In all his years as an MP, he’d never wondered what would happen if he was partnered with someone he was attracted to, because he’d never expected to be attracted.
So, this strangeness with Gretchen? It had to be a glitch. A product of fatigue or adrenaline. Worrying about Portia was getting to him, and he wasn’t focusing the way he should.
That had to be it, because anything else was out of the question.
* * *
She wasn’t running away from Justin.
Not really.
She was running to his daughter, because someone had to check on the teenager. Sure, Portia was safe at headquarters, guarded by MPs and far away from Boyd Sullivan, but she was probably scared and worried about her father.
That was as good an excuse as any for Gretchen to hurry away. She probably should have given back Justin’s shirt before she left, but all she’d been thinking about was what she’d seen in his eyes—a flash of something that reminded her of midnight walks and candlelit dinners. Girlish dreams and adolescent crushes.
If he’d been anyone else, she’d have wondered if something was growing between them, if a bond was forming that went beyond work and friendship. But Justin wasn’t just anyone. He was the guy she’d worked with for months. He was the captain of the Security Forces, a man she admired for his integrity, his honesty and his love for his daughter. There couldn’t be anything but work between them, because he was the kind of guy she could fall for if she let herself.
She didn’t intend to let herself.
Her heart had shattered when Henry died. She’d slowly been piecing it back together again, learning to go on without him, to accept that the life they should have had would never be.
That was enough for now.
She didn’t need to add a relationship into the mix. At least, not a romantic one.
Friendship was fine. If they kept things light and easy. That was how it had been for months. She had no intention of changing things.
Sometimes, though, you didn’t get to choose how life went. Sometimes you put your all into doing the right thing and being the right person, and ended up in an unexpected and unwanted situation.
Sometimes good intentions weren’t enough.
Sometimes even prayer didn’t seem to help.
Sometimes God’s way wasn’t a road that a person ever expected to travel, and all she could do was hold on tight and trust in His promises.
“But sometimes we do have the power to decide things,” she muttered as she reached headquarters. “Sometimes we can stay on course. This is going to be one of those times.”
Because she wasn’t going to risk her heart again. Whatever direction she went after this assignment, she would be going alone.
She opened the door and stepped into the building.
This time of night, the corridors were usually empty, the MPs who were on duty out on patrol. Tonight, though, the building seemed to bustle with activity. MPs. Dogs. The constant thud of boots or pad of paws on the floor.
She strode through the hall, waving at a few MPs, but not stopping to speak to any of them. She was eager to find Portia. At sixteen, she wasn’t a baby or even a young child. But she’d been through a lot, and she had to be terrified.
Gretchen approached the desk sergeant and asked what room Portia had been taken to. The MP typed information into a computer and scanned the screen. “Interrogation Room One. Do you want me to have someone take you, ma’am?”
“I’m familiar with the building and can find the room, but thank you.” She stepped away, then stopped. “If Captain Blackwood reports in or radios in, let him know that I’m with his daughter.”
She hurried away, walking through a set of doors and deeper into the building.
“Gretchen!” a woman called. “Hold up!”
Gretchen turned, surprised to see Felicity James and her new husband, Westley, hurrying toward her. Now a base photographer, Felicity had been a trainer with the Canyon K-9 training program her husband led. Unlike his extroverted wife, the master sergeant was quiet and somber, but he had a reputation for being a dog whisperer—the kind of trainer who could get the best out of every K-9 he trained.
She greeted Felicity and Westley as they approached. “It’s good to see you. I guess you heard that Boyd Sullivan has been spotted on base again.” Like all the members of the investigation team, the two had been deeply involved in trying to apprehend Boyd.
“We did,” Westley responded. “But that’s not why we’re here. We got a call from Special Agent Oliver Davison. He has some information he wants to share and asked us to meet him here.”
“This is late for a meeting,” she said, and Felicity nodded.
“We’re hoping he’s in a hurry to meet with us because he has information about the dogs that are still missing.”
It was possible. The FBI has been working to infiltrate the Olio Crime Syndicate, and the CAFB K-9 team believed the syndicate might have purchased a few of the German shepherds that had been released, including the four superstars. The well-trained, missing K-9s—Glory, Liberty and Scout—should have been easy to recall, but despite months of searching they remained missing. Two months ago, Patriot—the fourth phenomenal shepherd—had been found at the base gate wearing a collar that had been attributed to Olio. The team had asked the FBI to investigate, and Special Agent Oliver Davison had been leading the efforts.
“Do you really think that’s what this is about?” Gretchen asked, hoping for the sake of the team and the dogs that it was.
“If the dogs were, as we suspect, purchased by Olio, it’s very possible,” Felicity said.
“I hope they know what they’ve got,” Westley said. “If they understand the value of the dogs, they’ll take better care of them.”
“Rusty knows the value of the dogs, and I’m certain if he was responsible for selling them to the crime organization, he charged an exorbitant fee.” Rusty Morton was a K-9 trainer who was suspected of being responsible for the missing dogs.
