by Alex Kava
“Your secret’s good with me,” Creed told him as he started to leave. “I’ve got to go pick up Hannah.” Before he got to the door, he turned back. “Hey, Jason.” He waited for the kid to look up at him. “Welcome back to the world.”
• • •
As Creed took the hospital elevator, he tried to untie the knots that had invaded his gut. Yesterday Hannah still looked so fragile. The bruising and swelling on her face had gone down, but there was something in her eyes that he wasn’t used to seeing. It wasn’t pain or fear. It was something worse—he was afraid that a piece of her spirit had crumbled away.
At the end of the week he was going to pick up her boys from her grandparents’ farm. It was a five-hour drive each way. No way she could come along, though she had already protested. Maybe seeing them would be the best medicine.
But then he heard her voice—boisterous and full of life. Even from down the hall, he could hear her telling someone, “Girl, you haven’t eaten paradise until you’ve had my ham hocks, collards, and black-eyed peas with a nice slab of corn bread.”
“Stop, you’re making my mouth water.”
And Creed stopped short in the middle of the hall. He recognized the second voice, too. The knots began twisting again but for a whole different reason.
He found Maggie O’Dell sitting in a chair pulled up close enough to the bed that she was holding Hannah’s hand. Both women looked up at him, and their smiles slid off their faces.
“What?” he asked when they looked at him as if he had walked in and spoiled their party.
“Is it that time already?” Hannah asked.
“I thought you’d be anxious to get out of this place.”
“Oh, sweetie, I am. I just lost track of the time. We’ve been having ourselves a good chat.”
The two of them exchanged a glance, and Creed knew he had been at least one subject of their “good chat.”
“I think I just convinced Maggie that she needs a vacation. She’s coming back next month for a week—”
“Maybe a few days.”
Hannah shot her one of her looks and continued, “Like I said, she’s coming for a week on the beach, and she’s gonna come over and have dinner with us.”
Maggie looked up at Creed. “She can be very convincing.”
“Yes, she can.” He smiled and caught Hannah nodding at him as if to say, “You’re welcome.” Then to Maggie he said, “Maybe you can bring your dogs so you won’t need to leave them with anyone.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As with each of my novels I have quite a few people to thank and acknowledge.
Thanks go to:
My publishing teams: Nita Taublib, Ivan Held, Meaghan Wagner, Kate Stark, Alexis Welby, and Stephanie Hargadon at Putnam. And at Little, Brown/Sphere: David Shelley, Catherine Burke, and Jade Chandler.
My agent, Scott Miller, and his colleague Claire Roberts at Trident Media Group.
Martin and Patti Bremmer for a friendship that includes dropping everything and literally coming to the rescue, holding down the fort, and taking care of the pack in a moment’s notice.
Dr. Stephen Cassivi and the wonderful staff at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, for making “cancer” not such a scary word. I look forward to the day that Clare can read my books and maybe one day when I might read hers.
My friends and family put up with my long absences and still manage to love me and keep me grounded: Patricia Kava, Marlene Haney, Sandy and Fred Rockwood, Patricia Sierra, Sharon Kator, Maricela Barajas, Annie Belatti, Nancy Tworek, Patti El-Kachouti, Diane Prohaska, Cari Conine, Lisa Munk, Luann Causey, Patti Carlin, and Dr. Elvira Rios.
Special thanks to my friend Amee Rief for feeding us through some terribly sad and stressful days.
My fellow authors and friends who make this business a bit less crazy: Sharon Car, Erica Spindler, and J. T. Ellison.
The experts who I know I can call or email with the strangest questions and the oddest requests: Leigh Ann Retelsdorf, Melissa Connor, Gary Plank, and John Beck.
Ray Kunze, once again, for lending his name to Maggie O’Dell’s boss. And for the record, the real Ray Kunze is a nice guy who would never send Maggie on wild-goose chases.
Penelope La Lone and Penny Clemence for donating to a charity event for Gloria La Lone’s continued fight against cancer. They won the auction to have a character named for them. Penelope Clemence is the dog rescuer who convinces Creed to take a chance on Chance.
