DESPERATE CREED: (Book 5 Ryder Creed K-9 Mystery Series)

by Kava, Alex

  She glanced up at signs directing passengers, but Frankie really didn’t need them. She knew exactly where to go. While other passengers moved toward baggage claim, she rushed to the exit. As soon as she walked out the door she gulped in the blast of fresh air. It didn’t matter that it was filled with the fumes of gasoline and diesel. It was one step closer to escaping.

  A shuttle started to leave, and she raised her hand, getting the driver’s attention. He stopped. The side door slid open, and Frankie bounded up the steps. The door slid shut, and they were moving again, almost knocking her off her feet. She purposely by-passed several open seats. Her eyes darted out the windows. She wanted to see if the man with the scar had followed her outside. She tried to watch while she teetered down the aisle.

  Very few passengers dared to look up at her and away from their phone screens. Most of the time it annoyed Frankie how glued people were to their electronic devices. Today, she was grateful for those same obsessions. She didn’t want anyone to see the panic and urgency on her face, in her gestures. She made her way to the back, an empty bench all to herself. Only now did she realize she was out of breath.

  No time to rest. She dug out her cell phone. She turned it on and ignored the messages pinging and lighting up. Instead, she brought up the rental car service still bookmarked. Not the one McGavin Holt always had her use. The one her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—had a membership with. The one Gordon had asked her to use when she arranged their weekend getaway before Christmas. Before she knew the lying bastard was banging his fitness trainer. The fitness trainer who used to be Frankie’s friend. In a single swoop, she’d lost her two closest friends.

  Forget about it, she told herself. She couldn’t think about that right now.

  What impressed her was how his rental car membership made it so easy and convenient. She brought up the website. She still remembered his gold card membership number, his user name and password. She even remembered his VISA number. Details, numbers—she had a knack. Call it payback. The best part, even though she was listed as a secondary driver, no one could track the rental car to her. It would be in his name.

  In a matter of seconds she had an SUV reserved. A few minutes later, her watch vibrated letting her know she had a new email. She logged into her account and there waiting was the confirmation number along with the parking stall number. The keys would be in the vehicle, and it would be ready to go when she arrived in the next ten to fifteen minutes.

  Okay, so this would just take her longer. She should have thought of it sooner. She could have saved herself the cost of a flight and the near confrontation with Tyler’s attacker. She shut down her phone. Tossed it into her bag and told herself she’d need to use the pre-paid phones from here on out. And as soon as she got outside of the Chicago area, she would call Hannah, again.

  She leaned her head against the back of the seat. She could relax if even for a short time. And yet, her heart still pounded in her ears. Without glancing down, she knew her hands were still shaking.

  She’d be okay. She just needed to get away from Chicago. Lose these guys. Whatever was going on, Hannah would help her figure out what to do.

  16

  Old Ebbitt Grill

  Washington, D.C.

  Maggie O’Dell arrived late. But she had a good excuse. This was the third time in less than a month that her boss had called her into his office for an unscheduled meeting. Twice before, the impromptu summons seemed like a waste of time to Maggie. Checking and double-checking on reports that had already been submitted. In hindsight, Maggie now wondered if those two call-ins were simply practice runs for today. Because today’s meeting was a doozy.

  She waved to the host who was busy with a couple of politicians she recognized. Poor Ermelo was getting an earful, but he nodded for her to go ahead and gestured toward the back. She found her friend, Gwen Patterson in their favorite corner, sipping a glass of wine.

  “Sorry,” Maggie said as she slid in on the opposite side of the booth. She’d already texted an explanation earlier.

  A waiter appeared with a bottle of Sam Adams and a frosted pilsner. When he left, Maggie raised an eyebrow at her friend and said, “A beer for lunch?”

  “It’s Friday. I put in our food order already, too. I’m starving.”

  Maggie was glad to hear that. Chemo had stolen her friend’s appetite for too long. It wasn’t bad enough that it had also replaced Gwen’s beautiful, strawberry-blond hair with a steel gray. She used to wear it chin-length but now kept it clipped short, almost a pixie-style that actually made her look younger, despite the gray.

