Racing to rescue a child

Danger heats up in the Military K-9 Unit series

A little boy is missing, and it’s up to search-and-rescue K-9 handler Ava Esposito and her dog to find him...before the Red Rose Killer does. FBI special agent Oliver Davison is hot on the trail of the escaped convict and joins forces with Ava. But when the killer turns his crosshairs on them, Oliver must protect them all before time runs out.

With over seventy books published and millions in print, LENORA WORTH writes award-winning romance and romantic suspense. Three of her books finaled in the ACFW Carol Awards, and her Love Inspired Suspense novel Body of Evidence became a New York Times bestseller. Her novella in Mistletoe Kisses made her a USA TODAY bestselling author. Lenora goes on adventures with her retired husband, Don, and enjoys reading, baking and shopping...especially shoe shopping.

Also By Lenora Worth

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Rescue Operation

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Tracker

Classified K-9 Unit Christmas

“A Killer Christmas”

Rookie K-9 Unit

Truth and Consequences

Rookie K-9 Unit Christmas

“Holiday High Alert”

Capitol K-9 Unit

Proof of Innocence

Capitol K-9 Unit Christmas

“Guarding Abigail”

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Rescue Operation

Lenora Worth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08557-1

RESCUE OPERATION

© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“Ava, when the shooting starts, I need you to dive down.”

“Okay. But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Oliver kept zigzagging, but the car stayed with them, the driver not moving a muscle but keeping the car close.

“We’re going to keep moving and hope they’ll either back off...or play chicken with us.”

But the vehicle advanced and tapped the back bumper.

“Now they’re getting serious,” Oliver said.

* * *

MILITARY K-9 UNIT:

These soldiers track down a serial killer with the help of their brave canine partners

Mission to Protect—Terri Reed, April 2018

Bound by Duty—Valerie Hansen, May 2018

Top Secret Target—Dana Mentink, June 2018

Standing Fast—Maggie K. Black, July 2018

Rescue Operation—Lenora Worth, August 2018

Explosive Force—Lynette Eason, September 2018

Battle Tested—Laura Scott, October 2018

Valiant Defender—Shirlee McCoy, November 2018

Military K-9 Unit Christmas—Valerie Hansen and Laura Scott, December 2018

When the host goeth forth against thine enemies,

then keep thee from every wicked thing.

—Deuteronomy 23:9

Dear Reader,

Life really does imitate art. When we were writing this series, we heard the news each day. Hurricanes, floods and mass shootings, not to mention other horrible things happening in the world. Sometimes our stories ring true to what can take place in real life. We write to entertain and to enlighten, always offering the promise of the Lord’s grace and forgiveness. We don’t take that lightly, but with careful prayer and consideration.

This was a tough story to write but we all agreed our portrayal of our military characters had to be handled with care and respect. We wanted to get things right.

I hope I did that with Oliver and Ava’s story. Any mistakes are my own. I love and admire our service members and I hope I can bring some honor and glory to what they do every day to keep us safe.

My story has a happy ending and that’s why I write romance and romantic suspense. We can never give up on faith, hope and love. I pray you cling to those things even in a world that sometimes is scary and sad.

Until next time, may the angels watch over you, always.

Lenora Worth

To the men and women of the US military. We respect and love all of you, and we will be forever grateful for your dedication and sacrifice. And especially to Wilberto Garcia, my air force son-in-law. Stay safe!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dear Reader

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Ignoring the tilt and rumble of the HH-60G Pave Hawk helicopter about to hoist her down below and the dark thunderstorm approaching from the west, Senior Airman Ava Esposito adjusted the sturdy harness sleeves around the black nylon sling holding the sixty-five-pound yellow Lab that was about to rappel with her. Roscoe’s trusting eyes followed her while he hovered close to her chest, always eager to work.

“That’s right. It’s showtime. We’ve got to find that little boy.”

Roscoe wouldn’t understand, but they were armed and ready for anything or anyone they might confront in the dense woods that belonged to Canyon Air Force Base in the Hill Country of Texas. This reserve, mostly used for training, covered hundreds of acres and could hide a person for weeks if not months. Right now, she had to find a lost little boy and watch her back for a serial killer who’d escaped from prison in the spring and was reported to be back in these woods. Boyd Sullivan, known as the Red Rose Killer because he always left one red rose to warn his victims and one after he’d killed them, was a dangerous, deranged man. He’d killed five people over two years ago in his hometown of Dill, Texas. He’d been put in prison for those killings, but he’d escaped and made his way to Canyon Air Force Base to kill again. Two of those he’d murdered had been friends and coworkers of Ava’s. But he hadn’t left it at that. He’d also let out two hundred or so dogs from the Military Working Dog K-9 kennels located on the base. Let them out to run wild. Some that had suffered PTSD were still roaming around these woods. Now seven-year-old Turner Johnson, the son of Colonel Gregory and Mrs. Marilyn Johnson, had gone missing from his backyard this morning. The boy was up against wild animals, dogs with PTSD and a serial killer who wouldn’t think twice about nabbing the kid for leverage.

Her focus humming on high alert, Ava checked her weapons and equipment one more time. Then she patted the alert K-9 on his furry head. “Ready?”

Roscoe woofed his reply.

Nodding, she scooted to the open side of the chopper and let her booted feet dangle out, Roscoe’s warm breath hitting the inch or so of skin she had showing outside of her heavy camo uniform, protective combat vest, knapsack and M16 rifle.

Above her, a crew member adjusted the carabiner holding the pulleys that would hoist both Ava and Roscoe so they could rappel down, each with their own pulley to hold them securely together.

Halfway down, she listened to the chopper’s crew reporting back and forth while she hovered and checked below. Nothing but heavy woods, scattered rocks and hills, and a hint of clay here and there. But somewhere out there was a lost, scared little seven-year-old boy.

“Hold on, Roscoe.”

Something whizzed past her like a gnat. But even with the chopper’s bellowing roar all around her, she heard the ding of metal hitting metal.

And then she saw it. The ricochet of a bullet hitting the fuselage. Someone was shooting at them.

The chopper banked left, causing Ava to shift on the rope. Above her, the gunner motioned for her to come back up.

Then she heard the pilot. “We need to abort.”

“Negative,” she said through the mic attached to her helmet. “I’m going in.”

With that, she steadied herself and, along with Roscoe, hurried the few yards to the ground, relieved to see that team member Chad Watson came down seconds after her. Ava dropped, unhooked the harnesses and turned on a low crouch, ready to return fire.

“Chad, take Custer to the south and wait,” she said, referring to Chad’s K-9 partner. “Start your search there.”

“We have a situation here, ma’am,” he reported back.

“I have a situation, and I can handle it,” she replied. “And Buster will cover me, right, Buster?”

“Affirmative, ma’am. I’m about twenty yards behind you.”

Buster Elliott, all two hundred and fifty pounds of him, was with Security Forces. He’d been assigned to watch her six while she searched for the boy. Good thing, too.

More shots hit all around her, and Buster returned fire while the chopper hovered.

“Don’t engage,” she warned the gunner and Buster through the mic. “The boy could be down here.”

Heavy footsteps stomped through the woods, echoing toward her. Ava belly-crawled to an outcropping of shrubs and rocks, Roscoe doing the same behind her.

Then she lifted up to a crouch.

Letting out a gasp, Ava stared at the man standing a few feet away with what looked like an M4 aimed at her.

The Red Rose Killer.

He hadn’t wasted any time in confronting her. Now her only concern was for the boy. Did this monster already have Turner?

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Boyd Sullivan said, anger and annoyance singing through each word, his blue eyes cold and icy. Backing away, he held his rifle trained on her, but his gaze darted back and forth. “Tell your man to back off.”

