Felicity’s system. She trembled with the restless urge to move. “I need to see Maisy. She must be devastated.”
Westley nodded. “Seeing her will have to wait. We need to take Tiger, here, to the training center then go find more dogs.”
“We can put him in my backyard. I’ll set out water on the back deck. He’ll be fine there while we search.”
He seemed to contemplate her suggestion. She gritted her teeth, expecting him to argue with her. He always thought his way was best, and because he was in charge that left little room for discussion. She prepared to defend her suggestion but he nodded, which surprised her. “That works.”
Unsure what to make of Westley, she led the way down Base Boulevard to her house. Her gaze snagged on the black curbside mailbox. The drop-down door was propped half-open.
What was going on? It hadn’t been open when she’d left the house earlier. Her steps faltered. Was her sanity really slipping?
Just this morning she’d imagined someone standing at the foot of her bed and now this? She didn’t want to think about the other times when she’d had the feeling someone had been inside her home.
Maybe she needed to take up Dr. Flintman on his offer of medication to suppress her mild PTSD. She would have before except she didn’t want to be medicated and give Westley any reason to wash her out of the training center. And she worried that would be a big one, given that he already had it in for her. From the day she stepped into the center, she’d had the feeling he wanted her gone.