Breaking Creed

  “I don’t get sweet on women I work with. ‘Sweet on’? Really? Does anyone use that phrase anymore?”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you have standards.” Then suddenly she frowned at him. “Where did you get that banana?”

  “From the counter? What, you’re mad at me so I can’t have one of your bananas?”

  “I didn’t buy no bananas. I haven’t been to the store yet.”

  She came over to the counter, staring at the bunch as if they were foreign objects. He went to take another bite and she grabbed his wrist.

  “Put it down.”

  “Hannah, come on.”

  “What’s that white stuff?”

  She pointed at one of the bananas on the counter, and he saw what looked like a puff of cotton attached to it.

  “Okay, so they might have a little mold. No big deal.”

  He poked his index finger at the spot to rub it off. That’s when the puff of white erupted.

  “Oh my dear God!” Hannah started screaming as dozens of tiny spiders burst out of the white web and raced across the countertop in all directions.

  When he looked at the banana in his hand he saw a similar patch of white at the bottom of the peel. And now it was bursting open with tiny white spiders spiraling onto his hand and up his arm.

  He searched the counter and grabbed a half-eaten loaf of bread. With one hand he popped open the bag and dropped the bread on top of the mass of spiders. It stopped those underneath, and suddenly the others turned and started coming back. In seconds the bread was swarming with the creatures. He swatted those on his hand and arm back down onto the countertop to join their friends.

  “Get me a garbage bag,” he told Hannah, who stood paralyzed and deaf, watching with wide eyes and her hand over her mouth. “Hannah, where are the garbage bags?” He didn’t want to move too much and start banging cabinet doors in search of something that she knew exactly where to find.

  Finally she turned slowly, mimicking his slow movements. She reached down and carefully pulled out a heavy black garbage bag from under the sink. As soon as she handed it to him, he gently unfolded it, never taking his eyes off the slices of bread that were now covered completely by tiny spiders. He couldn’t tell whether they were devouring the bread or simply attracted to it.

  How the hell could so many spiders come out of such small pieces of web? Neither patch looked any bigger than a Q-tip head.

  Hannah saw what he was planning and she shifted and bent down to the same cabinet where the garbage bags were. She brought out a short-handled squeegee. She nodded at him, then took a position, holding the squeegee up and ready, though he could see her hand shaking a bit.

  Creed aligned the opening of the bag against the lip of the countertop as close as possible to the mass of creatures, dog-piling one another on top of the bread.

  “We’ll only get one chance,” he told Hannah.

  She didn’t take her eyes off the spiders. He saw her fingers tighten on the squeegee handle. “Let’s do it. You ready?”

  “Ready.”

  He was still holding the bread wrapper in case she missed. He’d sweep them in with his hand, too, if necessary.

  “Dear Lord, give me strength,” Hannah said, and then she slammed the squeegee on the countertop and swiped hard and fast. Several spiders fell off but Hannah was faster than them, pounding the squeegee down again and sweeping them into the bag. She even swept the rest of the bananas into the bag and was ready for more, but there didn’t appear to be any.

  Creed twisted the top of the garbage bag closed and held it tight, searching the floor for escapees.

  “Did we get ’em all?” Hannah wanted to know, squeegee still gripped in her hand.

  “I think we did.”

  “Lord have mercy.” She released a huge sigh and stared at the garbage bag. “What you gonna do with them?”

  He shrugged. He hadn’t thought that far in advance.

  “Go ahead and mix them in with those bastards’ cocaine balloons.”

  In the seven years he’d known Hannah, he had never heard her say a curse word even close to “bastard.” Suddenly he laughed, then watched the realization cross her face. She tried to give him her best scowl, but instead, she started laughing, too.

  50

  CREED COULDN’T HELP THINKING that if he’d already installed the cameras, he’d know exactly who left a bunch of bananas with spiders hatching on Hannah’s kitchen counter. His best guess was the electrician, although Hannah insisted he was wrong. Tony was staying at Segway House, she told him.

  “No way, no how, did that young soldier do this.”

  But Creed saw in her eyes that she was questioning her own words. He didn’t have to confront the young man because he knew as soon as he left the house that Hannah would be on the phone interrogating whoever had sent him.

  On the way to the kennels he stopped off at the building they had just finished for Dr. Avelyn Parker’s clinic. Hannah still complained that it was an incredibly expensive investment. The equipment alone had required a chunk of money, but Creed knew it would pay off in the long run with all the dogs that would be cared for.

  Having a facility out here on their property was as much about convenience and saving time. And having Dr. Avelyn on staff—even if it was for a limited number of hours so she could tend to her own practice in Milton—was more than worth the money.

  He dropped off the garbage bag filled with spiders and deposited it in a metal trash can with a note attached. One great thing about the woman was that she knew almost as much about the creatures that dogs had to watch out for as she did about dogs. By the time he reached the kennels, he saw her black Tahoe coming up the long driveway.

