LOST CREED: (Book 4 Ryder Creed series)

by Alex Kava

  But the first sentence told Charlotte this wasn’t a letter the woman had received or had written. Instead, she knew immediately, the letter was meant for her. Not just her, but any of Iris’ captives.

  It wasn’t the first note Charlotte had found. She had seen other messages from those who had come before her. Behind the basement hot water heater there had been one scratched out on the wall that read, “Never give up.” B.C.

  In the upstairs closet in the big house, a piece of wallpaper had been peeled back, deep in a corner where Iris would never look. It read, “I will not be destroyed.” K.U.

  Before Iris had taken away the furnace manual, Charlotte had found the note written on one of its back pages. It was longer, but Charlotte had memorized every word. “Don’t let her trick you. She can take our names, but don’t let her take away who you are.” C.T.

  And now, this letter that Charlotte held in her hands. It was another warning. It began:

  Don’t trust Aaron. He’s not sweet or innocent. If you made it to the Christmas house, you only have a few days left. Please believe what I have to say.

  Chapter 43

  Charlotte wondered if it was another trick. The other messages only included initials. This was signed by Kristel. And why in the world would this person tell her not to trust Aaron? She couldn’t possibly think of Aaron as dangerous. He had never tried to hurt her. In fact, she was pretty sure he was the one who brought her here and left all the food. He may have even left the kitten to keep her company.

  When they were kids—before Charlotte made Iris so angry that the woman started leaving her in locked rooms, then closets, then the basement—Charlotte and Aaron played together. He was a big, chubby boy, younger than her. He was always gentle and polite and so quiet that for a long time she wasn’t sure whether or not he could speak.

  Iris called him “stupid” and “slow,” and Charlotte felt sorry for him, because she could see how much it hurt his feelings. He’d do anything for Iris even though she treated him so badly.

  Recently, she hadn’t seen Aaron very often. Only when she needed to be moved. A few times in her drug induced stupor, she’d open her eyes and find him carrying her or lifting her from where she had fallen, or had been pushed by Iris. He cradled her in his big arms, and Charlotte actually felt safe. He smelled of the outdoors, hay and grass and fresh air. But he always did what Iris asked.

  Now, that she thought about it, why had he never helped her escape?

  Once Charlotte had managed to make it out the back door, out of the front yard and past the barn. But Iris sent the dog after her. Charlotte grabbed at her ankle. The GPS strap prevented her from rubbing it. She knew there was a scar.

  Aaron had rescued her. He told the dog to sit. The dog released her ankle and sat down. She remembered how grateful she was when he picked her up, and how disappointed when he carried her back to the house, back to Iris. At the time, she didn’t blame him for not helping her escape. In a way, she thought he was as much a prisoner as she was.

  She looked down at the letter. The brand new magazine in the grocery bag had told Charlotte what the current year was. The date at the top of this letter was from four years ago.

  Don’t trust Aaron. He’s not sweet or innocent. If you made it to the Christmas house, you only have a few days left. Please believe what I have to say.

  He will leave you food and water. Don’t be grateful. He’s doing it just to fatten you up. I heard him talking to someone outside the house. Another man. Aaron called him Eli.

  Damn boarded windows! I couldn’t see either of them, but I heard them.

  The other man was telling Aaron what he was going to do with me. How much men would pay for me. Pay to do things to me. Bad things. Awful things.

  I found a pair of scissors in one of the drawers. They’re long and sharp. I want to kill myself, but if I don’t have the courage, I’ll leave them for you. They’ll be under the bathroom sink. I’ll tape them to the back wall, behind the pipes.

  Save yourself!

  Kristel

  Chapter 44

  Santa Rosa County, Florida

  Jason was relieved that Mrs. Woodson offered Olivia coffee and even more relieved the two women stayed behind in the kitchen while he and Scout went back upstairs.

