Page 11 of Chasing Creed

Maggie saw him before she got to the baggage carousel. Tommy Pakula had a quiet presence that let him blend into a crowd. He looked like an ordinary, middle-aged guy wearing a dark suit jacket over jeans and a black T-shirt. A pair of glasses sat on top of his shaved head. Anyone who noticed him would think he was one of the travelers waiting for his bag to appear on the conveyor belt. An ordinary traveler and not the head law enforcement officer for the state’s human trafficking task force.

He saw her and dipped his chin in place of a wave. She raised her overnight case and gestured that it was the only one she had.

“Special Agent Maggie O’Dell,” he offered his hand. When she took it, he pulled her in for a sideways hug. Then he showed her the brown paper bag in his other hand. “How bout we catch up at the coffee shop upstairs. I brought donuts.”

She laughed. The first time they met, he was eating a donut while he waited for her, and she made a bad cop joke. “Chocolate frosting?”

“Of course.”

“Cake?”

“Is there any other kind? Although I don’t know how you can truly appreciate them with a Diet Pepsi.”

“It’s an acquired taste.”

“How’ve you been?”

“Good. Yourself?”

“Can’t complain. And I’m sure if I did, my wife and girls would tell me to buck up.”

They found a table in an empty corner. She let him fetch his coffee and her soda as she dug into the paper bag. There were four, individually wrapped in wax paper. The scent of sugar, chocolate, and baked dough made her stomach roil. She was starving, choosing not to eat before her flight and being suspended 30,000 feet above control.

As she took a bite, she turned on her phone. It began pinging one after another. However, there was only one message she was interested in texting immediately.

Made it to Omaha. It’s pouring!

She almost hit send but stopped herself and added, “love you.” She hesitated, finger hovering. She deleted “love” and replaced it with “miss.” Then she hit send.

Pakula put the can of Diet Pepsi in front of her and sat down with his paper cup of coffee. The can was ice-cold. Just the way she liked it, and she smiled at him as she popped the tab. Her donuts—one and a half by now—were set out on their wax paper, and she moved the paper bag toward him with the last two.

“Am I that easy that you can remember my favorites?” she asked.

“I can’t imagine that word ever coming up in a description of you.” He sipped his coffee. “Occupational hazard. I remember details. Unfortunately, my wife says they are not always the details she wishes I’d remember. Those last two are for you, too.” He patted his stomach and added, “Watching my physique. Take them back to the hotel. A little something for when you can’t sleep.”

My God, this man knew her well. Too well.

She didn’t even remember telling him about her chronic insomnia.

“Thanks.”

“She won’t talk to either of us,” Pakula switched topics easily, moving on.

“No surprise there.” Maggie said over a bite of donut.

“You should see her. Probably the best shapeshifter I’ve seen.”

“Shapeshifter?”

“Sorry. One of my daughters reads a lot of books with werewolves, zombies, and shapeshifters. I used to think it all sounded so made-up until I realized half the people I deal with on a regular basis look like characters from her books.”

“So, Iris Malone. A shapeshifter?”

“I’ve been showing up at her hearings. I haven’t missed a single one. She comes in all hunched over. Started using a cane. Walks slowly, watching her feet. Makes you forget how tall and broad and formidable she actually is. Her hair’s gone gray. Sort of a steel gray. She comes across as a feeble, old lady.”

“Confinement can do that.”

“Sure, but I’m not buying it in her case. Thing is, I’m afraid she might be able to pull it off.”