Ava lifted her fist to tell Buster to hold fire. Then she held her rifle trained on the tall blond man wearing an old beret. “What do you want?”

Roscoe hadn’t moved from his alert, but the big dog’s low growl indicated he was very aware of this intruder. Buster should still be nearby, too. Ava knew he’d have her back and even as big as he was, he’d use stealth while he kept his rifle trained on Boyd Sullivan. He’d also fire if he had to.

“Pretend you never saw me,” Sullivan said. “That’s all I need right now.”

Ava didn’t dare let the killer know she recognized him or ask if he’d seen the boy, in case he wasn’t aware. And she didn’t get a chance to react any further.

Bullets pierced the air again in a rapid explosion. Ava hit the ground and ordered Roscoe to do the same. Buster returned fire and took off through the woods, all the while communicating with the hovering chopper above.

And then it was over. The woods went silent. Ava lifted her head and tugged at her rifle. Still lying low, she adjusted her aim. But Boyd Sullivan, the man known as the Red Rose Killer, had disappeared back into the woods.

The shooter had covered his escape.

* * *

“You saw the Red Rose Killer?”

Rain flowed like a dam had opened all around FBI Special Agent Oliver Davison. Tired and in need of about two days of uninterrupted sleep, Oliver stared at the tougher-than-nails woman who’d called him to these woods to report what she’d just been through. Tall, redheaded, brown-eyed and clearly in no mood to bicker with him, Senior Airman Ava Esposito appeared to have things under control.

A Security Forces Military Working Dog handler who was used to rappelling out of choppers alongside her K-9 partner and working with Search-and-Rescue to find injured or compromised troops the world over, she didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the gully washer trying to knock them to their knees. Or the fact that she’d come face-to-face with a notorious killer.

Come face-to-face and lived, at that. Which was why Oliver had a hard time believing her.

The Red Rose Killer didn’t mess around. Boyd Sullivan hadn’t made it through basic training and never had a relationship last longer than a few months. The man had gone off the deep end in a way that had become very personal to Oliver. Sullivan had killed five people in Dill, Texas, where he’d grown up, including Madison Ackler, who had been Oliver’s fiancée at the time of her death. His fiancée...but she’d also been involved with Boyd Sullivan when she’d died.

Oliver had been in on the hunt and the arrest for those killings two years ago and he’d been relieved when Sullivan was sent to prison. But the Red Rose Killer had escaped in April and apparently made it to the base and allegedly killed his Basic Training commander, Chief Master Sergeant Clint Lockwood, two overnight-shift K-9 trainers and a commissary cook, whose ID he had used to get him on and off the base. He’d also let most of the K-9s go in an attempt to distract the entire Security Forces unit. They’d been searching for him for months.

“I can’t believe this,” he said, voicing his doubts. Oliver still remembered what the Red Rose Killer was capable of.

Ava nodded, her camouflage uniform weighed down with a backpack, weapons and equipment. All wet now. “Believe it, Special Agent. I’m still in shock myself.” Shaking water off her helmet, she added, “We’d expected this but I didn’t think he’d show up the minute my boots hit the ground.”

“Where?” Oliver asked, ready to get down to business. He had to admit, she looked a little shook-up but she was holding things together. Meanwhile, he had to tell himself to stay calm.

Pointing to a thicket behind him, she said, “Right over there.”

Lightning flashed like a spotlight, followed by a rolling thunder that stomped through the trees and shook the woods.

Figured everything would start happening during one of the worst storms of late summer.

After four years of living and working in the San Antonio FBI Bureau, Oliver still hated these Texas downpours and the humidity that always surrounded them. At times like this, he missed the New York town where he’d grown up.

Pushing away memories, Oliver focused on Ava Esposito, questions rolling through his mind.

Leaning in so he could make himself heard over the thunder and lightning putting on a show over the forest reserve behind the base, he stared at the stubborn woman standing beside him.

“So, Senior Airman Esposito, you’re sure the person you saw was Boyd Sullivan—the Red Rose Killer?”

“Yes,” she said on an impatient note, brown eyes making him think of how much he wanted a cup of coffee right now. “First, we were shot at when we rappelled out of the chopper. And now this.”

“Who is we?”

“Myself, K-9 handler Chad Watson and Security Forces officer Buster Elliott. The crew wanted us to abort, but we were halfway down, so we dropped and spread out. The shots continued while the chopper circled. But our gunner couldn’t fire, because of the concerns for the boy.”

Turner Johnson, the seven-year-old who’d gone missing while playing in his backyard this morning. The boy’s high-ranking parents were beside themselves because the whole area had been warned about an escaped convict possibly being in the vicinity. Just one more wrinkle that concerned Oliver more than a little bit. The killer had reportedly left the base a few days ago but they’d had signs over the last couple days that he might be back in the area. Now they had proof. But they also had to search for a rambunctious kid known for sneaking into the woods behind his house.

“And what happened next?”

“We hit the dirt, returned a round of fire and the shooting stopped long enough for me to come upon Sullivan. He told me to hold off my man, so he must have seen Buster and Chad rappelling down behind me and he must have known that Chad went in the other direction. Then the shooting started up again, and he got away. I called you immediately and then we went about our business. Buster searched for Sullivan but to no avail, and Chad went off on another search grid. Roscoe alerted in this spot a few minutes later.”

“You were right to call me.”

“Yes, but now I’m regretting that decision. We’ve got a whole team on the alert and you’re wasting time not believing me.”

“I’m trying to get a handle on this. Go on.”

Taking a breath, she squared her shoulders. “Roscoe started digging and I tried to follow his lead until you got here. But I can assure you the man I saw was Sullivan. I certainly know his face and I know what he’s capable of doing.”

Oliver saw a slight tremble forming on her lips. Delayed reaction. He had to keep her talking, however. “What happened between you two? Did you try to detain him?”

Ava gave him a look that asked, So this is how you’re gonna play this?

“Sullivan held an M4 on me. He was wearing a tight uniform that obviously didn’t belong to him and a black tam. He looked me in the eye and said, ‘I’m not here to hurt you.’”

Motioning behind them, she said, “He also told me to pretend I’d never seen him and ordered me to call off my guard. I didn’t get to question him since more gunfire erupted and Sullivan used the distraction to get away.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that,” she said, grinding out each word. “Last time we saw him, he was headed west.”

Oliver felt a headache coming on. His black water-resistant FBI jacket sparkled with fat raindrops. “But he told you he wasn’t shooting at you? And he just walked away?”

“He told me he wasn’t going to hurt me,” she said again, her porcelain skin damp and dewy. “What part of I stood face-to-face with the Red Rose Killer don’t you understand?”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Oliver replied, matching her inch for inch since she was almost as tall as him, his eyes holding hers in a stubborn standoff that not even a torrential rain could stop. “The man killed five people in his hometown and he’s gone on a killing spree on this base throughout the summer. Not to mention he has a whole target list that he wants to kill. And we have reason to believe he also killed Airman Drew Golosky a few days ago in order to get his uniform and ID for base access. But he tells you he’s not going to hurt you?”

“Yes, Special Agent Davison,” Ava Esposito said again, aggravation deeply embedded in her words. “But someone did shoot at me and then Boyd Sullivan headed into the woods. I think that shooter, along with my K-9 partner and Buster watching my back, saved me.”

Stomping water off her boots, she added, “The shooter must have been covering Sullivan. If that’s the case, then he has some help. Which we’ve suspected all along. So let me get back to my work, and you go find the Red Rose Killer and whoever else is out there.”