  Sheriff Norwich told Jason that she had moved her deputies from the neighborhood on to other searches. One of which was Mrs. Woodson’s new boyfriend. Yet at the same time, she told Jason she’d welcome any information he and Scout might find.

  Jason was tempted to ask more questions. If the boyfriend was involved, did he take the girl from the house? Or from the trail? Creed said that sometimes it was better to know less, or there was the temptation to conduct the search to match the narrative.

  He wanted Scout to have another chance to get acquainted with Raelyn’s scent. There was a chance that Mrs. Woodson’s presence the previous day had been too much of a distraction.

  “We’ll start fresh,” Jason told Scout as they entered the girl’s room.

  Immediately, Jason knew something was different. When he realized what it was he felt a chill slide down his back. The bed had been stripped down. Bed sheets were gone. Pillowcases gone. Even the bedspread.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered then regretted it immediately when he felt Scout shift beside him. “It’s okay, boy.”

  He needed to keep his shock and exasperation out of his voice. Except it wouldn’t matter. Scout would be able to smell Jason’s anxiety no matter what tone he used.

  He checked the closet where he’d found the sneakers yesterday. He remembered there had been a clothes basket with a few items tossed inside. The entire basket was gone.

  Okay, so she tidied up. Probably needed to keep herself busy. Maybe she didn’t like that he’d had Scout sniff all over the bedding. He still had the worn sneaker, and its companion was right here. He picked it up and offered it to Scout.

  “Raelyn. Scout, this is Raelyn.”

  Scout stuck his nose down into the shoe exactly like he had done the day before.

  Jason kneeled beside him then decided to check under the bed. Maybe he’d score a dirty sock. Nothing under the bed but something had dropped in between the nightstand and the bed’s frame. It was wedged so tightly he’d never have noticed it from above. Jason repositioned himself so he could squeeze his hand into the space and grab it.

  He pulled out the object and sat back on his heels staring at it.

  What teenage girl would leave behind her cell phone?

  He glanced back at Scout and found the dog with the sneaker in his mouth. When he saw Jason, he started twirling.

  “Okay, okay,” he told Scout. “We’ll get going.”

  He slid the phone into his back pocket. He’d need to get it to Sheriff Norwich.

  Back on the trail again, Scout seemed to be following a scent. Jason practically had to drag the dog to the head of the trail and away from the shed with the freezer full of fish. He was convinced that’s where he went wrong the previous day. He shouldn’t have let Scout even get a whiff of the frozen fish. Instead, he’d keep him focused.

  For the first forty minutes, Scout swung his huge muzzle back and forth. He snorted and inhaled the air around him like he had definitely caught Raelyn’s scent. This time, Jason allowed the dog to lead the way even when he took them off the trail and into the thicket. Scout weaved around and jumped over the prickly shrubs that grabbed at Jason’s pantlegs and threatened to trip him.

  Off the trail and inside the forest, Spanish moss hung low and kudzu grew thick, choking out the sunlight. The air was humid, so thick with moisture that Jason worried Scout would get overheated fast. He’d made the dog take a water break after twenty minutes. He’d need to stop him again, soon, but he was working a scent, nose poking the air.

  Suddenly, Scout stopped and stood still while he waved his muzzle bac
k and forth. He adjusted his body to follow his nose, but then stood still, again. He took a few steps forward, turned and headed back in the direction they’d just come from. Jason didn’t correct or question him. Instead, he simply tried to keep up.

  Scout loped then began thrashing through the low brush, hopping over fallen branches and zig-zagging between pine trees. Once when Jason tripped and almost fell, the dog turned around and wagged his head at Jason like he was trying to be patient.

  Old leaves and pine needles crunched beneath their feet. Jason had to duck under a few low branches that almost snatched his ball cap. Sweat dripped down his face and his T-shirt clung to him like a second skin. Still, he was glad he wore the long-sleeved button shirt even if its tails flapped behind him. He could feel the sleeves protecting his arm from what otherwise might be deep gouges as he and Scout propelled forward.

