His daughter’s been taken...

The last showdown in the Military K-9 Unit series

After relentless searching, Captain Justin Blackwood’s closing in on the Red Rose Killer. But when his daughter becomes a target, the hunt turns personal. With the help of his new partner, Captain Gretchen Hill, and his K-9, Quinn, Justin will race to save his daughter and bring down his nemesis once and for all...or die trying.

Aside from her faith and her family, there’s not much SHIRLEE McCOY enjoys more than a good book! When she’s not teaching or chauffeuring her five kids, she can usually be found plotting her next Love Inspired Suspense story or wandering around the beautiful Inland Northwest in search of inspiration. Shirlee loves to hear from readers. If you have time, drop her a line at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

Also By Shirlee McCoy

Military K-9 Unit

Valiant Defender

FBI: Special Crimes Unit

Night Stalker

Gone

Mission: Rescue

Protective Instincts

Her Christmas Guardian

Exit Strategy

Deadly Christmas Secrets

Mystery Child

The Christmas Target

Mistaken Identity

Christmas on the Run

Classified K-9 Unit

Bodyguard

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Valiant Defender

Shirlee McCoy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08648-6

VALIANT DEFENDER

© 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.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

“I need to find my daughter.” If Quinn could find a scent trail, they might be able to follow it to Boyd’s location.

“You need to slow down, Captain.”

“That’s an easy thing to say when it’s not your daughter in the hands of a serial killer,” Justin responded, regretting it immediately. He knew Gretchen cared deeply about the work she did and about the people she worked for.

“Maybe. Probably. But we have a job to do here, and the first step in that is figuring out where he took her.”

“That’s what Quinn and I are going to do. Find!” he commanded and the Malinois took off, sprinting downstairs and out the door. Sirens were blaring, lights flashing on the pavement. Backup was there, but Justin ignored everything but his K-9 partner.

* * *

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

Dear Reader,

What a blessing and joy to be able to end the Military K-9 Unit continuity! I love writing about K-9 teams, but the military angle was a new one for me. Military handlers and their dogs have a special bond, and I hope I’ve conveyed that in Valiant Defender. More important, I hope that I’ve offered you a satisfying ending to a wonderful series. Gretchen and Justin are compelling characters. Driven by their desire for justice, they pursue the Red Rose Killer with tenacity and faith. As you follow them on this journey, I pray that your faith will be strengthened and your hope renewed. Happy reading, my friend!

Blessings,

Shirlee McCoy

How excellent is thy lovingkindness, O God! therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of thy wings. They shall be abundantly satisfied with the fatness of thy house; and thou shalt make them drink of the river of thy pleasures. For with thee is the fountain of life: in thy light shall we see light.

—Psalms 36:7–9

To my continuity buddies, Dana, Laura, Lenora, Lynette, Mags, Terri and Val, with much affection and admiration. And, most especially, to Emily, who puts up with all our writing shenanigans.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

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

Justin planned to stop him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needed to be stopped.

Tonight. Not in another month or two or three.

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

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

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

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

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

Please, Lord, help me keep her safe.

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quinn shifted again, whining softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were both well-trained military police officers.

They’d both reached the rank of captain.

She was as capable as Justin.

He was still worried.

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

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

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

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

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

Portia safe.

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

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

His skin crawled, anyway.

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

“What do you think?” Gretchen asked quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had to get back to the house.

He had to find Portia.

Nothing else mattered but keeping his daughter safe.

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

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

Right now, though, she was afraid.

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

Portia had taken another route.

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

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

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

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

But she knew him.

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

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

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

Boyd Sullivan was beyond depraved.

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

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

And if he had Portia...

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

She hadn’t given up on God.

She hadn’t stopped having faith.

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

She’d believed in His goodness.

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

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

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

“I’m aware of that,” he muttered.

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

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

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

“Which failed.”

“Have you heard from her bodyguard?”

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

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

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

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

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

She knew Justin felt the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dog looked tense, and that worried Gretchen.

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

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

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

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

“What—” she began.

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

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

“Yes. Just one to the head.”

“Pulse?”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

And he wasn’t thinking clearly.

That was an easy way to get killed.

Especially when someone like Boyd Sullivan was around.

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

TWO

Quinn didn’t sense danger.

Justin was as certain of that as he was of the fact that the house was empty. He could feel it—the silence, thick and unnatural. Up until Portia had come to live with him, Justin had lived by himself. He’d been used to returning to a house that was empty and quiet. Since his daughter had arrived, things had been different, better in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He’d always been a loner. He’d never thought he needed what so many of his friends had—a wife, children, family.

