“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?”
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