by Alex Kava
She shook her head. “I guess I’m a little bit achy. It feels like I have a hangover. But otherwise . . . I feel amazingly good.”
“Dr. Avelyn gave you something for the pain and to help you sleep when she gave you the antivenin.”
“Dr. Avelyn?”
“Avelyn Parker.”
“You have a doctor who makes house calls?”
“She’s not an MD. She’s a veterinarian.”
She smiled, then nodded as if she should have guessed. And she didn’t seem bothered by the fact.
“This type of scorpion doesn’t inject enough venom to be lethal, but you had about eighteen stings. Actually, this particular type of scorpion doesn’t usually sting unless disturbed or threatened. You did kind of disturb them.”
“All I can remember is that I couldn’t breathe.”
“You had an allergic reaction. The symptoms come on quick and furious.” He reached out to touch her arm but stopped short, remembering the impact of her simple caress. Instead, he pointed to where the swelling had gone down on her shoulder and only a red mark showed through the paste. “Without the antivenin you could have died.”
“It was meant to be a trap or another torture chamber, wasn’t it? Just like the fire ants.”
“Most likely. The forensic team said there was a screen over the top to prevent the scorpions from escaping. The hole was lined with burlap to keep it moist. Someone had dumped rotted wood with enough termites to keep the scorpions fat and happy.”
“But Mrs. Bagley didn’t die down there.”
“No. I expect the coroner will be getting those details to you and Sheriff Holt when he knows the cause of her death. There is something else.”
He sat down in the recliner beside her, close enough that his knee brushed the blanket. He stayed at the edge of the chair, set aside his now-empty glass, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin on his fists.
“Your rental car’s been impounded by the forensic team.”
“What? Why?”
“Jason got your belongings from the trunk. He’ll bring them when he comes to work today.”
“I’m not worried about that. Why did they take the car?”
“Someone left a burlap sack under the driver’s seat. Jason found it when he tried to drive your car back yesterday. There were three coral snakes in the sack.”
She shot a hand up and ran fingers through her hair as she shook her head. “Seriously, what is it with these people? Fire ants, scorpions, snakes?”
“Coral snakes have the most virulent venom of all the poisonous snakes in the States. One bite can kill a dog in a matter of ten to twenty minutes.”
Her hand came down to her lap and her eyes widened. “Is Jason okay?”
“Yeah, he’s okay. A bit shook-up. Corals are shy, not aggressive. They like to hide, but if they feel trapped, they’ll strike.”
“Like the scorpions.”
He scooted closer. Drew her eyes to meet his. “Normally I don’t need to know everything from law enforcement except what’ll help me and my dogs do our job. But this is one time I think you need to tell me what’s going on.”
“I told you. We fished Trevor Bagley out of the Potomac. We think someone tortured him.”
“With fire ants. I got that. But why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“But you have your suspicions.”
Her eyes left his and without a word they confirmed what he had said.
“Look, Maggie, the scorpions have been there for whatever crazy reason. Scare tactic, torture . . . maybe somebody’s screwed-up idea of a joke. But the snakes . . . The snakes were put in your car on purpose.”
He waited to see that fact sink in. She looked tired. Her skin was still rash-red in places, and strands of hair stuck to the paste on her neck. He noticed that her eyes were slow to track, almost as if her mind was playing catch-up. It was probably the residual effect of the drugs that Dr. Avelyn had given her yesterday.
“When?” she said. “When could they have put them in the car? The sheriff and his deputy—”
“Already checked on that. Holt said they left for about twenty to thirty minutes to meet the forensic team and then lead them to the place so they wouldn’t get lost. That’s not a long time span. Which means someone not only knew you were at the Bagleys’ place, but they were there somewhere—watching.”
“So you think they meant to scare me?”
“No, I think they meant to kill you.”
47
“DEA’S DESCENDED on the Bagley place,” Sheriff Holt was telling O’Dell. “Why the hell would you do that?”
He had left over a dozen voice and text messages for her. By the time she returned his calls, he sounded exhausted and furious.
“I didn’t do anything. I only woke up a few hours ago,” she tried to explain.
“I apologize, Agent O’Dell. I don’t know what I was thinking. I haven’t even asked how you’re doing. Are you okay?”
“Sore and a bit achy. My head hurts.”
“So if you didn’t tell them, how’d the bastards even know?”
“Your forensic team? Maybe someone from the café?”
“Believe me when I say nobody in these parts calls the feds.”
Fortunately, in his anger he was treating her like one of his team. He had forgotten that O’Dell was a fed.
“They’ll be able to help with some lab tests that we wouldn’t be able to do.” She tried to keep positive.
“That’s great, but they’re not even letting us continue on the investigation.”
“What do you mean?”
“They were already there when we arrived this morning at eight. They ordered us off the property. We’re not allowed to return.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I sound like I’m kidding?”
