Читать книгу The Military K-9 Unit Collection - Valerie Hansen - Страница 36

NINE

She couldn’t have heard him right. A murderer? Unease slid down Felicity’s spine. She inhaled the musty odor of the attic, taking in some dust, and coughed. Catching her breath, she asked, “What happened?”

He sat on a trunk and dropped his head into his hands. There was a long moment of silence. She waited, hoping he would let down his walls and fully open up. He couldn’t leave her hanging with such a shocking revelation.

“It was my fault.”

His despondent tone broke her heart. She absorbed the blow. “Help me understand.”

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. Torment swirled in the blue depths of his eyes. “I was ten when it happened.”

So young.

“We were in a busy restaurant,” he continued, his gaze dropping to his boots. “My feet were big. Too big. I was awkward, gangly even.”

She couldn’t imagine him clumsy and self-conscious. When Westley ran alongside the dogs during training he was nimble, but his six-foot frame contained the same sort of coiled power the dogs had. Unlike Felicity, who had cornered the market on gawkiness.

“I tripped over my feet, knocking a man’s drink into his lap. He said something harsh to me and my dad took exception.” Westley let out a mirthless laugh, a sound she didn’t understand.

“They got in a fight. Dad punched the guy hard, he went down and hit his head on the metal foot of the table and died.”

Her stomach knotted. What a horrible incident for a child to witness.

“My dad had a long rap sheet for assault and battery so the judge gave him a ten-year sentence for first-degree manslaughter. He died when I was seventeen.”

Stunned, she reached out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, stopping her from touching him. “No reason for you to be sorry. He was a hothead who couldn’t control his anger. It landed him in prison, where there were bigger, angrier men. I’m just surprised it took so long before someone beat him to a pulp.”

The breath left her lungs. His callous words echoed with an underpinning of unfathomable pain. She’d had no idea Westley had a traumatic past. And she had no words of comfort to offer. The urge to wrap her arms around him and hold on tight gripped her, but doing so wasn’t a good idea for either of them. They had to maintain a professional demeanor if they hoped to work together at the training center in the future. A future where, God willing, the Red Rose Killer was once again behind bars and her father’s murderer would be brought to justice.

Despite her warning, she moved closer to sit beside him and put a hand on his strong shoulder, now bowed with undeserved guilt. He made a distressed sound, as if her offer of comfort hurt him. Her hand floated to her lap.

A thought intruded as she recalled his earlier reaction to remembering the event that led to his father’s incarceration and a cold sweat broke out over her skin. “Was your father violent with you? With your mother?”

He stood and paced away. “He was rough. On both of us.”

Her heart contracted painfully in her chest with empathy and sorrow. Was that why Westley was so self-contained and unwilling to show emotion? The man had rarely smiled in the six months she’d been under his command. Not for her lack of trying. She’d assumed all this time he was displeased to have her in the training center. Could it be his attitude was more of a shield he hid behind rather than a reflection of his feelings for her?

She’d have to process this at another time. Right now, with him looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here, she sought to ease the hurt stirring within him. “You can’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control. You were a child. They were grown men who made the choice to fight.”

“Logically, I know that, but that doesn’t stop my mother from blaming me. It’s why she left. Why I was sent to live in foster care.”

The injustice of it all made her so sad and angry that she couldn’t ignore her emotions. Professional demeanor could take a flying leap. She went to him and put her arms around his waist. He tensed, holding himself ramrod-straight, his stiff arms at his sides. Frustration pulsed through her. He’d offered her comfort when she’d needed it, yet refused to take it from her.

“Westley,” she said, her tone half plea, half censure.

The tension suddenly drained from him and he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer. She laid her cheek against his chest. His aftershave—spicy, woodsy and masculine—teased her senses. His heart thudded in time to her own.

His strong arms made her feel safe, cherished even. It was a feeling she could get used to if she allowed herself. She should step back, break the contact before her emotions got too tangled up with him. But she had no willpower. Nor the desire to step away.

He used the crook of his finger to lift her chin and draw her gaze to his. The tenderness in his eyes made her breath hitch, but it was the flare of attraction she saw in them that sent her pulse skyrocketing.

He dipped his head but halted inches from her lips, giving her the choice.

She didn’t have to think about it. She wanted him to kiss her. Had for so long, even though she would never have admitted it to anyone, least of all to herself.

Had her former irritation and annoyance with Westley been more about an attraction she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge?

Deciding to stay in the moment rather than analyze the past, she rose on her toes, closing the gap, and pressed her mouth to his. His lips were warm and firm, yet so gentle.

