The Military K-9 Unit Collection. Valerie Hansen
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shouldn’t. Not if she hoped to return to the training center under his command.
It was a problem she had no idea how to resolve. She prayed there would be time to figure it out.
* * *
Westley kept Dakota at his side as they eased into the back entrance of the training center. The overhead light revealed the hallway was empty. Knowing Felicity’s uncle would go nowhere near the dogs, Westley figured they had headed to the office. He needed to get there before anything happened to Felicity. With caution tightening his shoulder muscles, he and Dakota hustled to the office. The door was closed.
Dakota sniffed the edge of the door. The hair on his back raised, alerting to the fact that the dog smelled the enemy. Westley gave Dakota the hand signal used by soldiers for combat silence and then motioned for the dog to take up a position on his belly to the side of the door out of the line of sight.
Feeling the need to ask God for help, Westley sent up a quick prayer. Hope that the Lord above would hear his plea bolstered his resolve. He dug his phone from his pocket and put it on silent, then dialed Captain Blackwood’s cell.
Leaving the line open, he tucked the cell into his breast pocket and reached for the door handle. On a deep breath, he swung the door open, careful to keep to the side in case Patrick had a twitchy trigger finger.
Felicity stood in the middle of the room, her surprised gaze meeting his. She mouthed, He’s got a gun.
Giving her a nod, Westley decided to play ignorant. “What’s going on?”
“Come in, Master Sergeant,” Patrick drawled from the chair facing the desk. “Put your hands in the air.”
Complying, Westley walked through the door and moved to stand next to Felicity. “What’s with the gun, Staff Sergeant Dooley?”
Patrick’s feet hit the floor. “I want the tablet.”
“Okay. I’ll give it to you.” Obviously the man wasn’t thinking clearly. There was no way he’d walk out of here unscathed. They were in a public place. One yell and reinforcements would come. But Westley had questions, and the best way to learn the answers was to appease him. “Tell me why you’ve been trying to kill your niece.”
“It’s that serial killer’s fault,” Patrick said. “He targeted Felicity. I knew once that happened there would be extra scrutiny on her and eventually there’d be questions about Graham’s death. Agent Steffen was sniffing around, trying to reopen the investigation. I had to make sure there was nothing left of Graham’s investigation to point to me.”
“Are you admitting to killing Agent Monroe?” Westley asked him.
“I’m not admitting anything.”
“But my father’s case notes will convict you of the hit-and-run,” Felicity said.
“I told you that was an accident,” Patrick said.
“And poisoning Felicity? Was that an accident?”
“It would have worked if that dog hadn’t intervened,” Patrick groused. “Everyone would have thought that psycho had made good on his threat. And then I could have found the tablet.”
Felicity took a step forward. “What did you do with my father’s laptop?”
The older man snorted. “It’s at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico.” Patrick waved his gun. “Now give me that tablet! Once I destroy the thing, there won’t be any evidence.”
Afraid that Patrick’s agitated state would lead to him shooting Felicity, Westley tucked her behind him, where he could protect her. “Once we give you the evidence, then what? Are you going to kill us, too? Both of us?”
A scowl wrinkled Patrick’s forehead. “I’ll have to, won’t I? Even if you couldn’t prove what happened was my fault, you’d make my life miserable. But I’ll make sure to blame it on the Red Rose Killer.”
The man was definitely unhinged if he thought he’d get away with his scheme. Keeping a hand on Felicity and forcing her to move in tandem with him, Westley edged slowly around to the other side of the desk, leaving a clear path from the doorway to Patrick. “Boyd Sullivan is a convenient scapegoat.”
“You won’t get away with it,” Felicity said. “Agent Steffen will discover your crimes.”
“He hasn’t yet,” Patrick said. “Now, open the safe.”
Knowing they had one shot at this, Westley tugged Felicity into a crouch in front of the safe. In a loud, clear voice, Westley yelled, “Get ’em!”
Dakota sprang into action, charging into the room and going straight for Patrick’s leg. His powerful jaw latched on. Patrick let out a yowl of pain and terror. Westley jumped up and vaulted over the desk, grabbing the gun and wresting it away from the other man.
Aiming the weapon at Patrick’s chest, Westley gave the commands, “Out! Heel!”
The dog immediately let go and backed up to a sit beside Westley. But Dakota’s body was tense and poised, ready to attack if given the command.
Patrick crumpled to a heap, his hands holding on to his leg. Felicity grabbed the desk lamp and lifted it high over her uncle’s head.
“Felicity, no. It’s over,” Westley said, afraid she’d follow through on the intent in her eyes. He didn’t want her to have that regret. “I have him covered. He’s not going anywhere.”
Slowly, her gaze cleared and she lowered the lamp, setting it carefully back on the desk. Stiffly, she moved to stand next to Dakota. She put a hand on his head. “Good dog.”
The sound of pounding feet filled the room and a moment later several Security Forces officers stormed in with weapons drawn. Then Captain Blackwood stepped inside, followed by Ian.
“It seems you have everything under control, Master Sergeant James,” the captain said. Holding up his phone, he added, “We heard everything.”
Lowering the gun and handing it to Security Forces, Westley told Felicity, “I dialed the captain’s cell before I entered.”
She blinked up at him with surprise lighting the depths of her eyes. “How did you know?”
“I realized that Dakota was reacting to the scent of the man who’d shot him when he went into attack mode back at your uncle’s apartment,” he explained. “I should have figured that out right away. I’m so sorry you had to go through this.”
“I didn’t see it at first, either,” she told him. “He’s family.” She watched as the Security Forces officers dragged her uncle from the room in handcuffs. Westley put his arm around her shoulders, offering her what comfort he could. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to gather her in his arms and hold her close and never let her go.
“I thought I could trust him.” She shook her head, sadness pulling at the corners of her mouth. He wanted to kiss away her disappointment and hurt.
“I found a photo of him and my dad on motorcycles,” she said. “That’s when I realized he was the one whom my dad was investigating for the hit-and-run.” She let out a bitter sound. “He said my dad had wanted him to turn himself in, but Uncle Patrick refused. Instead, he killed my father and made it look like an accident.”
“You can rest easy now,” Ian said.
“No,” Westley countered, his heart rate jumping. “She’s still a target of the Red Rose Killer.”
“Of course,” Ian stated. “That’s not what I meant at all. We have closure now on Agent Monroe’s death. The family of the hit-and-run victim will appreciate knowing the man who paralyzed their son will be charged with multiple crimes and spend the rest of his life in prison.”
It was justice. But it would be painful for the Monroe family.
“What