Читать книгу The Military K-9 Unit Collection - Valerie Hansen - Страница 35

EIGHT

Heart pounding in his ears, Westley dove to his knees beside Felicity where she’d fallen to the kitchen floor. Dakota whined. He’d dropped to his belly, his nose stretched out to Felicity.

Her eyes were closed. Westley couldn’t tell if she was breathing.

Please, Lord. I can’t take another death.

Lungs frozen in dread, he pressed his fingers against the tender skin of her neck. He felt the steady thrum of her pulse beating there. She was alive. The tight vise that had gripped his chest expanded, allowing him to breathe. Had she had a seizure? That would explain Dakota’s behavior. Some dogs had the uncanny ability to sense an oncoming seizure. Westley had never seen it happen and hadn’t known Dakota was that sensitive.

He yanked his phone from his pocket and dialed 911. He quickly explained to the dispatcher the issue and gave the address. Keeping the line open, he set down the phone and placed a hand to Felicity’s cheek. Her skin was clammy.

The pungent odor of the salad dressing invaded his senses. His mind replayed the scene in his head. Dakota had acted strange immediately after Felicity had opened the dressing bottle. If the dog’s disobedience wasn’t enough, he’d attacked her salad bowl, sending it flying.

A knot of apprehension twisted in Westley’s gut. His gaze flew to the dressing bottle still standing on the dining table. Had the contents been tampered with? Had Dakota picked up a deadly scent?

Fear sidled up and choked him.

The sound of sirens rent the air. He jumped to his feet and ran to the front door, opening it wide and urging the paramedics inside.

“She’s got a pulse but it’s weak,” he told them. “I think she may have been poisoned.”

“Westley?” Justin rushed to his side. “I heard the call come in.”

Glad to have his captain’s support, Westley told him what had happened while the paramedics tended to Felicity. “The dressing. It needs to be tested for poison.”

“I’ll take care of it and Dakota,” Justin said. “You go with Felicity.”

Westley nodded and hustled after the paramedics as they loaded Felicity into the back bay of the ambulance. Taking a seat on the bench next to her, he took her hand. “Felicity, stay with me, okay?”

She looked so vulnerable lying there with an oxygen mask covering half her face. He hated seeing her like this. He wanted her to wake up and chew him out again. He wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh. Feelings he’d been trying to contain bubbled up, escaping the compartment he’d stuffed them into. If he was being honest with himself, he would admit that he’d grown to care for the young staff sergeant. No, care wasn’t the right word. He was falling for her in ways that terrified him. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She had to be okay.

He bowed his head and silently prayed like he’d never prayed before.

At the hospital, Felicity was whisked away behind the closed doors of the emergency room. Westley was barred from following. He paced the waiting area as frustration and fear spiraled through him.

He spotted First Lieutenant Vanessa Gomez at the nurses’ station and rushed over. “Lieutenant Gomez.”

“Master Sergeant James.” She acknowledged his salute. “Can I help you?”

“Yes.” He told her about Felicity. “Can you check on her? Please?”

“Of course.” Concern laced Vanessa’s voice. Without another word, she hurried through the swinging door and disappeared.

An interminable amount of time ticked by as Westley continued to pace until Vanessa finally returned. “Dr. Knight will be out shortly to talk to you.”

“Is she...” He couldn’t get the words to come out.

“They are working on her.” Compassion shone in her eyes. “You have to trust she’ll be okay.”

He nodded. He wanted to trust that God would save her. Westley hated the feeling of helplessness stealing over him.

Finally, a doctor in a white lab coat approached. The name tag on his breast pocket read Dr. Trevor Knight. “Are you Master Sergeant James?”

“Yes.” Westley’s heart stuttered as he waited to hear the news. “How is Felicity?”

“She’s going to be fine,” Trevor assured him. “Because of the suspected poison, we administered activated charcoal and pumped fluids to flush her system. We heard from Security Forces that the tainted salad dressing contained crushed hemlock leaves. Very toxic and fast-acting. If you hadn’t reacted swiftly...” The doctor didn’t say it, but Westley knew the potential outcome. “But the staff sergeant ingested such a small amount that there shouldn’t be any residual aftereffects.”

