coming for you.’”
The ominous words reverberated through Felicity, burning an acidic trail along her veins. There was no doubt who wrote the note. Boyd Sullivan. The Red Rose Killer.
“The crime-scene unit will dust the mailbox for prints,” Ian told her as he placed the note in a separate evidence bag. “But doubtful Sullivan was dumb enough to leave any behind.”
Boyd may have been a hothead and full of himself, but he’d been smart. The first time he’d gone on a rampage he’d evaded capture longer than anyone thought he would. A tremor of anxiety worked its way over her skin.
Once Ian had the rose and note stowed away, he said to her, “How are you holding up? Your father was a good man and my friend.”
Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them back, along with the sharp pang of grief. “I’m managing.”
He nodded, compassion softening the lines in his face. “This doesn’t help. You are to come to base command with me.”
“But the dogs?” Her priority—her job—was finding the canines and returning them to their kennels safely.
“I’m sure Master Sergeant James and Tech Sergeant Colson can handle the dogs,” Ian stated firmly. “Lieutenant General Hall wants anyone with a connection to Boyd brought to base command.”
She glanced at Westley. He gave her a slight nod.
Linc stepped up. “Actually, sir, Lieutenant General Hall would like Master Sergeant James to return to base command, as well. But we’ll take the dog to the center first.”
Felicity climbed in the passenger side of Ian’s SUV as Westley and Tiger followed Linc and Star to the other vehicle. They drove away while Ian and Felicity waited until the crime-scene-unit techs arrived and took possession of the rose and note.
As Ian drove them to the northwest end of base, he asked, “Do you know what your father was working on prior to his death?”
Startled by the question, she shook her head. “He never divulged his cases to me.”
Ian remained silent for a moment. “Do you believe his death was an accident?”
She stared at his profile. “He fell off a ladder cleaning the gutters of the house.”
Yet even as the words left her mouth, the nagging thought she’d had since the moment she’d seen her father lying on the ground roared to the surface.
Graham Monroe had been an extremely cautious man. He would never have gone on the sloped roof without either someone holding the ladder, or without hooking a safety harness to the metal rung he’d attached to the roof. So why hadn’t he tied off to protect himself from falling that fateful day?
Dread filled her. “Are you telling me my father’s death wasn’t an accident?”
Had her father been murdered?
“Dude, what were you thinking?”
Linc’s pointed question stabbed at Westley. They were friends so Westley didn’t take exception to the tone or the probing. Taking Felicity into his arms was a huge slip in judgment. He knew the rules. Fraternization with a subordinate could get him and her bounced out of the air force.
A stupid move.
But in that moment, she’d looked so vulnerable he couldn’t stop himself from comforting her. The fact that she’d felt so right snuggled against his chest burned a hole through his heart.
She fit him...they fit together—just as he’d imagined.
For the past six months, ever since she’d walked into the training center as a newly promoted staff sergeant, her blue-green eyes sparkling and her infectious grin shining like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, he’d been struggling with his attraction for the rookie K-9 trainer.
It had to stop.
Hadn’t he been telling himself that every day he worked with Felicity? Yes. And every night when she would slip into his dreams.
He didn’t understand it.
Not liking her should have been easy.
She was so annoyingly optimistic and bubbly. Her rookie mistakes sent his blood pressure skyrocketing and her ability to calm the dogs, though surprising and admirable, grated. Which made no sense at all.
The dogs trusted her from the get-go. And that fact told him about the type of person she was. The dogs sensed her kindness, trustworthiness and gentleness. But letting himself show any emotion regarding the rookie trainer was out of the question.
He’d even been harder on her than anyone else so no one would think he liked her. But that had only upset her, and in return made him angry at himself. He couldn’t win.
All those things made his lapse in judgment minutes ago that much worse. And he had no reasonable explanation for taking her into his arms.
He had no room in his life for her. Period. He wasn’t interested in forming any type of emotional bonds. He learned not to growing up, because ties only break and when they do they hurt.
He cast his eyes down, not knowing how to answer. Before he could, the tech sergeant spoke again. “Leaving the debriefing without permission wasn’t cool, man,” he said.
Oh. That. Yeah, the base commander, Lieutenant General Hall, and Captain Justin Blackwood, Westley’s supervisor, would no doubt chew him up and spit him out with a reprimand. Westley sent Linc a sidelong glance. Did that mean Linc hadn’t witnessed the embrace between Westley and Felicity?
He blew out a breath of relief.
If Felicity hadn’t stepped back when she had, they’d both be in deep hot water.
“I wasn’t thinking,” he admitted to his friend. He ran a hand through his hair. “When I heard Felicity’s name called off that list of Boyd Sullivan’s potential targets, all I could think of was getting to her.”
He couldn’t let another person he was responsible for be hurt. Not after losing two last night.
“Excuse me?” Linc shook his head. “I don’t think I want to have heard you right.”
“She was supposed to be on duty last night, but she and Tamara swapped shifts.”
Linc’s eyes widened with understanding. “I see. Make sure you tell Lieutenant General Hall.”
Westley barked out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. I will.”
And he’d also have to find a way to protect Felicity and, in doing so, keep them both out of trouble.
* * *
As Ian brought the SUV to a halt in a parking spot in front of the base-command offices, Felicity stared at him. Her heart pounded in her chest as the implications bounced around her mind. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you think my father’s death wasn’t an accident?”
“There’s no evidence to suggest foul play. But the timing seemed odd,” Ian admitted as he turned to face her. His eyes were troubled. “Your dad was working on a case that was highly sensitive, but we can’t find his case notes or his laptop.”
Anxiety slammed against her ribs. “His office was packed up and brought to the house, but I didn’t see any files or his computer.”
She thought back to the box that had held pictures of her, chronicling her life from a young, gap-toothed kid to her official BMT graduation photo in her dress blues. There were the many photographs she’d taken over the years with her beloved professional-grade camera and gifted to her father to decorate his office. And, of course, all of his framed awards and certificates, a custom-made penholder and other paraphernalia that wasn’t worth much beyond