He’d known, of course, that if anything happened to Melanie, Portia would live with him. They’d discussed that after the death of Melanie’s mother. That had been six or seven years ago, and Justin had been quick to agree that he would step in if Portia needed him. He and Melanie had been high school sweethearts. They hadn’t married, but he’d still cared about her. And he’d certainly wanted to be there for her and Portia. He’d obviously also wanted to be the custodial parent if something were to happen to Melanie. He just hadn’t expected it to happen. Melanie had been young and fit, health-minded and cautious. He hadn’t expected her to suddenly be gone. Portia hadn’t, either. Her mother’s death had been a shock. Being forced to move from Michigan to Texas had meant giving up everything she knew and loved.

For the first few months, they’d tiptoed around each other. Mostly silent. Uncertain. He’d been a little too eager to build a bridge between them. Portia had been resistant. Recently, though, they’d begun to relax around each other, and he’d begun to enjoy the music drifting from her room, the quick tap of her fingers on the laptop keyboard while he made dinner.

He couldn’t remember when she’d begun sitting at the kitchen table while he cooked, but he knew he enjoyed having her there. Even when he didn’t know what questions to ask or how to ask the important ones, it was nice to have a house that felt like a home. It was nice to return from work to the very real and unmistakable feeling of not being alone.

Now the house was empty, and the terror he felt at the thought of his daughter being with the Red Rose Killer stole every thought from his head. Except one: finding her.

“Portia!” he called, knowing she wouldn’t answer.

Boyd had her phone. He had her.

Justin was surprised that his voice wasn’t shaking, surprised that his legs were carrying him upstairs.

Quinn loped ahead of him, following a scent trail into a narrow hall that opened into three bedrooms and a bathroom. The Malinois beelined to Portia’s door, scratching at it with his paw.

It opened silently, swinging inward.

“Portia?” Justin repeated, stepping inside.

The room was empty.

Just like he’d expected.

Tidy. Portia liked her things neat and organized. Just like Justin. She liked an uncluttered environment. Also, like Justin. Funny how those traits had carried genetically. Melanie had been creative and disorganized, her house filled with knickknacks and art projects. The few times Justin had been there, he’d had the urge to declutter and organize.

Had Portia felt that way?

Had her bedroom at her mom’s house been as neat and tidy as this one? He hadn’t asked her. The topic had felt too fraught with emotion—a minefield he wasn’t sure either of them was ready to walk through.

“I’m sorry, Justin,” Gretchen said, stepping into the room behind him.

“This is my fault. I should have sent her somewhere safe.”

“Nowhere would be safe. Not if Boyd wanted to get his hands on her. You know that.”

He did, but that didn’t make it easier to stomach.

“And the only person at fault here is Boyd,” she continued, turning a slow circle, taking in all the details of the room. “There’s no sign of a struggle.”

“I don’t think she’d have tried to fight someone who had a gun,” he said, trying not to imagine the terror Portia must have felt, the fear that must have been in her eyes. She might be organized and meticulous like Justin, but she felt things deeply like her mother. She was a writer. Of journals. Of blogs. All the things she didn’t say, she poured into written words and sentences and paragraphs. He didn’t have to be father of the year to know that about his daughter.

“It looks like she was on her computer.” Gretchen walked to the bed, moving past Justin and Quinn. He let her lead the way, because his judgment was clouded by fear. He was a good enough officer to know that, and she was a good enough one to take control of the scene.

He’d noticed the laptop, and now he noticed a note taped to it as he approached the bed. He could read it easily, the words printed in bold red ink: Now the formerly anonymous blogger of CAFB will really have something to write about.

“I need to find her.” He called for Quinn, planning to run outside. If Quinn could find a scent trail, they might be able to follow it to Boyd’s location.

“You need to slow down, Justin.”

“That’s an easy thing to say when it’s not your daughter in the hands of a serial killer,” he responded, regretting it immediately. He knew Gretchen cared deeply about the work she did and about the people she worked for. She took the job as seriously as he did, and she was as eager as he was to find and stop Boyd.

“Maybe. Probably. But we have a job to do here, and the first step in that is figuring out where he took her.”

“That’s what Quinn and I are going to do.”

“Find!” he commanded, and the Malinois took off, sprinting downstairs and out the door. Sirens were blaring, lights flashing on the pavement. Backup had arrived, but Justin ignored everything but his K-9 partner.

Please, God, don’t let it be too late for Portia, he begged silently as he followed Quinn around the side of the house and across the backyard. The night was cool, the moon high, and he could see Quinn easily, loping toward the woods at the edge of the yard. Confident, excited, tail up, ears alert, nose dropping to the ground every few yards.

The scent trail was fresh.

They were right on the heels of Boyd and Portia. With a dog as well trained as Quinn, it would be easy to overtake them. Portia would be moving slowly. At least, he thought she would be. She’d be dragging her feet, trying to slow progress, because she was smart, and she’d know just how much she could push before Boyd reacted.