“Thank you.” Palpable relief coursed through Westley’s veins. “When can I see her?”

“She’s resting now, but you’re welcome to sit with her,” Trevor said. “Follow me.”

He led Westley to a private room. Felicity was lying in the bed, a blanket tucked around her as she slept. Her loose, light brown hair spilled over the pillow, making his mouth dry. He moved to sit beside the bed and brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face. Dark lashes rested against her cheeks.

He took her hand, so soft and warm, and settled back to wait for her to wake up, though he had no idea how to proceed from here. He’d grown attached to this beautiful, spirited woman. But how could he ever act on his feelings when doing so would jeopardize both of their careers in the air force? No, he had to find a way to stuff his emotions back into their boxes and maintain a professional distance from Felicity.

Unfortunately, he had a feeling that might be as easy as bottling her laughter.

* * *

“You’re going to be okay.”

Felicity pressed her lips together to keep a chuckle from escaping. From the moment she’d awoken in the hospital with Westley holding her hand, he’d been comforting, soothing, and had assured her that she hadn’t ingested enough of the poison inside the tainted bottle of salad dressing to cause any permanent damage. “So you’ve said for at least the tenth time.”

After being discharged, Westley had brought her home and insisted she rest on the couch. He’d put an afghan over her, fluffed a pillow behind her head and brought her a tall glass of water.

She should be annoyed by his incessant need to treat her like an invalid except the relief, concern and tenderness in his eyes made her heart pound. She couldn’t deny she liked having his attention, the good kind, lavished on her. He made her feel special and cared for. His haggard appearance was testament to having slept by her bedside in the hospital last night. Only a man who cared would do that, right?

She had no idea what to do with the thought, so she tucked it away for safekeeping.

“Sorry. I’m hovering.” He frowned, clearly befuddled by his own behavior.

She captured his hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “It’s all right. I’m sure it was scary. I’m grateful for Dakota or I’d have kept eating the salad.”

“He’s a hero.”

She turned her focus to the dog in question. He sat next to the couch with his nose resting on her knee. “You’re a good boy, Dakota.”

His tail wagged.

“He must have smelled the hemlock in the dressing,” she said.

“A good thing, too. His sensitive nose saved your life.”

She’d seen dogs turn away from tainted food before, that wasn’t something that needed to be trained into a dog. She was glad that Dakota was watching out for her welfare.

The house phone rang. Westley brought her the cordless handset. She glanced at the caller ID and sighed inwardly when she saw it was Dr. Flintman, the base therapist. No doubt he’d heard about her trip to the ER. “Hello.”

“Felicity,” the doctor’s deep, kind voice boomed in her ear. She held the phone slightly away from her. “You haven’t been in to see me.”

She smiled wryly. “No. I’ve been a bit busy.”

“I’ve heard. Very traumatic. How are you coping? Are you still having nightmares?”

She could honestly say she hadn’t had one for the past few nights. First, because she’d felt safe with Westley downstairs, and then, of course, last night was spent in the hospital. “I’m doing okay. I haven’t had a nightmare in a few days.”

“Hmm. You really should come in to the office. I have some medication I think will help to keep you doing okay.”

“Like I said before, I’d rather not take anything. If things get bad again, I’ll call.”

“Well, I can’t make you, but I’m here if you need me.” The doctor hung up.

Felicity placed the handset on the end table and met Westley’s curious gaze. He’d taken a seat in her father’s recliner. It was nice to see him sitting there. Her father wouldn’t have minded.

“Nightmares?” Westley asked.

She’d been worried that Westley would find out about her visits to the base therapist. Now, though, she had no choice but to tell him the truth and hope he wouldn’t think differently of her. “After I found my father, I started having really bad dreams. I sought help with Dr. Flintman.”

“Ah. Good for you.”

The approval in his eyes pleased her, and she felt relieved. “It helped a bit to talk about it. He offered to prescribe some medication that he thought I’d benefit from but I’m holding off taking it.”

“I understand. But if things get bad—”

“I’ll reconsider,” she said.

