it’s getting dark and we’re gonna have to let the next shift take over.”
Roscoe gave her a solemn stare and then looked toward the cave again. But he was so well trained, he didn’t make a move.
Thirty minutes later, the storm raged on, thunder and lightning indicating it had stalled over these woods, lessening visibility to a minimum.
Ava got a message to return to the base with Security Forces. It was too risky to bring in the chopper but the night shift would hike in from the trail and take over.
“I don’t want to leave,” she said, rain slashing at her with a needle-sharp consistency. “It’s getting dark. I’m so worried about that little boy.”
Buster stood like a dark statue, his deep brown eyes on her. “I can stay and help the relief team, ma’am.”
“It’s okay, Buster. We’ve got a fresh second shift arriving. They’ll set up camp and keep searching as long as they can. We all know the first forty-eight hours are crucial in finding a missing child.”
“And it’s only been a few hours,” Buster replied. “With this storm, things go up a notch.”
So much could happen. The boy could slip and fall into rushing water from the nearby rivers and creeks. Flash floods were common in this area during storms. She prayed he’d found a safe place to shelter. Prayed he was still alive. At least the kid was a Cub Scout. Maybe his training would kick in. The temperature would be warm, but with this rain everything took on a chill.
“We have to rest and regroup tomorrow. The Amber Alert is out on the whole base and the surrounding area. The second shift is already arriving, and Chad is briefing them.”
“What if—”
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said to the gentle giant. “What if Boyd Sullivan has the boy and that’s why he didn’t shoot us? What if he had to get back to the kid?”
“Yes,” Buster said. “Exactly. He sure did run fast when those other bullets started flying.”
“Yes, he did, didn’t he?” Ava wasn’t sure if the bullets had been for Boyd or her, or both. But her gut told her the shooter was covering Sullivan. Maybe he didn’t kill Ava because he’d seen the heavy activity in the woods and it was too messy and risky.
Whatever his reasons, she thanked God she was still alive.
When the second shift had arrived and she’d updated the head of Security Forces, Captain Justin Blackwood, Ava trudged to the trail and got in an SF SUV with Roscoe safe in a kennel and returned to the base, exhausted and disappointed.
* * *
“I’m going back out first thing in the morning,” she told lead handler Master Sergeant Westley James after she’d updated several team members in the MWD training center conference room. “I promised Mrs. Johnson I wouldn’t give up on finding her son.”
“I agree,” her boss said, his blue eyes giving away nothing as the others filed out. “We’re running out of time on the boy and we now know Boyd Sullivan could be living in those woods. Which means our earlier reports on his whereabouts were wrong. He’s back in the area.”
“Yes, we are running out of time,” a deep voice said from the doorway of the conference room. “And now you’re in danger, too, Senior Airman Esposito.”
Ava whirled to find a very wet, haggard-looking FBI agent staring over at them. “Special Agent Davison, I take it you didn’t find Boyd Sullivan after all?”
Oliver looked as defeated as she felt. “Nope, and that storm and a pitch-dark sky brought everything to a grinding halt. But we found signs of what looked like camping areas in two different locations, so we bagged what could be evidence. I’m going to grab a shower in the locker room and then, Airman Esposito, I’d like a word with you on how we can coordinate our searches tomorrow.”
“I’m off to get a shower, too,” she said, thinking she’d head in the opposite direction of him. “Meet me back here at 19:00?”
He glanced at his fancy watch. “Sounds good.”
Westley James cut his gaze from Ava to the FBI agent but didn’t say a word. Then he grabbed his beret. “I’m going home now to be with Felicity.”
Staff Sergeant Felicity Monroe, a former K-9 handler and now the base photographer and Westley’s wife, was still considered a target of the Red Rose Killer. He’d want to make sure she was safe, of course.
“Give her my best, sir.”
“Will do. And, Ava, Agent Davison is right. You’re in danger now, too. Sullivan might have let you go today, but you’re on his radar now. He can’t leave any loose threads.”
Ava nodded and turned to go, conscious of Oliver Davison’s green-eyed gaze following her every step.
* * *
“How ’bout we get out of here and go to the Winged Java?” she said once she was clean and dry, her damp hair curled up under her navy beret, her blue T-shirt clean and fresh against her ABUs.
“Ah, the notorious coffee shop where flyboys and air force cadets hang out and brag about their daring deeds?” he asked, his dark hair shimmering and glossy from his shower, the scent of soap all around him. “I imagine you have a lot to brag about.”
Actually, she just wanted to get away from prying eyes and go over the details of the Boyd Sullivan case and how it would interfere with finding Turner Johnson.
“I don’t like braggadocios.”
“Did you really just say braggadocios?”
She laughed. “I can teach you a lot of new words.”
“I suppose you can. Let’s go.”
She started toward the door, her keys in her hand, and tried really hard to forget that he was good-looking and overconfident. He’d changed to a white button-down shirt and dark slacks, which made him stand out like a stranger in a spaghetti Western.
He beat her to the door and opened it. “I’ll drive.”
Ava scooted around him and out the door. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Afraid to ride with me, Esposito?”
“No, Special Agent. I can go home straight from there. Since we have special permission to take our K-9 partners home until the Red Rose Killer is caught, I have Roscoe to consider.”
“Of course.” He nodded and jingled his key fob. “I’ll see you in a few.”
The Winged Java was a legendary coffee shop, just as Oliver Davison had mentioned, but it was also a great place to relax and grab a burger or the best pizza in Texas, according to Ava’s way of thinking. And because she was hungry and needed coffee and maybe a slice of pie, she grinned when she pulled up in the parking lot.
“Roscoe, guess where we are?”
Roscoe loved the Winged
