Читать книгу Valiant Defender - Shirlee McCoy - Страница 13

Canyon Air Force Base was silent. Houses shuttered, lights off. Streets quiet. Just the way it should be in the darkest hours of the morning. Captain Justin Blackwood didn’t let the quiet make him complacent. Seven months ago, an enemy had infiltrated the base. Boyd Sullivan, aka the Red Rose Killer—a man who’d murdered five people in his hometown before he’d been caught—had escaped from prison and continued his crime spree, murdering several more people and wreaking havoc on the base. He’d released two hundred highly trained military dogs from the base kennel and created a feeling of unease among the community. Sullivan wanted to destroy everyone and everything that he blamed for his failures.

Justin planned to stop him.

“What are your thoughts, Captain?” Captain Gretchen Hill asked as he sped through the quiet community. A temporary transfer from Minot Air Force Base, Gretchen had been in Texas for several months, observing the way Justin, himself a K-9 handler, commanded the Security Forces. When she returned to her post, she’d help set up a K-9 unit there.

“I don’t think we’re going to find him at the house,” he responded. “But when it comes to Boyd Sullivan, I believe in checking out every lead.”

“The witness reported lights? She didn’t actually see Boyd?”

“She didn’t see him, but the family that lived in the house left for a new post two days ago. Lots of moving trucks and activity. She’s worried Sullivan might have noticed and decided to squat in the empty property. Since she lives on the same court, she’s terrified.”

“Based on how easily Boyd has slipped through our fingers these past few months, I’d say he’s too smart to squat in base housing,” Gretchen said.

“I agree,” Justin responded. He’d been surprised at how much he enjoyed working with Gretchen. He’d expected her presence to feel like a burden, one more person to worry about and protect. But she had razor-sharp intellect and a calm, focused demeanor that had been an asset to the team. She didn’t shirk duties, didn’t complain about long hours, didn’t stand back and take notes while others did the job. She’d thrown herself into her temporary assignment wholeheartedly.

As much as Justin had dreaded her arrival, he was going to miss her when she was gone.

“Even if he decided to spend a few nights in an empty house, why turn on the lights? He knows this base. He knows that everyone on it is on high alert and searching for him.”

“If he’s there, he wants us to know it,” Justin responded. It was the only explanation that made sense. And it was the kind of game Sullivan liked to play—taunting his intended victims, letting them know that he was closing in. He left red roses and notes before he struck. I’m coming for you. He loved to kill, but terrorizing people was his drug of choice.

He needed to be stopped.

Tonight. Not in another month or two or three.

For the sake of the people on base and for Portia’s sake.

Just thinking about his sixteen-year-old daughter being targeted by Sullivan made Justin’s blood run cold. A year and a half ago, Portia had come to live with him unexpectedly and reluctantly, forced to give up her school and friends after her mother died in a car accident. The loss had hit her hard. A shy teenager who seemed to have trouble connecting with her peers, she’d turned to the internet for comfort and amused herself by blogging. Unfortunately, she’d chosen the wrong topic, and had been unmasked as the anonymous blogger on the Red Rose Killer.

She’d had no idea, of course, that Justin and Boyd had crossed paths long before Boyd’s escape from prison. She’d had no idea just how much danger she was putting herself in.

While Justin and his team had struggled to find Boyd and identify the anonymous blogger, Portia had been quietly listening to their conversations and gathering information that she’d posted online. Worse, she’d mocked Boyd—a man who was as arrogant as he was dangerous. That, along with being Justin’s daughter, had put her in the crosshairs of the killer. She’d received a threatening note from Boyd a week ago, and that terrified Justin.

If anything happened to Portia, Justin would never forgive himself.

Please, Lord, help me keep her safe.

The prayer flitted through his mind as he turned into a cul-de-sac and eyed the darkened windows of the houses there. This was the quiet residential area of the base. Single-family homes that housed the larger families of airmen and officers.

“It’s the brick two-story, right?” Gretchen asked, leaning forward as he approached the house.

“Yes.”

“And our witness was certain of what she saw?”

“Yes. She said the house was lit up like a beacon. Almost every room in it. She noticed when she brought her dog out for a walk. Her husband is deployed, and she didn’t want to check it out herself, so she called it in.”

“It could have been a cleaning crew. That is a nice-size house, and there are plenty of air force personnel with big families who’d love to have it. I doubt it’s going to stay empty long,” Gretchen suggested as Justin pulled into the driveway of the two-story brick home. Currently there were no lights in any of the windows. The front door was closed, as were all the visible windows. Someone may have been there, but the place looked empty now.

