“Staff Sergeant Felicity Monroe.”
Hearing his trainer’s name jerked Westley’s thoughts back to the conference room. Felicity. His stomach dropped as his pulse spiked. She was supposed to have been on duty last night, but had changed shifts.
Had she been Sullivan’s intended target?
Fear streaked through his system like a fighter jet heading to battle. He couldn’t let another person for whom he was responsible die. Not on his watch. He had to protect her.
Without asking permission, Westley raced out of the auditorium. He had to find Felicity.
* * *
Felicity’s search for the dogs wasn’t going very well. With the base alive and on alert, the dogs sensed the anxiety rippling through the air and were skittish. She moved with a slow, easy gait so as not to spook two dogs in her sights, a three-year-old German shepherd named Tiger and a two-year-old Belgian Malinois named Riff. Both were sniffing around the commissary.
As she approached, both dogs lifted their heads to eye her, their tails swishing.
“Come,” she commanded while holding a treat in her hand against her thigh, which would bring the dogs in close enough to grab by the collar.
Tiger abandoned his sniffing to comply. As he took the treat from her, she hooked her fingers beneath his collar and swiftly attached a leash to the ring. Now to get the Malinois.
“Riff,” she said. “Here, boy.”
The dog’s ears twitched but he made no move to obey. She and Tiger stepped closer. Riff moved away, nose back to the ground. Frustration beat at her temples. “Come on, Riff.”
The dog had done well inside the confines of the center, but out in the open, not so much. Now she understood why Westley had said the dog wasn’t ready to be paired with a human. She’d disagreed at the time and had even accused him, albeit silently, of holding back Riff because he didn’t like her. Now she knew her boss had been right.
Riff had a long way to go in his training. She didn’t relish admitting that to Westley. He’d give her that tight-lipped nod that irritated her nerves and made her feel as if she didn’t measure up to his standards. Her commanding officer certainly knew how to push her buttons...unfortunately.
Tiger spun around and barked, his tail rigid and his ears up.
Seconds later she heard the sound of pounding feet and her adrenaline spiked. She reached for her pepper spray with her free hand and whirled with the can up and her finger hovering over the trigger, ready to protect herself from an assault.
Westley held his hands up, palms facing out, as he skidded to a halt. “Whoa. It’s me.”
Not Boyd, as she dreaded. Heart racing, she lowered the canister, thankful she hadn’t let loose a stream of stinging spray.
Tiger relaxed and moved closer to Westley.
Felicity took in a deep breath. Exasperation made her voice sharp when she said, “You scared me.” Her gaze jumped to Riff as the dog ran away. “Riff!”
The dog disappeared around the corner of the building.
“You were right,” she conceded. “We need to work on his recall.”
“We will,” Westley assured her as he took Tiger’s lead from her hand. “Right now, my only concern is you.”
The grim set of his jaw alerted her heightened senses. Had she done something wrong? Made a mistake? Her defenses rose, making her straighten. “Me? I’m doing my best to bring the dogs in.”
For a moment, confusion entered his gaze then cleared. “Lieutenant General Hall believes Boyd Sullivan is targeting those who were in his basic-military-training class,” he replied, his voice harsh.
She took a step back. The same alarm that had flooded her this morning, when she’d thought someone was standing at the foot of her bed, seeped through her now. Had it been Boyd? A shudder of revulsion worked over her flesh.
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” she said. At Westley’s arched eyebrow, she added, “Neither Tamara nor Landon were in our group.”
“Exactly,” he said. “I think you were his intended target last night.”
She sucked in a breath. Her lungs burned as his words sank in. She swallowed convulsively as her mouth dried from the terror that was already pumping in her blood. She shook her head. “You can’t know that for sure.”
Was she responsible for her friends’ deaths?
A spasm of guilt and pain twisted her insides. She wanted to fall to her knees and ask God why, but with Westley standing there, she remained upright and silently sent up the question. Why, Lord?
“He also killed Chief Master Sergeant Lockwood.”
The air swooshed out of her lungs. The basic military training commander. The one who’d kicked Boyd out of the air force. Felicity was friends with Maisy Lockwood, the chief master sergeant’s daughter and a civilian preschool teacher.
Agitation revved through Felicity’s system. She trembled with the restless urge to move. “I need to see Maisy. She must be devastated.”
Westley nodded. “Seeing her will have to wait. We need to take Tiger, here, to the training center then go find more dogs.”
“We can put him in my backyard. I’ll set out water on the back deck. He’ll be fine there while we search.”
