LITMIR.BIZ

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Was the captain not as convinced of his guilt as the lieutenant was? He could only hope that the forensic team was taking the cut in Allie’s window screen, the torn picture and the footsteps in the dirt as seriously as Security Forces were taking their investigation into him.

      When Lieutenant Ethan Webb had met him in a coffee shop three and a half weeks ago and told him his name had shown up on Boyd Sullivan’s prison visitor list, Chase had been both shocked and indignant; his frustration at just how ludicrous the whole situation was had shown in both his tone of voice and his body language. He still kicked himself for that. Growing up, his grandfather, Senior Master Sergeant Donald McLear, had drilled into him that a man and a hero always kept his chin high and his emotions in check. But the idea that he’d do anything to help Boyd Sullivan had been both insulting and laughable. How could anyone think he’d want to spend one minute in the presence of that monster? He’d expected his name would be cleared immediately and that whoever had used his name to cover their tracks had picked him at random. Even the fact that his laptop had been stolen from his truck, along with his gym bag and toolbox, had seemed like a cruel coincidence.

      But any hope that he wasn’t being personally targeted, which had remained flickering in his heart, was completely snuffed out the second Captain Blackwood had held the late Chief Master Sergeant Clint Lockwood’s gold cross in Maisy’s startled face. The thought that it had been found under his living room floorboards chilled him to the bone. He’d been set up, no doubt about it, by someone who’d both been inside his home and had eyes on his truck. He didn’t know who and he didn’t know why. But one thing was certain—for the sake of his little girl, he had to clear his name.

      “Landon Martelli and Tamara Peterson,” Preston barked, as he slammed the pictures of two more of Sullivan’s victims down on the table. “Both were K-9 trainers and murdered by someone who opened the kennel doors, letting about two hundred dogs go free. You don’t have an alibi for the morning this happened, do you?”

      Chase fought the urge to cross his arms. “As I’ve stated before, I was on a video chat with a military contractor named Ajay Joseph, who I used to work with in Afghanistan, from four fifteen in the morning until my cell phone rang shortly after oh five hundred with an alert that Boyd Sullivan had escaped prison and let dogs loose on base. I paused the video call and went into the bedroom to answer my cell phone and spoke to Master Sergeant Westley James. When I returned to the living room, approximately eight minutes later, my daughter, Allie, was up and playing with Queenie and the video call had ended.”

      “But you have no way to corroborate that story,” Preston interjected.

      “That I was at home and on a video call when Sullivan broke onto base? No, I don’t. Because my laptop was stolen, along with my gym bag and toolbox, from my truck when I was off base and I haven’t been able to reach my contact.”

      Preston smirked. Yeah, Chase knew how weak his alibi sounded. It didn’t help that he hadn’t been able to reach Ajay since then. But he was an Afghan, an independent contractor and a coordinator between locals and the United States Air Force. Ajay wasn’t stationed on base, and off-base communication in his part of Afghanistan had been unstable.

      “Two dozen of the dogs Boyd let out of the kennels still haven’t been found, Airman,” Preston said. “Many of them had PTSD from serving their country and saving the lives of service members overseas. You recently transferred to the K-9 unit, didn’t you?”

      Was it his imagination or did Chase pick up a hint of resentment in the lieutenant’s voice. It was no secret that Preston had done basic K-9 training as well but had yet to be paired with a canine partner. Did he resent that Chase had been partnered first? He hadn’t thought so. He’d have expected a man like Preston to be focused on getting a fierce and dangerous animal, who specialized in something like suspect apprehension, rather than a sweet little search dog like Queenie.

      “Yes, sir, I did request a transfer to the K-9 unit,” Chase said. “Though, as I’m sure you know, completion of my training with the team is currently on hold until this mix-up can be resolved. I have the utmost respect for what the dogs in the unit and their trainers do to serve our great country. I hope the missing dogs are found soon.”

      “I spoke to your old boss, Captain Reardon,” Preston said, “and she described you as a quiet man who kept to himself.”

      Chase didn’t answer. He hadn’t been asked a question and didn’t like Preston’s insinuation that being private and quiet was somehow a crime.

      “Why did you request a transfer?” Justin’s voice snapped his attention to the doorway. Chase blinked. He couldn’t remember the lead investigator asking any other questions since the interrogation had started. “Your previous career was security, correct? You guarded missiles, weapons transfers and installations in Afghanistan?”

      “And personnel, yes, sir,” Chase said. “I requested a transfer because as fulfilling as it was to be overseas, serving my country on the front line, I couldn’t neglect my duty to my own daughter. Seeing the difference we were making in the lives of Afghan children made me miss my own. I figured my daughter deserved better in life than a daddy who she knew only through a video-chat screen, sir.”

      Justin’s eyebrows rose. His mouth opened, like he was about to ask a follow-up question, and Chase suddenly remembered that Justin himself was the single father of a teenaged daughter.

      The sound of another picture smacking the table yanked Chase’s attention back to Preston. He looked down and his heart ached. It was Maisy’s father, Chief Master Sergeant Clint Lockwood, lying on the floor in a navy blue PT uniform. A red rose was tucked under his arm. A dark pool of blood stained his crisp white shirt.

      Maisy thinks I had something to do with this? Anger and sadness crashed over Chase like competing waves battling on the shore. The look of disbelief and doubt in her eyes when she’d looked at the gold cross was seared in his mind. It reminded him all too much of the look of defeat that had greeted him when he’d answered the overseas video call from his then pregnant wife, telling him that she’d given up on their marriage and fallen in love with another man who was “emotionally available” for her in a way Chase could never be. Liz had filed for divorce almost immediately. Thankfully a DNA test after Allie was born had proven she was Chase’s little girl. Even before Allie was born, Liz had decided to restart her life without them.

      “Chief Master Sergeant Lockwood was my basic training officer,” Chase said, quickly, snapping his errant mind back to attention and filling in the information before Preston could try to hit him with another question. “It’s well-known by everyone who trained under him how tough he could be. He didn’t give me a rougher time than anybody else, and I certainly didn’t hold a grudge.”

      Before Preston could speak, Justin asked another question. “What’s your relationship like with his daughter, Maisy Lockwood?”

      “Much the same as I imagine Lieutenant Flannigan’s is, sir,” Chase said. “Polite and courteous, but not personal. My daughter is in her preschool, as his son is.”

      Was it Chase’s imagination or did irritation flicker in Preston’s eyes?

      “Then why were you holding a picture of her when you were arrested?” Preston snapped.

      “I’ve already answered that question. There was a prowler outside my daughter’s window. I went outside to investigate and found the picture in the dirt. They cut the screen on Allie’s bedroom window, pulled the picture from her dresser and ripped my daughter’s face from the frame. My baby daughter’s picture is now in this person’s hands.”

      He fought the urge to drop his head into his hands. Instead, his eyes rose to the ceiling as he prayed. Did they believe he’d cut the screen and scuffed the ground himself to cover his tracks in case someone saw Boyd near his home and called the police? Didn’t they get how ridiculous that would be?

      “My name was used by someone visiting the Red Rose Killer in prison,” he added. “My truck was broken into. I was robbed. My home was invaded by someone who planted evidence under my floorboards. My daughter is in

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