Lenora Worth - Rescue Operation

“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 Java, too, since K-9s were as welcome here as humans. Maybe even more so. The manager always gave her treats to give to Roscoe at her discretion. Ava could leave him in the temperature-controlled kennel in her SUV, but she preferred having him with her whenever she could.

Normally Military Working Dogs didn’t go home with their handlers, but base commander Lieutenant General Nathan Hall had given them special permission to keep the seasoned K-9s with them because of the brutal murders on base. Over the last few months, she’d gotten used to having Roscoe around. And so had several of the base restaurants. Because he was trained in search and rescue, Roscoe was more acclimated socially than the German shepherds and Belgian Malinois that did heavy battle duty, but he still had to be handled carefully in social situations.

Checking Roscoe’s uniform, a vest that identified him as a Military Working Dog so people would use caution when approaching him, Ava knew Roscoe would be on his best behavior.

But she wasn’t so sure about the intense man waiting for her in a corner booth. Taking a breath after spotting Oliver Davison through the window, she stared at the giant white coffee mug mural on the front of the building in an effort to stall this meeting.

Flanked by two wings that were lit up with red, white and blue lights, the cup showcased a chevron emblem. Above the cup, the café’s name was done in black. The Winged Java. Inside, the walls were covered with photos and posters lauding the pride this area held for the base and the air force, some of those photos capturing shots of the Military Working Dog handlers and their dogs in training and on the job.

After sitting there for five minutes, dread weighing her down because she didn’t want this man interfering in her job or her life, Ava went in and faced Oliver Davison.

* * *

“I ordered two coffees,” he said, the scent of something clean and tropical hitting the air as she settled into the booth across from him. “I’ve seen you inhaling it in the break room.”

That comment garnered him a concentrated stare. “Spying on me?”

“No, just part of the job to stay on the alert and observe people. I mean, we’ve never been officially introduced but you are always around.”

She’d whizz through the break room with a dare to anybody who messed with her, but she’d stop on a dime to pet a dog or talk to a fellow handler. And when she smiled...

She was not smiling now, he noticed. “Does that bother you? Me always being around, that is?”

“Should it?”

She didn’t look at the menu when the waitress showed up with their coffee and asked for their orders. “Cheeseburger, medium rare, with fries on the side. No mayo but loaded down.”

“A woman who knows her own mind,” the waitress said through a chuckle. “And for you, sir?”

Oliver glanced at the menu and looked up at Ava. “I’ll have what she’s having and hope I can eat the whole thing.”

“Try to keep up,” the freckled older woman said. Then she greeted Roscoe where he lay beside the booth with a “Hey, boy,” before she walked away with a smile.