He wanted to find Boyd Sullivan, all right. Especially since he had a personal beef with the man. Most of the investigative team knew Oliver’s history with Boyd Sullivan, even if they didn’t bring it up. Oliver was the only one who knew the whole truth about Madison’s past, and that she’d been briefly involved with Sullivan in high school and again a few years ago when she’d been dating Oliver. Her murder was still too personal for Oliver to talk about, and he couldn’t risk being pulled off the case because of his personal interest. His SAC had approved his coming here, with the stipulation that he didn’t have a personal vendetta. But how could he not?

Needing the whole picture, he asked, “Did you send your K-9 partner after him?”

“Roscoe alerted on this cave,” she replied, pointing to the jagged four-foot-high rock face covered in bushes. “I kept him here because I was concerned about getting shot before I could locate the missing boy who might be inside.”

A little boy missing in six hundred acres of dense thicket overgrown with clusters of trees and heavy brush. A place where dark caves and craggy hills and rocky bluffs made searching that much harder. A place where all types of predators, from poisonous snakes to wild animals of all shapes and sizes, lurked about.

Oliver worried about the worst kind of predator. The Red Rose Killer. He’d have no qualms about killing a child.

“But you haven’t found the boy?”

Rain rolled off her helmet while disappointment and annoyance singed hot through her pretty eyes. “No, Turner Johnson was not inside the cave, so obviously I haven’t found the boy. But I will. Roscoe is never wrong.”

Oliver squinted into the wet, chilly woods. All around them, Security Forces, the Office of Special Investigations and the Military Working Dog handlers moved like hulking shadows while choppers whirled overhead. Crime-scene techs searched for evidence and bullet fragments or shell casings. Boyd Sullivan was out there somewhere. Probably long gone by now, however, since the woods had become overrun with air force personnel.

Oliver looked toward the heavens. “A missing seven-year-old and a serial killer on the loose. In the same woods. This is not good. So not good.”

Her hostile gaze affirmed that summary. “No, and I really need to get back to Roscoe and his find.”

Touching her arm, he glanced at the patient golden-coated Labrador retriever and said, “I understand you want to explore Roscoe’s discovery. I’m anxious to catch up with the team searching for Boyd Sullivan. But I need to ask you a few more questions.”

She glared at him for a moment and then checked on the K-9 eager to dig in the mud. “I’ve told you what happened and now I’m going to do what I came here to do. Because whatever’s buried here might give us a clue to find the boy.”

* * *

Special Agent Oliver Davison stared at Ava, skepticism heavy in his green eyes. The man obviously didn’t believe a word of what she’d just told him. And he was seriously beginning to get on her already singed nerves.

But he did have a point. Why had Sullivan allowed her to live when he’d killed so many people already?

He’d been sent to prison for those killings a few years ago. He wanted revenge, and he was willing to kill anyone who stood in his way. He was armed and dangerous, and yes, she’d let him get away. That didn’t sit well with Ava, but she had to focus on the mission at hand.

Even while the creepiness factor made her want to take off and track the killer.

Sullivan earned his name because he always left a red rose and a note stating “I’m coming for you” to warn his victims, and another note stating “Got you” after he’d killed them. Four other base personnel were targeted, so the base had been on high alert all summer. Boyd had a way on and off the base and Ava believed, along with her team members, that he was hiding out in these woods and using uniforms and IDs from some of the other airmen he’d killed to keep up the charade.

Now she’d seen the killer with her own eyes and this agent doubted her and wanted to waste her time while a child could get caught in the cross fire. Glaring up at him, Ava saw something besides a steely determination in the special agent’s green eyes.

Sadness. Then it hit her. He’d been involved with one of the victims from Dill. She didn’t know the whole story, but rumors had circulated. Now was not the time to go into that, however.

“I need to get back to work,” she said on a calm note, hoping to cut him some slack. “Roscoe’s waiting to do his job.”

“Just a few more details,” he insisted, a stubborn glint in his eyes.

Remembering how her heart had gone haywire earlier, Ava thought about Boyd Sullivan’s weird reaction to finding her there. Dressed in dirty, ill-fitting camouflage, he’d looked wild and disoriented, but he’d been carrying an arsenal of weapons.

Thinking about it now, she held herself rigid so she wouldn’t get the shakes.

To stay focused, she stared at Oliver Davison, taking in how his green eyes matched the lush foliage all around them. “Buster went after Sullivan and tracked him, but lost him. Chad and Custer had an alert in another area due east. They couldn’t make it back in time.”

“Why didn’t you send Roscoe after Sullivan?”

“And risk losing my partner and the boy’s location? I sent Buster after Sullivan because I was afraid the boy might still be in the area. Turner Johnson is my first obligation.”

Oliver pushed water off his thick dark hair. “So you let Boyd Sullivan slip through your fingers?”

“I don’t like your tone, Special Agent.”

“Well, I don’t like losing a wanted serial killer, Airman Esposito.”

“I’m here to find the boy. It’s your job to track Boyd Sullivan, and apparently you haven’t been very successful so far.”

“Ouch, that hurt.”

She almost laughed, but this was not funny. She understood how he wanted to get his man, but he was stepping on her toes right now. “I’m going to see what Roscoe has found, if you don’t mind. You have a whole team here to search for Sullivan.”

“I guess I’m dismissed.”

She turned in time to see the flare of both anger and admiration in his interesting eyes. “You could say that, yes.”

But he called out to her. “Hey, if Boyd Sullivan wasn’t shooting at you, then who was, and why?”

TWO

Ava wanted to find the answer to Oliver Davison’s questions, too, but right now she had to get back to her search. Not only was she concerned for the boy’s safety, but Turner’s parents wielded a lot of clout. The whole base was on high alert over this. The negative press wouldn’t be good either.

After Mr. FBI left, Chad Watson came bounding up, his blond hair glistening wet, K-9 Custer sloshing through the mud ahead of him. Chad had transferred from Security Forces to the Military Working Dog program and now excelled at his job.

“Nothing on the alert we had. Custer did a thorough grid but didn’t find anything regarding the boy.” Then he showed her a paper evidence bag inside his uniform pocket. “But we did find this.”

Ava stared down into the open pocket, her hand shielding the bag from the rain. A Buff. A navy floral headband which could have gotten lost by anyone hiking through these woods, but it did look feminine. “Keep it bagged so we can give it to Forensics,” she said, deciding anything could be evidence.

Chad nodded. “I’ll take Custer and do a grid to the north.”

“Good idea. While you do that, we’ll dig here,” she said. Then she radioed Buster. “Need you back at the search site.”

Ava gave Roscoe the order and they both worked beside him, using their gloved hands to sift through the mud and dirt surrounding the cave, but to no avail. Yet Roscoe didn’t let it go. He pawed and whined and stared at her for his next command.

“Nothing,” she said. After radioing in her request and cordoning off the area where they’d already dug, they kept searching and calling out for Turner Johnson, going back over the area in every direction. But the boy didn’t respond and Roscoe didn’t alert anywhere else. Her partner returned to stand firm in front of the cave, so she checked inside again but didn’t find anything.

“Roscoe, boy, I know you are smart and there is something here, but it’s getting dark and we’re gonna have to let the next shift take over.”

Roscoe gave her a solemn stare and then looked toward the cave again. But he was so well trained, he didn’t make a move.

Thirty minutes later, the storm raged on, thunder and lightning indicating it had stalled over these woods, lessening visibility to a minimum.

Ava got a message to return to the base with Security Forces. It was too risky to bring in the chopper but the night shift would hike in from the trail and take over.

“I don’t want to leave,” she said, rain slashing at her with a needle-sharp consistency. “It’s getting dark. I’m so worried about that little boy.”

Buster stood like a dark statue, his deep brown eyes on her. “I can stay and help the relief team, ma’am.”

“It’s okay, Buster. We’ve got a fresh second shift arriving. They’ll set up camp and keep searching as long as they can. We all know the first forty-eight hours are crucial in finding a missing child.”

