The Military K-9 Unit Collection. Valerie Hansen
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“One can hope so,” Ian said as he left the house.
When they were alone, Westley asked, “Where else could your father have hidden his laptop?”
Felicity thought for a moment. Her gaze lifted to the ceiling. “There’s an attic crawl space used for storage.”
“Let’s go check it out,” Westley said. “Dakota,” he called to the black German shepherd who had taken an interest in her father’s desk.
Dakota had dropped to his belly and crawled beneath the desk until only his tail poked out. When the dog tried to back out, the whole desk shook. Dakota growled, his paws digging into the carpet as he tugged.
Westley hurried over, kneeled and peered under the desk. Needing light, he took his Maglite from his utility belt and aimed it into the space. Felicity scooted in on her knees and pressed close to Westley. He had to fight to keep focused on the dog rather than on the soft curves melding into him and the vanilla scent of her hair teasing his senses.
Dakota’s collar had caught on a metal latch in the side of the wood desk.
Felicity dropped onto her belly and wiggled her way farther beneath the desk.
“There’s a secret compartment. Dakota must have followed my dad’s scent under here,” she said with excitement ringing in her voice. “But I can’t release the latch or unhook his collar.”
“Let me.” Westley squeezed in next to her. “Hold this.”
He handed off the flashlight. Her slim fingers closed over his, creating warm spots on his skin before she relieved him of the device. He flexed his hand and then grasped the little metal hook. The awkward position didn’t make it easy, but he managed to unlatch the door which popped open, freeing Dakota. The dog quickly scrambled away from the desk.
Felicity shone the beam of light into the compartment.
“What’s that?” Felicity reached past him to grasped what was in the secret cubby. They both shimmied out from beneath the desk.
Felicity held up her find.
A key with strange grooves along the blade and an oblong bow with a cutout in the center glinted in the light.
He met her confused gaze. “Any idea what the key opens?”
She shook her head. “I don’t. But the key has to be important if Dad hid it.”
Westley had to agree. Whatever the key opened would lead them to her father’s killer. He knew it in his bones. But how would they find the lock?
Shaken to her core at finding the key hidden in her father’s desk, Felicity’s fingers trembled. In them she held the one clue that could lead them to her father’s murderer.
Westley helped Felicity to her feet. His big, strong, capable hands dwarfed hers, making her feel feminine and treasured. For a moment, she wanted to hang on to him in case she needed steadying. If she was honest with herself she’d admit she liked having him close after such a horrible day. He was solid and secure. And she found herself wanting to lean on him for support.
But she squared her shoulders, took a breath and stepped away from him, forcing him to release her. She had to stay strong. Not show any weakness.
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his uniform jacket.
Holding up the key to inspect it, she said, “I’ve never seen this before.”
“Could it be to his desk at the OSI office?” Westley asked.
“Ian said Dad’s desk had been emptied.”
“Maybe a footlocker or gym locker?”
“Dad used the base rec-center gym, but the lockers there have combination locks on them.” She walked to the office closet and opened the door. “Dad’s old service footlocker is in here.” She pushed back a rack of coats. “It doesn’t have a lock on it, though.”
“Maybe the key goes to something inside the locker?” Westley suggested.
“Maybe.” She tugged the box from the closet. Westley hurried over to help her. His nearness did funny things to her insides. She should have felt crowded, but instead she was comforted by his presence. Maybe that was why she’d felt the urge to hang on to him when she stood. She was glad she wasn’t going through this alone.
She lifted the lid and surveyed the contents. A folded flag, boxes holding her father’s service medals and a stack of letters in her mother’s handwriting bound by a rubber band.
Westley rocked back on his heels. “Would your father have stashed his laptop in here?”
“Doubtful,” she said as she closed the lid with disappointment. “And if he had, the computer’s gone now.”
“We need to take the key to Ian,” Westley said. “Do you want me to hold it for safekeeping?”
“We do need to take the key to him. But until then I’ll keep it.” Her father had hidden the key for a reason. Until she knew the reason, the key stayed with a Monroe.
She reached beneath the collar of her uniform and tugged out a gold chain with a delicate cross that her grandmother had given to her on her sixteenth birthday. She quickly undid the clasp and slipped the key onto the chain before rehooking the clasp. She let the necklace rest against her uniform.
Placing a hand over it and taking solace from the tiny reminder of Grandma Esther, she said, “Where I go, it goes.”
A low growl emanated from Dakota seconds before they heard heavy footsteps in the living room.
With a hand on his sidearm, Westley positioned himself in front of Felicity. Dakota stepped in front of Westley, his tail up, his ears back. Tension radiated from the dog.
Felicity froze, once again wishing she had her own sidearm. She’d talk to Lieutenant General Hall about it tomorrow. For now, she stayed rooted to the spot behind her two protective males.
“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