“I agree, Gretchen,” Felicity said. “But until we find Rusty, we have no idea whether he was actually involved.”
“He was involved,” Westley said, his voice hard.
“We’ll let a judge and jury decide that,” Felicity responded, hooking her arm through his. “We’d better get to the meeting. Are you joining us, Gretchen?”
“I will once I’ve checked on Portia.”
“Is she here?” Felicity’s eyes were wide with surprise. “I thought they’d have transported her to a safe house by now. We heard that Sullivan kidnapped her.”
“He did. We need to get her statement before we move her.”
“I can’t believe Sullivan had the gall to walk into Justin’s house.”
“He didn’t just walk in the house. He murdered the man Justin hired to guard Portia,” Gretchen said, the image of the security guard lying on the ground suddenly filling her head. He’d been ambushed, shot from behind, not given even a fighting chance to defend himself. That was a reminder of what they were up against.
Because that was the kind of killer Sullivan was. No guilt. No remorse. Very few mistakes.
He’d made one tonight, though.
And she was going to pray that he continued to do so.
A criminal’s mistake was a police officer’s miracle. At least, that was the way she saw it.
“Another victim,” Westley said grimly. “Sullivan needs to be stopped before more people die.”
“We’ll catch him,” she assured the master sergeant.
“How many people are going to die before then, Gretchen?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck and sighing. “Felicity is right. We need to go. See you at the meeting when you finish with Portia. If not, we’ll fill you in.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said as they turned to walk away. They both looked tired.
The past few months had taken their toll, Sullivan’s games escalating as he targeted four people he believed wronged him. Felicity was one of them. Justin was another. The stress of being in a killer’s sights had to be intense.
Gretchen had come to Canyon Air Force Base to shadow Justin and to learn from him. She’d had no idea that she’d become part of a team tasked with the job of capturing an elusive serial killer. This wasn’t her hometown or her territory. She had nothing but military ties to the people who lived on base, but those ties were strong.
As much as she was ready to move on with her life, to go back to Minot and make her decision about leaving the military or staying, she couldn’t go until Sullivan was caught and the people she’d begun to care about were safe.
She sighed, turning a corner and walking into a narrow hall that led to the interrogation rooms. There were several unmarked doors lining the corridor. She didn’t need a number to find Portia. She could hear her high-pitched voice drifting through the hallway, the words muffled.
Gretchen followed the sound to an open door. Portia was sitting at a small table in the center of the room, talking on the phone that was on the table beside her, twisting the chord as she held the receiver to her ear. Across from her, an MP sat with his legs stretched out, his arms crossed.
He jumped up as Gretchen entered the room, offering a sharp salute. “Captain, I’ve taken the victim’s statement and filed the report.”
“Thank you, Airman.”
“Would you like an escort back to Captain Blackwood’s house?”
“We’ll stay here until he returns,” she responded, not bothering to mention the safe house or the plans to move Portia there. The fewer people who had the information, the better. “You can head back to whatever you were doing. I’ll take over guard duty,” she added.
“Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t hesitate. Obviously, listening to a teenage girl’s phone conversation wasn’t his idea of a good time.
Gretchen lowered herself into the chair, her arm throbbing in time with her heartbeat, her head just woozy enough to make her wonder how much blood she’d lost.
Probably more than she should have.
Portia was still twirling the chord and still talking.
She met Gretchen’s eyes and offered a shaky smile. “Hold on,” she said. Then she covered the receiver with her hand and whispered, “I’ll only be a minute.”
“Take your time. We can’t leave until your father gets here.”
Portia nodded and went back to her conversation. Something about proms and dates and the best place to buy dresses. Maybe talking about these normal teenage topics gave Portia a sense of normalcy.
Portia finally hung up, her hand shaking as she smoothed her hair and fiddled with the sleeve of her sweater.
“Have you heard from my dad yet?” she asked without meeting Gretchen’s eyes.
“Not yet, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Was that someone from Michigan?”
“No. It was Natalie. She’s in my physics class.”
“So, you’re friends,” Gretchen said, hoping to keep the conversation going and keep Portia’s mind off her father.
Portia shrugged.
“You’re not?”
“Why do you care?” It was a typical teenage answer. One that Gretchen might have offered at the same age. Not meant to be particularly rude, but not meant to be polite, either.
“Because we’re both sitting here, and if we don’t discuss your father or Boyd Sullivan, then there’s not a whole lot to talk about unless I ask questions.”
Portia met her eyes and smiled. “You’re not what I expected, Gretchen.”
“No?”
“Most of the bodyguards Dad has left me with try to be too nice. Like I’m fragile and I might break if they aren’t.”
“You’ve been through a lot, Portia.”
“Lots of people go through difficult things. Mom worked as an emergency room nurse. She saw the results of horrible things happening to people every day.”