“And it’s only been a few hours,” Buster replied. “With this storm, things go up a notch.”

So much could happen. The boy could slip and fall into rushing water from the nearby rivers and creeks. Flash floods were common in this area during storms. She prayed he’d found a safe place to shelter. Prayed he was still alive. At least the kid was a Cub Scout. Maybe his training would kick in. The temperature would be warm, but with this rain everything took on a chill.

“We have to rest and regroup tomorrow. The Amber Alert is out on the whole base and the surrounding area. The second shift is already arriving, and Chad is briefing them.”

“What if—”

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said to the gentle giant. “What if Boyd Sullivan has the boy and that’s why he didn’t shoot us? What if he had to get back to the kid?”

“Yes,” Buster said. “Exactly. He sure did run fast when those other bullets started flying.”

“Yes, he did, didn’t he?” Ava wasn’t sure if the bullets had been for Boyd or her, or both. But her gut told her the shooter was covering Sullivan. Maybe he didn’t kill Ava because he’d seen the heavy activity in the woods and it was too messy and risky.

Whatever his reasons, she thanked God she was still alive.

When the second shift had arrived and she’d updated the head of Security Forces, Captain Justin Blackwood, Ava trudged to the trail and got in an SF SUV with Roscoe safe in a kennel and returned to the base, exhausted and disappointed.

* * *

“I’m going back out first thing in the morning,” she told lead handler Master Sergeant Westley James after she’d updated several team members in the MWD training center conference room. “I promised Mrs. Johnson I wouldn’t give up on finding her son.”

“I agree,” her boss said, his blue eyes giving away nothing as the others filed out. “We’re running out of time on the boy and we now know Boyd Sullivan could be living in those woods. Which means our earlier reports on his whereabouts were wrong. He’s back in the area.”

“Yes, we are running out of time,” a deep voice said from the doorway of the conference room. “And now you’re in danger, too, Senior Airman Esposito.”

Ava whirled to find a very wet, haggard-looking FBI agent staring over at them. “Special Agent Davison, I take it you didn’t find Boyd Sullivan after all?”

Oliver looked as defeated as she felt. “Nope, and that storm and a pitch-dark sky brought everything to a grinding halt. But we found signs of what looked like camping areas in two different locations, so we bagged what could be evidence. I’m going to grab a shower in the locker room and then, Airman Esposito, I’d like a word with you on how we can coordinate our searches tomorrow.”

“I’m off to get a shower, too,” she said, thinking she’d head in the opposite direction of him. “Meet me back here at 19:00?”

He glanced at his fancy watch. “Sounds good.”

Westley James cut his gaze from Ava to the FBI agent but didn’t say a word. Then he grabbed his beret. “I’m going home now to be with Felicity.”

Staff Sergeant Felicity Monroe, a former K-9 handler and now the base photographer and Westley’s wife, was still considered a target of the Red Rose Killer. He’d want to make sure she was safe, of course.

“Give her my best, sir.”

“Will do. And, Ava, Agent Davison is right. You’re in danger now, too. Sullivan might have let you go today, but you’re on his radar now. He can’t leave any loose threads.”

Ava nodded and turned to go, conscious of Oliver Davison’s green-eyed gaze following her every step.

* * *

“How ’bout we get out of here and go to the Winged Java?” she said once she was clean and dry, her damp hair curled up under her navy beret, her blue T-shirt clean and fresh against her ABUs.

“Ah, the notorious coffee shop where flyboys and air force cadets hang out and brag about their daring deeds?” he asked, his dark hair shimmering and glossy from his shower, the scent of soap all around him. “I imagine you have a lot to brag about.”

Actually, she just wanted to get away from prying eyes and go over the details of the Boyd Sullivan case and how it would interfere with finding Turner Johnson.

“I don’t like braggadocios.”

“Did you really just say braggadocios?”

She laughed. “I can teach you a lot of new words.”

“I suppose you can. Let’s go.”

She started toward the door, her keys in her hand, and tried really hard to forget that he was good-looking and overconfident. He’d changed to a white button-down shirt and dark slacks, which made him stand out like a stranger in a spaghetti Western.

He beat her to the door and opened it. “I’ll drive.”

Ava scooted around him and out the door. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Afraid to ride with me, Esposito?”

“No, Special Agent. I can go home straight from there. Since we have special permission to take our K-9 partners home until the Red Rose Killer is caught, I have Roscoe to consider.”

“Of course.” He nodded and jingled his key fob. “I’ll see you in a few.”

The Winged Java was a legendary coffee shop, just as Oliver Davison had mentioned, but it was also a great place to relax and grab a burger or the best pizza in Texas, according to Ava’s way of thinking. And because she was hungry and needed coffee and maybe a slice of pie, she grinned when she pulled up in the parking lot.

“Roscoe, guess where we are?”

Roscoe loved the Winged Java, too, since K-9s were as welcome here as humans. Maybe even more so. The manager always gave her treats to give to Roscoe at her discretion. Ava could leave him in the temperature-controlled kennel in her SUV, but she preferred having him with her whenever she could.

Normally Military Working Dogs didn’t go home with their handlers, but base commander Lieutenant General Nathan Hall had given them special permission to keep the seasoned K-9s with them because of the brutal murders on base. Over the last few months, she’d gotten used to having Roscoe around. And so had several of the base restaurants. Because he was trained in search and rescue, Roscoe was more acclimated socially than the German shepherds and Belgian Malinois that did heavy battle duty, but he still had to be handled carefully in social situations.

Checking Roscoe’s uniform, a vest that identified him as a Military Working Dog so people would use caution when approaching him, Ava knew Roscoe would be on his best behavior.

But she wasn’t so sure about the intense man waiting for her in a corner booth. Taking a breath after spotting Oliver Davison through the window, she stared at the giant white coffee mug mural on the front of the building in an effort to stall this meeting.

Flanked by two wings that were lit up with red, white and blue lights, the cup showcased a chevron emblem. Above the cup, the café’s name was done in black. The Winged Java. Inside, the walls were covered with photos and posters lauding the pride this area held for the base and the air force, some of those photos capturing shots of the Military Working Dog handlers and their dogs in training and on the job.

After sitting there for five minutes, dread weighing her down because she didn’t want this man interfering in her job or her life, Ava went in and faced Oliver Davison.

* * *

“I ordered two coffees,” he said, the scent of something clean and tropical hitting the air as she settled into the booth across from him. “I’ve seen you inhaling it in the break room.”

That comment garnered him a concentrated stare. “Spying on me?”

“No, just part of the job to stay on the alert and observe people. I mean, we’ve never been officially introduced but you are always around.”

She’d whizz through the break room with a dare to anybody who messed with her, but she’d stop on a dime to pet a dog or talk to a fellow handler. And when she smiled...

She was not smiling now, he noticed. “Does that bother you? Me always being around, that is?”

“Should it?”

She didn’t look at the menu when the waitress showed up with their coffee and asked for their orders. “Cheeseburger, medium rare, with fries on the side. No mayo but loaded down.”

“A woman who knows her own mind,” the waitress said through a chuckle. “And for you, sir?”

Oliver glanced at the menu and looked up at Ava. “I’ll have what she’s having and hope I can eat the whole thing.”

“Try to keep up,” the freckled older woman said. Then she greeted Roscoe where he lay beside the booth with a “Hey, boy,” before she walked away with a smile.

“They seem to know you here,” Oliver said.

Ava’s brown eyes turned a warm honey pecan. “I come here a lot.”

“I’ve been in a few times,” he offered. “But I just get a lot of stares.”

“I wonder why that is,” she quipped, obviously enjoying making him squirm a bit.