  Finally, Scout slowed down and pulled Jason toward a clearing. He could see a rooftop and the musty smell of the forest grew less pungent. They came around a hedge and as soon as Jason realized where they were, he felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

  They were back on the Woodson’s property coming around from the other direction. The rooftop belonged to the shed, and now Scout was leading him to that damned freezer full of fish. He eye-rolled back to look at Jason, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He sat down in front of the door and raised his paw. Then he stared at Jason’s daypack, waiting for his reward.

  Chapter 45

  Nebraska

  Maggie was relieved when Lucy took charge and insisted they call it a day. She could see Creed was exhausted, but he’d never admit it. He’d been so quiet, too quiet.

  “I don’t recognize her,” he’d said to Maggie.

  It wasn’t until Creed said it a second time that she realized he actually expected to be able to identify the body.

  “She has blue eyes,” he told Maggie. “Brodie’s eyes were brown.”

  They stood on the shore and watched Sheriff Timmons and Trooper Vegaz bringing the body out of the water. Creed’s eyes stayed on the men even while he tossed Grace her pink elephant. She caught it in mid-air. The toy was her reward for alerting, and the little dog pranced with it in her mouth, biting down and making it squeak-squeak-squeal. Her joy and excitement contradicted the somber mood. She brought it back and dropped it at Creed’s feet, ready for him to toss it, again.

  This time when he picked it up and flung it, he said to Maggie, “Grace thinks death is a squishy, pink elephant.”

  Maggie noticed his sad smile.

  Lucy had called the Douglas County Crime Lab’s mobile unit, and when it arrived, she met the CSU techs while Maggie left Creed and Grace to talk to Trooper Gregory. Trooper Vegaz had already returned to the SUV. They’d kept Eli Dunn secured in the back of the vehicle parked far enough away, but Maggie could see him twisting and straining to try to see the action.

  “Take him back,” Maggie told Gregory.

  “He’s insisting he talk to you first,” Gregory said. “But honestly, I think he just wants to brag about how he drove that car out on the ice and left it.”

  “How could he just leave it and no one notice?”

  “I actually remember someone talking about it. There was a sign in the window for a local car dealership. I think everyone who saw it, thought it was a stupid advertising gimmick.”

  “Is it legal to park a car on the ice?”

  Gregory shrugged. “People ice-fish.”

  “But you said there was an advertising sign?”

  “With a bogus phone number,” Sheriff Timmons said, coming up from behind them. “The car dealership didn’t exist. By the time any of us knew that, the weather decided to warm up.”

  “So you saw it?” Maggie asked.

  “Sure I saw it. I drive this stretch all the time when I’m going to and from Omaha. My county’s next door to Saunders. Me and the missus live just on the outskirts of David City.”

  “You didn’t think it was odd enough to investigate?”

  “I just told you, I checked it out.”

  Maggie heard the hint of his irritation though he kept it from his face.

  “It was a bogus dealership and phone number,” he told her. “No license plates from what we could see. Once the ice started to melt, none of us were gonna risk our necks or our resources to try and retrieve it. You have any idea how much it costs to bring a vehicle up thirty feet from the bottom of a lake?”

  There was a silence as the three of them watched Lucy with the two CSU techs. Not fifty feet away, Creed was still tossing the elephant for Grace. Maggie could hear the jubilant squeaks.

  “How the hell would anyone think there was a body in the trunk?” Sheriff Timmons finally said, shaking his head as he started to walk to his own vehicle.

  “What should I tell Dunn?” Gregory asked Maggie, and the sheriff spun around.

  “What do you mean? What do you tell Dunn?” Timmons wanted to know.

  “He’s insisting he talk to Agent O’Dell before we take him back.”

  “That son of a bitch needs to shut up and rot in hell,” Sheriff Timmons hissed. Then as if he realized he’d let his anger slip too far, he added, “I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” And he left.