That was what Justin was telling himself.

He didn’t know if it was true.

Sure, his daughter was smart—an A student who excelled at both math and English—but their bond was still tenuous and new, their knowledge of each other limited, and he really had no idea how she’d react to being kidnapped.

They reached the tree line, and Quinn trailed back toward Justin, then circled around a place where the grass seemed to have been smashed down and trampled.

“Looks like someone fell,” Gretchen said, flashing her light on the spot. He hadn’t expected her to stay at the house and wasn’t surprised that she’d followed him. Her methods of approaching crime scenes were spot-on. She’d been an MP for six of her nearly eight years in the air force. He’d seen her military record. She was well-known for her dedication and professionalism, and he’d seen both during her time at Canyon Air Force Base.

Right now, though, he didn’t want to spend time discussing the crime scene or working out the details of a plan. He wanted to find his daughter.

“You know that you can’t approach this any differently than you would if we were searching for someone else’s child,” she added, as if she’d read his thoughts and knew exactly what he intended.

“Kidnapped child,” he replied, but she was right. If he were searching for anyone other than Portia, he’d be meticulous as he surveyed the scene, approaching the situation logically rather than running on emotion and adrenaline.

He frowned.

Gretchen was right. He needed to slow down. He also needed to start thinking like a military police officer rather than a panicked father.

“But your comment is noted. I need to approach this like I would if it were any other case.”

“Do you think she fell on purpose?” Gretchen asked, her light dancing over the crushed grass and darting toward the woods that stretched out beyond his yard.

“Maybe. Portia knows what he’s capable of. She might have been trying to slow him down so that Quinn and I could catch up.”

“Smart girl,” she murmured, meeting his eyes. Hers were a dark rich chocolate, her features delicate and pretty. With her height and slim build, she wouldn’t have been out of place on a fashion runway. A few weeks ago, a drunken airman had made the mistake of underestimating her. She’d been trying to arrest him for disorderly conduct, and he’d taken a swing at her, laughing about how he wasn’t going to be taken down by a pretty little girl.

Seconds later, he’d been on the ground and in cuffs.

“Not so smart when she decided to blog about the Red Rose Killer,” Justin said, “but in every other area, she seems to have a good mind. Let’s hope she’s slowed him down enough for us to catch them.”

“He’s going to be expecting us to use Quinn. You know that, right? He’ll be watching, making sure that we’re not coming up from behind.”

“We don’t have any other option,” he said, watching as Quinn nosed the ground near an old spruce.

“What did he say in his text?” she asked.

“That he had her, and he’d give me three guesses as to where they were.”

“So, he thinks you’ll know where he’s taking her.”

“He likes to play games. You know that, Gretchen.”

“You two have a history together. I know he was here before he was dishonorably discharged. Did you have any run-ins with him? Maybe something happened in a particular location that stuck out in his mind?”

“We had plenty of run-ins. I was beginning as an MP. He was a cocky, insubordinate bully.”

“You had a high opinion of him even then, huh?”

“I don’t have time for a trip down memory lane.”

“You don’t have time not to take the trip. He said he’d give you three guesses. He must think you’ll be able to find him. It’s what he wants, right? Not Portia. You.”

She was right. Again.

“Right. We had a few run-ins. He was in a couple of fistfights with weaker recruits, and I broke things up. I caught him drinking once when he should have been in the barracks, and I wrote him up for that. I’m sure he can remember more incidents than that. He’s proven his memory and his ability to hold a grudge.”

“Is there any particular incident that stands out? Maybe one that got him into more trouble than any other. Or had the potential to.”

There was. He hadn’t thought about it in years, but his last run-in with Boyd had led to an investigation into his conduct. Eventually, his commanding officer had filed a complaint of insubordination because of Boyd’s attitude and inability to take orders. That had led to his dishonorable discharge, but Boyd had always blamed Justin.

“Yes,” he responded. “I caught him torturing a puppy once. He had free time on a weekend. I happened to be off duty and was hiking in the woods on base. I heard something yowling, and I followed the sound, thinking that maybe a fox or coyote had gotten itself into trouble. There’s a cabin about a mile from here. Hidden in the woods.”

“I’ve been there,” she said. He wasn’t surprised. The cabin had been on the property before the base existed. A hunting cabin or a rustic home built in the early 1900s, it had been left standing by the air force and was sometimes used as a hiding place during K-9 scent training.

