Rescue Operation. Lenora Worth

Johnson’s parents are so distraught and angry right now, it’s hard to watch. And I get that. First, the kid goes missing from his yard and now they find out a dangerous serial killer is out in those woods, too. Then a storm hits. I can’t imagine that kind of fear.”

      Oliver drained his coffee, his brow furrowed in frustration. “We have to hope he’s found shelter, at least.”

      “I have another concern to consider, too,” she said. “Those missing dogs Sullivan let out of the training center that night when he killed two of my coworkers. Some of the dogs still missing suffer severe PTSD and they could be roaming those woods. If Turner Johnson happens to come upon one of them, he could get hurt.”

      “You need to be careful on all fronts,” Oliver said, his eyes holding concern again. “You got off easy today, Airman Esposito. But I have a gut feeling the Red Rose Killer is not done with you yet.”

      “Call me Ava,” she said. “Since you’re trying to scare me to death and all, I feel as if we’re bonding.”

      “Call me Oliver, since I can thank you for the heartburn I’m surely going to have later,” he replied, his expression wry. “I’m not trying to scare you. After watching you in action today, I don’t think you can be rattled. And that scares me. Sullivan’s a dangerous man.”

      From the way Oliver said that, she was reminded of how personal this had become for him. After all, he had a very good reason to hunt down Boyd Sullivan.

      But she wasn’t going to pry into the horror of that reason. She just prayed they’d both find what they were looking for.

      * * *

      “Okay, Roscoe, let’s do this again,” Ava said after Oliver had walked with her and Buster back to the marked spot the next morning. Word from the night shift wasn’t good. There’d been no sign of the boy or the Red Rose Killer and no alerts from the K-9s. But they’d found several fresh campsites and patches of spent shells.

      “Some from our weapons and some from whoever was shooting at you with an M4 rifle,” Oliver reported. “Whoever it is, thankfully, they aren’t a very good shot.”

      The storm had passed but it had left a lot of broken limbs and washed-over bramble in its path. Ava accepted that they wouldn’t get very far today, but determination kept her from giving up. The sun was shining today, though, and even at seven in the morning, the late summer heat promised to be scalding hot.

      Leaving his official SUV up on the muddy road into this area, Oliver gave instructions to a team that had arrived in another vehicle and brought off-road vehicles with them to continue the search. Then he and Ava trekked through the woods to begin another grueling day. But he’d told Ava he wanted to check around this spot again, too, since Sullivan had been in the area.

      Oliver walked around the area by the cave, watching as Roscoe took up right where he’d left off after Ava had let him sniff the miniature toy and the boy’s cap she’d brought back with them again today.

      “Find,” she told the Labrador.

      Roscoe started digging again in the same spot near the entrance of the tiny cave.

      Oliver hovered off to the side, doing his own search. They really hadn’t shared anything much about each other last night. Ava had realized he was good at his job and determined to find Boyd Sullivan. Now she wanted to know more about him, which shouldn’t be front and center on her mind today. But that sadness that shadowed him had clutched her heart.

      “I thought you were leaving,” she said when Oliver finished his search and came back to stand with her. “Did you find anything?”

      Oliver gave her a questioning stare. “I am leaving, and no, I didn’t find anything.”

      He looked as if he wanted to say more, but instead he nodded and turned to catch up with the team that today included Master Sergeant Westley James, Office of Special Investigations Special Officer Ian Steffen, Security Forces Captain Justin Blackwood and several others who worked with the SF, OSI or the Military Working Dog program.

      Everyone wanted to capture Boyd Sullivan. But she knew they were all concerned about the boy, too.

      Focusing on Roscoe and armed with a small handheld shovel, Ava bent to help dig. Yesterday, she’d allowed Roscoe to sniff the toy and baseball cap that belonged to Turner Johnson and she’d done the same again today, praying the rain hadn’t washed away the scent Roscoe had picked up then.

      “Hey, be careful,” Oliver said before heading out.

      Ava called him back. “Oliver, hold on.”

      He came hurrying back, his serviceable boots kicking up mud. “Yeah?”

      “Chad Watson and his partner, Custer, did find one thing yesterday. A Buff.”

      He looked confused. “Buff?”

      “A stretchy headband-type head cover. Dark navy and floral. Chad turned it over to the crime lab.”

      Oliver took off his dark shades and squinted. “Possibly belonging to a woman?”

      “Possibly.”

      “Interesting. Thanks—I’ll check with Forensics later.” Then he gave her a smile and put his shades back on. “Talk to you soon.”

      Ava ignored the warm rush of comfort that encased her and instead watched where Roscoe kept pawing away in a spot near a small rock anchored beside the entrance of the cave.

      Buster stood a few feet away with his rifle held near his chest, ever vigilant. He’d been a linebacker in college, and he was six feet of solid wall with a teddy bear’s heart. But fierce when it came to protecting his colleagues and his country.

      “What is it?” she asked Roscoe, knowing he’d do his best to show her. Ava did another scan of the rocks and mud.

      Then she saw a tiny spot of red poking out of the wet dirt. Getting on her knees, she immediately praised Roscoe. “Good find. Way to go!”

      After telling him to stay, she took her shovel and managed to dig around what looked like a small toy similar to the one Turner’s parents had given her yesterday.

      “Got it,” she said, clearing the last of the mud away so she could lift the toy out. Wedged between the small rock and the outside wall of the cave, the toy had become jammed in a corner instead of washing away along with the dirt that had covered it before. A little red-and-white robot with big black eyes and a tiny black nylon cape. A small duct-taped label was hidden underneath the cape. And the name Turner Johnson was marked across it in permanent black ink.

      Roscoe woofed his approval. The plastic and the material could contain oils and epidermis particles from the boy’s hands, some of which would be buried in the grooves and seams inside the toy. The rock had protected the little robot from getting too wet. So had Turner Johnson lost this toy or had he been smart enough to hide it between the rock and the cave wall?

      * * *

      After calling in the find, Ava and Roscoe started out again. Roscoe seemed determined to go toward the west, so Ava made sure she alerted their path to everyone patrolling and searching the woods. They started tracking again in an area called the scent cone, which worked with the breezes, temperatures and humidity to carry a scent from the last known place the missing boy had been seen. Ava started at a higher elevation just past the first cave and worked downwind from where the boy had disappeared, letting Roscoe move in a crisscross fashion back and forth through dirt, mud, rotting tree trunks, rocky terrain and dense foliage while she kept a vigilant watch for an ambush.

      No one had been shot at today, so that was good. But it could also mean Sullivan had left and possibly taken the boy with him.

      Even with the hot sun beaming through the pines and mesquite trees, there was a sinister darkness hanging over these woods. Remembering that Turner Johnson had been in his backyard, an area that should have been safe, Ava agreed with her superiors that now that Sullivan had