God Bless,
Lynette Eason
But the Lord is faithful, who shall stablish you, and keep you from evil.
—2 Thessalonians 3:3
Dedicated to the two-legged and four-legged heroes who put their lives on the line every day. No amount of thanks will ever be enough.
Contents
First Lieutenant Heidi Jenks, news reporter for CAF News, blew a lock of hair out of her eyes and did her best to keep from muttering under her breath about the stories she was being assigned lately.
She didn’t mind the series of articles she was doing on the personnel who lived on the base—those were interesting and she was meeting new people. And besides, those had been her idea.
But some of the other stories were just plain boring. Like the stolen medals. Okay, maybe not boring, but definitely not as exciting as some she could be working on. Like finding Boyd Sullivan, the Red Rose Killer. A serial killer, he liked to torment his victims with the gift of a red rose and a note saying he was coming for them. And then he struck, leaving death and heartache in his wake with one last rose and a note tucked under the arm of the victim. Got you.
Heidi shut the door to the church where her interviewee had insisted on meeting and walked down the steps, pulling her voice-activated recorder from her pocket. She might as well get her thoughts down before they dissipated due to her complete disinterest. She shivered and glanced over her shoulder. For some reason she expected to see him, as if the fact that she was alone in the dark would automatically mean Sullivan was behind her.
After being chased by law enforcement last week, he’d fallen from a bluff and was thought to be dead. But when his body had never been found, that assumption had changed. He was alive. Somewhere. Possibly injured and in hiding while he healed. Reports had come in that he’d been spotted twice in central Texas. She supposed that was possible. But what if the reports were wrong? What if he’d made his way back here to the base so he could continue his reign of terror?
The thought quickened her steps. She’d feel better behind a locked door where she could concentrate on the story she was currently working on.
Someone on the base was breaking into homes and stealing war medals, jewelry and cash. Whatever small items they could get their hands on. But it was the medals that were being targeted. Medals of Valor especially. People were antsy enough about the whole serial killer thing. Having a thief on base wasn’t helping matters.
She spoke into the recorder. “Mrs. Wainwright stated she hadn’t been home at the time of the robbery. However, as soon as she pulled into her drive, she could see her open front door and knew something was wrong.”
Heidi’s steps took her past the base hospital. She was getting ready to turn onto the street that would take her home when a flash of movement from the K-9 training center caught her eye. Her steps slowed, and she heard a door slam.
A figure wearing a dark hoodie bolted down the steps and shot off toward the woods behind the center. He reached up, shoved the hoodie away and yanked something—a ski mask?—off his head, then pulled the hoodie back up. He stuffed the ski mask into his jacket pocket.
Very weird actions that set Heidi’s internal and journalistic alarm bells screaming. And while she wanted to see what the guy was going to do, she decided it might be more prudent to get out of sight while she watched.
Just as she moved to do so, the man spun.
And came to an abrupt halt as his eyes locked on hers.
Ice invaded her veins, sending shivers of fear dancing along her nerves. He took a step toward her, then shot a look back at the training center. Back to her. Then at his wristwatch. With no change in his granite ice-blue eyes as he gave her one last threatening