“The sound was coming from there. I wasn’t trying to be quiet when I approached. I figured if there was an animal that wanted to get out before I arrived, I’d rather have it gone. Boyd walked out the door as I was crossing the clearing. He had a knife in a sheath on his thigh, and for a couple of seconds, I thought he might pull it on me. I asked what was going on, and he said he’d found a dog trapped in the chimney and freed it. He walked away. I went in the cabin, and found the German shepherd puppy. He was really young. Maybe nine or ten weeks old.”

“Was it dead?”

“No. His fur was singed, though. Like someone had been holding a match to it. I had no idea how he’d gotten there, and I still don’t. I brought him to the base vet and found out the poor guy had a broken hind leg and a couple of cracked ribs. He survived, and I fostered him until he was able to go into our working dogs training program. Scout is now one of the best German shepherds on the team, one of the four superstar K-9s. Or he was until Boyd released the dogs.”

“Scout is one of the three still missing?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I’m assuming you turned Boyd in to your commanding officer after you found Scout?”

“Yes. He said nothing could be done without proof. I wasn’t satisfied with that. A guy who’d hurt an animal is just as likely to hurt a human being. I went to Boyd’s commander and told him the story. Boyd already had a history of insubordination. A couple of days later, he was dishonorably discharged.”

“And he blames you.”

“He blames everyone but himself,” he responded, his mind on that day and the cabin, his thoughts suddenly clear. “The cabin has to be where he took her.”

“That makes sense. So, how are we going to approach it? He’s probably waiting to ambush you. Based on his history, I doubt he’s going to give you a chance to strike. He’ll be expecting Quinn to move in first—an early-warning system for him. Maybe we hold Quinn back?”

“We aren’t going to do anything. You’re going to stay here and inform backup.”

“Backup is on the way and radios work well. I’ll call in the information, but I think you know I’m not standing down.”

He did, but he’d had to try. He’d lost a partner before. That was a loss he never wanted to experience again.

He glanced back the way they’d come and could see lights dancing along the ground as Security Forces officers headed toward the edge of the property. He could wait for them, but had to get to the cabin. He knew how long it would take to get there.

He knew that Portia was waiting for him to arrive. That she was scared and in danger.

That was all he could think about. All he could focus on.

He shrugged his agreement, hooked Quinn to his leash and stepped into the forest.

She was moving slowly, following Justin and Quinn as they wound their way into the woods. What Gretchen wanted to do was run. She’d been to the cabin a few times, and she had an excellent sense of direction. Probably thanks to her parents’ deep love for adventure, she’d learned young how to find her way through the wilderness. The moon was high, the stars bright. She could navigate using the sky, and she could move a lot more quickly while she was doing it.

Justin seemed content to walk at a steady reasonable pace, Quinn on the leash beside him.

“We’re not that far from the cabin, are we?” she asked quietly, searching the moonlit forest for landmarks.

“Less than two miles.”

“So it wouldn’t have been difficult for Boyd to get Portia there.”

“Not difficult, but not easy, either. Not if Portia was trying to slow him down. This forest can be hard to navigate during the day. At night, it’s more challenging.”

“I’m sure he had the route timed and took into consideration his kidnapping vi—Portia.”

“Victim. You can call her what she is. Let’s just make sure she stays a kidnapping victim and nothing more.”

Quinn pranced a few feet ahead, his tail and ears up, his nose to the ground.

“It looks like Quinn is on Sullivan’s trail,” she commented.

Justin nodded. “His or Portia’s.”

“What’s the plan for when we reach the cabin?”

“We keep Portia and ourselves alive and apprehend Sullivan.”

“I was hoping for a few more details.”

“We’ll assess things when we get there.”

She would prefer to assess things now.

She liked to know what she was going into and how she was going to get out of it. Not just in work. In life.

She’d enjoyed working with Justin these past few months because he was the same. Careful. Methodical.

“I think we’d be better off stopping for a couple of minutes and coming up with a solid plan about how we’re going to approach the cabin. Boyd Sullivan is—”

“I know what he is.” He stopped suddenly, and she realized that Quinn had stopped, too. The dog was just a few feet ahead, stiff and alert, staring through thick undergrowth.

“What does he see?” she whispered.

“The cabin.”

“Where?” She moved closer, stepping up beside Justin. He was taller than her by several inches. That had surprised her when she’d met him. She was used to being eye to eye with her male coworkers.

He pointed but didn’t speak, his arm brushing hers, the fabric of his uniform rasping quietly. The forest had gone silent except for the distant sounds of backup moving through the woods. She’d spent enough time outside at night to know what she should be hearing. Animals scurrying through the trees. Deer picking their way through the forest. The rustle and sigh of leaves as predatory birds searched for prey.

Moonlight filtered through the thick tree canopy, bathing the world in its green-gray glow. Tall evergreens and shorter, thicker oaks stood as silent sentinels, guarding a clearing that Gretchen could just see through the foliage.

