Breaking Creed

  She didn’t remind him about the practice of lighting candles, using incense, taking in food for an Easter blessing. Almost every religion had something that outsiders could view as strange. But she did have to admit, praying to the saint of death gave her pause, and she glanced back at the altar.

  Something wasn’t right.

  The empty glass. The photos she had seen of other altars always included tequila poured and waiting in a glass or in several small shot glasses. She also didn’t remember any spiders. Skulls, yes, but spiders?

  “Don’t touch anything.”

  “Of course, I’m not gonna touch any of this freak show.”

  “No, seriously. This house might be part of a crime scene.”

  “Already thought of that.”

  He shot her a look that verged on impatience. She had to admit that, outside of his initial panicked fumble to get his weapon out of its holster, Sheriff Holt had been careful and methodical.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Is this the master bedroom?”

  “Far as I can tell. The other has a twin bed with boxes stacked on it. And a treadmill.”

  On the opposite wall were framed family photos, and O’Dell stopped at one that showed the Bagleys. Regina Bagley was small and pretty, with long black hair. In the photo Trevor wore his red hair military short. His pale, freckled skin looked even lighter next to his wife’s mocha-colored skin. The fact that Regina might be of Hispanic descent should not have tripped off any alarms, but O’Dell suddenly found herself wondering if Trevor’s beautiful wife had shared his same fate, or if she had played a hand in his. Why wasn’t she here?

  From the upstairs bedroom window O’Dell had a better view of the grounds behind the house. It looked like acres of forest. Was it possible Mrs. Bagley had gotten away? Or was she still out there?

  O’Dell turned back to look at Sheriff Holt, waited for him to meet her eyes.

  “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

  He put his hands on his waist, thumbs in his gun belt, and raised an eyebrow. Had it not been for the adrenaline rush, O’Dell thought he might be angry.

  “Trevor Bagley was tortured before he was killed. I think it might have happened somewhere close to here. Maybe on his own property.”

  “Damn! That’s a helluva way to go.”

  “Do you have a dog handler you could call?”

  He nodded. “I’ll see if I can get him over here tomorrow.”

  Then he looked over her shoulder, out the window, and asked, “So where the hell do you suppose Mrs. Bagley is?”

  O’Dell shrugged. “Hopefully she’s somewhere far away from here, hiding.”

  Wednesday

  33

  THE GRAY SKY made the Bagley property look more ominous. Even O’Dell’s rental car flicked on its headlights automatically as she drove under the long stretch of canopy created by the massive live oak trees.

  Sheriff Holt was already there, waiting with one of his deputies. Both were sipping from stainless steel travel mugs. It looked like they had a map spread out on the hood of the SUV. A paper bag anchored down one corner. Both men wore their uniforms—white shirts pressed, badges glistening, gun belts cinched tight. She wondered how they intended to search the property in such high-polished shoes.

  Holt had told her earlier on the phone that he’d managed to get a search warrant. She didn’t ask for details. O’Dell didn’t get too concerned about formalities, but she’d pegged him as a by-the-rules kind of guy. This was his county and she could hear the relief in his voice. She knew he’d want to cover his tracks. Now she wondered if he simply intended to sit back and direct the search while he and his deputy sipped coffee and ate doughnuts.

  Holt was on his cell phone, and his deputy hurried over to meet her car.

  “Agent O’Dell, I’m Deputy Jimmy Franklin,” he told her as soon as she opened her car door.

  “Deputy Franklin.”

  He seemed too anxious. He came at her with his hand outstretched, but not as a gesture to shake hands. Instead, it was almost as if he thought he should help her get out of the car.

  Awkward.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” she told him as she ignored his aid.

  When he realized his mistake his face went crimson. O’Dell pretended not to notice, shut the door on her own, and went to the trunk. She popped it open and started to get her gear. Poor kid didn’t look old enough to drink alcohol legally. Even his uniform seemed a size too large. The shoulder seams sagged and the gun belt was cinched at its tightest notch. His patrol hat came down too far on his head, making his ears stick out. Still, he was all spit and polish, looking official and shiny, just like his boss, while O’Dell had come dressed for mud and mosquitoes.

  “I can help you with that, ma’am.” Evidently he hadn’t been embarrassed enough because here he was by her side, reinforcing O’Dell’s image of a Boy Scout.

  “I’ve got it,” she told him without a glance, and trying not to wince at the “ma’am.”

  That’s when she noticed that Holt had finished his phone call and was crossing the yard to meet a Jeep Grand Cherokee coming up the driveway. Deputy Jimmy followed.

  O’Dell continued to stuff her daypack with a few necessities, including Deet, a black-light torch, some evidence bags, and finally a couple of protein bars—although she wouldn’t mind snagging one of those doughnuts. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to find.

  Stan Wenhoff had insisted that the insect bites on Trevor Bagley’s corpse were caused by his body—his live body—lying on a mound of fire ants. She had no idea what the crime scene would look like. Would there still be stakes in the ground where his wrists and ankles were tied down? Would the grass be trampled? Would there be blood mixed in the mound of ants?