“Okay.” He leaned back. “Lieutenant General Hall said you are to rest today and we’ll get back to work tomorrow.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No.”

Tender empathy crowded her chest. “I think we could both use the rest.” She rubbed Dakota’s head. “We’ve got an alarm right here.” She could tell Westley wanted to protest. “Please.”

He nodded. “I won’t be any good if I’m asleep on my feet.” He pulled the lever that elevated his feet and reclined the chair back. He cocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to rest, too?”

She did chuckle then. “Yes, I will.”

She stretched out on the couch and turned on her side to face him. After a moment, she closed her eyes, sure she wouldn’t fall asleep with him so close by.

But it was two hours later when a pounding noise woke her up. Her eyes popped open in time to see Westley vault from the recliner, his hand on his sidearm. He blinked several times as if getting his bearing.

Sitting up, she said, “Someone is at the front door.”

He strode across the living room and pulled open the door. Tech Sergeant Linc Colson stood there.

“The captain asked me to swing by and check on you two,” Linc stated.

Westley stepped aside so he could enter. “We were resting.”

Linc came all the way into the living room. “It’s good to see you’re doing well,” he said to Felicity.

“Thanks.” Deciding this would be a good time to freshen up, she stood up. “I’m going upstairs.”

Westley hurried to her side as she headed to the staircase. She leveled him with a pointed look. “I don’t need you hovering.”

He raised his hands. “My bad.”

She couldn’t resist touching a hand to his chest. “You’re a good man, Westley James.”

His blue eyes darkened with something that made her pulse skip. She jerked her hand back and fled upstairs before she gave in to the dangerous urge to kiss him.

* * *

It took all of Westley’s self-control not to chase her upstairs and tug her into his arms and kiss her. He’d seen the yearning on her pretty face and felt the answering longing deep inside of himself. If they’d been alone...

Wow. He was in so much trouble.

Kissing Felicity would be...amazing. Not to mention reckless.

And knowing that she’d felt it, too, sent joy soaring through him. He quickly wrestled the wayward attraction into a far corner where it wouldn’t see the light of day again. Or at least where he could pretend it didn’t exist.

He had to keep his head and his heart on the path before him. Logically, he understood his emotions were heightened from nearly losing her. They were both running on intensified feelings that had no place in their world.

Linc’s rumbling laughter tightened Westley’s shoulder muscles. A flush of embarrassment heated his face. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so... He wasn’t even sure what the term for it was. Vulnerable? Out of control?

Calming his racing emotions, he turned to face his friend. “What are you chuckling about?”

“You.” He gestured to the stairs with his chin. “And her.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Westley walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of tap water. He drank it as though he’d been stranded in the desert. The cool liquid helped to center his thoughts. His job was to protect Felicity, not pant after her like a lovesick teen. “Help me throw out every scrap of food in the house. I don’t know what else might have been tampered with and I won’t take any chances with her life.”

“Why don’t we have the crime-scene techs test everything?”

“It will be more expedient to just clear out the cupboards and fridge, then start over with sealed goods.”

“Why would Boyd Sullivan put poison in her food?” Linc shook his head. “It doesn’t fit.”

Westley contemplated telling Linc about Agent Monroe’s murder. Not that he didn’t trust his friend, but Westley decided it would be best to keep that information in a close circle. Less chance to tip off the murderer that way.

“Do you think you two should even stay here?” Linc asked.

“I don’t know if she’ll leave.” Westley spread his hands. “Besides, where would we go?” It occurred to him he’d automatically included himself. But for now they were a package deal. Until the threat to her life was neutralized, he wasn’t leaving her side.

“There’s base housing near the command center.”

“I’ll talk to her about it.” He tossed a box of cereal into the garbage can. “How is the investigation coming? I assume Sullivan hasn’t been found or I’d have heard.”

“Unfortunately, we’re no closer to catching him than we were yesterday. But we do have a lead.”

That comment raised the hair at his nape. “What do you mean?”

“Someone is revealing information about the investigation to an anonymous blogger. Information that we haven’t made public and weren’t intending to.”

“That sounds dangerous.” Westley thought for a moment. “Could it be one of the base reporters? They’ve been sniffing around, asking questions, showing up everywhere.”

