The Military K-9 Unit Collection. Valerie Hansen
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his friend. “What are you chuckling about?”
“You.” He gestured to the stairs with his chin. “And her.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Westley walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of tap water. He drank it as though he’d been stranded in the desert. The cool liquid helped to center his thoughts. His job was to protect Felicity, not pant after her like a lovesick teen. “Help me throw out every scrap of food in the house. I don’t know what else might have been tampered with and I won’t take any chances with her life.”
“Why don’t we have the crime-scene techs test everything?”
“It will be more expedient to just clear out the cupboards and fridge, then start over with sealed goods.”
“Why would Boyd Sullivan put poison in her food?” Linc shook his head. “It doesn’t fit.”
Westley contemplated telling Linc about Agent Monroe’s murder. Not that he didn’t trust his friend, but Westley decided it would be best to keep that information in a close circle. Less chance to tip off the murderer that way.
“Do you think you two should even stay here?” Linc asked.
“I don’t know if she’ll leave.” Westley spread his hands. “Besides, where would we go?” It occurred to him he’d automatically included himself. But for now they were a package deal. Until the threat to her life was neutralized, he wasn’t leaving her side.
“There’s base housing near the command center.”
“I’ll talk to her about it.” He tossed a box of cereal into the garbage can. “How is the investigation coming? I assume Sullivan hasn’t been found or I’d have heard.”
“Unfortunately, we’re no closer to catching him than we were yesterday. But we do have a lead.”
That comment raised the hair at his nape. “What do you mean?”
“Someone is revealing information about the investigation to an anonymous blogger. Information that we haven’t made public and weren’t intending to.”
“That sounds dangerous.” Westley thought for a moment. “Could it be one of the base reporters? They’ve been sniffing around, asking questions, showing up everywhere.”
Linc shrugged. “Maybe. Whoever the person is revealed that Zoe Sullivan visited her half brother just two weeks before his escape. Very few people knew that bit of info. Now the base is speculating she’s helping her brother.”
“Do you think she is?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m keeping an eye on her. She’s cagey. Something’s definitely up with her. Frankly, I don’t trust anyone related by blood or friendship to Boyd Sullivan.”
“I don’t blame you there,” Westley said. “Although innocent until proven guilty.”
“Right.” Linc checked his watch. “Hey, I have to go. Zoe’s teaching a class and it ends soon. We can’t have her walking around base unattended.”
“Be careful,” Westley told him.
Felicity stepped into the kitchen, blocking Linc’s path, and looked at Westley. “What are you two doing?”
Westley paused with a bag of spaghetti hovering over the garbage can. She looked so pretty wearing jeans and a long-sleeve button-down top in a kelly green that deepened the color of her eyes. She’d twisted her hair at the back of her head, exposing the creamy column of her neck. But it was her eyes that caught his attention, eyes that sparked a warning he was beginning to know—and appreciate—well.
“Getting rid of any more potential hazards to your health,” he stated and dropped the spaghetti into the garbage.
“I guess that’s the best thing to do.” She reached up to finger the key hanging around her neck.
Linc peered closer at the key. “You ride?”
“Ride what?” she asked.
He pointed at the key dangling from the chain. “That’s a key to a BMW 2-series motorcycle. Vintage. Probably late sixties.”
“Are you sure?” Westley exchanged a glance with Felicity. The hit-and-run her father had been investigating involved a motorcycle. Could they have the key to the one that hit the pedestrian? Literally the key to a big chunk of the mystery?
“Yes.” Linc shrugged. “I like motorcycles. Do you have the bike? It would be worth some money. A collector’s item.”
She tucked the key inside her blouse. “No. Just a memento.”
“Ah. Well, I’m outta here.” He shook Westley’s hand. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“We will.” Westley walked him to the living room door. “Thanks, man.”
As soon as the door closed behind Linc, Felicity said, “Did you hear that?” Anticipation echoed in her tone.
“Let’s not get too hopeful,” he said. “Even if that is the key to the motorcycle that your father was investigating, we still have no clue where it could be stashed.”
“True. We need to get back out there,” she said.
“Tomorrow is soon enough.”
She nodded. “You’re right. You know, I’ve been thinking. We never did search the attic. Maybe Dad’s files are there.”
“Are you up for it?”
“I am. The rest helped.”
“Let’s do it.” Abandoning the kitchen, they rushed upstairs, stopping beneath the attic access door with a step stool she’d retrieved from her father’s room.
Placing it under the hatch in the ceiling, he climbed up and lifted the door. Grasping the lip, he pulled himself up then reached down to lift her through the opening. The unfinished space ran the length of the house. Rafters provided support for the pitched roof. And stacked boxes provided many places where her father could have hidden his files.
“Most of this is my mom’s stuff,” Felicity said. “After the divorce, Dad put everything she’d left behind up here.”
“Is this going to be painful for you?” Westley asked. He knew the agony of having to deal with the remains of a parent’s things. After his father had gone to prison, his mother had tasked him with the job of packing away his dad’s things. Westley had refused, which had earned him a beating, ironically with one of his father’s belts. Despite the lashing, he hadn’t touched his father’s belongings.
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “It will be harder to pack up my dad’s things.”
His gut clenched. “Yes, it will.” He’d admired and envied the love between Felicity and her father.
She lifted the flaps of a box to rummage inside. “Was it hard for you to deal with your father’s possessions?”
“Hardly,” he said. He moved a box closer to her to look through. He didn’t feel comfortable searching through her mother’s stuff. He doubted they’d find anything up here. All the boxes had layers of undisturbed dust.
“Will you tell me what happened to him?”
He really didn’t want to. Dredging up the past wouldn’t serve any purpose. But maybe if he told her, then he wouldn’t have to worry about her falling for him. Once she knew the type of gene pool he came from, she’d want to keep far away from him.
“My father was a murderer.”
She couldn’t have heard him right. A murderer? Unease slid down Felicity’s spine. She inhaled