“Can you see Quinn?” Gretchen asked as she ran up beside him.
“No, but I don’t need to. I’ve already given him his command. He knows what to do.”
“What if he finds Boyd and is hurt?” she asked.
“That’s the risk I take every time I release him to apprehend a criminal.”
“I’m not sure I could do it,” she admitted. “I’d worry too much.”
“Then you’re better off doing the kind of work Ava does. Search and rescue is dangerous. But not like this.”
“Does it ever get to you? Or are you really as unaffected as you seem?”
“It gets to me all the time. I’ve had Quinn for three years. I got him straight out of his K-9 training. He’s family. I’d give my life to save his, but this is his job, Gretchen. He loves it. So I tell myself that it’s no different than you or me walking into a dangerous situation. We’re well trained. If something happens, it won’t be because of anything we did wrong.”
“At least, we hope not,” she said, panting slightly as they crested a hill.
Lights flashed in the distance. One. Then another and another.
It took a moment for him to realize he was looking at cars.
A road.
Boyd’s escape route.
He radioed the team, asking for the road to be ID’d and MPs to be dispatched to the area. They needed to set up blockades to keep Boyd from fleeing in a vehicle.
If they could keep him on foot, their chances of capturing him were better.
Up ahead, Quinn was bounding down the hill, his body a black blur in the darkness. He wasn’t barking. Wasn’t growling. Which meant he was closing in on his prey.
Justin raced after him, feet sliding on muddy ground and wet leaves, heart racing. The road was close. He could hear cars speeding past, but the trees were thicker near the bottom of the hill, the brambles catching at his clothes.
He finally broke through thick undergrowth, stumbling onto the breakdown lane of a four-lane highway.
“Is this the interstate?” Gretchen asked, still right on his heels and keeping pace.
“It’s a state highway. Unless I’ve gotten turned around, the north entrance to the base is a few miles to the right.”
“Quinn is heading in the opposite direction,” she pointed out.
“Then Boyd must be, too.” He took off, running full-speed down the road, Quinn a swiftly moving shadow in front of him.
They rounded a bend, and he saw a small sedan idling on the side of the road. He saw Boyd next, his blond hair nearly white in the streetlight, his long legs eating up the ground.
He glanced over his shoulder, probably trying to see how close Quinn was.
“Police! Stop and keep your hands where I can see them,” Justin called, but Boyd had reached the vehicle, was yanking open the passenger door and jumping inside.
Quinn reached the car seconds later, jumping up against the window and door, snarling and snapping.
“Off!” Justin called, afraid Boyd would shoot through the window.
Quinn backed off reluctantly, his attention on the car.
“Heel!” Justin yelled as the engine revved and the vehicle jumped forward.
Quinn spun away, racing back to Justin and pressing close to his left leg. They moved in tandem, sprinting after the car. Sirens screamed in the background.
Justin wanted to pull his gun and take a shot, but there were cars filled with civilians passing by, and he couldn’t risk injury to one of them.
When the taillights of the sedan disappeared, Justin finally stopped running.
Disappointed.
Frustrated.
Angry that he hadn’t been just a little faster.
He’d been minutes away from capturing Boyd, and once again, the killer had slipped through his fingers.
“I got a partial plate,” Gretchen said, panting as she pulled out her phone and typed something into it. “Were you able to get the make or model of the car?”
“It was a Toyota. I’m not sure what model. Four-door. Black or dark blue. That’s about all I saw.”
“How about the driver?”
“Nothing. The interior lights were off.”
“Too bad.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I think it’s someone from the base. Someone we know. We need to contact gate security and ask them to keep an eye out for the car. Did you use the secure radio frequency when you called headquarters?”
“Yes.” And that meant only Security Forces officers and dispatchers had access to the communication. As much as he hated to admit it, Gretchen was right.
“Make the call,” he said. “I’m going to talk to the MPs who are arriving.” He gestured toward a cruiser that was speeding toward them, lights flashing, sirens blaring.
She nodded, already speaking into the radio.
From running in the rain, her hair was hanging across her cheeks, thick wet strands clinging to silky skin.
He was tempted to brush it away, but the cruiser had parked, and two officers were getting out. They’d see any gesture he made toward her. He didn’t care, but he knew Gretchen would.
So he walked away, Quinn still on heel beside him. The fact that Gretchen had gotten a partial plate impressed him, but he wasn’t sure it would bring them any closer to Boyd. The killer had a predilection for stealing cars and using them when he was on the prowl. More than likely, the Toyota had been stolen.
That didn’t mean that the person driving it wasn’t military personnel. Gretchen’s assessment had been spot-on. Someone with inside information was helping Boyd.
Justin’s mission was to find out who.
