LITMIR.BIZ

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anything happened to Portia, Justin would never forgive himself.

       Please, Lord, help me keep her safe.

      The prayer flitted through his mind as he turned into a cul-de-sac and eyed the darkened windows of the houses there. This was the quiet residential area of the base. Single-family homes that housed the larger families of airmen and officers.

      “It’s the brick two-story, right?” Gretchen asked, leaning forward as he approached the house.

      “Yes.”

      “And our witness was certain of what she saw?”

      “Yes. She said the house was lit up like a beacon. Almost every room in it. She noticed when she brought her dog out for a walk. Her husband is deployed, and she didn’t want to check it out herself, so she called it in.”

      “It could have been a cleaning crew. That is a nice-size house, and there are plenty of air force personnel with big families who’d love to have it. I doubt it’s going to stay empty long,” Gretchen suggested as Justin pulled into the driveway of the two-story brick home. Currently there were no lights in any of the windows. The front door was closed, as were all the visible windows. Someone may have been there, but the place looked empty now.

      “That thought crossed my mind, but I want to check it out, anyway.” He turned off the engine, and his K-9, Quinn, shifted impatiently in his travel crate. The Belgian Malinois loved his work, and he was anxious to get out and do it. Trained in suspect apprehension, he had a great nose and a strong prey-and-play drive that made him easy to train and a pleasure to work with. When they’d first been partnered together, Quinn had reminded Justin of Scout—a German shepherd he’d found as a puppy and fostered until he was old enough to enter the K-9 training program. At the time, Justin already had a K-9 partner. Scout had been partnered with another officer and earned a reputation for being a superstar on the team, but he’d remained one of Justin’s favorite dogs.

      Now he was missing, along with two more of the four superstar German shepherds that had been released from the kennels by Sullivan.

      “Ready, boy?” Justin asked his K-9 as he climbed out of the SUV.

      Quinn shifted again, whining softly.

      “What’s the plan?” Gretchen asked, following him to the back of the SUV.

      “Quinn and I will do a perimeter search. He’ll know if someone is here.”

      “You and Quinn? And I’m supposed to wait here and twiddle my thumbs?”

      “You are going to keep your eye on the front door. I don’t want anyone escaping out the front while Quinn and I are around back.”

      “Come on, Captain. You know that’s not going to happen.”

      “When it comes to Boyd Sullivan, I know we need to expect the unexpected.” He opened Quinn’s crate and hooked the dog to his leash.

      “When it comes to Sullivan, you’d be happy if you could keep everyone away from him. Admit it. You want me to stay here so I don’t get anywhere close to the guy we’re after.”

      She was right, but he wasn’t going to argue the validity of his feelings. The fact was, he was Boyd’s target, and he didn’t want Gretchen to be collateral damage. “Stay here, Captain.”

      He headed around the side of the house, Quinn heeling beside him. The dog was nearly prancing with excitement, his nose in the air, his tail high.

      And Gretchen, of course, was following, her boots thudding softly on the grassy side yard.

      “I told you to stay with the vehicle,” he said, not glancing in her direction. His focus was ahead—the dark backyard and shadowy corners.

      “Unfortunately for you, we’re of equal rank and equal authority. This is your base, so usually I do things your way, but going into a situation like this without backup is dangerous. So, this time, I’m doing things my way,” she said, and he couldn’t argue. If Boyd weren’t a factor, he wouldn’t have told her to stay at the SUV.

      They were both well-trained military police officers.

      They’d both reached the rank of captain.

      She was as capable as Justin.

      He was still worried.

      Quinn turned a tight circle at the corner of the house, his ears twitching, his scruff raised.

      He’d caught a scent. Justin released him from the leash.

      “Find,” he commanded, and Quinn barked once, excited. Eager. He bounded toward the back door of the house, head high, obviously detecting a scent.

      Please, God, let it be Boyd, Justin prayed silently.

      He wanted this over. He wanted Boyd behind bars, his victims finally receiving the justice they deserved, their families finally receiving closure.

      Portia safe.

      Quinn snuffled an old mat that had been left near the back door, turned a quick circle and bounded away. He worked silently, nose to the ground, trotting along an invisible trail. Left. Right. Toward the back of the house and then away.

      No bark of alert. No sprint back to indicate that someone was nearby. They’d been doing this together for years, and Justin knew his dog well enough to know that the Malinois sensed no danger.

      His skin crawled, anyway.

      He had a feeling about this. One he couldn’t shake. Boyd might not be there now, but Justin’s gut said he had been.

      “What do you think?” Gretchen asked quietly.

      “Whoever was here is gone,” Justin responded, watching as Quinn ran back to the door. He nudged it with his nose, and it swung open, creaking on old hinges.

      Quinn didn’t enter. He just glanced back over his shoulder to see if Justin was following.

      “Front!” Justin called, and Quinn sprinted back, stopping short directly in front of him and sitting there, tongue lolling, a happy smile on his face.

      “Why would Boyd enter an empty house and then leave?” Gretchen asked, her gaze focused on the open door. “He’s been keeping pretty well hidden. He obviously has safe places to go to ground.”

      “I was wondering the same thing,” Justin admitted, walking to the door and shining his flashlight on the opening. He was looking for signs of a booby trap, evidence that Boyd had left something dangerous behind. He wasn’t the kind of criminal who did things without careful planning and thought. He was smart, meticulous and, thus far, one step ahead of Justin and the base police.

      “A booby trap, maybe?” Gretchen suggested what he was thinking. “Or a bomb?” She crouched, peering into the dark house.

      Justin continued his search of the door. From what he could see, there was no trip wire and no evidence that the door had been booby-trapped.

      “If he was here, he had an agenda, and it wasn’t just finding a place to hang out for a couple of hours,” he responded. “I’ll call in our explosive detecting team. Nick Donovan and his K-9, Annie, can check things out before we go in and look around.”

      Quinn snuffled the ground nearby, then made a circuit of the yard. It wasn’t large, but someone had planted several trees. At one point, there had been a garden. Now old vines and dead plants filled a weed-choked patch of cleared land. An old swing set sat near the edge of the property. Beyond that, thick woods spilled out into deep forests. It would have been easy for Boyd to reach the house without being seen. The fact that he was on base, stalking victims again, infuriated and worried Justin.

      His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, expecting to see a text from someone at headquarters. The entire Security Forces was on high alert, ready and anxious to face off with Sullivan.

      Instead, he saw Portia’s number. Read the text. Felt the blood drain from

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