The cabin was there. Four walls. A thatched roof. Empty holes where windows and doors had once been. She couldn’t see the details—just the right angles of the old exterior walls—but she’d explored the woods and seen the cabin. She’d also been on training exercises with K-9 puppies. She could picture the building—its size and shape and access points for the interior. It would be easy to get inside, but not as easy to do so undetected.

“This way,” Justin said, his words more breath than sound.

He led the way through the undergrowth, bypassing the thickest sections. Quinn moved silently in front of them, disappearing for a few seconds, then reappearing. He didn’t need to be commanded to remain quiet. He’d been trained well. He knew his job and seemed to have endless enthusiasm for it.

He stopped at the edge of an overgrown clearing, moonlight glinting in his tan fur, scruff raised, ears forward and down. He sensed danger, and he was letting Justin know it.

Gretchen tensed, eyeing the clearing and the old cabin that sat in the center of it. She could see it plainly now. That meant anyone inside could possibly see them.

Light danced across a window opening, disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

“He’s there,” Justin muttered as if it had ever been a question in either of their minds.

She grabbed his arm, pulling him back a few steps. “You aren’t planning to step out into that clearing, are you? Because if we can see the cabin, anyone in it can see us.”

“My daughter is in there,” he responded.

That didn’t answer the question.

It didn’t make her feel any better about the situation.

“I’m aware of that,” she replied, keeping a tight grip on his arm. “If he takes you out before you reach the cabin, what’s going to happen to Portia?”

“If he takes me out, it’ll ruin the game. Sullivan isn’t about that. He wants to see my face and know that he’s got me where he wants me—scared and helpless.”

“You’re not either of those things.”

“I’m not one of those things, but let him think what he wants. It’ll keep me alive until I can free Portia.”

“Until? What about after?” she whispered, but he pulled away, breaking her grip easily.

“Stay here and stay hidden. He’s got nothing to lose by taking you out.”

He stepped into the clearing with Quinn, and she almost followed.

But Justin was right.

Sullivan had no grudge against her, no game he wanted to play with her. He had no reason to want to watch her suffer. If she stepped out into the clearing, the first bullet he fired would be at her.

He’d save the next for Quinn. Then Portia.

Finally, after he took everything Justin cared about, he’d kill him.

She slipped back into the woods, skirting around the clearing, listening to the eerie silence and the wild beat of her heart. She wasn’t afraid for herself. She was terrified for Justin and for Portia. Boyd Sullivan had come to Canyon Air Force Base to seek vengeance for perceived wrongs, and Justin was probably at the top of the list of people he wanted to destroy. The fact that Portia was in danger seemed to be clouding Justin’s judgment, and clouded judgment could easily get a law enforcement officer killed. Especially in a situation like this.

She stepped out of the woods near the back of the cabin and moved silently across the clearing. She could hear Justin moving on the other side of the building, his footsteps crunching on dead leaves and twigs. He wasn’t trying to be quiet. He probably figured there was no reason. Boyd knew he was coming but had no idea Gretchen was there, too.

She’d use that to her advantage.

She crept close to the light-colored log walls of the cabin. There’d been two windows cut into the facade, and she approached one, freezing as she saw the flashlight beam sweep across one of the openings and then the other.

“I know you’re out there,” a man called in a singsong voice that made her blood run cold.

For a moment, she thought she’d been seen, that somehow Boyd had realized Justin wasn’t alone.

She dropped to her stomach, her left side pressed close to the cabin, her right arm free to pull her service weapon.

“Blackwood!” the man continued. “Move a little faster, or your little girl is going to die.”

“Dad! No!” Portia called, her voice wobbly with tears. “He’s going to shoot you!”

“Shut up!” Boyd yelled in response, the quick hard crack of flesh against flesh ringing through the night.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and then the soft pad of feet on the ground. Justin was moving again, and Gretchen wasn’t going to let him go into the situation alone. She crept toward the window, staying low to the ground as she moved toward the old cabin, the sound of Portia’s terror still ringing in her ears.

THREE

Justin had spent most of his adult life keeping his anger in check. His father had been a raging alcoholic with a mean and violent temper. The day Justin had left home for basic training, he’d vowed he’d be a better man. He liked to think he had been. He’d avoided the trap of alcohol and anger. He’d treated people with empathy and kindness. Even on the job, even with known criminals, he’d focused on justice rather than revenge.

Right now, though, he wanted to drag Boyd from the cabin and make him pay for putting his hands on Portia.

His muscles were tight with anger and tension, his movement stiff as he approached a gaping hole that had once been a door.

“Leave the dog outside, Blackwood,” Boyd commanded.

Boyd thought he had the upper hand, and he seemed happy to let the game play out for a while longer. That was fine by Justin. He could hear Security Forces officers moving through the woods. It wouldn’t be long before the cabin was surrounded.