  “Everything okay?” Gwen asked.

  Maggie smiled as she poured the beer.

  “What?”

  “All you’ve been through, and you’re always worried about me.”

  “Someone has to,” Gwen said, matter-of-fact and sipped her wine.

  Gwen was fifteen years older than Maggie. She’d been a mentor to her when Maggie was a newbie, just getting started as a criminal profiler. Gwen was a consultant to the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, and the two had worked together to apprehend some of the deadliest and most dangerous killers.

  “A.D. Kunze wanted to let me know that the director was impressed with the way I handled the human trafficking case in Nebraska.”

  Gwen raised her glass, “Congratulations.”

  “That was last fall. Why would he take four months to tell me that?”

  “The director or Raymond?”

  Maggie held back a grimace. Sometimes she hated that Gwen was on a first name basis with her boss, but her friend’s question only confirmed what Maggie was already thinking. When had the director told Kunze that he was impressed with her? Maybe it didn’t matter.

  Their food arrived, and Maggie sat back. The waiter had also brought a second glass of wine for Gwen. He asked if Maggie would like a second beer, but she had barely taken a drink and shook her head. She was surprised to see that he had two platters with burgers. Gwen was a gourmet cook and lately chose one of the seafood entrees from the menu, only to pick at it, eating very little.

  She glanced at Gwen preparing her sandwich, adding salt and pepper then carefully placing—from the side garnish—pickles, jalapenos, onion and lettuce. It was the most interest she’d seen Gwen give food in a long time. Maggie fussed over her own sandwich, pretending that her friend’s sudden appetite wasn’t a big deal.

  “Go on,” Gwen said as she sliced her creation in half. Her fingers expertly picked up the first half, keeping everything together. She stopped before bringing it to her lips. “So tell me,” she coaxed. “Why was he finally telling you what the director said?”

  “Because the director is creating a new special unit to assist local law enforcement in solving violent crimes. They just invested millions to upgrade ViCap and our crime lab. Maybe he’s looking to justify the expense.”

  ViCap was the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, a unit of the bureau that analyzed and collected data on violent and sexual crimes.

  “Actually that’s a great idea,” Gwen said. “Getting back to solving crimes instead of getting mixed up in politics.”

  “Do you really believe that’s possible for Kunze? He seems to thrive on having all those connections.”

  Gwen shrugged. “Sounds like he might not have a choice if Director Bowman has something else in mind.”

  The new FBI director had been on the job less than a year and had already made it clear he wanted no part of letting the agency be used for political football. Maggie couldn’t help wondering how that set with her boss, Assistant Director Kunze who had made a career by exchanging favors with politicians. Too many times he’d sent her on wild goose chases to check on political pet projects of various members of congress. Once, he even ordered Maggie to retrieve a senator’s family along with their houseboat from the middle of the Gulf of Mexico during a severe thunderstorm. And he usually equipped her with less information than he had available, willing to put her in danger
for the sake of keeping his contacts from a media firestorm or scandal.

  “So this new unit,” Gwen said using her fork to punctuate the word unit. “It sounds interesting. And it sounds like perhaps Bowman wants you to be a part of it?”

  Maggie nodded while she chewed, holding up a finger for Gwen to give her a second or two. She was still processing her conversation with Kunze. It seemed a bit surreal. Finally she swallowed, wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin and said, “He wants me to be the head of it.”

  Her friend’s face lit up. “Oh Maggie, that’s fantastic. The director must have been very impressed.”

  “A.D. Kunze said I can pick my team, but of course, he already presented me with names he highly recommends I consider. Your name is on his list.”

  “Mine?”

