Westley sucked in a noisy breath. “Just like a couple of the victims in Dill.”
“Yes.” She hated that she’d even gone on the one date, but she’d been lonely and he’d been interested. “He’d seemed charming and nice at first.”
Her words gave her pause. Didn’t they say that about most serial killers? Neighbors and colleagues were often shocked to learn they’d been living or working closely with someone capable of such horrendous acts.
“Then he’d made it abundantly clear he wasn’t a believer. A must for me.”
Was Westley a believer, she wondered. In the six months she’d been in his command, she’d never had a deep or personal conversation with him. He was too guarded, too critical. She wondered what made him tick beyond his perfectionism.
“Did he hurt you?”
The anger lacing Westley’s words sent a funny little ribbon of warmth winding through her. But, of course, Westley would feel anger. In spite of his questioning if she belonged in the unit, he was a man of integrity and honor.
“No. I fended him off when he got handsy at the end of the night.”
“You can take care of yourself,” he said, with a good dose of pride lacing his voice, which confused her.
His words might have been a compliment, but she crossed her arms in front of her, squeezing her rib cage as tight as she could to keep from splitting into a million pieces. “There are times when I wished I didn’t have to.” She hated that her voice broke.
Westley dropped the lead he held and stepped on it to keep Tiger from running off, then he slipped his arms around her and drew her to his chest. He felt solid and strong. The spicy scent of his aftershave teased her senses, making the shock of his actions even more startling.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he vowed.
She believed him. Despite how infuriating she found him at times, she respected his work ethic and his diligence in making sure the dogs were well trained before being assigned a handler. He never said something he didn’t mean. And he always followed through on his word.
But the last thing she needed was Westley thinking she was needy. Besides, the United States Air Force had strict rules about fraternization. She wouldn’t risk her career for a hug of comfort.
She disengaged from him and stepped back seconds before a black SUV roared down the street and stopped at the curb, followed by a Security Forces vehicle.
Westley picked up Tiger’s lead and had the dog heel at his side as they waited.
Tech Sergeant Linc Colson climbed out of the vehicle with his canine, a female Rottweiler named Star, but the pair hung back as Special Agent Ian Steffen from the Office of Special Investigations stepped out of the black SUV. Felicity knew the fortyish officer through her father, who’d also been a special agent with the OSI.
Ian’s speculative gaze bounced between Westley and Felicity. Felicity’s stomach clenched. Had Ian witnessed the hug?
“Master Sergeant James,” Ian said, acknowledging Westley’s salute.
Felicity raised her hand to touch her temple in respect of the man’s rank.
“At ease. Are you okay, Staff Sergeant Monroe?” Ian asked.
“I am, sir.” She gestured to the mailbox. “But there’s that.”
Ian slipped on a pair of latex gloves and removed the rose from the mailbox, placing it inside an evidence bag. He then unfolded the note and read it aloud. “‘I’m coming for you.’”
The ominous words reverberated through Felicity, burning an acidic trail along her veins. There was no doubt who wrote the note. Boyd Sullivan. The Red Rose Killer.
“The crime-scene unit will dust the mailbox for prints,” Ian told her as he placed the note in a separate evidence bag. “But doubtful Sullivan was dumb enough to leave any behind.”
Boyd may have been a hothead and full of himself, but he’d been smart. The first time he’d gone on a rampage he’d evaded capture longer than anyone thought he would. A tremor of anxiety worked its way over her skin.
Once Ian had the rose and note stowed away, he said to her, “How are you holding up? Your father was a good man and my friend.”
Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them back, along with the sharp pang of grief. “I’m managing.”
He nodded, compassion softening the lines in his face. “This doesn’t help. You are to come to base command with me.”
“But the dogs?” Her priority—her job—was finding the canines and returning them to their kennels safely.
“I’m sure Master Sergeant James and Tech Sergeant Colson can handle the dogs,” Ian stated firmly. “Lieutenant General Hall wants anyone with a connection to Boyd brought to base command.”
She glanced at Westley. He gave her a slight nod.
Linc stepped up. “Actually, sir, Lieutenant General Hall would like Master Sergeant James to return to base command, as well. But we’ll take the dog to the center first.”
Felicity climbed in the passenger side of Ian’s SUV as Westley and Tiger followed Linc and Star to the other vehicle. They drove away while Ian and Felicity waited until the crime-scene-unit techs arrived and took possession of the rose and note.
As Ian drove them to the northwest end of base, he asked, “Do you know what your father was working on prior to his death?”
Startled by the question, she shook her head. “He never divulged his cases to me.”
Ian remained silent for a moment. “Do you believe his death was an accident?”
She stared at his profile. “He fell off a ladder cleaning the gutters of the house.”
Yet even as the words left her mouth, the nagging thought she’d had since the moment she’d seen her father lying on the ground roared to the surface.
Graham Monroe had been an extremely cautious man. He would never have gone on the sloped roof without either someone holding the ladder, or without hooking a safety harness to the metal rung he’d attached to the roof. So why hadn’t he tied off to protect himself from falling that fateful day?
Dread filled her. “Are you telling me my father’s death wasn’t an accident?”
Had her father been murdered?
Copyright © 2018 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN-13: 9781488087905
Witness in Hiding
Copyright © 2018 by Lisa Phillips
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