One hand stayed at the small of her back, while his other cupped the back of her head.

A low growl filled her head. It took a moment for her to register the sound. Dakota. They’d left him on guard duty in the hall beneath the attic opening. Was he protesting being left out?

Westley drew back. Their gazes met, and questions ricocheted through her mind. What did the kiss mean? Did she want it to mean something? Did he?

Dakota’s growl turned into a bark of alarm, sending apprehension cascading over her limbs.

Westley nudged her behind him and leaned cautiously over the side of the attic opening. Unwilling to be coddled, Felicity dropped to her knees beside him to see for herself what had upset the dog. The hall was empty, but Dakota faced her father’s room, his tail erect, his ears back and teeth bared, guarding them from an unseen threat.

Westley grabbed Felicity’s elbow and tugged her behind him as he reached for the weapon holstered at his thigh. “Stay here.”

In a move that was both athletic and fluid, he dropped quickly through the attic opening, landing soundlessly beside Dakota. Frustrated to be sidelined again, Felicity watched the pair advance down the hall, two warriors on the hunt. Dakota’s growls and barks bounced off the walls.

Felicity’s fingers curled into a fist. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She needed a weapon.

She’d understood Lieutenant General Hall’s refusal to let her carry. It would draw attention to her and make Boyd less likely to attack. Not that Westley and Dakota weren’t enough of a deterrent. At the moment, she could only pray for Westley’s safety.

Dakota erupted in a barrage of vicious barking.

“Halt!” Westley’s shout came from her father’s bedroom.

The sound of several gunshots rang out. A canine yelp punctuated the air.

Felicity’s heart jackknifed. “Westley!”

Fearing the worst, she scrambled out of the attic, landing ungracefully with a jarring thud on the carpeted hall floor. As she regained her balance, she sent up a prayer, asking God for Westley and Dakota to be all right.

Cautiously, she made her way to the entrance of her father’s bedroom, pressing her back against the wall. Anxiety clogged her throat, her mind already preparing her for devastation. She flashed back to the day she found her father’s motionless body, and a shudder of dread worked over her flesh. With air trapped in her lungs, she peered around the doorjamb.

Inside the room, she found Westley holding Dakota, praising him with soothing words and a gentle tone. The dog panted at a fast clip. She hurried to their side. “What happened?”

“The intruder got away,” he said. “I nicked him in the arm. But Dakota’s been hit.” His voice shook with emotion. “There’s so much blood I can’t tell how bad it is.”

Her gaze lurched to where Westley’s hand gripped Dakota’s hind end. Crimson blood seeped through his fingers. She grabbed a pillow from the bed and stripped off the case. “Here.” She shoved the wadded-up material at him. “Use this and apply pressure. We have to get him to the vet clinic.”

He took the pillowcase and pressed it against Dakota’s wound. “Dakota managed to get a piece of the intruder’s pant leg.”

She followed his gaze to a ragged-edged piece of dark cotton material lying on the carpet.

“Now we at least have his scent as well as his DNA.” He gestured to the windowsill, where a smear of blood marred the white molding. “We’ll call Security Forces, but right now we have to get Dakota to the vet.” He rose, lifting the dog in his arms. “Call Dr. Roark and tell him we’re coming.”

Worry for Dakota churned in her gut as she made the call to the vet, who promised to be ready for them.

She prayed Dakota’s injury was only a flesh wound as she hurried ahead of Westley and opened the front door.

“You drive,” Westley said, heading to her car. “I’ll hold him.”

As soon as she got in the car she placed a call to Security Forces, and someone assured her they’d be at her house promptly to collect the evidence.

The short drive to the clinic seemed to take forever. When they arrived, the doors to the veterinarian hospital wing of the training center were open and Captain Kyle Roark, DVM and head of Canine Veterinary Services at CAFB, stepped out along with a female tech dressed in green scrubs.

“Follow me to exam room three,” Dr. Roark said briskly and led the way.

Inside the room, Westley placed Dakota on the metal exam table. The dog tried to stand. Felicity jumped to subdue him at the same time as Westley. Their hands tangled together as they maneuvered Dakota successfully to his uninjured side.

“Good job, you two,” Dr. Roark said. “You make a good team.”

Felicity’s cheeks heated. She met Westley’s gaze, noting the appreciation in his eyes.

“Let’s see what we have here,” the vet said. “You two keep him still while Airman Fielding and I tend to his wound.”

As the vet and the tech washed the wound, Felicity leaned in to Dakota’s ear. “You’re going to be okay.”

The dog turned his head and licked her face. A good sign, she hoped.