“Maybe they know I’m an outsider, or, worse, a dreaded Yankee from New York. Took the San Antonio Bureau a while to adjust to my accent and my bluntness.”

“We don’t judge that way,” she said through a wry grin. “But they might wonder about the suit thing in the heat of summer. Here we go with jeans, T-shirts and boots when we have downtime.”

“Hey, I left my coat and tie in the car, and I have a pair of boots.”

“I’m guessing you’ve never taken ’em out of the box.”

Feeling sheepish, he lowered his head. “Once...maybe.”

After their food came, he leaned back and stared at the table. “What a day. Sorry you didn’t find the boy.”

Ava stared down at the table and then checked the parking lot. Like him, she probably never let her guard down. “I talked to Marilyn Johnson when we got back to base. The poor woman is distraught. Their only child. She’s afraid Turner could have been taken but he has gone into the woods beyond their yard without permission before.”

“We couldn’t be sure he was still around,” Oliver reminded her. “And now the killer has gone to ground. If he has the kid, this goes from bad to worse.”

“We have people still looking but, like you, they had to slow things until this storm passes.” Staring out into the light drizzle, she added, “I don’t want to think about that little boy out in the woods in the rain and dark.”

“Same with the Red Rose Killer,” Oliver replied. “I sure don’t want to think about him out there with the boy. He could use the boy for leverage or as a way out of here. I’m going back out first thing tomorrow.”

“Me, too.”

“He’s left way too many threatening notes and now he’s back to make good on them,” Oliver said. “He’s getting onto the base with other people’s IDs and, just as we’ve suspected, he obviously has an accomplice, based on what happened today. He has to have found a way from the reserve to the base, which is probably how he got away again this time. I’m praying the boy isn’t with him.”

“I’m hoping the boy had the good sense to hide,” Ava replied, her tone full of worry. “We couldn’t get a bead on Sullivan. The chopper couldn’t land in that dense area, but they did a good job of dropping us,” she said. “I hope the night crew can make some headway since I didn’t get anywhere.”

“You’re good at your job,” Oliver said. “That’s obvious.” Then he made a snap decision. “Save the air force some money and let me give you a ride tomorrow. Unless, of course, you really do want to rappel down a rope dangling from a hovering forty-million-dollar chopper again.”

“Hmm.” Surprise on her pretty face, she held her hands up in the air and moved them up and down as if weighing something. “Those are my only choices?”

He laughed at that. She had a quick wit and a no-nonsense attitude that was refreshing. “You don’t give an inch, do you?”

“Should I?”

“I’m trying to figure that out,” he said, his eyes holding hers again. “And...while we’re at it, tell me why you wanted to have this conversation away from the office, and maybe tell me a little bit about you, too.”

She matched his gaze and shook her head. “I’m not sure myself why I decided to hold this meeting here, but you know how things go. Prying eyes and listening ears. I’m working to move up a rank. Right now, it’s hard to trust anyone. My team is solid but we’ve had some major leaks with the so-called Anonymous Blogger. But one thing I can tell you—I’m here to discuss the investigation, not share the intimate details of my life. Especially with a man who seems to read people with an ease that leaves them floundering.”

“Me?” Impressed that she could read him so well, he shrugged. “Again, part of the job. I’m curious about what makes people tick.” Then to gain her trust, he leaned in. “In your case, I’d really like to get to know you. Your team is so tight, it’s been hard for me to break through.”

“And you think I’ll be the one to crack?”

“No, I think you’re the toughest one of all. But I’d appreciate knowing more about you.”

Looking skeptical, she shrugged right back at him. “Not much to tell. I decided in high school to join the air force. I took a helicopter ride once out on Galveston beach when I was a preteen and fell in love. That, coupled with not knowing what to do with my life, made me want to travel and find adventure. Didn’t take much from there to want to be a chopper pilot.”

“Can you fly one?”

“I was headed that way but my plans changed. I love what I do now and if I work hard I just might make it to staff sergeant.”

“I’d like to hear more of that story.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Since you’re insisting on that, I’ll need to hear more about you, too, then.”

Oliver stared out into the night, wondering how much she already knew since he’d had to disclose his involvement with Madison to Ava’s superiors. “Okay, but you might not like what you hear.”

THREE

Ava’s heart hadn’t jumped this much since basic training. She’d heard enough to be cautious, of course.

Oliver Davison had been around off and on for months now and he’d barely noticed Ava, so why did she suddenly have strange currents moving through her system each time he looked at her? Probably because today, he’d focused on her and implied she’d failed. But then, he’d failed, too. And he’d lost someone he loved through a brutal murder. The team had been briefed about him before he ever arrived. His fiancée, Madison Ackler, had been the Red Rose Killer’s first victim. Ava didn’t know if that was a coincidence or there was a history there, but she wasn’t going to grill the man on it. She did know that Madison Ackler and Boyd Sullivan had gone to high school together.

She had to remember that and try to be kind about things. But while she felt sympathy for his loss, she still had a job to do. Or maybe she was tense around him because she’d lost someone she loved, too, and they had that in common.

Stop making excuses.

They had been forced together but in the worst kind of way. Over death and a missing child and an evil, sick man who wouldn’t stop until they caught him. But that didn’t make her ready to share her past or her other failures with Oliver Davison. She didn’t want him to do an FBI analysis on her either.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, true concern in the question.

“I will be,” she replied. And then to hide all the emotions boiling up inside of her, she tore into her burger. Stress eating to the rescue.

It had been a long, tough day and he’d gotten in her way and gotten to her. That wouldn’t happen again. Dealing with an intense, dogged FBI agent one-on-one was different from watching him across the room. Not that she’d done that. Okay, maybe once or twice. And he must have noticed her, too, since he knew she guzzled coffee like a brewing machine.

But enough of that for now.

“Tomorrow, I go back to the spot Roscoe alerted on and we dig some more. Roscoe is never wrong, so there’s something there we’re missing. I hope whatever was buried there didn’t get washed away. And, Agent Davison, I really need you to stay out of my way.”

“I was in your way today?”

Yes, you with your green eyes and that messy hair and your black working T-shirt. You have those sad eyes and that bad attitude. Yes, you.

“You held me up with your repeated, pointed questions.”

“Part of my job.”

“Don’t do it again. And please stop using that excuse.”

He grinned and dipped a french fry into a glob of ketchup. “I’ll take the west end of the woods and you can take the east.”

“Agreed.” Then she took a sip of the water the waitress had also brought and wondered if the air-conditioning had conked out. “I’m concerned that Sullivan might have the boy. He could have easily killed me today, but he didn’t. Someone shot at me, though. I don’t know if that someone was with him or after him, but I’m thinking with him because that makes more sense to me.”

“And protecting him from you as you suspected,” Oliver replied. “They could use the boy as leverage for an escape.”

“I’ve already considered that, but why didn’t they do that today?”

“Exactly, which is why I questioned you so heavily earlier,” he said, his tone apologetic now. “We have to consider every angle. You know how it goes with serial killers.”

“No, I don’t know how it goes, but when I saw him today I certainly understood the horror of what he’s done. I could have easily died out there and he would have gotten away with murder again. I hope we find him so I can ask him why he let me live.”

“I’d like to ask him a few things, too.”

Ava felt that tug again. Her heartstrings were getting a workout today. “I’m sure we’ll have to stand in line,” she replied, trying to stay on topic.

“Maybe you just showed up at the wrong time, surprised him and caught him off guard. Or maybe he knew you had a detail on you and he’d be shot dead if he did try to kill you.”

“Buster was right there, but he didn’t get in a shot because everything happened so fast.”

“You said it yourself. Buster’s being there along with Roscoe helped to save you.” Oliver dipped another fry. “And the shooter saved Boyd Sullivan. It makes sense he’s had a willing accomplice all this time.”