  It was one of the reasons she had brought a portable black light. It resembled a flashlight, only with UV ultraviolet light. If they found an area in question, the black light might be able to indicate if there were any bodily fluids left behind. Almost an impossibility, considering the downpour of just the previous day. But she had been stunned in previous cases when a forensic team discovered pieces of flesh mixed in the soil of outdoor crime scenes. Some remnants were difficult to destroy. She was counting on that, especially if the dog and its handler were going to lead them to where Bagley may have died.

  O’Dell slid the daypack over her shoulders to wear as a small backpack. When she slammed the car trunk shut, she saw that two men had arrived with the Jeep. The search dog was waiting patiently, just inside the open liftgate. The dog’s handler had his back to her while he gathered up his gear. And then the dog noticed her and began wagging and wiggling impatiently. No, the dog hadn’t just noticed her, it recognized her.

  It was Grace! And O’Dell’s stomach took a sudden slide, because not only did she recognize the dog, she also recognized her owner. He was tall—over six feet—with broad shoulders and a slender waist, and he filled his jeans quite nicely. He turned at that moment to see what had gotten his dog excited. It took only a few seconds, and Ryder Creed smiled.

  For O’Dell, the flush came as a surprise. An annoying surprise that accompanied a flutter in her stomach.

  34

  CREED WAS GLAD TO HAVE Jason along, no matter if the kid had a chip on his shoulder and insisted on being incredibly antisocial. It gave him an excuse not to talk to Maggie O’Dell about anything other than this assignment.

  He had already explained the process to Sheriff Holt. He and his deputy appeared relieved that they’d have to stay behind. Creed preferred as few people as possible. They only provided more distractions for his dogs. In this case there was no urgency. It wasn’t like they were searching for a missing child or an injured victim. As best as Hannah had explained, they weren’t even looking for a body. Only the crime scene.

  Before he noticed her
daypack, Creed knew O’Dell would insist on going along. He knew he’d never convince her to stay put with Holt and his deputy. But he also knew she would respect his guidelines. She wouldn’t be a distraction for Grace. She would be a distraction for him. And he hated that that was true.

  There was one rule he never broke, and he took pride in the fact that he did not mix business with pleasure. Many of the women he knew intimately didn’t even know what he did for a living. Maggie O’Dell was the only woman who had made him come close to breaking that rule. That she didn’t even bother to notice only made him a bit crazier.

  They had worked a case together four months ago. Both their lives had been jeopardized. Things got a little heated—some sparks, electricity, not unlike right now. But it was only one kiss. No big deal. He hadn’t heard from her since, but then she hadn’t heard from him either. So why did it bother him?

  “Tell me what exactly we’re looking for.” He cut to the chase.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Holt said something about a crime scene, but that the victim was recovered somewhere else?”

  “Somewhere else being the Potomac River.”

  “D.C.?”

  “Yes.”

  He watched her glance over her shoulder and couldn’t help thinking it was just like the feds, holding back information from the local law enforcement. Not necessarily a bad idea. There was a reason for the practice, but as far as Creed knew, Sheriff Jackson Holt did a decent job of following the rules and keeping his mouth shut. But Creed wasn’t here to defend anyone. He usually tried his best to stay far from the fray.

  “You pulled him from the river?” he asked when it didn’t look like she was going to offer more.

  “Yes, but the medical examiner doesn’t believe he died anywhere close to the District.”

  Another glance, this time at Jason.

  “We don’t need to know all the details,” Creed told her. “But I do need to know what you expect Grace to find. Or at least, what you’re hoping she might find.”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t even know what to look for.”

  There was more hesitation but not out of secrecy. She really did look like she did not know.

  “There were insect bites,” she continued, “all over the back of the body. Red blisters. Pustules. The ME said they contained a toxic alkaloid venom called solenopsin. Supposedly it’s the same stuff fire ants inject.”

  Creed saw Jason wince and shake his head as he asked, “Someone killed this guy by putting fire ants all over him?”

  “More likely they tied him down. There were ligature marks on his wrists and ankles.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Jason shook his head.

  “And you think they did this to him somewhere close by?” Creed asked.

  “This is his property. Well, his and his wife’s.”

  “And what does she have to say about all this?”

  “Looks like she may have left in a hurry. Sheriff Holt’s been trying to locate her. Their Land Rover’s missing. He has an APB out on it.”

  Creed wiped a sleeve across his forehead and took another look around. Then to O’Dell he said, “Do you know if there’s blood?”

  “The way this guy was bitten, it looks like it.”

  “Insect bites? That’s all we’ve got? My dogs don’t have miracle noses.”

  “The ligatures dug deep enough into the skin that his wrists and ankles most likely did bleed.” She was staring at him now, waiting as if for his assessment.

  “How long ago?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Does your ME know how long ago this happened?”

  Her eyes darted away, and he could tell she knew this whole search was, indeed, a long shot.

  “Maybe a week.”

  “I can’t make any guarantees.”

  “I don’t expect any. Look, I’m not even sure this is the right place.” O’Dell readjusted her ball cap, tucking in strands of hair. Then she put her sunglasses back on before she looked at Creed again. “Truth is, this could be a waste of time, but my gut keeps telling me something happened here. Something bad.”

