Page 82 of Midnight Creed

“Oh, yeah.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “His parents insist he’s staying with friends. Of course, they won’t give me names or present any proof. I’m weighing all my options, including arresting them both. But a fifteen-year-old who’s known to have run away a time or two is a bit different from a seven-year-old who didn’t make it to his bus stop three blocks from his home.”

Creed nodded. “We don’t have much daylight left.”

“Your dogs can still search after dark?”

He felt himself bristle. He glanced at Jason and Brodie. Both already knew his stance. Whether they agreed or not, they would never say so. Jason was still a new handler and respected Creed’s experience. As far as Creed was concerned, darkness counted as its own obstacle. One that was impossible to predict and prepare for. And he knew he was prejudiced on the issue because of his experiences in Afghanistan.

Technically, nighttime was better for scent detection. Scent pooled downward after the sunset. Moisture refreshed particles dried out in the light of day. But a handler couldn’t see the dangers lurking in the shadows, and dogs hardly paid attention when they were following a trail.

“They can,” he finally told Norwich. “But it’s not safe, and I’ve never felt comfortable taking the risks. Remember, some of those garbage dumps we saw in the woods? In the daylight, it’s just trash that we have to navigate a dog around. In the dark? That trash becomes dangerous and toxic.

“Also, because of the development in this area, a lot of the wildlife gets disturbed. Keep in mind that we’re close enough to fresh water. We’ll need to watch out for alligators. And these woods are dense enough that there could be black bears.”

A session of blinks and what looked like a hard swallow told him Norwich hadn’t thought about either of those obstacles.

“Then let’s find this boy as soon as possible,” was all she said.

52

Brodie had never done this before. Not outside a training session. This was for real. A boy’s life depended on her getting it right. Not just any boy. Will.

Basically, she would be the communication between Ryder and Jason and law enforcement. At the same time, she’d also make sure both teams had everything they needed: water, medical assistance, maps, updates or even transportation. She’d be the one hoofing it back to the Jeep for items not already in her pack.

And no matter how much Ryder hated night searches, he’d given her a couple of flashlights, along with extra batteries. She knew both he and Jason had Maglites and headlamps in their own packs. He’d also tossed her a couple of rolls of Cyalume Cyflect tape. The flexible, lightweight vinyl was photoluminescent and glowed green in the dark. They could easily and quickly tear strips and adhere them, not only to the dogs’ working vests, but also to their own shirts.

She wasn’t sure how many of the items Ryder included were standard for K9 handlers or stuff that he used as a Marine. Because the last of the “just in case” items were high-tech night vision goggles that Brodie found fascinating, but Ryder winced at.

“Let’s hope we don’t need to use them,” he’d told her as he handed the contraptions to her earlier.

“But they’re so cool,” she insisted.

His only explanation was a shrug and, “Too many bad memories.”

It felt odd to think of her tall, strong, invincible, big brother as having weaknesses or triggers. Then she remembered what he looked like a couple of months ago in that hospital bed back in Nebraska. The doctors had relied on her—his sister, his advocate—to make decisions when he bobbed in and out of consciousness. Up until then, Brodie hadn’t been responsible for anyone other than herself. That is, if you didn’t count Kitten and Hank.

Now she would be responsible, not just for helping to find Will, but for making sure her handlers and their dogs were safe and had everything they needed.

She’d come prepared with maps and notebooks so she could keep track of each area or sector as they searched. She’d record anything they found. Anything suspicious. And any alerts or interest the dogs might show. She’d mark those places and highlight sectors that might require a second sweep or a narrower grid. She’d be responsible for documenting each as they cleared a sector and moved on to the next. Her notes and navigational coordinates needed to be accurate.

Also, any questions or new information from law enforcement would come through her.

She could do this. She knew she could do this.

Still, she looked to Hank for reassurance. He stared at her expectantly, waiting and ready to go, and so handsome in his vest. Of course, she saw “handsome,” but she knew other people looked at Hank and saw “terrifying.” The American Staffordshire terrier was big and muscular, with a jaw that looked like it could rip a man’s arm off.

Before they left, Brodie had filled Hank’s zippered pockets with basic medical supplies. His vest resembled a dog-size saddlebag instead of the working vests Grace and Scout wore. Hank didn’t necessarily run faster than she could, but he could maneuver through places she might not be able to navigate. Plus, he knew how to pick up Grace and Scout’s scent and track them even when they were far out of sight. A mile through Blackwater River State Forest was Hank’s longest record.

They’d practiced those drills over and over in case one of the dogs got hurt. Hank found them every time. But they’d never trained in neighborhoods with asphalt streets, strangers in and out of houses, vehicles driving by or other dogs barking behind fences.

Right now, Brodie remained grateful that this area had more houses under construction than completed. Dozens of empty lots surrounded them. The thick woods bordered the back of the neighborhood. Fewer neighbors meant fewer people walking around, leaving more scent or simply distracting the dogs with their presence.

Norwich left as more of her deputies arrived along with the State Patrol. Uniformed officers walked from house to house, knocking on doors. Residents were coming home from work. Brodie watched a couple of vehicles slow down on the highway and hesitate before pulling into their own neighborhood. A Santa Rosa County Sheriff’s department vehicle blocked the entrance with a deputy checking each car and turning away a couple that couldn’t prove they were residents.

While Ryder and Jason finished prepping, Brodie turned her back to the commotion. She laid out the first map on the hood of Ryder’s Jeep, smoothing the accordion folds. Assorted items from her pack anchored down the corners. The slight breeze felt good, but it would add a chill to the air after the sunset. Hannah had reminded her to take extra layers. This time of year, the day’s temperature could be seventy and easily dip into the forties at night.

The thick humidity left a damp sheen on her skin, and the scent of pine overwhelmed. She put a K9 CrimeScents ball cap over her short, spiky hair and added a button-down collared shirt over her T-shirt, leaving the tails out and the buttons undone. Then she rolled up the sleeves like Jason and Ryder did.

Back to the map, she began dividing up sectors with a highlight marker and giving each a number. She was so focused she didn’t notice Jason standing next to her. Then Ryder came up on the other side.