Linc shrugged. “Maybe. Whoever the person is revealed that Zoe Sullivan visited her half brother just two weeks before his escape. Very few people knew that bit of info. Now the base is speculating she’s helping her brother.”

“Do you think she is?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m keeping an eye on her. She’s cagey. Something’s definitely up with her. Frankly, I don’t trust anyone related by blood or friendship to Boyd Sullivan.”

“I don’t blame you there,” Westley said. “Although innocent until proven guilty.”

“Right.” Linc checked his watch. “Hey, I have to go. Zoe’s teaching a class and it ends soon. We can’t have her walking around base unattended.”

“Be careful,” Westley told him.

Felicity stepped into the kitchen, blocking Linc’s path, and looked at Westley. “What are you two doing?”

Westley paused with a bag of spaghetti hovering over the garbage can. She looked so pretty wearing jeans and a long-sleeve button-down top in a kelly green that deepened the color of her eyes. She’d twisted her hair at the back of her head, exposing the creamy column of her neck. But it was her eyes that caught his attention, eyes that sparked a warning he was beginning to know—and appreciate—well.

“Getting rid of any more potential hazards to your health,” he stated and dropped the spaghetti into the garbage.

“I guess that’s the best thing to do.” She reached up to finger the key hanging around her neck.

Linc peered closer at the key. “You ride?”

“Ride what?” she asked.

He pointed at the key dangling from the chain. “That’s a key to a BMW 2-series motorcycle. Vintage. Probably late sixties.”

“Are you sure?” Westley exchanged a glance with Felicity. The hit-and-run her father had been investigating involved a motorcycle. Could they have the key to the one that hit the pedestrian? Literally the key to a big chunk of the mystery?

“Yes.” Linc shrugged. “I like motorcycles. Do you have the bike? It would be worth some money. A collector’s item.”

She tucked the key inside her blouse. “No. Just a memento.”

“Ah. Well, I’m outta here.” He shook Westley’s hand. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“We will.” Westley walked him to the living room door. “Thanks, man.”

As soon as the door closed behind Linc, Felicity said, “Did you hear that?” Anticipation echoed in her tone.

“Let’s not get too hopeful,” he said. “Even if that is the key to the motorcycle that your father was investigating, we still have no clue where it could be stashed.”

“True. We need to get back out there,” she said.

“Tomorrow is soon enough.”

She nodded. “You’re right. You know, I’ve been thinking. We never did search the attic. Maybe Dad’s files are there.”

“Are you up for it?”

“I am. The rest helped.”

“Let’s do it.” Abandoning the kitchen, they rushed upstairs, stopping beneath the attic access door with a step stool she’d retrieved from her father’s room.

Placing it under the hatch in the ceiling, he climbed up and lifted the door. Grasping the lip, he pulled himself up then reached down to lift her through the opening. The unfinished space ran the length of the house. Rafters provided support for the pitched roof. And stacked boxes provided many places where her father could have hidden his files.

“Most of this is my mom’s stuff,” Felicity said. “After the divorce, Dad put everything she’d left behind up here.”

“Is this going to be painful for you?” Westley asked. He knew the agony of having to deal with the remains of a parent’s things. After his father had gone to prison, his mother had tasked him with the job of packing away his dad’s things. Westley had refused, which had earned him a beating, ironically with one of his father’s belts. Despite the lashing, he hadn’t touched his father’s belongings.

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “It will be harder to pack up my dad’s things.”

His gut clenched. “Yes, it will.” He’d admired and envied the love between Felicity and her father.

She lifted the flaps of a box to rummage inside. “Was it hard for you to deal with your father’s possessions?”

“Hardly,” he said. He moved a box closer to her to look through. He didn’t feel comfortable searching through her mother’s stuff. He doubted they’d find anything up here. All the boxes had layers of undisturbed dust.

“Will you tell me what happened to him?”

He really didn’t want to. Dredging up the past wouldn’t serve any purpose. But maybe if he told her, then he wouldn’t have to worry about her falling for him. Once she knew the type of gene pool he came from, she’d want to keep far away from him.

“My father was a murderer.”