“That thought crossed my mind, but I want to check it out, anyway.” He turned off the engine, and his K-9, Quinn, shifted impatiently in his travel crate. The Belgian Malinois loved his work, and he was anxious to get out and do it. Trained in suspect apprehension, he had a great nose and a strong prey-and-play drive that made him easy to train and a pleasure to work with. When they’d first been partnered together, Quinn had reminded Justin of Scout—a German shepherd he’d found as a puppy and fostered until he was old enough to enter the K-9 training program. At the time, Justin already had a K-9 partner. Scout had been partnered with another officer and earned a reputation for being a superstar on the team, but he’d remained one of Justin’s favorite dogs.

Now he was missing, along with two more of the four superstar German shepherds that had been released from the kennels by Sullivan.

“Ready, boy?” Justin asked his K-9 as he climbed out of the SUV.

Quinn shifted again, whining softly.

“What’s the plan?” Gretchen asked, following him to the back of the SUV.

“Quinn and I will do a perimeter search. He’ll know if someone is here.”

“You and Quinn? And I’m supposed to wait here and twiddle my thumbs?”

“You are going to keep your eye on the front door. I don’t want anyone escaping out the front while Quinn and I are around back.”

“Come on, Captain. You know that’s not going to happen.”

“When it comes to Boyd Sullivan, I know we need to expect the unexpected.” He opened Quinn’s crate and hooked the dog to his leash.

“When it comes to Sullivan, you’d be happy if you could keep everyone away from him. Admit it. You want me to stay here so I don’t get anywhere close to the guy we’re after.”

She was right, but he wasn’t going to argue the validity of his feelings. The fact was, he was Boyd’s target, and he didn’t want Gretchen to be collateral damage. “Stay here, Captain.”

He headed around the side of the house, Quinn heeling beside him. The dog was nearly prancing with excitement, his nose in the air, his tail high.

And Gretchen, of course, was following, her boots thudding softly on the grassy side yard.

“I told you to stay with the vehicle,” he said, not glancing in her direction. His focus was ahead—the dark backyard and shadowy corners.

“Unfortunately for you, we’re of equal rank and equal authority. This is your base, so usually I do things your way, but going into a situation like this without backup is dangerous. So, this time, I’m doing things my way,” she said, and he couldn’t argue. If Boyd weren’t a factor, he wouldn’t have told her to stay at the SUV.

They were both well-trained military police officers.

They’d both reached the rank of captain.

She was as capable as Justin.

He was still worried.

Quinn turned a tight circle at the corner of the house, his ears twitching, his scruff raised.

He’d caught a scent. Justin released him from the leash.

“Find,” he commanded, and Quinn barked once, excited. Eager. He bounded toward the back door of the house, head high, obviously detecting a scent.

Please, God, let it be Boyd, Justin prayed silently.

He wanted this over. He wanted Boyd behind bars, his victims finally receiving the justice they deserved, their families finally receiving closure.

Portia safe.

Quinn snuffled an old mat that had been left near the back door, turned a quick circle and bounded away. He worked silently, nose to the ground, trotting along an invisible trail. Left. Right. Toward the back of the house and then away.

No bark of alert. No sprint back to indicate that someone was nearby. They’d been doing this together for years, and Justin knew his dog well enough to know that the Malinois sensed no danger.

His skin crawled, anyway.

He had a feeling about this. One he couldn’t shake. Boyd might not be there now, but Justin’s gut said he had been.

“What do you think?” Gretchen asked quietly.

“Whoever was here is gone,” Justin responded, watching as Quinn ran back to the door. He nudged it with his nose, and it swung open, creaking on old hinges.

Quinn didn’t enter. He just glanced back over his shoulder to see if Justin was following.

“Front!” Justin called, and Quinn sprinted back, stopping short directly in front of him and sitting there, tongue lolling, a happy smile on his face.

“Why would Boyd enter an empty house and then leave?” Gretchen asked, her gaze focused on the open door. “He’s been keeping pretty well hidden. He obviously has safe places to go to ground.”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Justin admitted, walking to the door and shining his flashlight on the opening. He was looking for signs of a booby trap, evidence that Boyd had left something dangerous behind. He wasn’t the kind of criminal who did things without careful planning and thought. He was smart, meticulous and, thus far, one step ahead of Justin and the base police.

“A booby trap, maybe?” Gretchen suggested what he was thinking. “Or a bomb?” She crouched, peering into the dark house.