“I don’t know what to think,” Ava admitted. “Turner Johnson’s parents are so distraught and angry right now, it’s hard to watch. And I get that. First, the kid goes missing from his yard and now they find out a dangerous serial killer is out in those woods, too. Then a storm hits. I can’t imagine that kind of fear.”

Oliver drained his coffee, his brow furrowed in frustration. “We have to hope he’s found shelter, at least.”

“I have another concern to consider, too,” she said. “Those missing dogs Sullivan let out of the training center that night when he killed two of my coworkers. Some of the dogs still missing suffer severe PTSD and they could be roaming those woods. If Turner Johnson happens to come upon one of them, he could get hurt.”

“You need to be careful on all fronts,” Oliver said, his eyes holding concern again. “You got off easy today, Airman Esposito. But I have a gut feeling the Red Rose Killer is not done with you yet.”

“Call me Ava,” she said. “Since you’re trying to scare me to death and all, I feel as if we’re bonding.”

“Call me Oliver, since I can thank you for the heartburn I’m surely going to have later,” he replied, his expression wry. “I’m not trying to scare you. After watching you in action today, I don’t think you can be rattled. And that scares me. Sullivan’s a dangerous man.”

From the way Oliver said that, she was reminded of how personal this had become for him. After all, he had a very good reason to hunt down Boyd Sullivan.

But she wasn’t going to pry into the horror of that reason. She just prayed they’d both find what they were looking for.

* * *

“Okay, Roscoe, let’s do this again,” Ava said after Oliver had walked with her and Buster back to the marked spot the next morning. Word from the night shift wasn’t good. There’d been no sign of the boy or the Red Rose Killer and no alerts from the K-9s. But they’d found several fresh campsites and patches of spent shells.

“Some from our weapons and some from whoever was shooting at you with an M4 rifle,” Oliver reported. “Whoever it is, thankfully, they aren’t a very good shot.”

The storm had passed but it had left a lot of broken limbs and washed-over bramble in its path. Ava accepted that they wouldn’t get very far today, but determination kept her from giving up. The sun was shining today, though, and even at seven in the morning, the late summer heat promised to be scalding hot.

Leaving his official SUV up on the muddy road into this area, Oliver gave instructions to a team that had arrived in another vehicle and brought off-road vehicles with them to continue the search. Then he and Ava trekked through the woods to begin another grueling day. But he’d told Ava he wanted to check around this spot again, too, since Sullivan had been in the area.

Oliver walked around the area by the cave, watching as Roscoe took up right where he’d left off after Ava had let him sniff the miniature toy and the boy’s cap she’d brought back with them again today.

“Find,” she told the Labrador.

Roscoe started digging again in the same spot near the entrance of the tiny cave.

Oliver hovered off to the side, doing his own search. They really hadn’t shared anything much about each other last night. Ava had realized he was good at his job and determined to find Boyd Sullivan. Now she wanted to know more about him, which shouldn’t be front and center on her mind today. But that sadness that shadowed him had clutched her heart.

“I thought you were leaving,” she said when Oliver finished his search and came back to stand with her. “Did you find anything?”

Oliver gave her a questioning stare. “I am leaving, and no, I didn’t find anything.”

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but instead he nodded and turned to catch up with the team that today included Master Sergeant Westley James, Office of Special Investigations Special Officer Ian Steffen, Security Forces Captain Justin Blackwood and several others who worked with the SF, OSI or the Military Working Dog program.

Everyone wanted to capture Boyd Sullivan. But she knew they were all concerned about the boy, too.

Focusing on Roscoe and armed with a small handheld shovel, Ava bent to help dig. Yesterday, she’d allowed Roscoe to sniff the toy and baseball cap that belonged to Turner Johnson and she’d done the same again today, praying the rain hadn’t washed away the scent Roscoe had picked up then.

“Hey, be careful,” Oliver said before heading out.

Ava called him back. “Oliver, hold on.”

He came hurrying back, his serviceable boots kicking up mud. “Yeah?”

“Chad Watson and his partner, Custer, did find one thing yesterday. A Buff.”

He looked confused. “Buff?”

“A stretchy headband-type head cover. Dark navy and floral. Chad turned it over to the crime lab.”

Oliver took off his dark shades and squinted. “Possibly belonging to a woman?”

“Possibly.”

“Interesting. Thanks—I’ll check with Forensics later.” Then he gave her a smile and put his shades back on. “Talk to you soon.”

Ava ignored the warm rush of comfort that encased her and instead watched where Roscoe kept pawing away in a spot near a small rock anchored beside the entrance of the cave.

Buster stood a few feet away with his rifle held near his chest, ever vigilant. He’d been a linebacker in college, and he was six feet of solid wall with a teddy bear’s heart. But fierce when it came to protecting his colleagues and his country.

“What is it?” she asked Roscoe, knowing he’d do his best to show her. Ava did another scan of the rocks and mud.

Then she saw a tiny spot of red poking out of the wet dirt. Getting on her knees, she immediately praised Roscoe. “Good find. Way to go!”

After telling him to stay, she took her shovel and managed to dig around what looked like a small toy similar to the one Turner’s parents had given her yesterday.

“Got it,” she said, clearing the last of the mud away so she could lift the toy out. Wedged between the small rock and the outside wall of the cave, the toy had become jammed in a corner instead of washing away along with the dirt that had covered it before. A little red-and-white robot with big black eyes and a tiny black nylon cape. A small duct-taped label was hidden underneath the cape. And the name Turner Johnson was marked across it in permanent black ink.

Roscoe woofed his approval. The plastic and the material could contain oils and epidermis particles from the boy’s hands, some of which would be buried in the grooves and seams inside the toy. The rock had protected the little robot from getting too wet. So had Turner Johnson lost this toy or had he been smart enough to hide it between the rock and the cave wall?

* * *

After calling in the find, Ava and Roscoe started out again. Roscoe seemed determined to go toward the west, so Ava made sure she alerted their path to everyone patrolling and searching the woods. They started tracking again in an area called the scent cone, which worked with the breezes, temperatures and humidity to carry a scent from the last known place the missing boy had been seen. Ava started at a higher elevation just past the first cave and worked downwind from where the boy had disappeared, letting Roscoe move in a crisscross fashion back and forth through dirt, mud, rotting tree trunks, rocky terrain and dense foliage while she kept a vigilant watch for an ambush.

No one had been shot at today, so that was good. But it could also mean Sullivan had left and possibly taken the boy with him.

Even with the hot sun beaming through the pines and mesquite trees, there was a sinister darkness hanging over these woods. Remembering that Turner Johnson had been in his backyard, an area that should have been safe, Ava agreed with her superiors that now that Sullivan had been spotted, this area should be restricted until further notice. She moved toward the trail head in the more trafficked area, hoping that by going for the obvious she’d stumble on another piece of the puzzle.

It didn’t take her long to come upon Oliver’s team.

Buster grunted behind her and took out his canteen. “Mighty hot. Mighty hot.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, stopping to give Roscoe some water before she drank from her own rations.

Other members of their unit nodded and spoke and kept working. She wasn’t sure anymore if they were looking for the child or the killer or both. Which scared her. What if they couldn’t get to Turner in time?

“How you holding up?” Oliver said from behind her.

Ava whirled to greet him, noting his sweat-drenched T-shirt underneath his FBI-emblazoned bulletproof vest. “One small victory.”

She showed him the toy robot she’d placed inside a paper evidence bag and stored in a pouch on her utility belt. “We reported our finding to his parents, but this doesn’t mean he’s still alive.”

“Maybe the kid lost the toy, and he came looking for it and got lost himself,” Oliver said, doing that frown-squint thing she’d noticed last night and earlier today.”