My pack depends on some amazing veterinarians, and now they’ve become friends as well as invaluable resources for writing this series. Special thanks to:
Dr. Enita Larson and her crew at Tender Care Animal Hospital, and Dr. Tonya McIlnay and the team at Veterinary Eye Specialist of Nebraska.
An extra thank-you to Dr. Larson for allowing me to name my fictional veterinarian after her children: Avelyn Faye and Ayden Parker. We’ll see Dr. Avelyn Parker in each of the Creed novels.
Thanks also to the booksellers, book bloggers, and librarians for mentioning and recommending my novels.
A big thank-you to all of my VIR Club members, Facebook friends, and faithful readers. With so many wonderful novels available, I’m honored that you continue to choose mine. Without you, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell my twisted tales.
And, as always, a special thank-you to Deb Carlin and the rest of the pack: Duncan, Boomer, and Maggie. They are my heart and soul.
READ ON TO GET A HEAD START ON
SILENT CREED,
RYDER CREED AND K9’S NEXT UNBELIEVABLE RESCUE OPERATION—IN THE HEART OF A DEVASTATING MUDSLIDE—AVAILABLE FROM G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS THIS SUMMER.
* * *
1
HAYWOOD COUNTY, NORTH CAROLINA
Daniel Tate clenched his teeth and looked away just as the needle pierced a vein in his arm. He’d spent two tours of duty in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. He’d been shot at, dodged IEDs, and escaped a grenade. But needles—damn, he hated needles.
“This will help relax you,” Dr. Shaw told him.
When she walked in the door, Tate had been relieved to see a woman. But she had barely introduced herself before pulling out a stainless steel tray with vials and surgical utensils and, of course, several syringes. Her black hair was pulled back tight, leaving only long bangs that overlapped heavy-framed glasses. She was younger than he expected, with smooth brown skin that hadn’t yet earned wrinkles at the corners of her mouth or eyes. And she was attractive, but instead of looking at her now, Tate let his eyes scan the room. He didn’t want to even see the needle so he stared at the walls.
It was a strange room, empty except for the examination table. The drywall looked spongy, like the foam mats you’d find at the basketball court tacked up under the basket for overenthusiastic athletes to bounce off. Only these mats weren’t tacked onto the walls, they were the walls—whitewashed and seamless. The term “padded cell” came to mind.
There wasn’t a single thing displayed. Didn’t medical exam rooms have diplomas or something on the walls? Not that it mattered. Tate’s chance of backing out had passed. He knew it as soon as he signed on page seven of that ass-long contract they’d handed him when he first arrived.
He didn’t even know where this place was. It had been pouring sheets of rain the entire hour and a half from the airport. That was yesterday, or at least he thought it was. His wristwatch and cell phone were two of the personal items he had to surrender. Other than not knowing the time of day, he didn’t mind. But Tate couldn’t understand why he couldn’t wear his own shoes or underwear. The blue scrubs were comfortable, but the paper booties drove him crazy. He felt like he was shuffling, the sound reminding him of the old people in the nursing home where his wife, Susan, worked.
“After I administer the drug, I’ll ask you a series of questions,
” Dr. Shaw said.
He glanced at her and held back a grimace. She was loading another syringe. Served him right for not reading all seven pages. All Tate cared about was the three thousand dollars he had been promised, and he’d double-checked that it was in the contract.
He hated that Susan worked an extra shift once a week just to make ends meet. Their oldest daughter, Nikki, had started waiting tables at the coffee shop. Even Danny Junior had a paper route. But Tate hadn’t been able to get a job.
Not true. He hadn’t been able to hold a job since he’d been back. The doctors called it post-traumatic stress disorder. But all Tate saw when he looked in the mirror was a perfectly healthy man. Nevermind that his mind twisted pieces of information, and insomnia kept him pacing the streets of their small town. He needed to start contributing and helping to take care of his family. Even if it meant a few needle pokes.
This time it didn’t matter where he looked. As soon as the metal slipped into his vein, he felt the liquid rush into his body. A heat wave crawled up his arm, over his shoulder, and spread throughout his chest. It took his breath away, and he felt his body shudder.
“You may experience a tightness in your chest,” he heard Dr. Shaw say, only now it sounded like she was talking to him from the next room.