Justin continued his search of the door. From what he could see, there was no trip wire and no evidence that the door had been booby-trapped.

“If he was here, he had an agenda, and it wasn’t just finding a place to hang out for a couple of hours,” he responded. “I’ll call in our explosive detecting team. Nick Donovan and his K-9, Annie, can check things out before we go in and look around.”

Quinn snuffled the ground nearby, then made a circuit of the yard. It wasn’t large, but someone had planted several trees. At one point, there had been a garden. Now old vines and dead plants filled a weed-choked patch of cleared land. An old swing set sat near the edge of the property. Beyond that, thick woods spilled out into deep forests. It would have been easy for Boyd to reach the house without being seen. The fact that he was on base, stalking victims again, infuriated and worried Justin.

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, expecting to see a text from someone at headquarters. The entire Security Forces was on high alert, ready and anxious to face off with Sullivan.

Instead, he saw Portia’s number. Read the text. Felt the blood drain from his head.

I’ve got your daughter. Three guesses where I’m hiding her.

“What’s wrong?” Gretchen asked, leaning in close and eyeing the message on his phone.

“It was a setup! He has Portia,” he said.

“Boyd? How? Didn’t you hire twenty-four-hour protection for her?” Gretchen asked, but Justin was already running back to the SUV, Quinn loping beside him.

He had to get back to the house.

He had to find Portia.

Nothing else mattered but keeping his daughter safe.

There weren’t a lot of things Gretchen was afraid of. Snakes, mice, spiders, the dark. She could face any of those things without blinking an eye or breaking a sweat. She knew how to take down a man twice her size, how to disarm an adversary and how to keep her cool in just about any situation. Being raised in a military family with four older brothers had made her tough, strong and—she hoped—resilient.

So, fear? It wasn’t something she was all that familiar with.

Right now, though, she was afraid.

Portia was a kid. Sixteen years old. At that strange age where childishness and maturity seemed to converge into a mess of impulsivity. This was the age where kids experimented with drinking, smoking, drugs.

Portia had taken another route.

And it had turned out to be an extremely dangerous one.

Blogging about Boyd Sullivan anonymously and thinking she wouldn’t get found out had put her in the crosshairs of a very deliberate and cold-blooded killer.

One who wouldn’t hesitate to kill again. If Boyd really had her, if he wasn’t just playing a sick game, Portia was in serious danger.

“Are you sure he has her?” Gretchen asked, hoping against hope that Justin wasn’t.

But she knew him.

She’d worked with him for months, and she’d never seen him panic. Until now.

“He texted from her cell phone,” he responded as he secured Quinn and jumped into the driver’s seat. When he gunned the engine, she let the silence fill the SUV. She knew he was heading back to his place.

She called headquarters, explaining the situation in a succinct and unemotional way. Not because she didn’t feel desperate, but because she was a military police officer. She was also a woman. Two things her old-school father had never thought should go together. She’d had to prove herself as much to him as she had to any of her fellow officers—not just being good at her job, but being exceptional. Always in control. Always following protocol. Seeking justice. Capturing criminals. Pretending that she wasn’t shaken by the depravity she saw.

Boyd Sullivan was beyond depraved.

He was a psychopath. If she had to choose a word to describe him—one that her fellow officers would never hear—she’d call him evil.

He had no empathy, no remorse. He was his own law. Probably his own god.

And if he had Portia...

Please, God, let her be safe, she prayed, surprised by her sudden need to reach out for divine help. It had been a long time since she’d prayed.

She hadn’t given up on God.

She hadn’t stopped having faith.

Not during Henry’s illness. Not during the hours she’d spent sitting beside him during chemo. Not while she’d been planning a wedding she’d known would never happen. Not when she’d held her fiancé’s hand while his breathing became shallower. Even when she’d stood at his graveside listening to the pastor talk about hope during heartache, she’d trusted in God’s plan.

She’d believed in His goodness.

She still did, but something in her had broken when Henry died. Four years later, and she wasn’t sure if it would ever be fixed.

Tires squealed as Justin took a turn too quickly, and she eyed the speedometer. They were going too fast for the area and for the vehicle. She understood Justin’s desire to get back to his house quickly, but if he didn’t slow down, they might not get there at all.

“Getting into an accident won’t help Portia,” she said calmly.

“I’m aware of that,” he muttered.

“So, how about you ease off the accelerator, or pull over and let me drive?”

“We don’t have time to pull over.” But he eased off the gas and took the next turn more slowly. “I should never have left her alone.”

