The Military K-9 Unit Collection. Valerie Hansen

shrugged it on. “Right now, I have to focus on the Red Rose Killer.”

      Her stomach knotted. “Has Boyd Sullivan struck again?”

      By the grim set of Ian’s jaw she knew the answer before he spoke. “We believe so. The commissary cook that had been reported missing this morning, Stephen Butler, is dead. His body was found in a trash bin of an off-base local restaurant. His uniform and ID weren’t found at the scene.”

      “Boyd dressed like Stephen and used his credentials to get on base,” Westley stated.

      “That’s the going theory,” Ian replied. “I’m heading to the morgue to verify the cause and time of death.” He met Felicity’s gaze. “Be careful. I’ll see you both tomorrow morning.”

      Felicity and Westley walked out with Ian. As they entered the reception area a man rushed forward, holding a cell phone. Felicity winced at the sight of base reporter John Robinson. With his red hair and horn-rimmed glasses, he looked more like a caricature than a serious journalist.

      “Agent Steffen,” John said, holding out the phone with the speaker pointed at Ian. “What can you tell me about the Red Rose Killer? Have there been any more developments?”

      “No comment,” Ian said with a frown and continued walking.

      John shoved the phone in Felicity’s face. “You’re a target. Why would Boyd Sullivan, known as the Red Rose Killer, want to hurt you?”

      Following Ian’s lead, Felicity said, “No comment.” She and Westley pushed past the reporter.

      “Aww, come on, guys,” John complained as he followed them out to the sidewalk. “The base is in an uproar. The personnel deserve to know what’s going on.”

      Westley put up a hand to prevent John from following them. “Lieutenant General Hall will make a statement when he is ready. Until then, back off.”

      John’s mouth turned into a petulant scowl. “What is the lead MWD trainer and—” John flicked a glance at Dakota “—a guard dog doing in the OSI offices? Are you providing protection for Staff Sergeant Monroe?”

      Westley stepped into John’s space and stared him down. Dakota growled, clearly sensing his handler’s tension. “I said back off.”

      John held up his hands and moved away. “Fine.”

      Felicity glanced at Westley, glad she wasn’t the one at the wrong end of his anger. When he put his hand to the small of her back to propel her down the sidewalk, heat seared through her uniform to warm her skin.

      “You handled him well,” she commented.

      Westley blew out a breath. “He’s harmless, but I don’t want him making a pest of himself to you. The last thing we need is a nosey reporter poking around into what we’re doing. If we’re going to find the lock that key belongs to, we need to fly under the radar with our investigation.”

      She paused to stare at him. “So you believe the key is important?”

      He seemed to contemplate the question. “My gut tells me yes. But maybe it’s wishful thinking.”

      That she understood. “I feel the same. The key looks old, but not like an antique.”

      “It won’t hurt anything for us to keep our eyes open for a lock that it might fit,” he said.

      “Sounds good to me.” She was glad to know he was on the same page as far as finding her father’s killer. “The goal is to attract Boyd but not the attention of anyone else.”

      “Right.” Westley’s phone dinged. He checked the incoming text message. “A couple more dogs have been found.”

      “That’s good.” She sent up a prayer that all the animals would be recovered safely. “What is the total count now?”

      “We’re still missing over forty dogs,” he replied. “I can’t grasp that Glory, Patriot, Liberty and Scout haven’t returned.”

      “That’s strange,” she said. Worry twisted through her. “You don’t think anything bad happened to them, do you?”

      “I hope not. The dogs are valuable. All of them,” he said. “But those four are our cream of the crop.”

      In his tone she heard the same anxiety she felt. Before she thought better of it, she threaded her fingers through his and gave his hand a squeeze. “They will be found.”

      “I wish I had your confidence,” he said as he paused to open the driver’s side of her car. “I hope they didn’t find a way off the base.”

      “That would be scary,” she said.

      A Security Forces vehicle rolled up behind them and Ethan Webb leaned an elbow on the open windowsill. “Hey, you two. Where are you headed?”

      Felicity assumed they’d go back to her house, but then her stomach rumbled, making her aware she hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of the lunch she’d grabbed at the training center before she and Westley had gone to her house. She wondered if Westley had eaten today.

      “I’m starving,” she announced rather unceremoniously.

      Both men stared at her.

      She shrugged. There wasn’t much in the way of groceries at home. “I want tacos and chips and salsa from La Taqueria.”

      Westley chuckled, a sound that sent a little tingle down her spine. “Then the BX it is.”

      The BX was the base’s shopping center filled with popular restaurants and dry-good stores.

      “I’ll join you after I kennel, my partner, Titus,” Ethan said.

      “We need to take Dakota to the training center as well, so he can have his dinner,” Westley said.

      “Meet you there.” Ethan drove away.

      Felicity drove to the training center. Once there, they fed Dakota and checked on the dogs. Then they met Ethan outside. He was talking to Rusty.

      Westley returned the salute. “Caleb tells me you brought in Winnie and Lacy.”

      Rusty nodded. His hazel eyes were troubled. “Yes, sir. They were wandering around the church grounds. Pastor Harmon called.”

      “There are more out there,” Westley replied, a note of anxiety threaded through his words. “We need to find those dogs.”

      “Yes, sir.” Rusty hustled away.

      “You could have told him he’d done a good job,” Felicity said to Westley. “A little encouragement goes a long way.”

      Westley cocked his head and studied her. “You don’t think I’m encouraging?”

      She barely stifled a snort. “No. You tend to be direct with your criticism and withhold your praise. And frankly—” She lifted her chin. Time to stand up to him and say what she’d been holding in for months. “It bugs me. It would be nice if every once in a while you said ‘Well done. Good job. Way to go. You did good.’”

      Westley raised an eyebrow. “If I’m not correcting you, you’re doing it right.”

      The urge to roll her eyes was strong but she resisted and smiled sweetly. “Sometimes it’s helpful to hear some encouragement.”

      “I’ll take that under advisement,” he said in a tone that grated on her nerves.

      Ethan’s laugh reminded her they weren’t alone. “You two sound like an old married couple.”

      Felicity shot Ethan a glare. “Not even.”

      “We’re moving from hungry to hangry,” Westley murmured.

      She opened her mouth to ask him how he dared to say that, but then she realized he was correct. Her hunger was making her irritable. “You’re