Top Secret Target. Dana Mentink

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       THREE

      After hours of fruitless searching Ethan made it back to Canyon Air Force Base. He’d done his best, but there was simply no sign of the cat. Titus was ready for a cold drink of water and some grub and so was he. Maybe in the morning...

      As he unloaded Titus from the truck, they both caught the sound of whimpering coming from the bushes in his front yard. Titus dashed toward the foliage, tail wagging. Ethan followed, getting down on his knees as the soft cries turned into full-blown yips.

      Titus was nose to nose with a gangly puppy, a Malinois with pointy ears and a dark muzzle. The ears were erect and the tongue was out, busily bathing Titus.

      “Hey, fella,” Ethan said. “How did you get here?” He was close enough now to see that the puppy was wearing a filthy training center collar.

      Ethan’s throat constricted. It was one of the animals that had been let loose by Boyd Sullivan when he killed the two K-9 trainers and left his signature red rose calling card. With Titus’s encouragement, he coaxed the dog to come out. It didn’t take much, as the poor critter was clearly weak and terrified. The pup was skinny, his ribs protruding. He smelled of garbage, which was where he’d probably been scrounging for food to stay alive for so long. Ethan noted a long gash in the dog’s side. His anger at Sullivan kindled fresh and hot. How could a guy who’d once wanted to become a K-9 trainer let hundreds of dogs loose to be injured or worse? But Sullivan’s twisted sense of revenge didn’t stop there. He’d killed a commissary cook a few miles from base, and some of those in his basic training flight group had received roses and threats...including Jillian.

      Ethan poured some water from a bottle into his cupped palm and the dog lapped at it eagerly while Titus gave him a thorough sniffing. Wrapping the pup in his jacket, Ethan ignored the growling in his stomach and loaded both dogs into the truck.

      In twenty minutes he was pulling up to the K-9 training center. He’d called Master Sergeant Westley James and his new wife, base photographer Staff Sergeant Felicity James, on the way. At the entrance to the training yard, Westley waited, a head taller than the petite Felicity, his face grave.

      “Another one found,” Felicity said, cooing to the puppy. “He’s skin and bones. I’ll get him to the clinic.”

      Westley shook his head. “If I could just get a lead on Sullivan...”

      “You and everyone else,” Ethan said. “We’re all hoping to be the one that brings him down.”

      “And his accomplice,” Felicity added. “He isn’t doing all these things without help.”

      Someone was helping Sullivan certainly, but the list of suspects shifted constantly, and the team assembled to track down the killer was growing more and more frustrated.

      Trainer Rusty Morton rushed over, tossing the rag he’d been using on the ground. “Oh, man. Is that Rocket? I heard he’d been sighted on and off in the woods and raiding garbage cans. I left out food and water where they said they’d spotted him.” He leaned over to stroke the dog’s ears tenderly. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, buddy.”

      Puzzlement played across Felicity’s face as she handed the dog into Rusty’s arms. “Hang on to him for a minute while I alert the vet, okay?”

      Ethan shared her uncertainty. Rusty was on the list of Sullivan’s potential accomplices, under scrutiny from the investigation team as he’d been a friend of Boyd Sullivan’s during their basic training days.

      But Ethan saw tears shining in the guy’s eyes. They weren’t fake, he was certain. That contradicted Ethan’s earlier suspicions. He made a note to mention it to the investigative team leader Captain Blackwood. Surely a guy who loved dogs as much as Rusty wouldn’t have helped Sullivan let the animals loose, would he?

      Ethan thought about his friend Landon. Man, he missed talking to him about anything and everything.

      “You okay?” Felicity asked.

      “Yeah.” He shrugged. “Just thinking about Martelli.”

      “We miss him, too,” she said quietly.

      Ethan’s phone rang and he moved away to answer it, Titus roaming the enclosed yard.

      “Heard you got into some trouble near Baylor, Lieutenant,” Justin Blackwood said. He was a captain in the Security Forces and a veteran of two tours of duty in Afghanistan, which gave him stellar credentials in Ethan’s book, the perfect guy to be the leader of the team trying to hunt down Boyd Sullivan. “Was the shooting Sullivan’s work?”

      “Uncertain, sir. Doesn’t seem like his MO.” Ethan felt the tension crackling through the phone.

      “I wouldn’t rule it out completely. Sullivan was spotted near Baylor Marine Corps Base hours prior to your shooting incident.”

      Ethan’s pulse ticked up a notch as Blackwood continued.

      “A marine has been killed off base, his uniform and ID are gone.”

      Ethan’s stomach dropped at the news of another murder. And now Sullivan had access to the base and Kendra. Perhaps the shooting really was a case of mistaken identity?

      “We’ve got our hands full on this case,” Blackwood said. “I know you’d rather be doing anything other than working with Jillian and Masters, but maybe you can find that lead we’re all looking for.”

      “I’ll do what I can, sir,” he said.

      “Fair enough. Keep me posted.”

      “Yes, sir,” Ethan said, disconnecting.

      His eyes landed on Rusty as he cooed to the pup, who looked half-starved in the training center lights. Immediately he thought about Kendra cradling the pet carrier, tears glistening in her eyes, knowing her cat was lost like Rocket had been.

       Your fault, Ethan.

      On impulse, he sent her a text.

      Did you find your cat?

      Should he add something like another apology? An “I hope so” or something to soften it?

      “I’m glad to have Rocket returned,” Westley said. “But there are still plenty of dogs on the loose as well as a serial killer.” He looped a protective arm around Felicity’s shoulders.

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