“Down,” he commanded, and Quinn dropped to his belly, growling deep in his throat as he eyed the doorway.

“Good boy,” Boyd said, laughing coldly. “You. Not the dog, Blackwood.”

If he wanted to get a rise out of Justin, he was going to be disappointed. Having his judgment clouded by emotion wasn’t going to help him get Portia out of this situation alive. That was his goal, his mission and his focus. Boyd’s games were incidental.

“Nothing to say to that?” Boyd taunted. “I guess you’re not as big a man as you pretended to be when I was in basic training.”

“Let Portia go,” Justin responded, ignoring the taunt. “She’s a child.”

“She’s a teenager. One who likes to post junk on the internet she knows nothing about.”

“I’m sorry,” Portia said. “I shouldn’t have written any of those things about you, Mr. Sullivan.”

“Do you think an apology is going to save your dad?” Boyd replied.

“I just—”

“It’s not!” Boyd snapped. “Me and your dad go way back, and there’s nothing good between us.”

“I’m sorry,” Portia repeated, and Justin wondered if she was trying to keep Boyd’s focus away from him.

“Shut up! Blackwood, get in here!”

Justin stepped across the threshold and into the cabin’s main room. Decades ago, the place may have been someone’s home. Now it was nothing more than a carcass made of old logs. In addition to the missing windows, the door and part of the roof were missing. Moonlight illuminated the interior, and he could see Portia sitting on the ground a few feet away. Her face was pale, her hair falling across her cheeks. She looked more like Melanie than she did Justin—her build delicate, her cheekbones high.

Boyd stood beside her, tall and lean, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. He had a gun in his right hand and a flashlight jutting from his jacket pocket. If he were worried about being captured, he wasn’t showing it.

“Well, well,” he said. “Here we are. Finally face-to-face. After all these years, you probably thought you were going to get away with what you did to me.”

“I don’t recall doing anything,” Justin responded, taking a step in Portia’s direction.

“Don’t,” Boyd said, his voice cold with rage. “I would hate to kill your daughter before the party even got started.”

“This isn’t the kind of party I like,” Portia said, and Boyd’s gaze cut to her.

“No one asked you, Ms. Bigmouthed Blogger.”

“If that’s the best insult you can come up with—”

“That’s enough, Portia.” Justin cut in before she could say more. Goading Boyd would only anger him, and right now, Justin wanted things to stay calm.

“Good call, Blackwood. Now, how about we all take a little walk?” He grabbed Portia’s arm and dragged her to her feet.

To her credit, she didn’t resist, and she didn’t cry out.

She looked terrified, though—her eyes wide and filled with fear.

“It’s going to be okay, Portia,” Justin said.

Boyd laughed. “That depends on what side of the gun you’re standing on. Speaking of which...” He lifted his gun and pressed it to Portia’s temple. “What’s it feel like to come face-to-face with the guy you called inept, blogger-girl? Do you still think I’m stupid?”

Justin’s heart stopped.

He stared into Portia’s eyes, trying to convey a sense of control and comfort that he didn’t feel. Trying to discourage her from giving a flip teenage response.

Boyd could and would pull the trigger.

He’d done it before.

“Let her go, Boyd,” Justin said, keeping his voice calm. He didn’t want to escalate things.

“You don’t call the shots anymore, Blackwood.” Boyd chuckled, the pistol easing away from Portia’s temple but still aimed at her. “Get it? Call the shots? You’re not laughing. I guess you’re as boring and uptight as ever. Man, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Not long enough.”

“I disagree. I’d have been happy to take you out months ago. I should have thought about her before now.” He jabbed the gun closer to Portia. “Seems you’ll do anything to keep your kid alive.”

“I will,” Justin agreed, and Portia shook her head.

“Dad—”

“This is a grown-up conversation, blogger-girl,” Boyd growled. “You keep your mouth shut. Where’s the dog, Blackwood? We’re leaving, and I don’t want him coming at me when we step outside.”

“He won’t bother you.” Not until Justin called him. Once he did, Quinn would be on Boyd like a missile—quick and deadly accurate.

“He’d better not. Your daughter’s life depends on it. She sure is a pretty little thing.” He flicked Portia’s hair with the muzzle of his pistol, chuckling when she flinched.

“She’s a kid. A little girl,” Justin said, his voice gritty with banked anger.

“A teenager who knows her way around a computer. Not a kid. I don’t kill kids,” Boyd spit. “But I do kill annoyances, and you’re both that.”

“She wrote a few anonymous blog posts. What’s that matter to a guy like you?”

