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