Felicity took in a deep breath. Exasperation made her voice sharp when she said, “You scared me.” Her gaze jumped to Riff as the dog ran away. “Riff!”
The dog disappeared around the corner of the building.
“You were right,” she conceded. “We need to work on his recall.”
“We will,” Westley assured her as he took Tiger’s lead from her hand. “Right now, my only concern is you.”
The grim set of his jaw alerted her heightened senses. Had she done something wrong? Made a mistake? Her defenses rose, making her straighten. “Me? I’m doing my best to bring the dogs in.”
For a moment, confusion entered his gaze then cleared. “Lieutenant General Hall believes Boyd Sullivan is targeting those who were in his basic-military-training class,” he replied, his voice harsh.
She took a step back. The same alarm that had flooded her this morning, when she’d thought someone was standing at the foot of her bed, seeped through her now. Had it been Boyd? A shudder of revulsion worked over her flesh.
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” she said. At Westley’s arched eyebrow, she added, “Neither Tamara nor Landon were in our group.”
“Exactly,” he said. “I think you were his intended target last night.”
She sucked in a breath. Her lungs burned as his words sank in. She swallowed convulsively as her mouth dried from the terror that was already pumping in her blood. She shook her head. “You can’t know that for sure.”
Was she responsible for her friends’ deaths?
A spasm of guilt and pain twisted her insides. She wanted to fall to her knees and ask God why, but with Westley standing there, she remained upright and silently sent up the question. Why, Lord?
“He also killed Chief Master Sergeant Lockwood.”
The air swooshed out of her lungs. The basic military training commander. The one who’d kicked Boyd out of the air force. Felicity was friends with Maisy Lockwood, the chief master sergeant’s daughter and a civilian preschool teacher.
Agitation revved through Felicity’s system. She trembled with the restless urge to move. “I need to see Maisy. She must be devastated.”
Westley nodded. “Seeing her will have to wait. We need to take Tiger, here, to the training center then go find more dogs.”
“We can put him in my backyard. I’ll set out water on the back deck. He’ll be fine there while we search.”
He seemed to contemplate her suggestion. She gritted her teeth, expecting him to argue with her. He always thought his way was best, and because he was in charge that left little room for discussion. She prepared to defend her suggestion but he nodded, which surprised her. “That works.”
Unsure what to make of Westley, she led the way down Base Boulevard to her house. Her gaze snagged on the black curbside mailbox. The drop-down door was propped half-open.
What was going on? It hadn’t been open when she’d left the house earlier. Her steps faltered. Was her sanity really slipping?
Just this morning she’d imagined someone standing at the foot of her bed and now this? She didn’t want to think about the other times when she’d had the feeling someone had been inside her home.
Maybe she needed to take up Dr. Flintman on his offer of medication to suppress her mild PTSD. She would have before except she didn’t want to be medicated and give Westley any reason to wash her out of the training center. And she worried that would be a big one, given that he already had it in for her. From the day she stepped into the center, she’d had the feeling he wanted her gone.
“What’s wrong?” The concern coating Westley’s words shimmied down her spine.
For all his fault-finding with her, he was being a supportive boss today. Unusual but appreciated. She needed to take a deep breath and gather herself together.
“Nothing, I hope.” But she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the mailbox. She stepped closer and she pushed the door, intending to close it, but something blocked it from shutting.
Aggravated, she yanked the door all the way open. A red rose popped out to lie flat on the open metal flap. She gasped and jerked her hand back as if the flower was a copperhead snake.
Then her eyes focused on a folded white sheet of paper.
Her knees threatened to give out. Boyd had been here.
One thing was clear—she hadn’t been imagining things. Yet, her mind tapped with the niggling knowledge that strange things had been happening long before today. Her body went numb as fear drenched her in a cold sweat.
“We need to call Security Forces.”
Westley’s deep, gravelly voice rumbled in her chest. She could only nod. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
After he made the call, he turned her to face him. “Look at me,” he instructed.
She stared at him. Morning sunlight reflected in his light blue eyes and gleamed in his dark hair. She couldn’t deny he was handsome, and at this moment, he, of all people, anchored her. If she wasn’t so freaked out, she’d find that odd. She wasn’t sure the man even liked her. But there was concern in his eyes now. Concern for her. Crazy, really. But then again, it had been that kind of morning.
She took a breath and then swallowed. “I think he may have been in my house.”
“What?”
“When I woke up this morning someone stood at the foot of my bed. But when I turned on the light, no one was there.” She didn’t mention the other times she’d had the sensation that someone had been in her home or was watching her. Today was bad enough.
“Are you kidding me?” he sputtered. “Why didn’t you report it?”
She bristled at the censure in his tone. “I thought I was imagining things.” Her heart beat painfully in her chest. She yanked her gaze from him and stared at the house. “But why leave a note and the rose when he could have killed me in my sleep?”
Westley studied her face, making her want to squirm. “Could it have been a nightmare?”
The sympathy and understanding in his tone sent another rush of anxiety through her. Did he suspect her PTSD? Had Dr. Flintman talked to her boss? The thought horrified her.
“Maybe,” she admitted, not willing to fully commit to the diagnosis and what that might mean for her future with the K-9 unit.
“You’ve suffered a tragic loss recently,” he reminded her more gently than she would have thought him capable, making her wonder if he’d suffered the loss of someone close to him as well.
Losing her father to a senseless accident was a scar she’d carry with her forever. And it may be the cause of her imaginings, yet... “It doesn’t make sense,” she said again.
“What doesn’t?”
Would Westley think she was going nuts? She was loath to give him any more reasons to view her in a bad light. He’d already made it clear he thought she needed to improve her training skills because he constantly corrected her whenever he observed her with the dogs.
Still, she had to confide in someone. And he was here. “Weird things have been happening lately. Long before Boyd escaped prison.”
His dark eyebrows drew together. “Like what?”
She took another bracing breath. Was she really going to share this with him? Did she have a choice?
“Little things,” she said. “Like objects moved and doors and cabinets left open when I know they were shut.” Like her clock being turned toward the wall this morning.
Had