Mission To Protect. Terri Reed

the bodies of his trainers and alerting the base’s USAF Security Forces, Westley had received a call from the base commander to report here. His stomach twisted with grief and shock as he glanced around the room, noting an eclectic mix of high-ranking officers and civilian personnel. With over seven thousand people on base, keeping Canyon Air Force Base running took a large staff.

      He couldn’t sit, though most everyone else had taken a seat. His heart still beat too fast. This wasn’t where he should be. He needed to be out searching for the dogs. He struggled to stay in the moment.

      The base commander’s executive assistant, a civilian, Brenda Blakenship, had come in a few moments ago to say the debriefing would begin when the base commander and the basic-training commander arrived. Then she’d left again. Conversations in hushed tones were a reflection of the somber mood.

      As the lead trainer of the military working dogs training center, Westley oversaw the welfare of the two hundred and fifty dogs currently being trained in multiple disciplines from explosives and electronic detection to patrol. He was also responsible for the trainers and the various handlers from different branches of the military. It was a challenging post. He loved it.

      And now the lives of two of his trainers had been senselessly taken, and the dogs were wandering the base, putting them in jeopardy. He itched to be out there looking for the dogs. Many of them were traumatized from combat service, which would make retrieving them that much harder. If the dogs were approached by someone they didn’t know and trust... He feared for the safety of both dogs and humans.

      Could this day get any worse?

      His phone buzzed with an incoming text. He glanced at the message from Master Sergeant Caleb Streeter, another trainer, and was gratified to read the number of dogs brought safely in by the training staff. But there were still many left to recover.

      The door to the auditorium opened. Westley put away his phone as Brenda entered with a folder in her hand and a grim expression on her face. Behind her, the base commander, Lieutenant General Hall, strode into the conference room, his face ashen.

      “I’ve just received word that Chief Master Sergeant Clint Lockwood was found dead in his home of a gunshot wound to the heart,” Lieutenant General Hall stated flatly. “A red rose and note were also found.”

      Shock rippled through the room.

      Westley placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. The horror of finding the two trainers’ bodies was still etched in Westley’s brain. And now to hear that Lockwood was gone as well...

      Lord, why would You allow this?

      Westley didn’t hold his breath waiting on God to give him an answer. Westley was used to God’s silence. As a scared kid hiding from the constant chaos of his parents’ fighting, he’d often asked God to make them stop. But the fighting never did. Not until his dad was incarcerated, which threw Westley into a different sort of chaos.

      Questions came at the base commander with lightning speed from those seated around the room.

      “Has the weapon been found?” the air force recruitment commander asked from his seat at the front of the room.

      “Have we locked down the base?” the chief master sergeant of the 12th flying training wing called out.

      “Have the FBI, OSI and the local police been notified?” the cyberspace operations commander asked.

      “How did Boyd Sullivan escape prison?” the vice commander of the medical wing demanded to know.

      Lieutenant General Hall raised a hand to silence the group. “Please, I will answer your questions as best I can. The weapon has not been found. The base is on lockdown. The feds and the local law enforcement will work closely with both Security Forces and the Office of Special Investigations.” A fierce light entered the Lieutenant General’s gaze. “Our problem is not how Boyd Sullivan escaped prison, but how he got on base.”

      “Is he targeting those who were in his basic military training?” Security Forces Captain Justin Blackwood asked.

      “He must have had help,” the commander of the airlift wing pointed out.

      Lieutenant General Hall once again raised his hand and the room quieted. “If he holds true to form, he will most likely go after anyone he deems has wronged him. No doubt Sullivan blamed Chief Master Sergeant Lockwood for the dishonorable discharge.”

      Westley’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. Boyd would pay dearly for his evil deeds. Westley prayed no other lives would be taken by Boyd’s hand.

      “We must consider Sullivan will go after those in his basic military training.” Lieutenant General Hall nodded at Brenda.

      She opened the file folder in her hand. “I’ve compiled a list of the personnel currently on base who were in the same training class as Boyd Sullivan.”

      “Our first order of business is to secure these individuals and anyone else who had prior interaction with Boyd,” Lieutenant General Hall interjected. “Then we will root out the person who has helped this predator get on base.”

      As Brenda read the names, Westley tried to remember if Tamara or Landon had been in Sullivan’s BMT group, or even been on base at the time. He didn’t think so.

      “Staff Sergeant Felicity Monroe.”

      Hearing his trainer’s name jerked Westley’s thoughts back to the conference room. Felicity. His stomach dropped as his pulse spiked. She was supposed to have been on duty last night, but had changed shifts.

      Had she been Sullivan’s intended target?

      Fear streaked through his system like a fighter jet heading to battle. He couldn’t let another person for whom he was responsible die. Not on his watch. He had to protect her.

      Without asking permission, Westley raced out of the auditorium. He had to find Felicity.

      * * *

      Felicity’s search for the dogs wasn’t going very well. With the base alive and on alert, the dogs sensed the anxiety rippling through the air and were skittish. She moved with a slow, easy gait so as not to spook two dogs in her sights, a three-year-old German shepherd named Tiger and a two-year-old Belgian Malinois named Riff. Both were sniffing around the commissary.

      As she approached, both dogs lifted their heads to eye her, their tails swishing.

      “Come,” she commanded while holding a treat in her hand against her thigh, which would bring the dogs in close enough to grab by the collar.

      Tiger abandoned his sniffing to comply. As he took the treat from her, she hooked her fingers beneath his collar and swiftly attached a leash to the ring. Now to get the Malinois.

      “Riff,” she said. “Here, boy.”

      The dog’s ears twitched but he made no move to obey. She and Tiger stepped closer. Riff moved away, nose back to the ground. Frustration beat at her temples. “Come on, Riff.”

      The dog had done well inside the confines of the center, but out in the open, not so much. Now she understood why Westley had said the dog wasn’t ready to be paired with a human. She’d disagreed at the time and had even accused him, albeit silently, of holding back Riff because he didn’t like her. Now she knew her boss had been right.

      Riff had a long way to go in his training. She didn’t relish admitting that to Westley. He’d give her that tight-lipped nod that irritated her nerves and made her feel as if she didn’t measure up to his standards. Her commanding officer certainly knew how to push her buttons...unfortunately.

      Tiger spun around and barked, his tail rigid and his ears up.

      Seconds later she heard the sound of pounding feet and her adrenaline spiked. She reached for her pepper spray with her free hand and whirled with the can up and her finger hovering over the trigger, ready to protect herself from an assault.

      Westley held his hands up, palms facing out, as he skidded to