“That’s a hard job.”
“Maybe, but Mom loved it. She didn’t care that I wasn’t interested in following in her footsteps, though. She wanted me to pursue my dreams.”
“Which are?”
“See? That’s what I mean. You’re not pretending that my life is just going to skate along for a while because my mother died. You’re assuming I still have goals and dreams.”
“Your life hasn’t ended. It’s just changed. That doesn’t change you. At least, not the part of you that has goals and dreams.”
“Right. Like I said, you’re not like the other MPs.”
“And you still haven’t told me what your plans for the future are.”
“I want to be a journalist.”
“Is that why you started the blog?”
Portia hesitated, and Gretchen thought she might refuse to answer.
Instead, she sighed. “Maybe. I mean, I considered myself to be doing investigative reporting, but I got caught up in things and started poking the bear with a stick instead of reporting on what it was doing.”
“Is that what your father said?”
“My father is really busy trying to catch the Red Rose Killer. And he doesn’t want to put a wedge between us. Like, he doesn’t want to come down too hard on me, because we don’t know each other all that well yet. So, he hasn’t said much. Except that I should haven’t done it. That it was dangerous. That I made myself the killer’s target. He’s right about all of that, but I came up with the bear analogy myself.”
“It’s a good one.”
“Yeah,” Portia said, leaning back in the chair and sighing. “I’ve had a lot of time to come up with it. I haven’t been allowed to leave the house alone since he found out.”
“This will be over soon,” Gretchen said, hoping she was right.
“Maybe. Or maybe not. Either way, I guess I’m going to some stupid safe house.”
“A safe house isn’t stupid,” Justin said as he stepped into the room, buttoning the top button of a crisp uniform shirt.
Gretchen stood, surprised that he’d returned so quickly. Surprised, too, by the quick jump of her pulse when she looked in his eyes.
She glanced away, focusing her attention on Quinn. He looked happy, his tail thumping as he lay beside Justin.
“The idea of missing school is stupid,” Portia corrected. “The idea of staying with people I don’t know is stupid. The idea of being safe isn’t stupid.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, honey, because there’s an FBI agent here, and he was able to get a safe house approved for you. We’re going back to the house, and you’ll have a few minutes to pack before you leave.”
“Before I leave?” Portia asked. “You’re not coming with me?”
“We found one of the vehicles Sullivan used, and a couple of the dogs are on his scent trail. Quinn is the best apprehension dog on the team. He needs to be out there. And so do I.”
“But, Dad—”
“There’s more to it than that, Portia. I’m the person Boyd is after. If he’s going to watch anyone tonight, it’s going to be me. I want you moved out of the way while he’s distracted. I don’t want him to have the slightest chance of following.”
“And I don’t get a say in this?” Portia asked, shoving away from the table and standing. Right then, her eyes blazing and her chin up, she looked as strong and indomitable as her father. Gretchen could imagine her in a few years—graduating from college, heading into a career as an investigative reporter. From the look of things, she had the guts for it. She also had the writing ability. Like everyone else involved in the case, Gretchen had read her blog.
“No,” Justin answered firmly.
“That’s totally not cool.”
“I’m not going for cool. I’m going for keeping you alive.”
/>
“Fine. Whatever. Where’s the person who’s taking me to the house? I want out of here.” She stomped into the hall, and Justin shook his head.
“Apparently, I am exceptionally good at upsetting her,” he said, talking to Gretchen but eyeing the doorway.
“At that age, everyone upset me.”
“Really?” he asked, turning his light blue gaze in her direction.
She lost her train of thought, forgot what he’d said, what she’d said, what they were talking about.
This was not good.
Not at all.
“We should probably go after her. The sooner you and Quinn get on the trail, the sooner we can have Sullivan in custody,” she said, because she wanted to be back on the move, back on the job. Not standing in a small interrogation room with a man who made her pulse jump.
“I’m praying we get him tonight. He needs to be stopped. Not just for Portia’s sake. For everyone’s. The bodyguard he murdered tonight has a family. He has people who love him.” Justin shook his head, his fist clenched just like Portia’s had been.
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
“Me, too, but sorry isn’t going to mean anything to his family. They’re going to want justice, and I plan to make sure they get it. Come on. Let’s head out.” He strode into the hall, Quinn beside him, and Gretchen followed.
This was what she was here for.
To do a job that mattered.
To be part of a team that was dedicated to justice.
Everything else was secondary.
And the quick, hard beat of her heart when she looked into Justin’s eyes?
That didn’t matter at all.
SEVEN
It didn’t take Portia long to pack her things.
She tore through her room, tossing clothes and books into a suitcase, grabbing a photo of Melanie from her nightstand and a Bible from her dresser. She didn’t even glance in Justin’s direction as she worked.
He tried not to be bothered by that.
Gretchen had said that everyone had upset her when she was Portia’s age. Maybe so, but Portia didn’t seem to be upset with anyone but him.
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