“She wasn’t alone,” she reminded him. “You had twenty-four-hour protection for her.”

“Which failed.”

“Have you heard from her bodyguard?”

“No, and I’m not foolish enough to think Boyd somehow slipped under the radar, grabbed Portia and slipped out without being noticed.”

“So, you think the bodyguard has been...?” She didn’t finish the question. They’d turned onto Justin’s street, and she could see his house. The windows were dark, the front door closed. Everything looked locked up tight and secure.

“It looks quiet,” she commented as he pulled into the driveway.

“When it comes to Boyd Sullivan, that doesn’t mean anything.” He braked hard, threw the car into Park and jumped out, opening the back hatch and freeing Quinn.

No discussion. No plan. This wasn’t the way Gretchen operated. She liked to be methodical and organized in her approach to the job. In a situation like this—one where a serial killer could be lurking nearby—that was especially imperative.

She knew Justin felt the same.

She’d worked with him for several months, observing the way he led the Security Forces, how he approached dangerous situations, how he and his K-9 partner worked together and the way he interacted with his subordinates. He seemed to have unlimited energy and a passion for justice that was admirable.

But right now, he was running straight into danger without thinking the situation through.

She had two choices: sit in the car and wait for him to return, or run after him.

She opted for the second. She couldn’t let a comrade face danger alone.

She sprinted after him, snagging his arm and yanking him to a stop. He was taller and heavier, packed with muscles he worked hard for. But she had decades of experience dealing with four older brothers who were also taller and more muscular than she was.

“Hold on!” she whispered, keeping her voice low. “We need to call for backup.”

“Go ahead.” He yanked away and headed around the side of the house.

“Captain, this is what Sullivan wants—you panicked and not thinking.”

“I don’t care what he wants. I care about Portia, and I need to see if he left anything behind. Any hint of where he took her.”

“This could be a trap,” she cautioned, following him into the backyard, the hair on her nape standing on end. She didn’t think Boyd Sullivan would hang around waiting for Justin’s return, but she couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t. He was a psychopath, extremely intelligent and determined to seek revenge for perceived wrongs that had been committed against him. Based on the file of police reports she’d read and the crimes he’d committed since escaping prison, Gretchen knew he was capable of anything.

“It’s not a trap, but if you’re concerned, go back to the vehicle.”

“Justin, you need to slow down and think things through.” She tried using his first name, speaking to him the way she did when they were off duty. He glanced in her direction, but didn’t slow down. Quinn was just ahead, snuffling the ground, his ears back and his tail low.

The dog looked tense, and that worried Gretchen.

Quinn was good at finding people. She’d been with him and Justin when they’d tracked down a kid who’d vandalized the school. She’d also been with them when Quinn tracked a guy who’d beaten his wife black-and-blue and then fled the house. She’d observed the dog several times, and she knew the posture he was displaying indicated someone’s presence.

He barked and took off, running to the edge of the property, Justin on his heels. She was close behind, staying just far enough back to give them space to do their work.

They pushed through the thick foliage that surrounded the property. Gretchen followed, twigs catching at her short dark hair and scratching her face.

When Justin stopped short, she nearly slammed into his back, her hands coming up automatically, grabbing his shoulders to catch her balance.

“What—” she began.

“Quinn found the bodyguard,” Justin said, crouching and giving her a clear view of what lay in the bushes in front of him. A man sprawled on the ground. She pulled her Maglite and turned it on, wincing as she saw blood trickling from the back of his head.

“Gunshot wound?” she asked, crouching beside Justin as he checked for a pulse.

“Yes. Just one to the head.”

“Pulse?”

“No.”

She eyed the fallen man as Justin radioed for backup and medics. The bodyguard had been dragged into the shrubs. She could see the trail his body had made—empty of leaves, dirt scraped up by his shoes. His jacket was hiked up, and his firearm was visible. Still holstered.

“He didn’t have time to pull his weapon,” she commented as Justin straightened.

“Boyd doesn’t give people time. He doesn’t play by rules. He doesn’t care who he hurts. Stay here until backup arrives. I’m going inside.” He called for Quinn and took off, racing back the way they’d come as if he really thought she’d stay where she was.

But he wasn’t the only captain on the team.

And he wasn’t thinking clearly.

That was an easy way to get killed.

Especially when someone like Boyd Sullivan was around.

She ran after him, the faint sounds of sirens drifting on the velvet night air as she sprinted across the yard, up the porch stairs and into the dark house.