“But you haven’t found the boy?”
Rain rolled off her helmet while disappointment and annoyance singed hot through her pretty eyes. “No, Turner Johnson was not inside the cave, so obviously I haven’t found the boy. But I will. Roscoe is never wrong.”
Oliver squinted into the wet, chilly woods. All around them, Security Forces, the Office of Special Investigations and the Military Working Dog handlers moved like hulking shadows while choppers whirled overhead. Crime-scene techs searched for evidence and bullet fragments or shell casings. Boyd Sullivan was out there somewhere. Probably long gone by now, however, since the woods had become overrun with air force personnel.
Oliver looked toward the heavens. “A missing seven-year-old and a serial killer on the loose. In the same woods. This is not good. So not good.”
Her hostile gaze affirmed that summary. “No, and I really need to get back to Roscoe and his find.”
Touching her arm, he glanced at the patient golden-coated Labrador retriever and said, “I understand you want to explore Roscoe’s discovery. I’m anxious to catch up with the team searching for Boyd Sullivan. But I need to ask you a few more questions.”
She glared at him for a moment and then checked on the K-9 eager to dig in the mud. “I’ve told you what happened and now I’m going to do what I came here to do. Because whatever’s buried here might give us a clue to find the boy.”
* * *
Special Agent Oliver Davison stared at Ava, skepticism heavy in his green eyes. The man obviously didn’t believe a word of what she’d just told him. And he was seriously beginning to get on her already singed nerves.
But he did have a point. Why had Sullivan allowed her to live when he’d killed so many people already?
He’d been sent to prison for those killings a few years ago. He wanted revenge, and he was willing to kill anyone who stood in his way. He was armed and dangerous, and yes, she’d let him get away. That didn’t sit well with Ava, but she had to focus on the mission at hand.
Even while the creepiness factor made her want to take off and track the killer.
Sullivan earned his name because he always left a red rose and a note stating “I’m coming for you” to warn his victims, and another note stating “Got you” after he’d killed them. Four other base personnel were targeted, so the base had been on high alert all summer. Boyd had a way on and off the base and Ava believed, along with her team members, that he was hiding out in these woods and using uniforms and IDs from some of the other airmen he’d killed to keep up the charade.
Now she’d seen the killer with her own eyes and this agent doubted her and wanted to waste her time while a child could get caught in the cross fire. Glaring up at him, Ava saw something besides a steely determination in the special agent’s green eyes.
Sadness. Then it hit her. He’d been involved with one of the victims from Dill. She didn’t know the whole story, but rumors had circulated. Now was not the time to go into that, however.
“I need to get back to work,” she said on a calm note, hoping to cut him some slack. “Roscoe’s waiting to do his job.”
“Just a few more details,” he insisted, a stubborn glint in his eyes.
Remembering how her heart had gone haywire earlier, Ava thought about Boyd Sullivan’s weird reaction to finding her there. Dressed in dirty, ill-fitting camouflage, he’d looked wild and disoriented, but he’d been carrying an arsenal of weapons.
Thinking about it now, she held herself rigid so she wouldn’t get the shakes.
To stay focused, she stared at Oliver Davison, taking in how his green eyes matched the lush foliage all around them. “Buster went after Sullivan and tracked him, but lost him. Chad and Custer had an alert in another area due east. They couldn’t make it back in time.”
“Why didn’t you send Roscoe after Sullivan?”
“And risk losing my partner and the boy’s location? I sent Buster after Sullivan because I was afraid the boy might still be in the area. Turner Johnson is my first obligation.”
Oliver pushed water off his thick dark hair. “So you let Boyd Sullivan slip through your fingers?”
“I don’t like your tone, Special Agent.”
“Well, I don’t like losing a wanted serial killer, Airman Esposito.”
“I’m here to find the boy. It’s your job to track Boyd Sullivan, and apparently you haven’t been very successful so far.”
“Ouch, that hurt.”
She almost laughed, but this was not funny. She understood how he wanted to get his man, but he was stepping on her toes right now. “I’m going to see what Roscoe has found, if you don’t mind. You have a whole team here to search for Sullivan.”
“I guess I’m dismissed.”
She turned in time to see the flare of both anger and admiration in his interesting eyes. “You could say that, yes.”
But he called out to her. “Hey, if Boyd Sullivan wasn’t shooting at you, then who was, and why?”
Ava wanted to find the answer to Oliver Davison’s questions, too, but right now she had to get back to her search. Not only was she concerned for the boy’s safety, but Turner’s parents wielded a lot of clout. The whole base was on high alert over this. The negative press wouldn’t be good either.
After Mr. FBI left, Chad Watson came bounding up, his blond hair glistening wet, K-9 Custer sloshing through the mud ahead of him. Chad had transferred from Security Forces to the Military Working Dog program and now excelled at his job.
“Nothing on the alert we had. Custer did a thorough grid but didn’t find anything regarding the boy.” Then he showed her a paper evidence bag inside his uniform pocket. “But we did find this.”
Ava stared down into the open pocket, her hand shielding the bag from the rain. A Buff. A navy floral headband which could have gotten lost by anyone hiking through these woods, but it did look feminine. “Keep it bagged so we can give it to Forensics,” she said, deciding anything could be evidence.
Chad nodded. “I’ll take Custer and do a grid to the north.”
“Good idea. While you do that, we’ll dig here,” she said. Then she radioed Buster. “Need you back at the search site.”
Ava gave Roscoe the order and they both worked beside him, using their gloved hands to sift through the mud and dirt surrounding the cave, but to no avail. Yet Roscoe didn’t let it go. He pawed and whined and stared at her for his next command.
“Nothing,” she said. After radioing in her request and cordoning off the area where they’d already dug, they kept searching and calling out for Turner Johnson, going back over the area in every direction. But the boy didn’t respond and Roscoe didn’t alert
