of Texas. This reserve, mostly used for training, covered hundreds of acres and could hide a person for weeks if not months. Right now, she had to find a lost little boy and watch her back for a serial killer who’d escaped from prison in the spring and was reported to be back in these woods. Boyd Sullivan, known as the Red Rose Killer because he always left one red rose to warn his victims and one after he’d killed them, was a dangerous, deranged man. He’d killed five people over two years ago in his hometown of Dill, Texas. He’d been put in prison for those killings, but he’d escaped and made his way to Canyon Air Force Base to kill again. Two of those he’d murdered had been friends and coworkers of Ava’s. But he hadn’t left it at that. He’d also let out two hundred or so dogs from the Military Working Dog K-9 kennels located on the base. Let them out to run wild. Some that had suffered PTSD were still roaming around these woods. Now seven-year-old Turner Johnson, the son of Colonel Gregory and Mrs. Marilyn Johnson, had gone missing from his backyard this morning. The boy was up against wild animals, dogs with PTSD and a serial killer who wouldn’t think twice about nabbing the kid for leverage.
Her focus humming on high alert, Ava checked her weapons and equipment one more time. Then she patted the alert K-9 on his furry head. “Ready?”
Roscoe woofed his reply.
Nodding, she scooted to the open side of the chopper and let her booted feet dangle out, Roscoe’s warm breath hitting the inch or so of skin she had showing outside of her heavy camo uniform, protective combat vest, knapsack and M16 rifle.
Above her, a crew member adjusted the carabiner holding the pulleys that would hoist both Ava and Roscoe so they could rappel down, each with their own pulley to hold them securely together.
Halfway down, she listened to the chopper’s crew reporting back and forth while she hovered and checked below. Nothing but heavy woods, scattered rocks and hills, and a hint of clay here and there. But somewhere out there was a lost, scared little seven-year-old boy.
“Hold on, Roscoe.”
Something whizzed past her like a gnat. But even with the chopper’s bellowing roar all around her, she heard the ding of metal hitting metal.
And then she saw it. The ricochet of a bullet hitting the fuselage. Someone was shooting at them.
The chopper banked left, causing Ava to shift on the rope. Above her, the gunner motioned for her to come back up.
Then she heard the pilot. “We need to abort.”
“Negative,” she said through the mic attached to her helmet. “I’m going in.”
With that, she steadied herself and, along with Roscoe, hurried the few yards to the ground, relieved to see that team member Chad Watson came down seconds after her. Ava dropped, unhooked the harnesses and turned on a low crouch, ready to return fire.
“Chad, take Custer to the south and wait,” she said, referring to Chad’s K-9 partner. “Start your search there.”
“We have a situation here, ma’am,” he reported back.
“I have a situation, and I can handle it,” she replied. “And Buster will cover me, right, Buster?”
“Affirmative, ma’am. I’m about twenty yards behind you.”
Buster Elliott, all two hundred and fifty pounds of him, was with Security Forces. He’d been assigned to watch her six while she searched for the boy. Good thing, too.
More shots hit all around her, and Buster returned fire while the chopper hovered.
“Don’t engage,” she warned the gunner and Buster through the mic. “The boy could be down here.”
Heavy footsteps stomped through the woods, echoing toward her. Ava belly-crawled to an outcropping of shrubs and rocks, Roscoe doing the same behind her.
Then she lifted up to a crouch.
Letting out a gasp, Ava stared at the man standing a few feet away with what looked like an M4 aimed at her.
The Red Rose Killer.
He hadn’t wasted any time in confronting her. Now her only concern was for the boy. Did this monster already have Turner?
“I’m not here to hurt you,” Boyd Sullivan said, anger and annoyance singing through each word, his blue eyes cold and icy. Backing away, he held his rifle trained on her, but his gaze darted back and forth. “Tell your man to back off.”
Ava lifted her fist to tell Buster to hold fire. Then she held her rifle trained on the tall blond man wearing an old beret. “What do you want?”
Roscoe hadn’t moved from his alert, but the big dog’s low growl indicated he was very aware of this intruder. Buster should still be nearby, too. Ava knew he’d have her back and even as big as he was, he’d use stealth while he kept his rifle trained on Boyd Sullivan. He’d also fire if he had to.
“Pretend you never saw me,” Sullivan said. “That’s all I need right now.”
Ava didn’t dare let the killer know she recognized him or ask if he’d seen the boy, in case he wasn’t aware. And she didn’t get a chance to react any further.
Bullets pierced the air again in a rapid explosion. Ava hit the ground and ordered Roscoe to do the same. Buster returned fire and took off through the woods, all the while communicating with the hovering chopper above.
And then it was over. The woods went silent. Ava lifted her head and tugged at her rifle. Still lying low, she adjusted her aim. But Boyd Sullivan, the man known as the Red Rose Killer, had disappeared back into the woods.
The shooter had covered his escape.
* * *
“You saw the Red Rose Killer?”
Rain flowed like a dam had opened all around FBI Special Agent Oliver Davison. Tired and in need of about two days of uninterrupted sleep, Oliver stared at the tougher-than-nails woman who’d called him to these woods to report what she’d just been through. Tall, redheaded, brown-eyed and clearly in no mood to bicker with him, Senior Airman Ava Esposito appeared to have things under control.
A Security Forces Military Working Dog handler who was used to rappelling out of choppers alongside her K-9 partner and working with Search-and-Rescue to find injured or compromised troops the world over, she didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the gully washer trying to knock them to their knees. Or the fact that she’d come face-to-face with a notorious killer.
Come face-to-face and lived, at that. Which was why Oliver had a hard time believing her.
The Red Rose Killer didn’t mess around. Boyd Sullivan hadn’t made it through basic training and never had a relationship last longer than a few months. The man had gone off the deep end in a way that had become very personal to Oliver. Sullivan had killed five people in Dill, Texas, where he’d grown up, including Madison Ackler, who had been Oliver’s fiancée at the time of her death. His fiancée...but she’d also been involved with Boyd Sullivan when she’d died.
Oliver had been in on the hunt and the arrest for those killings two years ago and he’d been relieved when Sullivan was sent to prison. But the Red Rose Killer had escaped in April and apparently made it to the base
