Page 21 of Chasing Creed

He took a deep breath. Told himself he was here in a pasture in Mississippi. It was actual fog, not the fog of war. Yes, there were risks to his dogs. Yes, it made him uneasy. Just like night searches scraped his nerve endings raw. Obsessive, compulsive? Maybe. But he’d always sided on caution when his dogs were involved. Why was it wrong to want to do the same with Brodie?

In the back of his mind, he could hear Hannah. She needs to gather her own confidence. She can’t do that if you’re always lending her yours.

He realized Brodie and Jason were waiting. So were the dogs.

“You and Hank go ahead. But let’s all go slow. And we stay together.”

Then he looked at Scout head-butting Jason’s thigh, and he knew “slow and stay together” seemed like a silly and unreasonable request.

13

Omaha, Nebraska

Maggie didn’t mind when Pakula asked if they could take a detour before he dropped her off at her hotel. She had the rest of the afternoon free. Today was simply about getting to Omaha.

For most people, asking to take a detour might mean running an errand. Maybe picking up coffee. She shouldn’t have been surprised that for Pakula it meant dropping by the Douglas County morgue.

“Something doesn’t sound right,” he told her a second time as they stood in the autopsy suite.

Pakula had connections across the state. Enough connections and authority to have people scrambling for answers when his gut instinct told him something didn’t “sound right.”

A tech named Jules prepared the other items collected from the garbage bag and submitted as evidence on a separate table alongside the body. It was immediately obvious that the young woman hadn’t been in the water for long. Other than a bruise on her cheek, her skin showed no signs that the river had even filtered into the plastic garbage bag yet.

While Pakula examined the brand burned onto the woman’s upper arm, Maggie looked closer at her hands, particularly the fingernails. They were clean. None were broken or chipped. She saw no bruising or cuts that would indicate defensive wounds. Instead, the hands and nails looked well-maintained. No cuticles. The fingernails were neatly trimmed and uniform.

“That brand looks too fresh,” Pakula said it like a confirmation to what he’d already suspected.

“No signs of a struggle,” Maggie told him.

She studied the woman’s face. Her eyes were closed. Long brown hair looked full and wavy. Only the beginning of wrinkles at the corners of her mouth.

“No needle track marks. Although these days that doesn’t mean much. Too many drugs can be inhaled, snorted, or simply popped as a pill. Most traffickers get them hooked as quickly as possible.”

Maggie was a criminal profiler who specialized in serial killers. Lately, she found herself involved in drug and human trafficking cases. She’d seen enough of those victims, and her first impression of this woman was that she was not an addict.

Track marks on her body weren’t the only signs missing. Maggie scrutinized the woman’s face. There wasn’t a gauntness—no sunken eyes and cheeks—that usually presented even in death. She wasn’t overtly thin. No pronounced ribs. No bruising along the upper thighs.

The stab wound in her left side looked clean. In and out with no rib cage to interfere. Maggie predicted a long blade. Maybe a stiletto that would easily pierce the heart. Someone knew what he was doing. But why bag her up and dump her in a river without an anchor to drag her to the bottom?

Pakula might be onto something.

Or maybe she was just hungry. Deep down she’d hoped his detour was a diner. A couple of doughnuts didn’t make up for the missed breakfast. She’d have to ask him to stop at a fast-food drive-thru or wait for room service at the hotel.

Her stomach chose that moment to gurgle, and Maggie tugged at the oversized gown. She stepped over to view the items on the side table, careful how she moved with shoe covers that ballooned over her leather flats, threatening to trip her. There wasn’t much here either. Jeans, socks, no shoes, and a sweater with dog hair.

“What is it?” Pakula asked.

“One size does not fit all.” She grabbed a handful of her gown.

He gave her a slight smile then tilted his head at the body and said, “You’re thinking something.”

“Was she wearing these clothes?”

Pakula turned to Jules, who had moved to another counter on the far wall to set up trays of utensils. “Jules, do you have any idea how she was found inside the bag?”

“She was naked. Clothes were stuffed into the bag with her. No ID. No wallet. No phone.”

Maggie pulled her gloves up with a snap and unfolded the sweater. The left side was bloody. There was a hole cut into the knit fabric.