his present life. Nor with his ability to protect Felicity. “Sorry. Not going there.”
“I know you’re my superior, and I’m to follow orders,” she replied, “but I figure since we’re going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future, we may as well get to know each other a bit better.”
He faced her. “There’s nothing to know.”
“Sure there is. Where did you grow up?”
The determination in her expression didn’t bode well. The tenacity that would make her a great dog trainer one day also meant he wasn’t getting out of this conversation easily. The only thing to do was give her the basics that anyone could read in his official personnel file. “I grew up in Stillwater, Oklahoma. My father passed on years ago.” In prison, but he kept that tidbit to himself. “And my mother is...” He didn’t know where Lori Jean James was. Last he’d heard from her, she’d been in Nevada. “We aren’t close.”
“I’m sorry,” Felicity said.
Her compassion annoyed him. He didn’t want her pity. “Look. None of that matters. I have one focus right now. That is protecting you.” He yanked open the door. “The first thing we need to do is find Glory. She’ll be the best dog for you.”
He didn’t need to read Felicity’s mind to know she wasn’t pleased with him. It was written in the tiny V between her eyebrows and the irritation in her eyes.
Inside the center, Felicity went to gather her things from the locker room, while Westley headed for the dog kennels at the back of the building. He passed one of the long-time trainers, Rusty Morton. Westley liked the guy well enough.
Rusty paused to salute. “Master Sergeant.”
Westley returned the customary salute. “At ease. How is it going?”
Rusty relaxed. “I’m headed out to see if I can find more of the dogs. Someone reported seeing some in the woods at the far edge of base.”
That was concerning. Six hundred acres of rough terrain and steep canyons could pose a danger to the canines. He hoped nothing bad befell the dogs. “I’ll be praying you find them.” And praying the canines were unharmed. “I’ll head out soon to search as well.”
“Yes, sir.” Rusty hurried away.
Why Westley clung to the faith of his childhood, he didn’t know. Habit maybe. Or deep inside, maybe he still wanted to believe God answered prayers. So he prayed that Rusty and the other trainers out searching for the dogs had success.
Westley entered the large open space where numerous kennels lined the walls. Dogs barked in greeting. He was pleased to see so many of the dogs had been returned unharmed.
“We have about sixty dogs still missing,” Caleb Streeter told him. The tall, muscular officer was refilling water bowls. Because Caleb and Westley were the same rank, they dispensed with the protocol of saluting.
Westley was surprised by the number and tried not to be disheartened. The dogs had to be somewhere on base. But where?
“I need Glory,” Westley said as he stopped in front of her empty crate. “Where is she?”
“She’s one of the sixty.”
“No way!” Westley couldn’t believe it. “Glory is a rock star. She’d come when called.”
“I know. I don’t get it,” Caleb said. “Liberty, Patriot and Scout are missing, too.”
“That’s just weird.” And worrisome. Westley rubbed the back of his neck, where tension had taken up residence. The four German shepherds were superstars in the making and very valuable to the military. They should have been easily recalled. He hoped and prayed they weren’t hurt, or worse. Anxiety ate at his gut.
His gaze collided with the dark eyes of an all-black German shepherd named Dakota. A measure of relief eased some of the pressure knotting his muscles. Dakota was a good candidate for Felicity. The mature, multipurpose dog excelled in his training and had a good balance of aggression and excitability that was needed for patrol work. He’d been deployed with his handler on two missions overseas before coming back to the training center to be paired with a new handler after his handler had been injured. “You’ll do nicely, Dakota.”
The dog perked up hearing his name. Grabbing a lead, Westley released the dog from his kennel and latched the lead to his black collar. The dog was a two-year-old veteran well trained in protection. Westley was confident that Dakota would keep Felicity safe.
Westley explained to Caleb the situation of the Red Rose Killer and Westley’s detail to Felicity’s protection.
“Man, that’s rough,” the other trainer said. “What can I do to help?”
“I need you to take over the day-to-day tasks while I’m on this detail.”
Caleb’s blue eyes grew wide. “You got it.”
Surprisingly, Westley didn’t mind giving up control of the program. It was only temporary and he knew the dogs would be in capable hands. Taking Dakota with him, he went to find Felicity, who was talking with base reporter Lieutenant Heidi Jenks in the training center break room.
He saluted the officer while Dakota sat at attention.
“At ease,” Heidi said as she returned the salute.
Turning his gaze on Felicity, he hoped she hadn’t given away any details. “What’s going on?”
Felicity smiled easily. “Just chatting. Do you know Heidi? She’s my neighbor.”
“Only by reputation,” he replied.
Pushing back her long blond hair, Heidi said, “I was hoping you all could tell me about the missing dogs and the two trainers who were murdered here last night.”
“No comment,” Westley replied. “Felicity, we need to go.”
Heidi scrambled from her chair. “Wait. Give me something. Do you have any info on Chief Master Sergeant Lockwood’s murder?”
“Sorry, Lieutenant. You’ll have to contact the base commander for information.” He gripped Felicity by the elbow and hurried her out of the center. Once they were away from the reporter, he said, “What did you tell her?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “I know better than that. My dad was OSI, you know.”
“Right.” He took his cell phone from his pocket and sent a text to the training staff telling them Caleb would be in charge and not to talk to the press.
“I thought you said Glory was the dog for me,” Felicity said, petting Dakota. “Not that I’m complaining. I like this guy a lot.”
Westley relayed what Caleb had told him as they hurried toward base housing.
“I have to believe we’ll find the dogs,” she said, though a thread of anxiety wove through her tone.
“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” he replied.
“Is
