LOST CREED: (Book 4 Ryder Creed series)

  “What do you think it’s about?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Truthfully? That girl took me completely off guard saying she wanted to ask you about Brodie. I was so speechless, I simply said, ‘Okay.’ She said she’d call back within the hour and hung up.”

  Hannah, speechless.

  Normally, Creed would rib her about that, but just then the phone started ringing. Both of them stared at it through three rings. Creed finally crossed the room and lifted the receiver, checking the caller I.D. and letting it ring a fourth time before he punched the ON button.

  “Hey, Maggie, it’s Ryder.”

  “I’d ask how you are, but I know you must be going a little crazy about why I’m calling, so I’ll get to the point.”

  Despite clutching the phone and gritting his teeth, Creed smiled at how well she knew him. Hannah was trying not to hover, but she didn’t pretend to not be listening either. She stood stock-still, staring intently.

  “Do you remember posing for a photo with Brodie on what looks like a light blue sofa with some kind of blanket on the back?”

  “My grandmother had a blue sofa. She kept an afghan on the back. It was one she’d knitted.”

  “What color was the afghan?”

  He closed his eyes and conjured up the image of Gram’s living room until he could see the sofa and the blanket. “It had big blocks of dark blue,” he told her. “Blue and purple blocks with sort of a salmon color in between.”

  Creed saw Hannah’s eyes grow wide. Maggie went silent.

  “The last time we visited my grandmother,” Creed said it slowly as if he needed to remember, but actually, he needed to give his stomach time to stop falling. “My mom took a few shots with a Polaroid camera my grandmother had.”

  She was still quiet.

  “Maggie?” he finally asked. “Where did you see that photo?”

  “I have it. I’m looking at it right now.”

  Chapter 7

  Omaha, Nebraska

  The exhaustion was beginning to wear Maggie down. None of them had gotten any sleep since the night before last. Pakula had left a sandwich and a Diet Pepsi for her. She was using the computer and phone in his office while she ate. She had no idea where he was, though she was certain he had probably told her. A quick glance at her watch made her realize she also had no idea when she had last seen him.

  She pushed back in his chair and ran her hands over her face, trying to rub away the exhaustion. She hated leaving Ryder with more questions than answers. Now she wished she had pushed to interview Eli Dunn as soon as they had him in custody. Instead, she was trying to be patient while the county prosecutor along with FBI Agent Stevens made “arrangements” for her to question him. But Pakula owed her a favor. Stevens now realized that he did, too. Elijah Dunn hadn’t even been on their radar until Maggie came along.

  When the door to the office opened, it made her jump. She was glad Pakula didn’t see it.

  “You got a minute?” he asked as he dropped into the visitor chair on the other side of his desk. He hadn’t looked up for her response, his eyes still reading something on his phone. When he finally did meet her eyes, he smiled. “Don’t take this the wrong way, O’Dell, but you look like hell.”

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  He laughed and nodded.

  “When can I talk to him?” she asked.

  “Last I heard he wants to talk to you.”

  “Really?” The news made her sit up, a fresh hit of adrenaline teasing her with some untapped energy.

  “He’s calling you ‘that pretty little cop who tied his wrists so tight she made them bleed.’” Pakula shook his head. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “This guy’s a piece of work. I don’t want you in there with him by yourself.”

  “Pakula, are you going soft on me?”

  “I’m not kidding. I talked to the CSU team and they’re finding some interesting stuff.”

  “Is that what you were reading on your phone?”

  Now, she could swear Pakula blushed, even if it was just a tad. He swiped a palm over his shaved head ending at the back of his neck as if he was hoping to rub off the embarrassment.

  “No, my wife was making sure I knew when our daughter’s volleyball game is tonight. I swear there’re three every week.” He dropped the phone in his pocket and continued, “Mr. Dunn thought he cleaned up after himself, but the team found a firepit in the backyard. They’ve recovered bones from the ashes.”

  “Human?”

  “Of course they need to be tested, but they think a couple of them are human remains.”

  Maggie leaned her head against the tall vinyl back of Pakula’s chair. This wasn’t good. “He wasn’t just trafficking them,” she said, but she wasn’t really surprised. The first time she stared into Dunn’s hard, cold eyes she suspected the man was capable of killing.

  “Are they checking the drains in the house?” she asked.

  “Already found some possible tissue in the shower drain on the main level.”

  The one without a curtain or shower door, Maggie remembered.

  “What about the freezer?” she asked.

  Pakula stared at her for a few seconds then said, “Oh crap!” He yanked his phone out of his pocket as got to his feet. “I’ll be right back,” he told her and left.

  Within seconds, she could hear him in the hallway giving someone instructions.

  Maggie picked up the Polaroid. She’d actually considered not telling Creed, at least, not until she knew anything more. But now after talking to him, there was no doubt that the boy and girl in the photo were Ryder and his sister. She was glad she hadn’t interviewed Dunn yet, so she wasn’t lying to Creed when she told him she didn’t have any details or information.