  If this had been the first time Creed was meeting Agent O’Dell, he probably would have wanted to roll his eyes and chalk it up as a wasted trip. But in the other case they’d worked on together he’d seen her instincts prove dead-on.

  “This is Jason’s first search. If you don’t mind, we’ll treat it like a training exercise and see what Grace comes up with. But if after an hour she’s not hitting on anything—” He glanced around. “How many acres are we talking about?”

  “Almost ten.” Before he could answer, O’Dell saw his skepticism and added, “An hour sounds fair.”

  Then she leaned down to pet Grace, and to the dog she said, “It’s so good to see you again, Grace.”

  35

  CREED SNAPPED THE LEASH OFF of Grace when he was satisfied the terrain was manageable. Still, he told her to stay on the footpath that weaved through the forested area. Otherwise he’d be risking the dog getting tangled in the shrub and thick underbrush. Despite his restrictions, Grace scampered off, nose in the air, pleased and excited.

  He hadn’t put on any of her special vests or harnesses as added guidance for what he wanted her to find. He didn’t want to confuse her. Nor did he want to limit her.

  He’d promised Hannah he’d give Jason a chance. For some reason she believed this sullen, brooding young man had the ambition to become a dog handler. Creed had yet to see even an ounce of ambition in this guy. He seemed too angry and self-conscious to notice anything other than his own misery. But Hannah was willing to trust Creed about Amanda. The least he could do was offer the same about Jason.

  “I doubt we’ll find anything,” he told Jason, though he was watching O’Dell’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. “But you can never let the dog know. She takes her leads from her handler.” Even as he said this, Grace looked back at him.

  “As far as she’s concerned,” he continued in a casual tone, purposely not using her name, “I need to relay that I’m just as excited as she is. And that this search is going to be more interesting than piss on a fence post.”

  He saw O’Dell smile. Jason’s stoic expression didn’t waver even a smidgen. With his ball cap low over his eyes, he tromped through the grass, picking up and dropping his feet as if they were cemented in concrete instead of in hiking boots. He didn’t want to be here, and Creed wished he’d left him back at the kennels cleaning up dog crap.

  The grass continued to get higher as the path started to disappear. A light breeze kept the humidity bearable. It was blowing in their direction, an unexpected gift, bringing the scents toward Grace. The thick overhang of branches protected them from the heat. Still, he’d need to keep Grace to twenty-minute work intervals. A scent dog could easily hyperventilate.

  “You have to be careful in this kind of weather,” Creed said. Although Jason didn’t seem interested, Creed kicked himself into training mode. He’d never given instructions to someone who didn’t care about learning. “When a dog is working a scent, she isn’t just breathing more quickly. She’s actually pulling in more air and sending it around inside her nose in an attempt to identify it. She’s breathing in about a hundred and fifty to two hundred times a minute, compared to the thirty times a minute when she’s out for a leisurely walk.”

  Just as he finished he noticed Grace was, indeed, sniffing more quickly, whiskers twitching, muzzle darting in all directions. Her small body had been zigzagging through the brush, clearing one area and dashing off to the next. With the path no longer visible, she had weaved farther into the trees and gotten ahead of them. But now she stopped. And so did Creed.

  “Did she find something already?” Jason asked, keeping his voice low and standing as still as Creed. Maybe he had been pa
ying attention.

  “I don’t know.”

  Creed looked back. They had climbed a gradual incline, and he could see a roofline through the trees.

  “I wouldn’t expect there to be anything this close to the house.”

  He looked to O’Dell.

  “Grace won’t step on the ants, will she?”

  He was about to say that she wouldn’t just as she started to paw the ground. She wasn’t supposed to touch what she found. Sometimes dogs forgot in their excitement. But Grace never did. And sudden panic knotted in his gut. He signaled for O’Dell and Jason to stay put, and he hurried while trying not to disturb or alarm Grace. She stopped before he reached her. Turned around. Found his eyes and stared at him.

  Creed slowed his pace. He took careful steps and held her gaze.

  When he got closer, Grace glanced back at what she had discovered, as if pointing it out to him, telling him that it was right there in the tall grass. Then she started looking at his pockets and his daypack. She wanted her reward, and she knew where he kept the pink elephant. But she wouldn’t leave her post until he gave the okay.

  He couldn’t reward her for a false alert. It was one of the golden rules. Only one time and it could ruin the best scent dog. If she had found a mound of fire ants, he’d need to see if there was blood or some decomp before he could reward her.

  A couple more steps and he could see what she had unearthed. It wasn’t a mound of fire ants. Not even close. The item was partially buried, but enough of it had broken free that he recognized it as an article of clothing. One sleeve poked up from under the ground.

  Creed fumbled with the clasp on his daypack and shoved his hand inside to find Grace’s toy. He didn’t take his eyes off the item, even when he knew his fingers were trembling.

  He tossed the pink elephant to Grace as he turned to O’Dell and Jason.

  “It’s not fire ants,” he told them. “It looks like a T-shirt. A child’s T-shirt.” He swallowed the bile that caught him off guard before adding, “And it’s covered in blood.”