But if I go around expecting disappointment then I’m sure to find it.”
He marveled at the way her brain worked.
“Would you mind if we say a prayer for the dogs’ safety?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.
“Be my guest,” he said. He’d like to think God would hear and deliver on their request. Maybe he would for Felicity.
She bowed her head. “Lord God, please watch over the missing dogs and bring them back safely. Watch over the whole base, Lord. Keep everyone safe from Boyd Sullivan. Amen.”
“Amen,” he mumbled.
When they reached her house, crime-scene tape fluttered around the mailbox, slamming home the reminder of the danger lurking on base.
Before Felicity could step inside, Westley halted her with a hand on her shoulder. “Let Dakota go first.” If the Red Rose Killer was waiting inside, the dog would alert.
He unhooked the lead from the dog’s collar. “Search,” Westley told Dakota.
The dog went inside. Westley tensed, waiting for some sign of alert to trouble. A few moments later, Dakota returned without alerting.
“It’s safe,” Westley said.
Felicity stepped inside and let out an audible gasp.
Westley followed her, taking in the disarray of the living room. Either she was a messy housekeeper or someone had ransacked her house.
Felicity clenched her fists at her sides, taking in the damage done to her house while she’d been at the briefing.
The stuffing from the couches littered the floor like little puffy clouds. All the books from the shelves were strewn about. Framed photos had been knocked off the walls, the glass shattered. A sense of violation seeped through her bones.
The blatant destruction was worse than the subtle signs of intrusion that had caused her to question her sanity. Now she knew without a doubt she wasn’t going crazy. Someone had been in her house, searched her house. Was it the person who killed her father?
Dread nipped at her. Had the person found what they were looking for? Was it the evidence in her father’s last case that had gone missing?
If so, then what chance did the OSI have of catching the person who took her father from her?
“I take it this isn’t how you left things this morning.” He took out his phone and reported the break-in to base security.
Westley’s wry comment grated on her already taut nerves.
She whirled on him. “No. This is the work of a killer.”
“Why would Boyd want to wreck your house?”
She snapped her jaw closed and clenched her teeth. Should she confide in Westley? The question poked at her like a cattle prod. Ian had said not to trust anyone.
Agitated, she hurried through the house, seeing the same sort of ransacking in every room, though her bedroom wasn’t nearly as torn apart. But the majority of the chaos was concentrated in her father’s office. His file cabinets had been emptied, his desk drawers dumped in heaps.
“Someone seemed to be searching for something important to them,” Westley mused.
She wondered how much help he could be in figuring out the mystery. The man was smart.
Aware of Westley and Dakota dogging her steps, she wrestled with the need to tell Westley the truth. There was no reason why she shouldn’t trust this man. Working for him for six months had shown her he was a man of integrity. Surely, he wasn’t involved in her father’s death. Yet, reluctance kept her silent.
He cocked his head and studied her. Dakota sat and mimicked the man. Felicity shook her head, amused despite the circumstances. Seemed like both males were analyzing her.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Westley’s question jerked her gaze to meet his intense stare. Her heart pounded as her instinct warred with Ian’s directive.
“Felicity, I can’t protect you if I don’t know what is going on.”
True. Westley was the only one standing between her and a potential killer.
Two killers, in fact.
And if Westley didn’t know there was more than one threat out there, then how effective could he be? And once Westley knew everything, he could help catch her father’s murderer. She’d ask Ian for forgiveness later.
“This wasn’t the work of Boyd Sullivan. At least, I don’t believe so.” There was the slimmest possibilities Boyd or his accomplice had trashed her home, though their motive was a mystery.
Westley’s eyebrows rose. “Then who? Why?”
She inhaled, blew out the breath and then said, “My father’s death wasn’t an accident.”
Westley frowned. “What do you mean? How so?”
Her stomach clenched. “Agent Steffen believes that the last case my dad was working on is why he’s dead. My father had a lead on a hit-and-run off base. His case notes are missing.”
“So that’s what Agent Steffen wanted to talk to you about. He thinks your father’s death was no accident. That he was...murdered?”
Bile rose to burn her throat. “Yes.”
“Felicity—”
She could hear the need to comfort her that had been in his voice earlier, when he hugged her. “Don’t. Please, Westley, just don’t. Not now.”
Westley rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Okay. Okay.” He looked around the office. “So this was someone looking for the evidence your father had.”
Grateful he was refocusing on something they could both handle, Felicity blew out another agitated breath. “I believe so. The question is did they find what they were looking for?”
“This morning, when you thought there was someone in your house, there really was.”
The grim reality of how vulnerable she’d been sent a shiver of terror down her spine. To cover her fright, she bent to pick up a broken picture frame.
“Don’t.” He echoed her plea; only from him, the word was a command.
She stilled.
“The Security Forces crime-scene techs need to dust for prints and look for particulates.”
Of course. She straightened and stared down at the smiling face of her father, his arm wrapped around her on her sixteenth birthday. Tears burned her eyes. She held them back. No way would