  Earlier that morning, before she talked to Creed, Maggie had called her friend, Dr. Gwen Patterson in D.C. Gwen was a psychiatrist and criminal behaviorist who consulted with the FBI. The two had worked together on cases involving some of the most twisted serial killers to be captured. But she had spoken to Gwen before she realized that Eli Dunn might, in fact, be one. What Maggie had actually wanted to talk to Gwen about, was whether or not she should call Ryder Creed about the photo they found.

  Truthfully, she already knew the Polaroid was of Creed and his sister. Getting those glaring details about the sofa and the date weren’t necessary, though it would add a level of proof for the investigation. But she also knew what calling him would mean. The avalanche it might trigger. Because she knew exactly what he would say, and she was right. He’d tell her he was coming up and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Still, she had insisted he wait until they have more information.

  But before her call to Creed, she had asked Gwen whether or not she should tell him at all, especially since it was bound to hurt more than help.

  “There might not be any answers,” she told her friend. “And there probably won’t be any happy endings. Only more heartbreak. He’s already been through this more than once. I don’t want to be the one to do that to him, again.”

  “What he does with the information should be up to him. You can’t make that decision for him, Maggie.” And then Gwen said something that only a friend could. “You care about him. I know you do. Care about him enough to let him make the decision.”

  Now, as Maggie fingered the Polaroid photograph, she wondered how she was going to tell Creed that Brodie might be only pieces buried in the ashes of Eli Dunn’s backyard firepit.

  Chapter 8

  Florida Panhandle

  “You need to get some rest,” Hannah was telling Creed as she refilled his coffee mug.

  At some point she had placed a sandwich on the table in front of him, close enough to his fist that he should have noticed when she put it there. He hadn’t even noticed her making it, but that was no surprise. Hannah worked with her hands when she was
stressed. She glided around her kitchen so effortlessly and smoothly that her movements became hypnotic and calmed Creed. Though it didn’t seem to be working this time. He flexed his fingers and realized his jaw was clenched. Maybe that’s what was causing the throbbing in his head.

  “Rye?”

  Hannah was sitting across from him now. When he looked up to meet her eyes she didn’t bother to hide her concern.

  “I know you. You’re thinking you’ll get in your Jeep and drive straight through. What is it? Fifteen, twenty hours to Nebraska? You just got home last night after working search and recovery in piles of debris. You’re exhausted. Don’t go pretending you’re not.”

  “I’ve done it before.”

  “And I didn’t like it much then, either.”

  Creed knew she meant well, and he certainly never made it easy on her. Sometimes she knew him better than he knew himself. This was one of those times, because almost instinctively, he wanted to throw his gear in his Jeep, get Grace and go. In his mind he was already calculating how many hours of sunlight he’d have on the road.

  Dr. Avelyn came in the kitchen door, gave them a wave and headed for the coffee. Hannah had made her kitchen a meeting place for their staff and extended the invitation for them to come in and get coffee or whatever fresh baked goods she had for them. Even grab a sandwich. Creed knew she loved filling her kitchen with people and feeding them as if she could also fill their souls with her advice and generous listening. He couldn’t count how many people had come into their lives with difficult situations, and they had worked them out while sharing Hannah’s food in this kitchen.

  Right now both Creed and Hannah were too quiet, and Dr. Avelyn noticed.

  “Did I interrupt something?”

  “Not at all,” Hannah told the veterinarian but her eyes never left Creed’s.

  “How’s Bolo?” Creed wanted to know. He’d forgotten how concerned he was about the big dog. Running into the bear and then the phone call had distracted him.

  “He’ll be okay. I have some new stuff I put on his pads. It’s better than ordinary bag balm. No petroleum products.”

  One of the things Creed appreciated about the woman was that she stayed up to date on solutions and treatments, always thinking about the long-term consequences.

  “I tried to clean out the debris as often as I could,” Creed said, but he still felt sick to his stomach thinking about the cuts and abrasions. They had spent hours climbing over concrete rubble with sharp pieces of rebar sticking out.

  “We should try to get him used to wearing boots.”

  “I put some on him, and he wouldn’t move. He’d stretch his entire leg and high-step to overcompensate. I worried he might hurt himself.” Creed swiped a palm over his bristled jaw. Hannah was right. He was exhausted. All of his adrenaline had been spent on dealing with the bear, and now he felt completely drained. “To be honest, I’ve never used boots on any of my dogs because of that.”

  “Well, he has a sock on now, and he’s not happy about that either.” Dr. Avelyn smiled as she sat down at the table with Creed and Hannah. “Maybe we could try getting your disaster dogs used to wearing them around the kennel. Just a few hours a day. I have some new ones that are lightweight and not so clunky. I’ll bring them tomorrow.”

  She looked from Creed to Hannah and back to Creed then said, “I did interrupt something, didn’t I?”

  Innovative, smart and perceptive. The young veterinarian always impressed Creed. Dr. Avelyn was around his age—late twenties, early thirties. She and another veterinarian had a successful animal clinic in Milton. Several years ago, after too many trips back and forth to that clinic, Creed convinced Dr. Avelyn to come out to their property instead. Together they’d designed and equipped a clinic and hospital to take care of their scent dogs along with the others they housed. Not all the dogs in their kennel were working dogs. Some were dogs abandoned and left at the end of their long driveway. The locals had gotten into the habit of leaving dogs they no longer wanted. That was how Grace had come to them. Quickly she’d become Creed’s favorite scent dog, despite being a small, scrappy Jack Russell terrier.