  Gwen had remained a consultant to the FBI despite having her own successful psychiatrist practice. When she found out she had breast cancer two years ago she scaled back, seeing fewer clients, turning down speaking engagements. Maggie still remembered being stunned and a bit scared that her mentor, her rock, seemed to shrink away from her normal everyday life to adjust to her new reality. Gwen Patterson was one of the strongest women Maggie knew, and she hated seeing her friend so filled with doubts and fears that it had almost crippled her.

  “You said you could use a break from listening to the meltdowns of DC’s political class.” Gwen’s clients ranged from congressional staffers to senators’ spouses and even a four-star general.

  “That’s quite the choice,” Gwen laughed. “Listening to politico meltdowns or chasing criminals?”

  In her role as consultant, Maggie knew Gwen had helped with some of their strangest and most dangerous cases. She was an expert in criminal behavior, having penned numerous articles and several books. Not only had she interviewed killers but several times she had also been caught up in their sick mind games. Maggie would be lucky to have her be a part of this unit and a part of her team.

  “You have so many talented FBI agents you could choose from,” Gwen said.

  “But none that I trust like I trust you.”

  Gwen nodded. “Let me think about it, okay?”

  “Sure. No problem,” but Maggie could hear her own disappointment in her voice before she tried to stash it away. And Gwen noticed.

  “It’s just that, maybe I should talk to R.J. about it first.”

  FBI agent R.J. Tully was Gwen’s significant other and Maggie’s sometimes partner.

  “Are you worried you might not be able to work together?”

  “You’re asking R.J. to be a part of your team?”

  “Of course,” Maggie said. She hadn’t even considered that he might not agree.

  “Then I should definitely talk to him about it.”

  “You’ve worked together dozens of times before.”

  “Not since the cancer. He’s been a bit overprotective of me.”

  “I get that. He doesn’t want to lose you.”

  “It’s not like I’m in the line of fire like you two.” Gwen finished the last bite of her hamburger. Maggie was glad none of this conversation had taken away her appetite. “You and Ben have worked together, and it hasn’t always gone well.”

  “It’s not quite the same thing.” Maggie sipped her beer. “Ben and I aren’t...well, you know. We’re not in a relationship.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “Of course, he does. It was his choice, remember?”

  Dr. Benjamin Platt was the director of USAMRIID (United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases). They had grown close while Maggie was under Ben’s care after being exposed to the Ebola virus. There was a time when she believed they might become more than friends, but Ben had made it clear he wanted to have more children. His only daughter had died of complications of the flu while Ben was deployed to Afghanistan. As an officer and a medical doctor it seemed a cruel irony that he would be saving the lives of soldiers and unable to help save his only child seven thousand miles away.

  “So what about Ryder Creed? Do you think the two of you will have any problems working together now that you’ve...you know, been together?”

  This wasn’t a subject Maggie wanted to talk about.

  “Ryder and I agreed to not talk about it.” She took a gulp of her beer. “Besides he’s younger than me. He just turned thirty.”

  “You know you get nowhere with that excuse. R.J. is younger than me. By the way, what did you get him for his birthday?”

  She knew Gwen was right. Age was a stupid excuse. Ryder was an old soul. Sometimes he seemed wiser and more mature than she was.

  “A GPS watch,” she finally answered when she realized Gwen was waiting for her response.

  “Those are nice.” Gwen’s eyes were watching her, studying her. “Expensive. Sort of a relationship worthy gift.”

  “Oh no. Do you think so? I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

  “I think the sex might have already done that.”

  Maggie winced, and it only made Gwen laugh.

  “Why does this make you so uncomfortable? It seems so obvious that you both care deeply for each other. You’ve been through some crazy, difficult situations. Mudslides, an explosion, the bird flu. What else will it take to make you realize what this guy means to you?”

  “Maybe I just don’t know how to do relationships. Maybe it’s the relationship part that scares me.”

  “Scares you? Bullshit! That’s a cop-out.”

  Maggie raised her eyebrows. She rarely heard Gwen swear. This conversation had taken too serious of a turn.

  “Hey, come on now,” she said with a smile. “Contrary to popular belief, I do have feelings.”