“Well, now,” the vet said. “Looks worse than it is.”

She was so thankful to hear those words, Felicity’s knees weakened. She could see the pronouncement had the same effect on Westley.

“The bullet grazed his upper thigh. He’ll need a couple of stitches but he’ll be right as the Texas rain within no time at all.”

“That’s good to hear, Doc.” Westley’s voice was filled with relief and gratitude. The lines of worry etched around his mouth eased.

“Airman Fielding will give you detailed instructions on how to care for the wound and a bottle of pain relievers,” Dr. Roark said when he was finished administering to the dog. He clapped Westley on the back. “You all should get some rest.”

“We will. Thanks.” Westley picked up Dakota, cradling him to his chest.

Felicity took the instructions and the meds from the vet tech and then followed Westley outside. “Do you think we should take him to the training center instead of my house?” she asked.

He nodded. “He’ll be comfortable in his kennel. And it will keep him from popping a stitch.”

Westley headed toward the door that would take them through the back of the center. They entered the kennel room and a barrage of barking ensued. Most of the crates were filled with dogs. The empty ones made her stomach knot. There were still many dogs missing.

She quickly commanded, “Quiet” and the dogs in their kennels obeyed. She was sad to see Riff’s crate still empty. She hoped the young Belgian Malinois would be found unharmed.

“You and I will stay here with Dakota,” Westley said as he placed the dog gently into a crate and shut the door. “I think it would be safer for all of us.”

“I agree,” she said, hating to think the intruder might return to her house.

“There’s a room here with a cot. We’ll take shifts sleeping.”

Not the most comfortable situation. But better than the alternative.

“Tomorrow we can figure out new housing,” Westley said.

“We can take my uncle up on his offer to stay with him.”

“That’s one idea,” Westley replied.

She chose to let his noncommittal answer go. “Obviously the guy hasn’t found what he was looking for.” She fingered the key beneath her uniform. “We need to find the motorcycle the key belongs to. Then we’ll find my father’s killer.”

He brushed a stray strand of hair off her cheek, causing a shiver to trip over her skin. She had to look frightful. Just as he did with his uniform smeared with blood. Yet he looked at her like he approved of what he saw. “First things first. Your safety is my priority.”

She’d never been anyone’s priority. Her mother had been too busy with her law practice and her father too dedicated to the OSI. She’d always felt like an afterthought, unless of course she messed up, then she got their attention. Not the kind of attention she wanted growing up. She liked the idea of being Westley’s priority way more than she probably should.

“Let’s get back to your house and see how the crime-scene techs are doing.” He stepped back. “And you can pack a bag.”

They left the training center after checking in with Caleb Streeter, who promised to look in on Dakota. When they arrived at her house, the crime-scene techs were packing up their things and Special Agent Ian Steffen was on scene.

When he saw Felicity he hurried down the walkway, intercepting them. “I was worried about you two.” He gave them each a once-over. “I take it neither of you has sustained injuries.”

“No, we’re good,” Westley replied.

“We were in the attic when Dakota alerted us to the intruder,” she told him.

Ian’s eyebrows rose. “Did you find anything related to the case your father was working on?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Westley responded.

But Felicity had learned more about Westley and her own feelings, so not a total loss.

“But hopefully the evidence collected will reveal the intruder’s identity,” Ian said. “If it was Boyd then we’ll know for sure he’s still on base.”

Felicity didn’t believe this was the work of the Red Rose Killer. “We think the intruder was looking for this key.” She slipped it from the collar of her uniform.

“Maybe.” Ian frowned.

She didn’t understand why he refused to consider the key as important. “We have it on good authority that this is a specific type of motorcycle key. Possibly the motorcycle used in the hit-and-run.”

That grabbed his attention. “If that is the case, then I should take it for safekeeping.”

“But you’re not officially working her father’s murder,” Westley stated. “Won’t there be questions if you log the key into evidence for a nonexistent case?”

“I can handle that,” Ian said.

“We’ll keep the key,” Westley said flatly.

Did Westley not trust Ian?

“I’ll open an official investigation as soon as I can.” Ian’s tone held a note of defensiveness.

Westley’s hands fisted at his side. “We have to find this guy now. Not later.”

“Right now all available resources are on the Red Rose Killer case,” Ian said. “That’s why you have been detailed to Felicity’s protection.”

“Last report we heard, Boyd’s not on base,” Felicity said.

“There have been sightings in multiple places at multiple times. It’s like sorting sand for a specific granule,” Ian replied, sounding harassed. “The sightings could be to confuse us. To keep us from looking on base.”

She could only imagine the pressure Ian was under. They all felt it to some degree.