“Let me see if I can find out what’s happening.”
“In the meantime, what the hell do we do?”
“Did they ask for the evidence the forensic team recovered?”
“Not yet, but I’m told they barged in on our coroner. Shoved some badges in his face, then loaded up and hauled out Mrs. Bagley’s body.”
O’Dell couldn’t say she was surprised. She’d had a gut feeling from the moment they pulled Trevor Bagley’s bloated corpse out of the river that this was a much bigger case. She just didn’t realize how big.
“What other evidence did your team find?” she asked.
“After they recovered the body, they spent a bit of time in one of the sheds behind the house. No more bodies, but it’ll make your skin crawl.”
She stayed quiet and waited. As angry as he was, she could tell this was something that was hard to digest.
“Looks like they kept some kids in there.”
Her stomach twisted in knots. “Did the feds ask for the evidence?”
“Didn’t ask and we didn’t tell. I don’t think they know how much we found. Maybe they don’t even know about the kids. Seems they’re more concerned about us busting up their drug case.”
“Did the forensic team find any drugs?”
“Not even a little.”
They discussed what to do with the evidence the team had collected, then promised they’d be in touch. It wouldn’t be the first time that O’Dell found herself on the side of the local law enforcement rather than her colleagues on the federal side. What was adding one more clash with her boss?
When O’Dell clicked off she scrolled down to the messages she had purposely ignored from her boss. Now she punched in the last one and listened to his voice message: “O’Dell, where the hell are you? I need you in my office first thing in the morning.”
She checked for the day and time stamp. T
oday at 10:00 AM. By the current time on her cell phone, she saw that she’d never be able to catch an evening flight back to D.C. It would take driving all night to get there by “first thing in the morning.”
She dialed his number, and when his secretary answered—the secretary whose main job seemed to be playing interference and denying access—she passed O’Dell through so quickly O’Dell thought it had to be a mistake. Turns out Assistant Director Kunze was that anxious to chew her out. She let him rant for several minutes. Past experience had taught her that he tended to reveal important information during his angry outbursts. This time was no different.
In those brief minutes she learned that she had encroached on a classified case that the DEA had been working on for months. She had to bite back the fact that she had pointedly asked him about this being a drug hit. Now she wondered what exactly Kunze knew and when he knew it.
“I want you back here in my office tomorrow to explain to the DEA what exactly you found.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to talk to them right here?”
“Excuse me?”
“From what I understand, they’ve taken over the Bagley property. The county sheriff and his forensic team that were working the scene have been denied access and told to leave the property. They even raided the county coroner’s office and took Mrs. Bagley’s body.”
Silence. So Kunze didn’t know everything.
“Another floater was pulled from the Potomac this morning.”
That surprised her. But it probably explained part of Kunze’s fury.
“A second package,” she said.
“Stan Wenhoff thinks the victim died from poisonous spider bites—like dozens of bites all over his body.”
O’Dell couldn’t stop a shiver from sliding down her back. She could still feel the scorpions on her skin and in her hair.
“Driver’s license?”
“Don’t know yet. Mouth’s duct-taped shut. Stan won’t remove it until he does the autopsy tomorrow. I want you to be there. How soon can you get here?”
At that moment Creed came back to the apartment, entering through the door from the kennels below. He had left to work with the dogs. He saw that she was on the phone and offered a wave and a nod.
His T-shirt was drenched in sweat and stuck to him like a second skin. His jeans were mud-stained and his hiking boots must have been, as well, because he had left them behind somewhere and came in with bare feet. He carried what must have been another of Hannah’s casseroles. The aroma reached O’Dell clear across the loft—something wonderful with garlic.
She watched him carefully place the glass dish on his stovetop, then instinctively lick one of his thumbs that accidentally grazed the masterpiece. She found herself smiling, then surprisingly caught herself thinking, I could get used to this place . . . to this man.
“Agent O’Dell, did you hear what I said?”
Kunze startled her back to attention.
“Stan will start as soon as you can get back. Agent McCoy will be in my office tomorrow afternoon at three. You need to be back here in the morning. Is that clear, Agent O’Dell?”
He was actually waiting for an answer, as if it made a difference. Maybe he expected her to argue. Instead, she simply said, “I’ll be there.” And she ended the call.
48
“I DON’T WANT TO PUT YOU out of your bed for a second night,” Maggie told him.
Creed didn’t make the suggestion that he wanted to make. The bed was, after all, big enough for the two of them. Grace could sleep in the middle and supervise. Though it wouldn’t matter. He knew he’d never be able to get any sleep in that bed as long as Maggie O’Dell was anywhere in it. So he did the gentlemanly thing and prepared the sofa with a blanket and pillow for himself.