He turned his head to look at her, and just that movement made him nauseated. He tried to find her eyes through the blur. The small rose tattoo he had noticed earlier on the side of her neck had grown legs and started to inch along her skin like an insect. Tate blinked hard, trying to focus. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip.
“Nosebleeds are not uncommon,” Dr. Shaw continued in her calm, cool manner. “I’m going to ask you some questions, Daniel.”
Tate, he wanted to tell her everyone called him Tate, but he couldn’t take his mind off the bug digging into her neck. His heart galloped in his chest, and it was difficult to breathe.
“Daniel, can you count backward from one hundred for me?”
His mouth had a metallic taste and it took effort to make it move. Teeth and tongue seemed to be in the way of his activating his voice.
“Daniel, can you count backward from one hundred?” she repeated.
Suddenly he heard himself say, “That would be difficult to do because I don’t like rice.”
Even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t the correct answer but already he’d forgotten the question. Nothing mattered except the black insect on her neck. Why couldn’t she feel it digging under her skin?
“Dr. Shaw.” A voice called from the doorway.
Tate’s entire body jerked before he saw the man. His head was shaved and gleamed almost as bright as his long white coat. Tate had to look away. The brightness hurt his eyes. Just as they were starting to focus, the light sent stars and sparks like electrical surges and he knew he couldn’t trust them.
“I’m in the middle of a test,” Dr. Shaw told the man.
“It’s gotten worse. They’re talking about landslides. We really must evacuate.”
“I’ve lived through hurricanes, Richard. This is just a little rain.”
But she left Tate and joined the man at the door. Neither bothered to keep their voices down. In fact, they seemed to forget about Tate. They didn’t even notice that he was panting now and wiping erratically at his eyes and sweat pouring down his face.
“The water is almost over the bridge.” Richard sounded panicked. He was loud and gesturing. “If we don’t leave now, we risk being stranded here.”
Dr. Shaw was turned away from him, and Tate could no longer see the insect on her neck. He began checking his own hands and arms.
“We’re safe here,” Dr. Shaw was telling the man. “This place is built like a fortress.”
Tate tried to see if there were any bugs on the man. His eyes were finally settling down, when he saw a flash of green and black fur behind the doctors. It looked like a small monkey running up the hallway.
“Well, I’m leaving. With or without you.”
“That would be a mistake. Let’s talk about this.” She glanced over her shoulder and when she called out to Tate, it sounded like a bellow echoing across the small room. “I’ll be right back, Daniel. Stay right here.”
She joined the man in the hallway and tried to close the door. When it didn’t seem to fit the frame, she opened it wide.
“See, that’s not a good sign,” Richard told her. “Doors and windows tend to stick right before. It’s bad, I’m telling you. We must leave.”
This time she pulled the door with such force it slammed.
Tate sat listening to the thump-thump of his heart. It was beating inside his head, and he put his hands over his chest to make sure his heart hadn’t moved. It wasn’t long after the doctors had left when he heard a loud crack. So loud it jolted him off the table.
It sounded like an artillery shell. Was that possible?
He crawled under the examination table, his body scrambling in twitches and jerks. Then he listened for more artillery shells. The room started to sway and tilt. Was it the drug? Had it screwed with his equilibrium? His ears popped and instead of the thumping of his heart, he now heard only a rumble.
He felt it, too. A vibration rattled the doctor’s instruments, shaking them off the tray. The floor tiles lifted and rolled beneath him, and Tate grabbed on to the examination table.
That’s when he saw the whitewashed walls crack and buckle. The walls were actually caving in, as if a bulldozer were on the other side shoving them in. Tate felt something coming down from the ceiling. He ducked his head back under the table. He watched, not sure whether to believe his eyes. It was raining dirt and gravel. He could smell the wet earth.
The rumble grew to a roar. Forget the bulldozer, a freight train was headed down on top of him. He covered his head with his arms and curled into a tight ball.
More crashes. Metal shrieked. Light fixtures exploded.
In the darkness Daniel Tate couldn’t see. The floor became a roller coaster. He clawed to hold on to the steel table, as the world around him shattered and roared and collapsed on top of him.
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