Page 1 of Chasing Creed

1

Tuesday, February 17

Outside Gretna, Nebraska

Sara Tate told herself that the rain was a blessing. Soaked and shivering, she steadied the glass-cutting tool with one hand while gripping the handle of the suction cup with her other.

She’d chosen today for the overcast skies. No sun meant no shadows and few reflections. The predicted snow would cover her tracks. The sudden drop in temperature would keep people inside.

But the rain?

She’d forgotten how cold and unforgiving a February rain could be in Nebraska.

She leaned closer to the patio door, inching under the eaves. The downpour had eased up, but dark clouds still rolled overhead. With her ponytail stuck through the back of a worn ball cap, there was nothing to stop cold rivulets from sneaking under her collar and sliding down her spine.

Forget about it. Focus. Just focus.

Years of experience and lessons—hard, brutal lessons—had taught her to put aside personal feelings and physical discomfort. Even pain. The mind was a powerful tool. It could tell you things. Distract you. Convince you. Lie to you. Right now, Sara needed it to stop thinking about the cold rain.

She’d already jammed the house’s security system. Anyone paying attention would simply think the internet connection had gone down because of the stormy weather. Cameras weren’t as easy, but none monitored this walk-out basement’s sliding glass door. And relying on what she knew about the homeowner, she doubted there would be any cameras on this level.

Yes, she’d planned well, including surveillance of the property from all sides. Here in the backyard, the wide-open spaces presented the biggest risk. Towering cottonwoods and silver maples offered little cover without leaves. But the property lots sprawled wide and deep, giving plenty of distance between houses.

Another blessing.

When did she start thinking in terms of blessings? Blessings implied some spiritual entity, and Sara Tate had long ago accepted that God didn’t exist. It was easier than believing He didn’t care. Of course, like everything else in Sara’s life, it had taken plenty of those hard lessons before she’d finally come to that conclusion. She’d learned to survive by doing what was necessary, not waiting for God to rescue her.

This mission—this one last mission—would set her free. Or it would finally destroy her completely. That reminder straightened her back, refocused her mind on what mattered right now. It heightened her senses beyond the icy stream of rain.

Thankfully, the stormy weather kept nosy neighbors inside. If they saw something suspicious, they were less likely to venture out in the rain and check it out.

It was a bonus. Yes, call it a bonus. Not a blessing.

Almost all the neighbors, including the owner, would have left for work two hours ago. She knew that from scoping out the place last week. The rain would cut down on the dog walkers and casual joggers. The slope of the property prevented anyone on the street from being able to see her couched down at the back of the house.

She had left very little to chance. She’d churned out details, looked at every possible risk, and evaluated all the obstacles: imagined and real. It was something that came naturally to her by now. This idea of expecting the worst-case scenario and attempting to twist it into an acceptable outcome even before it happened.

Maybe it was a gift that she had good instincts. She was scrappy and clever. She was a survivor. Unfortunately, surviving was only the beginning. It was quite another thing to keep fighting.

Somewhere behind her in the sky she heard the cat-cat-cat of a Cooper hawk. Even in the rain, something was making the bird angry. A breeze set off windchimes above Sara’s head and brought the scent of pine from the trees that lined the back property. Those woods had provided her a safe path directly to this backyard. And they would equally provide her escape.

The glass finally shifted under the suction cup. She drew in a deep breath, then eased out the circular chunk, needing two hands to lift and gently lean it against the side of the house. The hole was low and large enough for her to crawl through easily. Going in through the glass bypassed the lock and allowed her to avoid opening the door, both of which could trigger an alarm system. From her earlier surveillance, she knew she wouldn’t be met by a motion detection device.

She stuffed all her tools into a small pack and set it off to the side where she could grab it on her way out. A strand of hair fell out from under her cap, and she swiped it back. The custom-tailored gloves still surprised her how much they looked and felt like her own skin, minus fingerprints. She yanked up her wet sleeve to activate the timer on her watch, because despite all her planning, timing was everything.

She tapped the stopwatch and crawled inside.

There was no light other than the gray that came in through the windows and the sliding glass door. Floor plans she’d memorized from the county assessor’s website showed two bedrooms down here. She’d have no need to venture upstairs.

A low whine stopped her in her tracks. It wasn’t electrical or mechanical. Sara cocked her head and listened. She didn’t hear it. Waited a beat longer. Nothing. Then she started walking again.

The first bedroom was empty. The bedspread was pulled up but left in a messy, haphazard way, of someone in a hurry. Her eyes swept the room, taking in everything, including the open closet. At the dresser she stopped, palmed a wad of cash and lifted a credit card, slipping both into a back pocket. She ignored the gaudy gold wristwatch. Five prescription containers drew her attention. She glanced at the labels. Recognized all of them. Left three and pocketed the other two.

This wasn’t the room she needed. She couldn’t afford to waste any more time here. As soon as she walked back out into the main room, she heard the sound again. High-pitched. A moan. Not quite human, but definitely alive.

The door to what she knew was the second bedroom was closed. But not locked. Slow and easy, she opened it. The smell hit her nostrils. A familiar metallic tang that ratcheted up her pulse. Oddly, it was mixed with something sweet and fruity like…oranges? Her muscles tensed instinctively. Her eyes and ears were hyperalert to any motion.

She had prepared to find someone here. Alone. Possibly asleep. Maybe sedated or even restrained. Either way, she expected her job to be easy.