* * *
It was 3:00 a.m. when Gretchen finally finished writing up her report, shut down her computer and grabbed her backpack from the floor beside her chair. She and Justin had been back at the office for several hours, going over lists of possible leaks, attempting to obtain phone records for everyone who’d been working in the building when Justin made radio contact.
That would take time.
Until Gretchen had them in hand, she’d have no idea who had made the call that had sent Boyd to the cave.
She lifted her coffee, sipping the last dregs of her fifth cup.
Or was it her sixth?
She should have been wired from the caffeine. All she felt was bone-deep fatigue.
“All set?” Justin asked, pushing away from his desk and standing. They’d been alone in the office for at least an hour, the quiet hum of their computers muffling the sound of people walking through the hallway outside. She’d done her best to ignore him, but her thoughts seemed to constantly move in his direction. She’d wanted to talk to him rather than work in silence, but the things she’d had to say had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with the kiss.
If she let herself, she could still feel the warmth of his lips against hers.
Her cheeks heated, and she stood. “Yes. Finally.”
She sounded normal, she thought. She hoped.
“Quinn and I will take you home.” He grabbed her coat from the back of the chair and draped it around her shoulders.
“That’s not necessary, Justin. I can walk from here.”
“I’d rather you not. Boyd was watching us tonight.”
“So?” She brushed a crumb from her desk, moved her pen so that it was neatly centered on the computer keyboard. Anything to avoid meeting his eyes.
She was falling for him.
Hard.
And she didn’t want him to see the truth of that in her eyes. She was too afraid of what it would mean, too afraid to commit herself to tumbling headfirst into something new and exciting and terrifying.
“So, he might have seen me do this.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers dr
ifting from her cheek to her ear, and then down to the column of her throat.
“I don’t remember you doing that,” she murmured, but she didn’t move away. She should have. Of course she should have.
Because she didn’t want a repeat of the kiss.
She didn’t.
“Okay, so maybe it was more like this.” He shifted his hands so that they rested on her shoulders, and she found herself moving closer. Not because he asked or demanded it. Because she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
This time, his kiss was as gentle as a warm spring breeze. Soft and tender and filled with promise of things to come.
“Either way,” he murmured as he pulled back, “Boyd may have seen it, and he may have decided you’re the perfect way to get to me.”
“The only way he could use me like that is to kidnap me,” she managed to say.
“That’s my point. Let’s not make you an easy target, okay? I’ll take you home. You’ll lock the door, and you won’t unlock it until you call and let me know you need an escort.” His thumb brushed the pulse point in her neck, the raspy slide of it sending heat up her spine.
“You can’t escort me everywhere I need to go,” she protested.
“If I can’t, I’ll send someone else. Just until this is over.” He studied her face, his gaze intense and unwavering. “You don’t have to be scared, Gretchen.”
“I’m not scared. I’m terrified.”
“Of Boyd?”
“Of my stupid fickle heart,” she blurted out, and he smiled.
“I’m serious, Justin,” she muttered. “My heart has already been broken once. I don’t think I’ll survive it a second time around.”
“Who’s to say there will be a second time? Maybe your heart will be just fine.”
“This is a dangerous job. Either of us could get injured.” Or worse. She didn’t add that.
He knew what she was thinking.
No one got into a relationship with a law enforcement officer without understanding the risk.
“That’s true, but I’d rather give my all to something and have my heart broken than sit in a safe little bubble and never experience life,” he responded.
“That’s interesting. Coming from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re in your thirties and still single. Obviously, you’re not all that eager to take relationship risks.”
“Me being single has nothing to do avoiding risks. At least, not in the way you’re thinking.”
“Then what does it have to do with?” she asked, genuinely curious. Justin was a great guy. He had a good career that earned him good money. If he stayed in the military until retirement, he’d have a good pension. He was handsome, smart and funny. Any woman would consider herself fortunate to be with a man like him.
“The truth?” he asked.
“I certainly prefer it to a lie.”
“I’m single because the only example of a husband and father I had was my dad. He beat my mother for fun, and he did the same to me.”
His words were like ice water, cooling her blood, clearing her head.
“I’m sorry, Justin. That’s horrible,” she said.
“It was, but watching him taught me what being a man wasn’t. Now I’m doing everything I can to be what he wasn’t. I’m not afraid of having my heart broken. I’m afraid of breaking the heart of someone I love. I’m afraid of turning into a selfish, angry monster who only cares about his own needs and desires.” He paused, a frown line between his brows. “Or I was afraid of those things. Portia has been with me for over a year, and I haven’t flown off the handle yet. I’m hoping that’s a good sign.”
“You don’t need a sign. If you were like your father, you wouldn’t be able to do this job. Being the head of Security Forces requires self-control and patience. If you didn’t have those things, you’d be sunk.”
