The Military K-9 Unit Collection. Valerie Hansen
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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.
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 sergeant ingested such a small amount that there shouldn’t be any residual aftereffects.”
“Thank you.” Palpable relief coursed through Westley’s veins. “When can