“Plus, we’re working on ferreting out Boyd’s accomplice. Interviewing every single person on base, double-checking alibis and looking for any connections to Boyd.” Ian wiped a hand over his jaw. “The more time goes by, the more the trail goes cold. Everyone is on high alert.” He pinned her with his gaze. “We had the photos you’ve taken analyzed. But there’s no sign of Boyd.”

Felicity’s stomached knotted. Her priorities were split between justice for her father and helping to capture the serial killer. “I’ll be ready to resume taking pictures tomorrow,” she promised.

Westley put his hand on her shoulder. “You were poisoned. If you need more time, you’ll take it.”

The gruff tone would have set her defenses on edge in the past, but she’d come to realize his default mode when struggling with his emotions. Stifling the urge to give him a reassuring smile, she simply said, “I’m feeling fine.”

“Then I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Ian interjected. “Be safe.”

When Ian got into his vehicle and left, Felicity turned to face Westley. “You don’t completely trust him, do you?”

Westley shrugged. “I’m not sure what to think. He claims to want to catch your father’s killer yet...he’s not acting like the threat to your life is important.”

“I don’t believe that’s true. With Boyd Sullivan on the loose, the OSI is stretched thin. Ian has no way to prove my father was murdered. And he’s counting on you to protect me.”

The skepticism in his eyes said he wasn’t convinced. “Which I will,” he assured her.

“I know.” And that pleased her to no end.

They went inside the house. He followed her to her bedroom, where he inspected her corkboard, which was filled with photos and memorabilia, while she packed a duffel bag with a few days’ worth of clothes. She didn’t know how long they would stay at the training center, or if they’d move to her uncle’s or other base housing.

“You were a cute kid,” Westley commented with a smile.

She made a scoffing noise. “Hardly. I was gangly, self-conscious and an easy target.”

His eyebrows pinched together. “You were bullied?”

“A little.” She didn’t like thinking about the laughter of her schoolmates when she’d trip on her way to her desk. Or dropped the beaker full of vinegar in science class. Or when she got so excited during choir because she’d finally hit the right note only to knock three people off the risers, causing bruises and hurt feelings.

She zipped her bag with more force than necessary. “I was mostly uncoordinated. Clumsy. My mother was forever lamenting to anyone who would listen that she didn’t dare put out any fragile or breakable keepsakes because the ‘little whirlwind’ would destroy them.”

“You’ve grown out of that phase,” he said as he came up behind her. “Yes, you’re enthusiastic, but it’s part of your charm. Not to mention you’re beautiful, smart and brave.”

His words burrowed deep into her soul, soothing the sore spots she long thought healed. Her mouth went dry. She sent up a plea to God above that this was real. That Westley truly saw her how he claimed to.

He moved closer to her, his warm breath ruffling her hair. So close every cell in her body reacted, drawn toward him as if he exuded some magnetic force. She turned slowly to stare up into his handsome face, the memory of his kiss so fresh in her mind.

“You’re very distracting,” he said as he stepped back slightly.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It has been. We work together. You know the air-force policy on fraternization.”

“I’m not under your command.”

“Not now, but you will be again.” He headed to the door. “We shouldn’t linger here.”

She knew he was right, of course. Once the threat to her was neutralized, she and Westley would resume their roles at the training center. Which was what she wanted. Right?

“Let me just grab my bagful of lenses.” She headed to the closet and went up on tiptoe to reach the box where she kept an assortment of different types of lenses for her camera. Her fingertips clutched the edge and she worked to slide the box from the shelf.

“Here, let me help you.” Reaching over her head, Westley grabbed the sides of the box just as she backed up to make room for him. She stepped on his foot, stumbling against him. Reflexively, she fought for balance. Her elbow connected with his midsection as she tried to keep from falling. And succeeded in unintentionally knocking him off his feet. He landed on his backside while the box flew from his hands, the lid flying off and spilling the contents onto the carpet.

Mortified, her face flamed to what she was sure was a bright shade of red. “I’m so sorry.”

He stared at her with surprise on his handsome face then he burst into laughter. The deep sound resonated within her chest, eliciting a giggle. Thankfully he wasn’t angry at her clumsiness.

The release of hilarity at the situation freed some of her tension. She enjoyed the sound of his laugh and for a moment they were insulated from the dangers of the outside world.

She dropped to her knees beside him to collect her lenses and stared at the small electronic tablet.

She stilled. Her good humor faded, was replaced with a mix of anticipation and dread.

Her gaze lifted to meet Westley’s. “I think we’ve found what the intruder was looking for.”