He seemed to contemplate her suggestion. She gritted her teeth, expecting him to argue with her. He always thought his way was best, and because he was in charge that left little room for discussion. She prepared to defend her suggestion but he nodded, which surprised her. “That works.”
Unsure what to make of Westley, she led the way down Base Boulevard to her house. Her gaze snagged on the black curbside mailbox. The drop-down door was propped half-open.
What was going on? It hadn’t been open when she’d left the house earlier. Her steps faltered. Was her sanity really slipping?
Just this morning she’d imagined someone standing at the foot of her bed and now this? She didn’t want to think about the other times when she’d had the feeling someone had been inside her home.
Maybe she needed to take up Dr. Flintman on his offer of medication to suppress her mild PTSD. She would have before except she didn’t want to be medicated and give Westley any reason to wash her out of the training center. And she worried that would be a big one, given that he already had it in for her. From the day she stepped into the center, she’d had the feeling he wanted her gone.
“What’s wrong?” The concern coating Westley’s words shimmied down her spine.
For all his fault-finding with her, he was being a supportive boss today. Unusual but appreciated. She needed to take a deep breath and gather herself together.
“Nothing, I hope.” But she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the mailbox. She stepped closer and she pushed the door, intending to close it, but something blocked it from shutting.
Aggravated, she yanked the door all the way open. A red rose popped out to lie flat on the open metal flap. She gasped and jerked her hand back as if the flower was a copperhead snake.
Then her eyes focused on a folded white sheet of paper.
Her knees threatened to give out. Boyd had been here.
One thing was clear—she hadn’t been imagining things. Yet, her mind tapped with the niggling knowledge that strange things had been happening long before today. Her body went numb as fear drenched her in a cold sweat.
“We need to call Security Forces.”
Westley’s deep, gravelly voice rumbled in her chest. She could only nod. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
After he made the call, he turned her to face him. “Look at me,” he instructed.
She stared at him. Morning sunlight reflected in his light blue eyes and gleamed in his dark hair. She couldn’t deny he was handsome, and at this moment, he, of all people, anchored her. If she wasn’t so freaked out, she’d find that odd. She wasn’t sure the man even liked her. But there was concern
in his eyes now. Concern for her. Crazy, really. But then again, it had been that kind of morning.
She took a breath and then swallowed. “I think he may have been in my house.”
“What?”
“When I woke up this morning someone stood at the foot of my bed. But when I turned on the light, no one was there.” She didn’t mention the other times she’d had the sensation that someone had been in her home or was watching her. Today was bad enough.
“Are you kidding me?” he sputtered. “Why didn’t you report it?”
She bristled at the censure in his tone. “I thought I was imagining things.” Her heart beat painfully in her chest. She yanked her gaze from him and stared at the house. “But why leave a note and the rose when he could have killed me in my sleep?”
Westley studied her face, making her want to squirm. “Could it have been a nightmare?”
The sympathy and understanding in his tone sent another rush of anxiety through her. Did he suspect her PTSD? Had Dr. Flintman talked to her boss? The thought horrified her.
“Maybe,” she admitted, not willing to fully commit to the diagnosis and what that might mean for her future with the K-9 unit.
“You’ve suffered a tragic loss recently,” he reminded her more gently than she would have thought him capable, making her wonder if he’d suffered the loss of someone close to him as well.
Losing her father to a senseless accident was a scar she’d carry with her forever. And it may be the cause of her imaginings, yet... “It doesn’t make sense,” she said again.
“What doesn’t?”
Would Westley think she was going nuts? She was loath to give him any more reasons to view her in a bad light. He’d already made it clear he thought she needed to improve her training skills because he constantly corrected her whenever he observed her with the dogs.
Still, she had to confide in someone. And he was here. “Weird things have been happening lately. Long before Boyd escaped prison.”
His dark eyebrows drew together. “Like what?”
She took another bracing breath. Was she really going to share this with him? Did she have a choice?
“Little things,” she said. “Like objects moved and doors and cabinets left open when I know they were shut.” Like her clock being turned toward the wall this morning.
Had Boyd been standing at the foot of her bed? She shivered. Could there be someone else on base who had it in for her? Or was she imagining it all?
But the rose and note were real.
“Maybe whoever helped Sullivan onto base is trying to scare you,” Westley said. “But why would Boyd and his accomplice want to terrorize you?”
Distaste boiled up and twisted her lips. “The only reason I can think of is because I refused a second date with Boyd during BMT.”
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: 9781488087899
Wilderness Pursuit
Copyright © 2018 by Faith Boughan
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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