“She’s one of the sixty.”
“No way!” Westley couldn’t believe it. “Glory is a rock star. She’d come when called.”
“I know. I don’t get it,” Caleb said. “Liberty, Patriot and Scout are missing, too.”
“That’s just weird.” And worrisome. Westley rubbed the back of his neck, where tension had taken up residence. The four German shepherds were superstars in the making and very valuable to the military. They should have been easily recalled. He hoped and prayed they weren’t hurt, or worse. Anxiety ate at his gut.
His gaze collided with the dark eyes of an all-black German shepherd named Dakota. A measure of relief eased some of the pressure knotting his muscles. Dakota was a good candidate for Felicity. The mature, multipurpose dog excelled in his training and had a good balance of aggression and excitability that was needed for patrol work. He’d been deployed with his handler on two missions overseas before coming back to the training center to be paired with a new handler after his handler had been injured. “You’ll do nicely, Dakota.”
The dog perked up hearing his name. Grabbing a lead, Westley released the dog from his kennel and latched the lead to his black collar. The dog was a two-year-old veteran well trained in protection. Westley was confident that Dakota would keep Felicity safe.
Westley explained to Caleb the situation of the Red Rose Killer and Westley’s detail to Felicity’s protection.
“Man, that’s rough,” the other trainer said. “What can I do to help?”
“I need you to take over the day-to-day tasks while I’m on this detail.”
Caleb’s blue eyes grew wide. “You got it.”
Surprisingly, Westley didn’t mind giving up control of the program. It was only temporary and he knew the dogs would be in capable hands. Taking Dakota with him, he went to find Felicity, who was talking with base reporter Lieutenant Heidi Jenks in the training center break room.
He saluted the officer while Dakota sat at attention.
“At ease,” Heidi said as she returned the salute.
Turning his gaze on Felicity, he hoped she hadn’t given away any details. “What’s going on?”
Felicity smiled easily. “Just chatting. Do you know Heidi? She’s my neighbor.”
“Only by reputation,” he replied.
Pushing back her long blond hair, Heidi said, “I was hoping you all could tell me about the missing dogs and the two trainers who were murdered here last night.”
“No comment,” Westley replied. “Felicity, we need to go.”
Heidi scrambled from her chair. “Wait. Give me something. Do you have any info on Chief Master Sergeant Lockwood’s murder?”
“Sorry, Lieutenant. You’ll have to contact the base commander for information.” He gripped Felicity by the elbow and hurried her out of the center. Once they were away from the reporter, he said, “What did you tell her?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “I know better than that. My dad was OSI, you know.”
“Right.” He took his cell phone from his pocket and sent a text to the training staff telling them Caleb would be in charge and not to talk to the press.
“I thought you said Glory was the dog for me,” Felicity said, petting Dakota. “Not that I’m complaining. I like this guy a lot.”
Westley relayed what Caleb had told him as they hurried toward base housing.
“I have to believe we’ll find the dogs,” she said, though a thread of anxiety wove through her tone.
“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” he replied.
“Is that a bad thing?”
He shrugged. “It leaves you open to disappointment.”
“Maybe. But if I go around expecting disappointment then I’m sure to find it.”
He marveled at the way her brain worked.
“Would you mind if we say a prayer for the dogs’ safety?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.
“Be my guest,” he said. He’d like to think God would hear and deliver on their request. Maybe he would for Felicity.
She bowed her head. “Lord God, please watch over the missing dogs and bring them back safely. Watch over the whole base, Lord. Keep everyone safe from Boyd Sullivan. Amen.”
“Amen,” he mumbled.
When they reached her house, crime-scene tape fluttered around the mailbox, slamming home the reminder of the danger lurking on base.
Before Felicity could step inside, Westley halted her with a hand on her shoulder. “Let Dakota go first.” If the Red Rose Killer was waiting inside, the dog would alert.
He unhooked the lead from the dog’s collar. “Search,” Westley told Dakota.
The dog went inside. Westley tensed, waiting for some sign of alert to trouble. A few moments later, Dakota returned without alerting.
“It’s safe,” Westley said.
Felicity stepped inside and let out an audible gasp.
Westley followed her, taking in the disarray of the living room. Either she was a messy housekeeper or someone had ransacked her house.
Felicity clenched her fists at her sides, taking in the damage done to her house while she’d been at the briefing.
The stuffing from the couches littered the floor like little puffy clouds. All the books from the shelves were strewn about. Framed photos had been knocked off the walls, the glass shattered. A sense of violation seeped through her bones.
The blatant destruction was worse than the subtle signs of intrusion that had caused her to question her sanity. Now she knew without a doubt she wasn’t going crazy. Someone had been in her house, searched her house. Was it the person who killed her father?
Dread nipped at her. Had the person found what they were looking for? Was it the evidence in her father’s last case that had gone missing?
If so, then what chance did the OSI have of catching the person who took her father from her?
“I take it this isn’t how you left things this morning.” He took out his phone and reported the break-in to base security.
Westley’s wry comment grated on her already taut nerves.
She whirled on him. “No. This is the work of a killer.”
“Why would Boyd want to wreck your house?”
She snapped her jaw closed and clenched her teeth. Should she confide in Westley? The question poked at her like a cattle prod. Ian had said not to trust anyone.
Agitated, she hurried through the house, seeing the same sort of ransacking in every room, though her bedroom wasn’t nearly as torn apart. But the majority of the chaos was concentrated in her father’s office. His file cabinets had been emptied, his desk drawers dumped in heaps.
“Someone seemed to be searching for something important to them,” Westley mused.
She wondered how much help he could be in figuring out the mystery. The man was smart.
Aware of Westley and Dakota dogging her steps, she wrestled with the need to tell Westley the truth. There was no reason why she shouldn’t trust this man. Working for him for six months had shown her he was a man of integrity. Surely, he wasn’t involved