“I know, and I’m wondering if he lost it or if Sullivan hid it to cover kidnapping the boy. But then, what do I know about seven-year-olds?”

“Same here,” he replied, a shard of longing passing through his eyes. Maybe, like her, he hoped to have a family one day. No matter their jobs, searching for a lost child always brought out the best in people, but it also stirred up the worst of their emotions. But they’d both been trained to school such things.

“How long have you been trying to catch Boyd Sullivan?” she asked as they pushed through bramble and called out Turner Johnson’s name over and over.

“Too long,” he retorted in a concise manner.

When he didn’t say more, she let it go. But then, they stopped to catch their breaths underneath some mushrooming oaks and cascading mountain laurels.

“I’ll explain that to you another time,” he said in a gravelly voice. “How did you come into the MWD program? I mean, after you didn’t become a pilot.”

She shook her head. “I’ll tell you that another time, too.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Ava nodded. “Well, for now, we keep going.” Once again, she let Roscoe sniff Turner’s toy and cap. “I’ll stay close by since it’s getting late, but I want Roscoe to search this area, too. Maybe he’ll pick up on Sullivan’s scent. He’s been in on most of the prior searches so you might get a break.”

“I could use one.”

Ava noticed the dark fatigue around his eyes. He was a good-looking man and obviously, like her, he had to stay in shape for his job. But there was a sorrow around him, as if he were searching for something other than a vicious killer. Again, she wondered how long he’d been chasing after Boyd Sullivan. He’d been in on the first arrest from what she remembered in the early briefings. But she wondered how long he could keep this up, too. That kind of tenaciousness could wear a person down.

No time now to ponder but, later, maybe he’d open up to her as he’d said.

Which meant she’d have to do the same with him, of course.

Or research his background on her own.

After they drank some water and shared an energy bar and she fed Roscoe and gave him some play time, they went in opposite directions again.

Five minutes into this new search, Roscoe alerted on another dark indention in a hill covered with overgrowth. He whined and kept glancing back at her. Not his usual alert. Something wasn’t right.

Ava stepped forward and stomped through heavy vines and dense shrubs until she came to the dark crevice. Using her rifle to push back the foliage, she decided this had to be another cave.

Roscoe wouldn’t let it go so she called out. “Turner? Turner Johnson? Are you in there? I’m here to help you.”

She heard movement inside. Ava reported the find over the radio and before she could make her next move, Oliver was right there with her.

“It could be your boy or it could be Sullivan,” he whispered, drawing his weapon. “Either way, we go in together.”

Another bonding moment, she thought, still confused about how this man brought so many of her feelings out of hiding. But he was just doing his job. He wanted to be the one to capture Sullivan.

Time for her to do the same with whoever was inside that cave. She prayed it was the boy.

Help us now, Lord. Help us to find this child.

But they needed to capture the Red Rose Killer, too.

As Oliver had said, either way, they were in this thing together now.

FOUR

When they stepped into the jagged opening to the cave, Oliver heard a low growl.

Halting Roscoe, Ava turned to Oliver. “That’s not a person. It’s an animal.”

Oliver watched as she slipped on her protective gloves. “What are you doing?”

“It might be one of the missing dogs, possibly one of the ones suffering PTSD. I’m going in to check.”

“Can he harm you?”

“Yes, if he’s hungry and scared. Will you radio Westley for me?”

“Of course,” Oliver said, “but I’m not leaving you in this cave alone.”

“Okay, make the call.”

Ava turned to Roscoe while Oliver stood just outside the opening and radioed their location. He watched as she ordered the K-9 to stay. The dog glanced at the back of the cave, whimpered a protest but sank down to do as he was told.

“I think Roscoe senses that the other dog is a friendly,” Ava told Oliver when he finished the call to Westley James. “His protective instincts tend to kick in when he sees another dog.”

Ava started talking quietly to the animal. “I took a PTSD course once,” she whispered to Oliver. “I’m going to use what I learned on the dog to calm him down.”

Cataloging that, he decided he’d ask her about it when she was out of danger. Staying quiet, he stood watch and tried to stay out of her way. When this was over, they’d have a lot to talk about.

“Hey, buddy,” she said as she sank down near the door of the cave.

Oliver could see the trembling dog’s shadow, but she kept talking in gentle, soft tones. “Roscoe and I are your friends. We’re here to help you. You’ll get to go home to the base and your warm, clean kennel and get all kinds of love, treats and good meals and chew toys. And the help you need, too.”

Ava’s voice wobbled, and Oliver guessed she had to be thinking of Chief Master Sergeant Clint Lockwood and her airmen friends Landon Martelli and Tamara Peterson, all of whom had died at the hands of Boyd Sullivan. He had purposely let the dogs out that night so long ago to shake everyone up and traumatize the animals.

Oliver’s bones burned with the need to find the Red Rose Killer and end his reign of terror. But right now, he had to stay here with Ava.

The dog whimpered and growled low, as if Ava’s changing mood had rattled him. “It’s okay. No one is ever going to hurt you again. You’re a hero and we’re going to make you well so you can become a strong Military Working Dog.” She smiled. “I have a friend named Isaac who’s looking for a dog like you. A dog named Beacon saved Isaac’s life over in Afghanistan. But he’s lost somewhere far away. Maybe you can cheer up my friend until he can locate Beacon. How about that?”

Something inside Oliver’s heart crumbled. He wanted to comfort both the hurting dog and the woman who seemed so strong but right now seemed so broken, too. But just like the dog, if he moved too fast with Ava, she’d balk. She’d bypassed flying helicopters to do this. Was that a conscious decision, or did something painful keep her from fulfilling that dream?

Maybe she was right where she should be. And then she answered his question with her words.

Talking to the dog again in a calming voice, she said, “You know, we have a family here. We take care of each other and pray for each other. We’ve all been praying for you, too.”

Prayer. Oliver had become so far removed from the faith his parents had instilled in him, he felt out of place hearing her words. He’d turned back to God after Madison’s death, but he needed to be more intentional with his faith. Now would be a good time to take up the habit of praying again. He needed help in all areas of his life to get through this case.

If this woman had a strong faith, perhaps she could be an example to him.

The dog, which looked to be one of the missing German shepherds, stopped growling but lowered on its haunches, its dark gaze on Ava and Roscoe. Oliver kept checking for Westley, holding his breath. He loved dogs. Who didn’t? But seeing how Ava handled this one made him more appreciative of what the MWD team did on a daily basis.

Slowly and carefully, Ava dug into her meal supply and found a peanut-butter granola bar.

“I’m thinking you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

She glanced back to where Oliver leaned against the entrance of the cave, her eyes meeting his, a soft understanding and longing in their depths. Ava pivoted back to the dog, carefully opening the paper covering the bar.

But Oliver would never forget that backward glance. It told him she was gentle and caring underneath that air force bluff.

“How about a snack to tide you over?”

Breaking half of the long bar, she tossed it toward the dog. Crouching and moving on its haunches, the dog gobbled the food and inched closer.

“Hey, Westley’s here,” Oliver said in a low voice, his breath gushing out in relief. Why was he so worried that the animal would hurt her? She knew what she was doing, after all.

Ava slowly slid away from the trembling dark-furred dog. “I’m going to go now, okay? But I’m leaving you in the best possible hands. He’s my boss, so make me look good by bragging on me, okay?”

She scooted back, her gaze on the dog. The scared animal didn’t move, but Oliver saw the apprehension in its eyes. The traumatized animal didn’t want Ava to go.

Oliver didn’t want her to go away either. Which scared him way more than a dog attack.

When she reached Roscoe, she scooted near. “Sir, come on in.”