  “Yes, you do. And you are braver and stronger than anyone I know. I’ve seen you stand face-to-face with killers. You can be fearless. And yet, you’re a big ole scaredy-cat when it comes to getting close to someone. Trusting someone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s the one thing I know can hurt me beyond repair. And I can’t control it. I have no defense against it.”

  “Oh sweetie. We all have those fears to some degree. You know after the mastectomy I convinced myself that R.J. would leave me.”

  “Seriously? He’s crazy about you.”

  “I knew it was more about me, my fears of not feeling whole. It had little to do with him. At the same time it made me realize how much I want him in my life. How much I need him in my life.”

  Gwen pushed her plate away and pulled her wine glass closer all the while never taking her eyes off Maggie.

  “It’s easier to rely on just myself,” Maggie finally said. “Any time I’ve counted on someone else I’ve been disappointed—present company excluded, of course.” When Gwen didn’t answer, Maggie filled the silence. “Is that so awful?”

  “I just worry that you’re missing out on some incredible happiness while you’re protecting yourself. In the meantime, what about Ryder? He appears to be someone who’s been through his own personal fires. I’d venture to guess that he has his own issues with trust and commitment. Are you being fair to him? Not trusting him after all you two have been through?”

  “I do trust him. He’s saved my ass a couple of times. So obviously I trust him with my ass.”

  Gwen smiled and said, “Your ass and the rest of your body.” Then as if that wasn’t enough damage, she followed with, “But not your heart.”

  When Maggie’s phone started ringing the sound was muffled inside her jacket pocket. She tugged it out as quickly as possible but not before other diners scowled at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she told Gwen. “I should have shut it off.”

  “Take it. I really don’t mind.”

  When Maggie glanced at the caller’s I.D., her first thought was that somehow the person on the other line had read her mind.

  “Hi Hannah. How are you?”

  17

  Southern Alabama

  (50 mi
les south of Montgomery)

  For the last several miles Ryder Creed had to swerve around pieces of debris in the road. He first noticed trees stripped of their leaves, and in some instances, stripped of their bark, too. In two spots he had to stop and remove fallen branches, once pulling out his chainsaw. Electrical poles leaned, wires dangled and swung in the breeze. Then he started seeing not just branches, but whole trees, shoved onto their sides exposing tentacles of roots. It looked like a giant had plucked them out of the ground and flung them aside.

  From the road, Creed saw pine trees snapped in two. Rows and rows of them. An entire forest gone. He could see the horizon that was normally blocked. This area of southern Alabama was thick with pine, pecan and century-old oaks. Sometimes the kudzu grew so thick it netted the trees together. He’d seen the invasive vine take over and swallow abandoned sheds and rusted old tractors, covering them like a blanket of green. But all of that was gone now, sucked up and leaving broken stumps in puddles of muddy water.

  He came around a curve and slammed on the brakes. The asphalt buckled in front of him. Huge swatches were gone, puzzle pieces chiseled out, leaving behind crumbs. The ditches ran full and in places overflowed across the highway filling the deep gouges.

  Creed looked up in the rearview mirror. He’d insisted Grace stay in her crate instead of sitting in her regular spot on the folded bench behind him. The hard-shell was placed in the middle with the door facing forward, so she could still look over the Jeep’s center console and get air from the vents.

  “What do you think, Grace?”

  She was standing, staring out the windshield. She glanced at him and sniffed the air. She was ready to get to work. That the landscape looked like an explosion had ripped through the area wouldn’t bother her. Creed had worked after hurricanes and mudslides, but this...this reminded him of Afghanistan.

  Creed kept the Jeep idling and the A/C blasting. The clouds had disappeared. The rain had washed the sky blue, but now the sun added even more heat and moisture. He kept the radio tuned to a local news station, listening for updates along with weather forecasts, not deceived by the sudden lack of clouds. When he used the chainsaw earlier, he could taste the salt and humidity in the air. The storms weren’t over. This was only the calm in between.