He realized Maggie probably wondered why Hannah didn’t offer for her to sleep at the main house. It was huge. Even from the outside there was no hiding the fact that it housed at least three or four bedrooms. But he couldn’t risk her running into Amanda. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Maggie; he refused to get her involved. Also, she was an FBI agent and would probably want to do the right thing. Creed didn’t think they’d agree on what the “right thing” was right now.
They finished Hannah’s casserole and the salad Creed had made for them. Maggie insisted on doing the clean-up. Grace and Rufus offered their undivided help and attention, both of them following and then sitting within feet of Maggie.
She stopped to scratch behind their ears. “I miss my dogs.”
“They must be with somebody you trust.”
“Yes, they are.”
She met his eyes and then suddenly her eyes left his and darted around, as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t be doing. There was electricity between them. There was no denying that. Just now he could have heard the crackle if he’d listened hard enough. But he knew he shouldn’t. He knew he ought to let her go back to tooling around his kitchen without any more of an explanation. For some reason he couldn’t. Not after what they’d just been through. He needed to know.
“The guy who takes care of your dogs, does he also have your heart?”
When she turned back around to look at him, she looked surprised at first. Like she hadn’t really thought of it that way. Or was she just surprised that Creed would ask so blatantly?
Then something passed over her and he swore to God she looked sad. That was the only word that came quickly to mind. He hated like hell that his heart leaped and rejoiced in the seconds that followed.
“Ben and I are . . .” Her voice trailed off, as if she were trying to figure it out as she was telling him. “I’m not sure what we are. It’s complicated.”
Creed stood and took a step around the counter. It was more instinct than anything else. She took a step back and he stopped. But only for a few seconds. In the next steps he felt the jolts as much as a magnetic pull. He was kissing her before she had a chance to think, before she could retreat. There was nothing about her lips or hands on his chest or her hips pressed against him that told him this guy Ben had a hold of her heart. But when she pulled away, her eyes said otherwise. There was want and need, but also a hint of guilt.
“I can’t” was all she said, almost a whisper. Then a bit stronger, she added, “Maybe I shouldn’t stay here tonight.”
He brushed her hair from her face. He let his hand caress her cheek, and he heard her breath catch.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “I’m a big boy. Takes a lot more to hurt my feelings.”
Just when she looked like she might change her mind, and Creed knew he’d never be able to pull away a second time, he pointed at Grace and Rufus, who had been staring at them the whole time.
“Besides,” he said, “Grace would never forgive me if you left early.” And he made his way to his sofa, thinking it was going to be a hell of a long night.
Friday
49
“I REALLY DON’T WANT TO TALK about this right now, Hannah.”
Creed didn’t want to talk, period. He had taken O’Dell to the airport early in the morning. He didn’t like the way it felt watching her leave—actually, he didn’t like that he felt something, and he was trying as hard as hell not to think about it.
The minute he got back he’d wanted to get to work on the new security system he’d stopped off to buy on his way home. He’d come to the main house to install cameras, not argue about their houseguest. Even if the houseguest was the reason he was installing the cameras.
“What’d the electrician say?” Creed asked, trying to divert Hannah from the direction he knew she was headed in.
“He looked over everything, said it looked fine. You’re trying to change the subject. You seem to trust Agent O’Dell. I’m just saying it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to tell her about the situation. She’s FBI. She cou
ld probably help. Maybe even fix things.”
“I already told you, I don’t want another person involved.”
“We work with a whole bunch of law enforcement people. Any one of them might be able to help. Make this all go away.”
She waved her hand at the packages he had loaded under his arm.
“And what happens to Amanda?” he asked.
“That’s not your concern.”
“It’s not? She came to me, Hannah. She chose to trust me to help her. How can I just hand her off to someone else?”
“They’ll come for their merchandise. And not just the drugs. They consider her merchandise, too. Their merchandise.”
“I understand that. You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“And you’re willing to risk everything?”
“I’m taking care of things.”
“By making this place some kind of fortress?” She pointed at the cameras now. “This is not the way I want to live, Rye. It’s not the way I want to raise my boys, always looking over my shoulder, afraid someone’s watching. Maybe just waiting to hurt one of them.”
“If you show someone that you’re scared of them, then they’ve already won,” he said. “You told me that when we first met. You remember that?”
She crossed her arms and released a heavy sigh. She shook her head and said, “This is different, Rye.”
“Is it? Or are they just a different kind of bully?”
He didn’t wait for her response. Instead, he grabbed the tool bag he’d brought with him along with one of the cameras and headed to the kitchen. For a minute he thought she had given in, but he knew her better. He decided to wait. He set everything down on the kitchen table and grabbed a banana from the counter. Hannah would need to have the last word. Sure enough, he heard her coming up the hallway. He leaned back, peeled the banana, and took a bite.
“I understand why you don’t want to get Agent O’Dell involved. You’re sweet on her. But there are others who would help us.”