Page 27 of Desperate Creed

Sheriff Norwich shook Creed’s hand then leaned down and gave her fingertips to Grace to sniff. She didn’t attempt to pet Grace. The scent offering was her greeting, and Creed appreciated it.

“He has a young Army Ranger who works for him. Smart as a whip,” Norwich said. “I worked with him last fall down in my neck of the woods.”

Norwich was the sheriff of Santa Rosa County in Florida. Creed knew she was out of her territory. Probably on her day off.

“I’ve asked Jason to join me,” Creed told both sheriffs. “Grace and I may need some help. This heat and humidity can wear a dog out pretty quickly.”

“Does your Army Ranger have a little bitty thing like this, too?” Apparently Krenshaw still wasn’t satisfied with Grace’s stature.

Before Creed could answer, Norwich said, “Mr. Creed takes in shelter dogs and trains them for all kinds of scents. This little bit of a thing found that young woman in the river last year. Down in the forest. Come to think of it,” and she glanced up at Creed, “She found Sheriff Wylie, too. Didn’t she?”

Creed nodded. Both deaths had looked like suicides. It wasn’t until later they were ruled homicides. When Grace found nineteen-year-old Izzy Donner, she was floating in the Blackwater River. He could still see the image of her dead body. Her jacket billowed around her. Her pockets had been filled with rocks and anchored her body to the bottom of the shallow river. Her eyes stared up at the sky.

He could still see Sheriff Wylie, too. He and Grace found him days later, along the river behind Wylie’s cabin. Only he wasn’t in the river. He was hanging from the branch of a huge oak tree.

Now, Creed scanned the horizon as more first responders and volunteers arrived. He had a feeling his catalog of images was about to get updated with a whole new category of gruesome.

“From what we know so far, it missed Smith Crossings,” the sheriff was telling Creed. “Hit a couple of farms and homes on the outskirts. This here,” Krenshaw pointed with his chin, his hands deep in his pockets, “took the brunt of the storm. On one hand, it’s fortunate it missed those more populated areas. On the other hand, we have no idea how many people were here when it hit. Or how far it may have taken them.

“We just pulled out a bunch of travelers that were trapped in the restrooms at that convenience store.”

Where the sheriff pointed, about thirty feet away, looked more like discarded rubble from a construction site—a pile ten feet high of cinder blocks, broken glass, dismantled shelves, shingles and two-by-fours. Three of the walls were sheered away. A section to the back remained standing. Creed guessed that was where the restrooms were. In front of the wall, an end cap display stood. It looked untouched.

Sheriff Norwich noticed where Creed’s eyes had stayed and said, “Bags of potato chips. Still on the shelves. And that’s not even the craziest thing you’ll see today.”

“This interstate exit has the convenience store, a gas station and a fast food place. You can see they all took a massive hit. Four fatalities. Nine sent off to area hospitals.” He shook his head. “A couple of them...they didn’t look too good. That’s just what we’ve found so far. We have no idea what’s waiting for us in the fields.”

“I saw a stock trailer on my way here,” Creed mentioned.

“Unfortunately, the driver will most likely be added to the fatality list. That is, if and when we find him. The response team’s already pulled out a few people from their vehicles. They’re trying their level best to get to as many as they can.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “We’re five hours into this. You know as well as I do, time is not on our side. I’m hoping that’s where your dog comes in. Maybe speed this up a bit. Hopefully...Grace, is it?”

Creed nodded.

“Hopefully, Grace can tell us whether or not there are any survivors in some of these vehicles.” Then he turned, put his hand up to block out the sun and added, “Or anywhere in those fields.”

20

Quantico, Virginia

After Hannah’s call Maggie left her friend, Gwen and headed back to her office at Quantico. Not much larger than a utility closet with bookcases and a desk, the space had always brought her a sense of comfort. It was her sanctuary despite all the horrific crime scene photos and files she had viewed over the years.

She had decorated with a smattering of personal items—here and there. Several file cabinets were stuffed full from an era before digital storage was possible. Maggie had occupied this same office ever since she came to Quantico as a forensic fellow. Had she pushed, she probably could have moved to a bigger one after she became an agent. But this place suited her. For some reason it didn’t feed or prick at her claustrophobia. Most days, anyway. Besides, she knew exactly where everything was. Even now, she went immediately to a file drawer and pulled out the folder she needed.

Hannah Washington had asked Maggie for a favor. She knew Hannah well enough to know the woman didn’t ask for favors. She was the type of person others went to for help and advice. So Maggie knew it wasn’t easy for Hannah to call her.

“I’ve never heard Frankie so scared,” Hannah had told her about her friend.

Maggie listened, taking mental notes and even writing down names on the back of a notepad that Gwen had quickly found in her handbag and handed to Maggie back at the restaurant.

In her file cabinet, Maggie found the Chicago detective’s business card in the folder. A personal cell phone number was scrawled on the flipside. Maggie had met Detective Lexington “Lexi” Jacks last year. If she remembered correctly it was also in March. An unexpected snowstorm had greeted her at O’Hare International. Jacks picked her up. It was the first time the two women had met, and yet, Jacks had been concerned that Maggie didn’t have a coat. Actually, Maggie didn’t believe it was concern as much as impatience. But the two had bonded over the fact that both of them had even less patience for bureaucracy. She was hoping Jacks still harbored that particular impatience.

Chicago was an hour behind Virginia, but Maggie was still surprised when the woman answered on the third ring.

“This is Jacks.”

“Detective, it’s Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

There was only a slight pause.