  Gregory was waiting for Maggie’s answer. Truth was, she was sick of Dunn, too.

  “Tell him I’ll talk to him when he gives me the location of the next body.” And she started walking away but turned and called out, “No stops on the way back, okay?”

  “Of course not.”

  “No, I mean it. Not for gas. Not for coffee. Take him directly back. Don’t trust him for a second.”

  She waited for Gregory to realize how serious she was. He nodded then headed back to the State Patrol’s SUV.

  Maggie tried to relax her shoulders, tried to flex her fingers and stretch the muscles in her back. The tension was tight in her neck. That panic of thinking Creed was hurt, was still too close to the surface. But her own anger surprised her.

  Eli Dunn could have told them about the car before the dive. He had plenty of time to brag. Why hadn’t he done so from the beginning?

  But she knew the answer, and she hated the answer.

  Dunn was already playing games.

  Chapter 46

  Omaha, Nebraska

  Tommy Pakula sat across the table from the pimp-slash-drug dealer who liked to be called T-Rock. Six months ago Pakula had interrogated the man after one of his prostitutes shot herself. According to T-Rock, the fifteen-year-old committed suicide in front of him.

  “That bitch put the gun to her head, and damn, if she didn’t go and pull the trigger.”

  That was what he had told Pakula at the time. And no, T-Rock had no idea where the girl named Ariel—the girl with the beautiful long red hair who reminded Pakula of his daughter—had gotten the gun. The serial number had been sandblasted away so professionally the forensic team couldn’t raise it.

  T-Rock had been released. They’d probably never have enough evidence to charge him with the girl’s death. But when Pakula noticed the man was back inside—of course, he was back, this time on drug charges—he wondered if, by chance, T-Rock might know something, anything about Elijah Dunn.

  “I’m checking out this guy,” Pakula told T-Rock as casually as if he were asking about a regular acquaintance. “I’m wondering if you might know him.”

  “Know him? You mean like off-the-record know him?”

  Pakula held back a smile. This guy was good. He’d forgotten how sharp and smooth the man could be, all at the same time.

  “Maybe you’ve traded with him or bought from him,” Pakula said. “You know, during one of the busy times—big sporting event or the State Fair when you needed a few more girls.”

  “Hey, I don’t need to buy from anyone.” He pretended to look insulted, pouting hi
s lips. “The girls flock to T-Rock.”

  “Okay, maybe you just know him. Heard of him. His name’s Elijah Dunn.”

  T-Rock crinkled his nose as if the sound of the man’s name smelled bad.

  “I don’t know any dude by that name.”

  Pakula pulled out a photo—Dunn’s mug shot—and slid it across the table.

  It took only a glance.

  “Oh, that dude.”

  “So you do know him?”

  “I know of him. He’s one crazy son of a bitch. But wait a minute. You can’t play that game. What do I get if I tell you what I know?”

  Pakula hesitated and T-Rock watched him with a look that seemed to be reading Pakula’s mind. He started shaking his head, the dreadlocks swinging from side to side.

  “Dude, you know I didn’t kill that bitch.”

  “Calling her a bitch doesn’t help your situation.”

  T-Rock pushed Dunn’s photo across the table and sat back.

  “You know I can't make deals,” Pakula told him. “Why not be a good guy and help me out?"

  T-Rock’s lips pursed and he stared hard into Pakula’s eyes.

  Then T-Rock leaned forward, studying him, tilting his head as though he was looking for a trick. Finally, his big shoulders relaxed.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Has Dunn ever approached you to sell girls or boys?”

  “Whoa!” He brought up his chin and shook his head again. “I don’t deal in boys. That’s not natural. Screws a boy up for life.”

  Pakula took a deep breath, pushed down the bile making its way up from his stomach. There was nothing that made him want to run his fist into a wall more than a scumbag like this pretending he had a sliver of morals. Ruin a boy’s life? What about all the young girls’ lives? Pimping and selling fifteen-year-old girls was natural?