“It matters. It all matters.” The gun swung toward Justin and then back in Portia’s direction. “You did this, Blackwood. You did all of it. I might have pulled the trigger and fired at those people, but you called the shots. Do you regret it? Do you have any remorse?”

“Maybe if you tell me what I did—”

“You know what you did! I would have done just fine in basic training. I would have excelled. I would have been top of the class. Except for you.”

“I don’t like bullies, Boyd. I don’t let them prey on people weaker than they are. I don’t allow them to hurt defenseless animals.”

“Everyone there was weaker. That wasn’t my fault. I was taking my rightful place as the leader of the pack. You work with dogs. You should understand how that goes. And as for that puppy, I didn’t do anything but save his life, and look at him now—one of the top dogs on your team.” The pistol was slipping again, the muzzle dropping.

Portia noticed. She met Justin’s eyes, shaking her head slightly. He knew the message she was sending him silently. She didn’t want him to act, didn’t want him to try to disarm Boyd, but that was the only way to save her.

“He was. Now he’s missing. Thanks to you.”

“Right. Consequences stink, don’t they?” He grinned.

“I guess you’d know about that more than I would. You were insubordinate in basic training, and you got a dishonorable discharge. You went home and killed five people, and then got sent to federal prison. You escaped and started killing again, and you’re going to be thrown in prison again,” Justin said, purposely riling him up, getting him angry, trying to keep him from thinking, from noticing that Justin was edging nearer.

A few more steps, and he’d be close enough to lunge for the weapon.

“I’m not going back to prison, Blackwood,” Boyd said coldly. “Men like me never do.”

“Like you? You think you’re too smart to get caught?” he asked, taking another step forward. “You made a mistake tonight. You should have come after me and left Portia alone.”

“I don’t make mistakes!” he screamed. The gun moved, and for a split second, Justin thought he’d won, that Boyd would release his hold on Portia and go after him.

But as quickly as Boyd’s anger appeared, it was gone.

“Good try, Blackwood,” he said. “But I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Maybe you could explain it to me?”

“Put your gun on the ground. Now. And do it slowly. You so much as make me think you’re taking aim, and I kill your daughter.”

Justin played along, taking his handgun from its holster and setting it on the floor.

Something moved in the window behind Boyd, a flurry of shadows that coalesced into a figure climbing silently through the opening. Slim. Tall. Graceful and quick.

He had about two seconds to realize it was Gretchen.

He wanted to tell her to stop, but it was too late.

Boyd must have sensed her presence. He swung around, firing a shot almost blindly.

Justin grabbed Portia, yanking her away and thrusting her through the doorway, shouting for Quinn.

The dog was there, snarling and snapping, rushing toward Boyd, who still had his gun in hand.

“Call him off or she dies,” he yelled shrilly, his firearm aimed at Gretchen.

She lay still.

Stunned or injured or afraid to move.

“Quinn, off!” Justin shouted, and the dog backed off, still growling, still snarling. Unhappy to have been called off his prize.

Justin moved toward Gretchen, freezing when Boyd dragged her to her feet and pressed the gun into her side. She was a rag doll, limp and helpless in his grip.

“Don’t move,” Boyd commanded. “Don’t even breathe.”

The world went silent.

Not a breath of sound.

And then chaos reigned again. Gretchen moved suddenly, thrusting her hand under Boyd’s chin, slamming her elbow into his gut. The firearm discharged, the bullet slamming into the dirt floor.

Boyd backhanded Gretchen, propelling her toward Justin.

He caught her, lowering her to the ground and grabbing his gun at his feet. He came up and fired a shot as Boyd jumped through the window. He wanted to follow, but Gretchen was injured and Portia was standing in the doorway, her soft sobs filling the cabin. Obviously, she’d been too terrified to make a run for it. He didn’t dare leave them alone. Not with Boyd on the loose.

“It’s okay, Portia,” he said quietly, holstering his weapon. “He’s gone.”

She’d been shot. That was Gretchen’s first thought. Her second thought was that Boyd Sullivan was escaping. She pushed herself to her knees, surprised when someone took her arm, holding her steady as she got to her feet.

Not someone.

Justin.

He’d shrugged out of his jacket and was pressing it to her shoulder. She brushed it away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding a lot, Gretchen,” Portia said, hovering a few steps away, her eyes wide with fear, her face pale.

“You call this bleeding?” She scoffed, offering the teen an encouraging smile. “You should have seen me when I fell out of the tree my brothers dared me to climb. I hit my head on the way down and bled so much they thought I was dead.”

“You have brothers?” Justin asked, pulling the fabric of her jacket and shirt away so he could see the wound. The bullet had grazed her upper arm, and dark blood bubbled from the wound. She didn’t feel any pain. All she felt was anger. That Boyd had struck again. That a man was dead. That a teenager had been terrorized. That a man who killed indiscriminately was escaping again.

