Page 17 of Desperate Creed

“Don’t worry about Maggie and me,” he told her. Even as he said it, his fingers twisted at the leather strap of his watch. His new GPS watch. A gift from Maggie. “I hope she’s able to help Frankie.”

Hannah was still examining him, waiting for more. Expecting more. He didn’t want to talk about it. How could he? He wasn’t sure what his own feelings were, let alone pretend to know Maggie O’Dell’s.

“Speaking of friends,” he said, wanting to move on, “Did you know that Jason and Brodie were spending a lot of time together?”

“He’s been including her in his training sessions with Scout. They just started doing it a couple of weeks ago. He thought it might help her not be so afraid of dogs. Looks like it’s working.”

Creed wondered how he had missed it. He hadn’t taken an assignment since Brodie arrived, making sure he was around if she needed him. They received K9 requests from across the country. Sometimes he’d be gone for days, maybe weeks. Brodie’s therapist had told Creed that for now, he seemed to be Brodie’s anchor. She made it sound like it was important for him to stay close. But Brodie seemed to be doing well, and of course, there were always errands, picking up supplies, picking up new dogs. He’d driven to Maryland to personally bring Knight to their facility. Now he wondered if he’d been gone more than he should have been.

“It’s good for her to connect to others,” Hannah said. When he didn’t respond, she added, “You can’t protect her 24/7.”

Sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window, but raindrops still tapped the glass. He knew she was right. He’d spent so many years wondering, imagining what had happened to Brodie. All those emotions—anxiety, fear, sadness, helplessness, dread. They had wound so tightly and firmly into his psyche. He shouldn’t be surprised that they hadn’t dissolved after finding her. Not just finding her, but able to bring her home alive. But that was part of the problem. He hadn’t been able to bring her home right away.

They had found her in Nebraska, imprisoned in that deserted old farmhouse. Her initial medical care started in Omaha. So Creed had spent weeks traveling back and forth. Brodie hadn’t suffered only from PTSD but also from malnutrition and dehydration. Her captors not only kept Brodie locked up, but at times, had also starved and drugged her.

Iris was now in prison. Aaron was dead. Brodie had killed him. His death had been ruled self-defense, but there was that trauma to add to Brodie’s mental injuries. He didn’t know how to help her. It frustrated him. All those years he thought he’d lost her, and now, here she was, and he didn’t have a clue how to get to know her.

In her wisdom, Hannah had told him to be patient. She reminded him that even Brodie didn’t know who she was.

In all the years he’d searched for her, dreamed about her, he always imagined her as that eleven-year-old girl. The little sister he could still see skipping through the rain puddles.

“Rye?”

Hannah was standing beside him, her hand on his arm and a look of concern that she usually reserved for others.

“Maybe it’s time for you to get back out in the field,” she said.

But this weekend was Brodie’s first scheduled visit with their mother. Olivia was driving all the way down from Atlanta. Hannah told Creed that it might be better if he wasn’t around for either woman to depend on him.

Less than a half hour later when he received the phone call from the Butler County Sheriff in Alabama, Hannah told Creed it was a sign validating her instinct. She’d been right so many other times, he didn’t dare argue with her.

But he still wanted to check with Brodie.

“You don’t need to babysit me,” Brodie told him. “Besides, you sucked at babysitting.”

“No, I didn’t,” he answered, sounding exactly like a teenaged boy who sucked at babysitting.

“You always burned the pizza.”

“That’s true,” he said, and he left it at that, not wanting to let on how much he enjoyed that it still made her smile.

13

Chicago O’Hare International Airport

While riding the train, Frankie bought the last seat on the next flight to Atlanta using her phone. But almost immediately she received an email telling her she’d still need to check in at the ticket counter.

Now, she waited. The ticket agent raised an eyebrow at her computer monitor, and Frankie’s heart skipped a beat. She’d never purchased an airline ticket three hours before the flight. Maybe there were rules. She’d switched connecting flights with less time, but that was probably different. Should she ask the ticket agent what the problem was? Or would it only draw more attention to her and how paranoid she was at this very moment.

Then without warning, the woman looked up, handed Frankie her boarding pass and told her the gate number.

“Enjoy your flight.”

Frankie tried to be casual and not show her relief. Her mind was already running over what Hannah had told her, so much so that she almost collided with the woman waiting in the ticket line behind her. Hannah had offered her a safe haven, but Frankie worried she might be putting her friend—along with her children—in danger. Hannah promised she’d arrange a meeting for Frankie with her FBI friend.

“Just get down here,” Hannah had said.

She made it through security and found her gate, but continued walking, not stopping until she was two gates down. In the last three years Frankie had traveled for the agency, meeting clients all over the country, so she was familiar with O’Hare, especially this terminal. She found a seat with her back to a wall and a view of everyone coming from the security checkpoint, making the turn and down the ramp to the gates. A television monitor was close enough for her to read the news alert crawl at the bottom of the screen. Satisfied that no one was paying attention to her, she pulled out her cell phone and turned it on.