  But they also had temporary boarders, dogs that Creed and Hannah took care of while the dogs’ owners were deployed overseas. One of those dogs, a golden Labrador named Hunter, had recently become a permanent resident when the news came that his owner wouldn’t be returning. Hannah had taken the news especially hard. The twenty-four-year-old Army intelligence analyst was the only daughter of one of Hannah’s closest friends. Jordan was killed instantly when an Afghan suicide bomber detonated an explosive vest under his military uniform.

  Since that day Hunter joined Hannah and her boys in the big house, and he seemed enamored with Hannah, never letting her out of his sight for long. Now as if summoned, Hunter appeared under the table. He nudged Creed’s arm, asking to be petted. Creed scratched behind his ear where the dog had a splotch of black as if someone had taken a Sharpie and colored in a square.

  When Creed looked up he realized Dr. Avelyn was waiting for a response.

  “You didn’t interrupt anything,” he told her. “We just got a phone call from Maggie O’Dell. An old Polaroid of Brodie and me was found during a police raid.”

  Dr. Avelyn glanced at Hannah then her eyes met Creed’s. “They just found the photo? How long has Brodie been gone?”

  Creed recognized the look. It was one that registered hope.

  “Sixteen years this month.”

  “Rye wants to pack up right now and go,” Hannah said. “I was trying to convince him that he needed some rest first.”

  There was a long silence, and Creed realized he and Hannah were waiting for Dr. Avelyn’s response as though it would be a tie-breaker, deciding what he did next. He scratched Hunter’s ear with one hand and sipped coffee with the other, pretending he didn’t care what either of them thought.

  Dr. Avelyn took a drink of her own coffee and sat back as if she were examining Creed. His beard was longer than he liked to keep it, and he needed a haircut. If she looked closely she’d probably notice the cut along his jaw. Though it was healing it was still a jagged line of red that even his dark bristles couldn’t hide. He crossed his arms almost as if he needed to keep her from seeing the fresh scars on his forearms. The scrapes were nothing. Just a part of working a disaster site, but under her scrutiny he suddenly felt like he did need to get her approval.

  Finally she smiled and said, “You probably could use a butterfly bandage on your forehead.”

  He’d forgotten about that one, and his fingers shot up to touch it before he could stop himself. His hair fell over the cut, so it was easier to ignore.

  “We should put you on an antibiotic just to be safe,” she told him.

  Creed couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a doctor. There was no need when he had a veterinarian who could stitch him up and protect him from infections. He didn’t argue with Dr. Avelyn and wouldn’t get the chance to at that moment, because Jason came in the kitchen’s back door, letting it slam behind him. He headed for the coffeemaker as he asked, “So did you all figure out what to do about that bear?”

  The room grew quiet and Jason looked to Creed.

  Hannah’s eyes grew wide. “Lord have mercy, what bear?”

  Chapter 9

  Omaha, Nebraska

  Maggie followed Pakula down the narrow hallway.

  “I know I don’t need to remind you that guys like Elijah Dunn make up crap as easily as they breathe,” Pakula said.

  The whitewashed concrete walls reminded her of a modern day dungeon. They absorbed sound. No light dared to flicker other than the stark fluorescents overhead. Maggie imagined these walls would absorb the life right out of anyone who dared spend too much time down here.

  “You realize I hunt serial killers for a living?”

  He glanced at her over his shou
lder and shook his head, not amused at her attempt at humor. “Not the same thing,” he told her. “Those guys are smart and manipulative. Most of them are expert liars. Guys like Dunn, they’re expert bullshitters.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  At first Maggie thought Pakula was pulling her leg just to get her attention. Settle her down. He knew she wanted this interview, and sometimes when an investigator wanted something badly, she could make mistakes, believe things just because she wanted them to be true.

  Pakula stopped and turned to look at her now. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “A liar knows the truth but attempts to hide it. A bullshitter doesn’t necessarily know what’s true and really doesn’t care what’s true. That makes it almost impossible to find out what the hell the truth is.”

  “So if he just makes something up to yank my chain…”

  “You might never be able to figure out where that Polaroid came from.”

  He stood staring at her as if he was waiting for his words to sink in.

  Finally, she nodded and said, “Okay. Point taken.”

  The room looked like so many others she had been in before for other interrogations. Four white walls with a viewing window that showed them only their reflections. There was a long metal table bolted to the floor. Two chairs were placed one on each side of the table—also bolted to the floor. She already knew she couldn’t talk Pakula into taking a seat next door to watch and listen through the one-way viewing window. The only way he agreed to help her get this interview was if he stayed in the room.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t make a peep,” he’d promised. He’d made it sound like he believed she could handle it. And yet, he revealed a measure of doubt in the hallway with his lesson on the difference between a liar and a bullshitter. Now Maggie wondered if he was concerned she would botch this opportunity. The realization made her even more aware it could be their one and only opportunity.