“Maybe you’re right. I hope you’re right.” His gaze dropped to her lips, and her breath caught. She was pretty sure her heart stopped, too.
“You can tell me to stop, if you want me to,” he said, leaning down until they were just a hairbreadth away.
She knew she should.
She knew she was setting herself up for heartbreak, but she couldn’t make herself say the words.
His lips brushed hers. Just like they had before. Gently. Tenderly.
Tears burned behind her eyes, and she pulled away, breathless, off balance.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, her heart still pounding wildly.
“Why not? There’s no rule against it.”
“It’s not about rules. It’s about me going back to Minot in a few weeks. It’s about you staying here. It’s about long-distance relationships not working.”
“Your brother is in Texas. Your future sister-in-law is in New England,” he pointed out.
“They’re an exception.”
“We can be an exception, too. If we want to be.” He took a step away, watching her, waiting for a response.
But everything she thought of saying seemed trite and dishonest. Nothing seemed to match up to the magnitude of this moment and this conversation, because no amount of fear seemed insurmountable when she looked into his eyes.
She was going to tell him that.
She was, but the door opened, and Oliver walked into the room.
He glanced at Gretchen and then at Justin.
“Sorry,” he said, starting to close the door again.
“It’s okay. What’s up?” Justin walked toward him, his posture stiff, his expression unreadable.
She’d hurt him.
She knew she had.
And she wanted to take it all back, tell him that she’d been stupid. That, of course, she was willing to risk her heart again. For him.
“My transport to Houston will be here shortly,” Oliver said. “Rusty is already cooperating. He’s given us a few names and the address of a storage unit that he thinks Patriot was guarding. He believes Olio was keeping drugs or weapons in it.”
“If you find it, you may find the person who owns it,” Justin said.
“Right, and we’re hoping that person can give us names. We’re getting close to closing the crime ring down, and I wanted to thank you both for your help.”
“Thank us when Olio no longer exists,” Justin said. “Until then, let me know if you need any more help.”
“Thanks. I’ll also keep you updated. And before I forget...” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Justin. “Portia gave this to one of my men and asked if we could deliver it to you. I’d planned to give it to you earlier, but things got a little crazy.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“See you later.” Oliver hurried away, and Justin unfolded the note, smiling as he read it.
“Is she doing okay?” Gretchen asked.
“Yes.” He folded the note again, tucked it into his pocket without sharing any of the details.
He was putting up barriers.
That was clear, and she couldn’t even be upset, because she was the one who’d demanded them.
“Justin,” she began, determined to clear the air. To explain. To apologize.
“How about we discuss it later?”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I know that I need to get you home. It’s been a long day. We’re both tired, and I have a team meeting scheduled for ten. If you’re not up to attending, I’ll understand, but I have to be there. I’d like to get some sleep before then.”
“Since when have I ever missed a meeting?”
“I’m just giving you the option. Not implying that you’ll choose it.” He called to Quinn and walked out of the room.
She followed, knowing she’d made a mis
take. Knowing she was the only one who could fix it. She’d have pulled Justin to a stop and forced him to hear her out, but now didn’t seem like the time.
Like he’d said, it had been a long day. They were both tired.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to explain herself.
They made the drive back to her place in silence.
Justin left Quinn in the SUV and walked her to her apartment. He waited as she unlocked the door. Just like he had dozens of times before.
Only this time felt like the last time.
This time felt like the end.
She reached for his hand, but his phone rang before she could touch him.
He answered, his voice rumbling through the hallway, the words terse and a little sharp. “You’re sure? Okay. I’ll swing by on my way home. See if I find anything.”
“What’s going on?” she asked as he tucked the phone back in his pocket.
“That was the desk sergeant. An airman called. She was on her way back from furlough and thought she saw a red rose lying on the sidewalk in front of the high school.”
“Another message from Boyd?”
“Maybe. Although I don’t know why he’d leave it there when Portia is out of his reach.”
“Maybe he wants you to panic and contact her?”
“He’s not going to get what he wants. I never panic. But I will go check it out.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Not this time. I have Quinn, and I don’t think I’m going to find anything. It’s dark and rainy. Sticks look like swords in weather like this. A clump of grass might look like a rose.”
She didn’t argue.
He was probably right. The likelihood of Boyd leaving a rose on the sidewalk was slim.
“All right. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, stepping into the apartment and closing the door.
She turned the lock and flicked on the light.
Only, the room remained dark.
Surprised, she walked across the living room and switched on the lamp. Like the overhead light, it didn’t go on.
She planned to walk into the hall that led to the bedrooms and try the light there. If it didn’t work, she’d call management and ask if a circuit had blown. She stepped toward the hall and stopped.
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