Westley entered the cave and got down on the dog’s level. While Ava gave him a quick whispered update, he kept staring at the dog. Then he nodded to Ava. “One of our four stars.” Turning back to the scared animal, he said, “We’ve got this, okay. You’re home, soldier, and you won’t ever be scared again.”

Ava called to Roscoe. “Come.”

The Labrador stood but turned back to the other dog, emitting a soft whimper from his throat.

Westley let out a light chuckle. “Hear that? Roscoe says chin up.”

Ava made her way out. Oliver waited with his hand out to help her up. She stood on trembling legs and glanced up at him, unable to speak.

Her sweet gaze shattered him. “Hey, it’s okay. The dog’s safe now.”

Nodding, she wiped her eyes, clearly embarrassed at the tears forming there. “But, Oliver, Boyd Sullivan did this. He sent these scared, scarred dogs out to fend for themselves. We have to find him and we have to keep looking for Turner Johnson. Because if he did this, I don’t want to think about what he’d do to an innocent child.”

Oliver reached out a hand and then dropped it, memories jarring him. “I feel the same way.”

Then he touched her arm and looked into her eyes.

“We’ll keep searching, I promise. I know firsthand what Boyd Sullivan is capable of doing. And I am not going to stop until I either put him behind bars or put a bullet in him.”

* * *

“Well, Turner Johnson’s parents aren’t happy, and I don’t blame them,” Ava told Oliver an hour after they’d found the German shepherd in the cave. “But they’ve been waiting and wondering and I had to report back to them. Not to mention, those two base reporters, Heidi Jenks and John Robinson, are all over this and I keep telling them ‘No comment.’ Lieutenant General Hall will probably want to have a nice chat with me, too.”

“With all of us,” Oliver retorted, his expression as dark as the rain that hovered on the horizon. These pop-up storms weren’t helping the situation. “You’ve done everything you can and you’re still out here searching, so the base commander should cut you some slack.” He glanced around, then lowered his voice. “I also expect that annoying Anonymous Blogger to have all the details, too. I’m wondering if that person is Sullivan’s helper.”

Ava had to wonder, too. For months now, someone on base had found a way to get all the details of the Red Rose Killer case and blast them online. They suspected Heidi Jenks, but Ava figured Heidi wouldn’t risk her journalism career with an unsubstantiated blog full of false accusations.

“I hadn’t even thought about that,” she said, “but yes, we can expect some sort of cryptic, inaccurate report on that front, too.”

The phone call earlier to where the Johnsons were waiting at a nearby staging site had broken Ava’s heart. Turner’s parents were distraught and exhausted. Their child was missing in the same area where a dangerous man had been seen, so yes, they were frightened, angry and beyond being reasonable. She’d be the same way in their position. Reporters were always hovering around, but lately they’d become even more annoying. Heidi and John both worked for the base paper, with John being the lead reporter on the Red Rose Killer case, but they were in a competition of sorts to get the scoop on the Boyd Sullivan story. But Heidi seemed the more reasonable of the two, at least. Ava figured the determined reporter was probably with Turner’s parents right about now, getting their take on this turn of events.

“Well, regardless of reporters and vicious bloggers, we still have our work cut out for us. No sign of Turner Johnson or Boyd Sullivan.” She did a check around them and added, “I’m so afraid that wherever they are, they might be together. But I can’t bring myself to voice that to Turner’s parents.”

Oliver walked with her through the hot, damp woods, Roscoe back on the job just up ahead of them. “They’re feeling guilty that the kid slipped away. But they’re also terrified about Boyd Sullivan, too. Drew Golosky turned up dead, and we barely had time to warn anyone.”

Ava watched the path ahead. “I just pray it’s not too late.”

“At least the base has closed down this area. It’s off-limits until further notice,” Oliver said, his tone solemn.

“He let me live,” Ava said, her mind still reeling from the last couple of days’ work. “Why do I get the feeling it’s not over between us, however?”

“Because you saw him, saw that feral look in his eyes. He doesn’t have much to lose right now.”

“Well, I do,” she said, moving ahead with Roscoe, her heart burning with the need for justice and her prayers centered on finding a lost little boy.

She was also moving away from Oliver. Somehow, they’d become too close. She didn’t do close. She was single and single-minded. Work consumed most of her time, and that was good enough for her. Or at least it had been up until now. But today, he’d stood there in the cave with her and another current of awareness had sizzled between them. Like heat lightning, there but hard to understand.

In spite of the circumstances, this man whom she didn’t want to like had become ingrained in her psyche. In the span of two days, they’d bonded in more ways than she’d ever bonded with anyone else. Well, maybe one other person.

Never one to rush things, Ava didn’t like the confusing feelings coursing over her each time Oliver was around. And now she was thinking about the man even after she’d purposely tried to distance herself from him. No, she’d been impulsive and rash once before in the love department. Not again.

She’d served with the one man who might have taken her heart. Julian Benton had been the gunner on her crew. They’d become close but he’d died in that chopper crash and left her numb with fear and afraid of life. She and Julian had never had a chance to explore where their feelings might have taken them because protocol and war had kept them too busy to take that next step.

So she’d put love out of her mind and she’d almost walked away from the world that had given her a home and hope.

Until the Military Working Dog program had saved her by offering her a way back to justice and that hope.

Did she dare go that deep with another man?

No. Not yet.

“Hey, be careful,” he said, catching up with her.

“I’m always careful,” she retorted. “And so is the trained animal guiding me.”

“Any alerts?”

“Not yet.”

“What made you switch to the MWD program?”

Oh, he wanted her to talk now, when she’d just been giving herself a mental pep talk. Since she didn’t have much of a choice, Ava replied, “A chopper crash.”

He kept his eyes straight ahead, his dark shades hiding his secrets. “You were on the front lines?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“But you survived.”

“I did.”

“Others didn’t survive?”

“No, they died.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “You’ll tell me later when we are clean and cool and sitting in a nice restaurant?”

“You wish.”

“I do wish,” he said, his tone steel edged, his voice low and husky.

“Maybe one day I’ll tell you but...you might not like what you hear. Isn’t that what you said to me?”

“Oh, so we’re gonna play that game where we try to hold on to our secrets until the very last minute?”

“One of my favorite games.”

Before he could say more, Roscoe alerted with a low growl. A sign of danger, not a frightened child.

Oliver held Ava’s arm and put a finger to his lips.

“I know how this works,” she whispered, drawing her own weapon. Then she gave Roscoe the signal to “Go.”

The big dog moved through the underbrush and rocky hillside, still growling low.

A bullet whizzed past Ava. Another hit at Roscoe’s feet.

“Come,” Ava commanded, bringing Roscoe back. Ava caught a glimpse of a figure dressed in dark jogging pants and a matching hoodie holding a gun aimed toward her.

Roscoe growled low, causing the other person to halt and lift the weapon. Ava did the same, ready for a face-off.

And then Oliver was there, pushing her down, a hail of gunfire and bullets bursting out in a harsh echo through the woods.

Overhead, birds flushed out of hiding and the whole forest came alive with critters being scared away and people shouting off in the distance. The shooter pivoted and took off.

Oliver rose up to get another shot with his handgun but it hit a tree while the culprit sprinted into the thicket.

“Stay here,” he told Ava as he took off through the woods, reporting through his radio.

Ava didn’t intend to stay here. She needed to be in on this hunt. And he needed to remember she was trained for this. If he hadn’t tackled her, she might have been able to get a clear shot.

Or she could have been killed, and Roscoe right along with her.

Moving on her hands and knees, she motioned Roscoe to do the same. Together they crouched through the woods, stopping to listen and search ahead.

Her heart hammering, her pulse on overdrive, Ava scanned the perimeter around her and kept Roscoe close.

Where was Oliver? And where was the shooter?

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