  Most likely the spiders were meant to send a message. Someone was trying to tell him what he already knew all too well—that despite the isolation of their facility, and despite Creed’s best efforts to keep strangers off his property, they were able to walk right into the house and leave a bunch of bananas.

  Simple as that.

  If they could do that without anyone noticing, what else were they capable of doing? And suddenly he thought about the kennels and the dogs. Immediately he started searching every inch of the facility for anything that looked a bit out of place.

  What occurred to him and bothered him most was that whoever took the risk to come here didn’t seem the least bit concerned with finding or taking Amanda or the cocaine. Maybe they just didn’t have time. Or wanted to learn the layout of the entire place for when they came back. And that made him realize this was just a prelude. There was more to come, and they wouldn’t stop until they were satisfied with taking or destroying whatever they wanted.

  Creed heard the electronic buzz of the back door and turned to see Jason coming in. All the doors were ultrasonic-sensored, allowing only those wearing the infrared bracelet with the coded signal to come inside without using hands. The same technology opened the six electronic dog doors. As long as the dogs had on their coded infrared collars, they could come in and go out to the fenced yard as they wished. It also meant that no one had access to any of his buildings without a bracelet to trip the sensor, and Creed was very careful about who he allowed to have one.

  He watched Jason struggle with a load of training buckets despite the door opening automatically. The kid had been working his ass off. And yet Creed caught himself wondering how much would it take for a cash-strapped amputee to betray him? The best way to get to Creed would be through someone he’d never feel threatened by. Someone he was supposed to trust.

  No, he stopped. Even if by chance Jason was the one someone had paid to plop a bunch of bananas down on the kitchen counter, no drug cartel would use this kid to finish the job. They would use a hit squad, wouldn’t they? And if they came here, they were on his territory.

  He scanned th
e ceiling, the sprinkler system, the doors, the kennels, and the windows that lined the very top of the building, two stories up. He’d positioned them purposely too high for anyone to come through or for a scared or manic dog to jump through.

  “Everything okay?”

  Creed turned to find that Jason had put down the training equipment and was now ten feet away, staring at him. The kid actually looked concerned. Or was it guilt?

  “Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Creed’s cell phone started ringing before Jason could respond. He grabbed it out of his pocket and took a quick glance. It was a number he didn’t recognize.

  “This is Ryder Creed.”

  “Creed, hi. It’s Liz Bailey. From the Coast Guard.”

  “Rescue swimmer Bailey, how are you?”

  He didn’t remember giving her his phone number.

  “Sorry to call you like this, but there’s something you should know. Can you talk?”

  He shot a look at Jason, but the kid had already retreated out of earshot, going on to his next task. “Sure, what’s going on?”

  “This isn’t public knowledge yet. I heard it very unofficially. There was a body fished out of the Potomac.”

  He almost stopped her to say he had already heard about Trevor Bagley and the possible drug connection. But she surprised him with what she said next.

  “He was pulled out yesterday morning. Tortured with spider bites all over his body. Gagged and dumped in the river. They think he might have still been alive when he was thrown in.”

  “How do you know this?” He checked his wristwatch. Bailey had to be talking about the second floater. The autopsy that Maggie’s boss wanted her back in D.C. for. Was it possible they already had an ID on the guy?

  “Our crew’s been working with the DEA for a while now,” Bailey said. “The Blue Mist isn’t the only fishing boat we’ve been tracking that Choque Azul might be using. But I think everybody was surprised with the cargo we found. Seems to be sending a shock wave even through the cartel.”

  “Are you saying the body in the Potomac is connected to what we found?”

  “The victim was the captain of that fishing boat.”

  That surprised Creed.

  “DEA thinks there’s a hit list. We all might be on it.”

  “Seems to me they’re eliminating their own employees.”

  “That’s what I thought. Not such a bad thing, right? Look, this is just talk at this point. You know how talk starts, even in organizations that aren’t supposed to talk. But you might want to be careful.”

  “I already know.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know I’m on their hit list.”

  51

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  STAN WAS WAITING FOR O’DELL. He didn’t bother to hide his irritation. The body was ready on a table. The medical examiner bent over and prepared his instruments.

  “I have no idea what Assistant Director Kunze thinks you’ll be able to witness or report back to him that wouldn’t already be in my notes.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. I would have much rather stayed in bed this morning.”

  He glanced up just as she was taking off her jacket to gown up, and then he did a double take when he saw the welts on her arms.

  “What in the world happened to you?”

  “Scorpions.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” she said, and joined him on the other side of the table, trying to ignore his staring. He was waiting for an explanation. She raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you were in a hurry?”

  “Something tells me your scorpion story is related.” He put down a scalpel and crossed his arms. For the first time since she’d met the man, he looked genuinely concerned about her.

  “Actually, it’s your fault.”

  “Mine?”

  “I went searching for the original crime scene and fire ants.”

  She gave him a quick rundown on how she found scorpions instead. She caught him wincing twice.

