Her gaze lurched to where Westley’s hand gripped Dakota’s hind end. Crimson blood seeped through his fingers. She grabbed a pillow from the bed and stripped off the case. “Here.” She shoved the wadded-up material at him. “Use this and apply pressure. We have to get him to the vet clinic.”
He took the pillowcase and pressed it against Dakota’s wound. “Dakota managed to get a piece of the intruder’s pant leg.”
She followed his gaze to a ragged-edged piece of dark cotton material lying on the carpet.
“Now we at least have his scent as well as his DNA.” He gestured to the windowsill, where a smear of blood marred the white molding. “We’ll call Security Forces, but right now we have to get Dakota to the vet.” He rose, lifting the dog in his arms. “Call Dr. Roark and tell him we’re coming.”
Worry for Dakota churned in her gut as she made the call to the vet, who promised to be ready for them.
She prayed Dakota’s injury was only a flesh wound as she hurried ahead of Westley and opened the front door.
“You drive,” Westley said, heading to her car. “I’ll hold him.”
As soon as she got in the car she placed a call to Security Forces, and someone assured her they’d be at her house promptly to collect the evidence.
The short drive to the clinic seemed to take forever. When they arrived, the doors to the veterinarian hospital wing of the training center were open and Captain Kyle Roark, DVM and head of Canine Veterinary Services at CAFB, stepped out along with a female tech dressed in green scrubs.
“Follow me to exam room three,” Dr. Roark said briskly and led the way.
Inside the room, Westley placed Dakota on the metal exam table. The dog tried to stand. Felicity jumped to subdue him at the same time as Westley. Their hands tangled together as they maneuvered Dakota successfully to his uninjured side.
“Good job, you two,” Dr. Roark said. “You make a good team.”
Felicity’s cheeks heated. She met Westley’s gaze, noting the appreciation in his eyes.
“Let’s see what we have here,” the vet said. “You two keep him still while Airman Fielding and I tend to his wound.”
As the vet and the tech washed the wound, Felicity leaned in to Dakota’s ear. “You’re going to be okay.”
The dog turned his head and licked her face. A good sign, she hoped.
“Well, now,” the vet said. “Looks worse than it is.”
She was so thankful to hear those words, Felicity’s knees weakened. She could see the pronouncement had the same effect on Westley.
“The bullet grazed his upper thigh. He’ll need a couple of stitches but he’ll be right as the Texas rain within no time at all.”
“That’s good to hear, Doc.” Westley’s voice was filled with relief and gratitude. The lines of worry etched around his mouth eased.
“Airman Fielding will give you detailed instructions on how to care for the wound and a bottle of pain relievers,” Dr. Roark said when he was finished administering to the dog. He clapped Westley on the back. “You all should get some rest.”
“We will. Thanks.” Westley picked up Dakota, cradling him to his chest.
Felicity took the instructions and the meds from the vet tech and then followed Westley outside. “Do you think we should take him to the training center instead of my house?” she asked.
He nodded. “He’ll be comfortable in his kennel. And it will keep him from popping a stitch.”
Westley headed toward the door that would take them through the back of the center. They entered the kennel room and a barrage of barking ensued. Most of the crates were filled with dogs. The empty ones made her stomach knot. There were still many dogs missing.
She quickly commanded, “Quiet” and the dogs in their kennels obeyed. She was sad to see Riff’s crate still empty. She hoped the young Belgian Malinois would be found unharmed.
“You and I will stay here with Dakota,” Westley said as he placed the dog gently into a crate and shut the door. “I think it would be safer for all of us.”
“I agree,” she said, hating to think the intruder might return to her house.
“There’s a room here with a cot. We’ll take shifts sleeping.”
Not the most comfortable situation. But better than the alternative.
“Tomorrow we can figure out new housing,” Westley said.
“We can take my uncle up on his offer to stay with him.”
“That’s one idea,” Westley replied.
She chose to let his noncommittal answer go. “Obviously the guy hasn’t found what he was looking for.” She fingered the key beneath her uniform. “We need to find the motorcycle the key belongs to. Then we’ll find my father’s killer.”
He brushed a stray strand of hair off her cheek, causing a shiver to trip over her skin. She had to look frightful. Just as he did with his uniform smeared with blood. Yet he looked at her like he approved of what he saw. “First things first. Your safety is my priority.”
She’d never been anyone’s priority. Her mother had been too busy with her law practice and her father too dedicated to the OSI. She’d always felt like an afterthought, unless of course she messed up, then she got their attention. Not the kind of attention she wanted growing up. She liked the idea of being Westley’s priority way more than she probably should.
“Let’s get back to your house and see how the crime-scene techs are doing.” He stepped back. “And you can pack a bag.”
They left the training center after checking in with Caleb Streeter, who promised to look in on Dakota. When they arrived at her house, the crime-scene techs were packing up their things and Special Agent Ian Steffen was on scene.
When he saw Felicity he hurried down the walkway, intercepting them. “I was worried about you two.” He gave them each a once-over. “I take it neither of you has sustained injuries.”
“No, we’re good,” Westley replied.
“We were in the attic when Dakota alerted us to the intruder,” she told him.
Ian’s eyebrows rose. “Did you find anything related to the case your father was working on?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Westley responded.
But Felicity had learned more about Westley and her own feelings, so not a total loss.
“But hopefully the evidence collected will reveal the intruder’s identity,” Ian said. “If it was Boyd then we’ll know for sure he’s still on base.”
Felicity didn’t believe this was the work of the Red Rose Killer. “We think the intruder was looking for this key.” She slipped it from the collar of her uniform.
“Maybe.” Ian frowned.
She didn’t understand why he refused to consider the key as important. “We have it on good authority that this is a specific type of motorcycle key. Possibly the motorcycle used in the hit-and-run.”
That grabbed his attention. “If that is the case, then I should take it for safekeeping.”
“But you’re not officially working her father’s murder,” Westley stated. “Won’t there be questions if you log the key into evidence for a nonexistent case?”
“I can handle that,” Ian said.
“We’ll keep the