“I have four brothers.” She brushed Justin’s hand away. “Stop fussing. I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. If fine is having a bullet take a chunk out of your upper arm,” he responded, pressing his jacket to the wound to try to stanch the bleeding.

She felt that. The pressure on the open wound made her grimace, but she wasn’t going to admit that she was in pain. She brushed his hand away again. “The bleeding has almost stopped, and Boyd needs to be captured. Take Quinn and go after him. I’ll watch Portia until backup arrives.”

He hesitated, and she knew he was torn. He didn’t want to leave his daughter, but he knew how important it was to apprehend Boyd.

“I’ll make sure Portia is okay, Justin. I promise,” she assured him.

“It’s not just her I’m worried about,” he replied, but he’d moved to the window Boyd had escaped through. “You’re pale and still bleeding. You probably need stitches.”

“I can get stitches with or without you nearby.”

“Dad, please don’t go,” Portia cut in, grabbing Justin’s arm as he leaned out the window opening.

“Portia, he needs to be stopped. Tonight. Before he hurts anyone else. Gretchen will make sure you’re okay—”

“I’m not worried about me,” the teen protested. “I’m worried about you.”

“Your dad is going to be okay, too,” Gretchen said, putting a hand on Portia’s shoulder and wishing she were better at this part of the job. She’d gone into military police work because she’d believed in justice, and because it had seemed like the thing to do. Her father had worked as an MP until he’d retired. All four of her brothers were military police officers, and from the time she was old enough to remember, she’d wanted to follow in their footsteps. She’d been the youngest by nine years. A surprise that had pleased her parents and her brothers. She’d been encouraged to pursue her dreams, and military life had been the only one she’d had.

Until Henry.

He’d made her want the things she’d written about in her adolescent diary—love and romance and forever. By the time she and Henry met at an on-base church, she’d already established herself as a tough no-nonsense military police officer. Tough was a necessity when you were a woman in a man’s world. Showing empathy, sympathy and sorrow were not. Henry had appreciated that. He’d been Airman Second Class, back from Afghanistan and training new recruits. They’d hit it off immediately.

If things had worked out, Henry would have finished out his final year in the military and then applied to the FBI. Gretchen would have spent another four years working and then left the air force to start a family with him.

But things hadn’t worked out.

And now she was in an old cabin in the middle of the woods with a teenager who needed the kind of nurturing support Gretchen hadn’t had any practice with.

Portia still had Justin’s arm, her eyes dark in her pale face. “Dad! Really! You can’t go after him. He wants to kill you.”

“Gretchen is right. I’m going to be fine. Quinn is smart and quick, and he always has my back.”

“He’s a dog, and he can’t stop a bullet. You know Boyd Sullivan will shoot you as soon as he gets a chance.”

“I’m not going to give him a chance,” Justin assured her.

“That’s what you think is going to happen, but you can’t know for sure that you can stop him. Look what happened to Mom. She was going to work. Just like she did every Wednesday night. She should have made it home, and she didn’t.” Portia swiped at a tear that was sliding down her cheek, and Gretchen wanted to pull her close, tell her again that everything was going to be okay. That her father would return. That Boyd would be caught. That life would go on, and that she’d continue on with it. That, one day, she’d think of her mother, and she’d be happier for the times they’d had than sad for the times they’d missed.

But those were big concepts. Difficult ones.

Gretchen was nearly thirty, and she struggled to accept her loss. Even four years after his death, she missed Henry and what they’d planned together.

Portia was a kid.

One who’d lost her mother. It wasn’t surprising that she was terrified of losing her father.

“I wish I could stay here with you,” Justin said, pulling Portia in for a hug.

She went stiff, her arms down at her sides.

“If you really wished it, you’d stay,” she muttered.

“I have a job to do, Portia. And if I don’t do it, you’ll never be safe.” He stepped back, his voice as stiff as Portia’s hug had been.

“If you die it’s going to be my fault. Just like—” She stopped and stepped back, her expression tight and guarded.

“Just like what?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She was lying. Gretchen didn’t know much about teenagers, but she knew a lie when she heard one.

Justin hesitated, staring into his daughter’s eyes as if he could find the secret she was keeping.

Outside, a dog barked and dry leaves crackled. Lights bounced across the clearing. Help had arrived. Finally.

“I need to go,” Justin said. “We’ll discuss how none of this is your fault later. Stay with Gretchen. Do whatever she tells you without arguing.”

“But—”

“It really is going to be okay, Portia,” he said, and then he issued a command to Quinn, waited for the Malinois to bound through the window and follow him. He had to find Boyd. He had to stop him.

Tonight.

Before he had the chance to hurt anyone else.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.