  “DEA.” He said it like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “They must have known when we pulled Bagley out of the river.”

  “Do you know who received the call about the first package?” O’Dell asked as she let her eyes examine the bloated victim. This guy hadn’t been in the water as long. “You mentioned it that morning. Did it come into your office?”

  He shook his head as he picked up the scalpel and a hemostat. Gently he began to tug at a corner of the duct tape on the victim’s mouth.

  “We were simply told. I believe the call that came in to us was from someone at Justice.”

  “In the Department of Justice? Not someone at the FBI? Or maybe the DEA?”

  “I can check. I’m sure we track such things.”

  “That’s why you were surprised to see me there?”

  “I guess neither of us should be surprised at too much anymore.”

  Stan had worked off most of the tape now but stopped when he saw what looked to O’Dell like a thin black thread overlapping the lower lip. At first, she thought it might be a suture. Then it moved.

  “Holy crap!” Stan jerked back.

  O’Dell stared and watched, mesmerized, but she didn’t dare get any closer. The object poking out of the corpse’s mouth was made up of small segments and moved almost in robotic twitches back and forth.

  “Seems I spoke too soon,” Stan said as he looked around his workspace. He grabbed a large Ziploc bag and shoved it at O’Dell.

  “It’s not a spider leg.”

  “No,” Stan agreed. “I’m guessing antenna. The bastard’s sticking it out to get a sense of his new surroundings.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “The one primitive species that has survived for millions of years and can survive anywhere on earth and probably in hell. Yes, I’m sure we’re thinking the same thing.”

  He twisted around to his tray and plucked up tweezers and a bigger hemostat while O’Dell pulled on a pair of latex gloves. She had left the gloves in her pockets since she hadn’t intended to touch anything. Stan was a stickler for no interference. That he was suggesting she assist him was a breakthrough she could actually do without. Still, she took the plastic bag and followed his instructions.

  “He’ll either retreat when he sees the lights or he’ll race out,” Stan told her as he donned headgear that provided magnification and a stream of LED light. Then he bent over the victim, fingers ready.

  “What makes you think there’s only one?”

  He looked up at her over the contraption as he flipped the light switch and shot the beam of light in her eyes, making her blink.

  “Just be ready to play catch,” he told her. “I don’t want a bunch of cockroaches running around my autopsy suite.”

  52

  QUANTICO, VIRGINIA

  O’DELL HAD GOTTEN TO QUANTICO with only forty-three minutes to spare before the dreaded meeting with AD Kunze and Agent McCoy.

  While she printed out the autopsy photos of this latest floater, the images of the cockroaches reminded her of the scorpions. It would take a long time to forget that feeling of them skittering over her body.

  She rubbed at the backs of her hands. The swelling was completely gone this morning. Dr. Avelyn’s sticky paste mixture had reduced the welts to mere red marks, no more noticeable than a mosquito bite. A small amount of makeup and her hair covered the ones on her neck and cheek. She’d keep her jacket on, though, to avoid any more reactions like Stan’s. Although she was pretty certain the attention wouldn’t be on her after showing these photos.

  Stan had removed a total of five cockroaches from the victim’s mouth. Only one hadn’t come out willingly and had to be extracted. The other four had r
aced out as soon as he pried the lips apart. One almost escaped up the medical examiner’s hand before O’Dell swept it back into the plastic bag, which she had tried to wrap tight against the victim’s bloated face. The trick was that Stan had to keep the tweezers and at least his fingers inside the bag to open the mouth. He was fast but not as fast as the roaches.

  O’Dell had to admit, she had a newfound respect for Stan. He hadn’t flinched. If he had, all five roaches would probably have been long gone in the corners and cubbyholes of his meticulous autopsy suite.

  Only after Stan was convinced there were no more cockroaches had he dug deeper and worked carefully to remove the other object that had been stuffed down the throat—the man’s driver’s license.

  Before she left the District to head to Quantico, she had typed “Robert Díaz” into several searches available to her. Those were also waiting for her to print out.

  When she arrived five minutes before three o’clock, she was surprised to find everyone waiting for her. And even more surprised to see Senator Delanor. She was seated in the same chair across from Kunze’s desk, where O’Dell had found her the last time. AD Kunze introduced O’Dell and Agent McCoy with no explanation about the senator’s presence, and Senator Delanor made no motion to leave. She was obviously a part of this meeting. And immediately, O’Dell felt her guard go into place. She seemed to be the only one here who had no clue what the hell was going on.

  “Agent McCoy was just filling us in about what happened at the Bagleys’,” Kunze said, as he waited for O’Dell to take the chair next to the senator. McCoy evidently had chosen to stand.

  “Yes, how are you doing?” Senator Delanor patted her arm. “How dreadful.”

  Before O’Dell could respond, Kunze added, “You should have told me about the scorpions when we talked yesterday.”

  And there it was—already the sympathy had been converted to blame.

  “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” she told the senator. To McCoy she said, “So you knew about Trevor Bagley?”