Desperate Creed

by Alex Kava

  She waved to the host who was busy with a couple of politicians she recognized. Poor Ermelo was getting an earful, but he nodded for her to go ahead and gestured toward the back. She found her friend, Gwen Patterson in their favorite corner, sipping a glass of wine.

  “Sorry,” Maggie said as she slid in on the opposite side of the booth. She’d already texted an explanation.

  A waiter appeared with a bottle of Sam Adams and a frosted pilsner.

  “I put in our food order already, too. I’m starving tonight.”

  Maggie could have made a joke about how predictable she’d become, but in fact, she was glad to hear Gwen was starving. Chemo had stolen her friend’s appetite for too long. It wasn’t bad enough that it had also replaced Gwen’s beautiful strawberry blond hair with a steel gray. She used to wear it chin-length, but now kept it clipped short, almost a pixie-style that actually made her look younger despite the gray.

  “Everything okay?” Gwen asked.

  Maggie smiled as she poured the beer.

  “What?”

  “All you’ve been through and you’re still always worried about me.”

  “Someone has to,” Gwen said, matter-of-fact and sipped her wine.

  Gwen was fifteen years older than Maggie. She’d been a mentor to her when Maggie was a newbie, just getting started as a criminal profiler. Gwen was a consultant to the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit and the two had worked together to apprehend several of the deadliest and most dangerous killers.

  “A.D. Kunze wanted to let me know that the director was impressed with the way I handled the human trafficking case in Nebraska.”

  Gwen raised an eyebrow then lifted her glass, “Congratulations.”

  “That was last fall. Why would he take four months to tell me that?”

  “The director or Raymond?”

  Maggie held back a grimace. Sometimes she hated that Gwen was on a first name basis with her boss, but her friend’s question only confirmed what Maggie was already thinking. When had the director told Kunze that he was impressed her?

  Their food arrived, and Maggie sat back. The waiter had also brought a second glass of wine for Gwen. He asked if Maggie would like a second beer, but she had barely taken one drink and shook her head. She was surprised to see that he had two platters with burgers. Gwen was a gourmet cook and lately chose one of the seafood entrees from the menu, only to pick at it, eating very little.

  Now she glimpsed at Gwen preparing her sandwich, adding salt and pepper then carefully placing—from the side garnish—pickles, onion and jalapenos. It was the most interest she’d seen Gwen give food in a long time. Maggie didn’t say anything, pretending not to notice while she fussed over her own sandwich.

  “Go on,” Gwen said as she sliced her creation in half. Her fingers expertly picked up the first half, keeping everything together. She stopped before bringing it to her lips. “So tell me,” she coaxed. “Why was he finally telling you what the director said?”

  “Because the director is creating a new special unit to assist local law enforcement in solving violent crimes. They just invested millions to upgrade ViCap and our crime lab. Maybe he’s looking to justify the expense.”

  “Actually that’s a great idea. Getting back to solving crimes instead of getting mixed up in politics.”

  “Do you really believe that’s possible for Kunze? He seems to thrive on having all those connections.”

  Gwen shrugged. “Sounds like he might not have a choice if Director Bowman has something else in mind.”

  The new FBI director had been on the job less than a year and had already made it clear he wanted no part of letting the agency for political football. Maggie couldn’t help wondering how that set with her boss, Assistant Director Kunze who had made a career by exchanging favors with politicians. Too many times he’d sent her on wild goose chases to check on political pet projects of various members of congress. Once, he even ordered Maggie to retrieve a senator’s family along with their houseboat from the middle of the Gulf of Mexico during a series of severe thunderstorms. And he usually equipped her with less information than he had available, willing to put her danger for the sake of keeping his contacts from a media firestorm or scandal.

  “So this new unit,” Gwen said using her fork to punctuate the word unit. “It sounds interesting. And it sounds like perhaps Bowman wants you to be a part of it?”

  Maggie nodded while she chewed, holding up a finger for Gwen to give her a second or two. She was still processing her conversation with Kunze. It seemed a bit surreal. Finally she swallowed, wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin and said, “H want me to be the head of it.”

  Her friend’s face lit up. “Oh Maggie, that’s fantastic. The director must have been very impressed.”

  “A.D. Kunze said I can pick my team, but of course, he already presented me with a list he highly recommends I consider. Your name is on his list.”

  “Mine?”

  Gwen had been remained a consultant to the FBI despite having her own successful psychiatrist practice. When she found out she had breast cancer two years ago she had scaled back, seeing fewer clients, turning down speaking engagements. Maggie still remembered being stunned and a bit scared that her mentor, her rock seemed to shrink away from her normal everyday life, not just to adjust to the physical changes but to cope with her fear. Gwen Patterson was one of the strongest women Maggie knew, and she hated seeing her friend so filled with doubts and fears that it had almost crippled her.

  “You said you could use a break from listening to the anxiety meltdowns of DC’s political class.” Gwen’s clients ranged from congressional staffers to senators’ spouses and even a four-star general.

  “That’s quite the choice,” Gwen laughed. “Listening to politico meltdowns or chasing criminals?”

  In her role as consultant, Maggie knew Gwen had helped with some of their strangest and most dangerous cases. She was an expert in criminal behavior, having penned numerous articles and several books. Not only had she interviewed killers but several times she had also been caught up in their sick mind games. Maggie would be lucky to have her a part of this unit and a part of her team.

  “You have so many talented FBI agents you could choose from,” Gwen said.

  “But none that I trust like I trust you.”

  Gwen nodded. “Let me think about it, okay?”

  “Sure. No problem,” but Maggie could hear it in her voice before she tried to stash away. And Gwen notice.

  “It’s just that, maybe I should talk to R.J. about it first.”

  FBI agent R.J. Tully was Gwen’s significant other and Maggie’s sometimes partner.

  “Are you worried you might not be able to work together?”

  “You’re asking R.J. to be a part of your team?”

  “Of course,” Maggie said. She hadn’t even considered that he might not agree.

  “Then I should definitely talk to him about it.”

  “You’ve worked together dozens of times before.”

  “Not since the cancer. He’s been a bit overprotective of me.”

  “I get that. He doesn’t want to lose you.”

  “It’s not like I’m in the line of fire like you two.” Gwen finished the last bite of her hamburger. Maggie was glad none of this conversation or the reminders had taken away her appetite. “You and Ben have worked together, and it hasn’t always gone well.”

  “Not the same thing.” Maggie sipped her beer. “Ben and I aren’t...well, you know. We’re not in a relationship.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “Of course, he does. It was his choice, remember?”

  Dr. Benjamin Platt was the director of USAMRIID (United State Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases). They had grown close while Maggie was in one of the institute’s isolation wards after being exposed to the Ebola virus. There was a time when Maggie believed they might become more than friends, but Ben had made it clear that wanted to have more children
. His only daughter had died of complications of the flu while he was deployed to Afghanistan. As an officer and a medical doctor it seemed a cruel irony that he would be saving the lives of soldiers and helpless to help save his only child seven thousand miles away.

  “So what about Ryder Creed? Do you think the two of you will have any problems working together now that you’ve...you know, been together?”

  This wasn’t a subject Maggie wanted to talk about.

  “Ryder and I agreed to not talk about it.” She took a gulp of her beer. “Besides he’s younger than me. He just turned thirty.”

  “You know you get nowhere with that excuse. R.J. is younger than me. By the way, what did you get him for his birthday?”

  She knew Gwen was right. Age was a stupid excuse. Ryder was an old soul. Sometimes he seemed wiser and more mature than she was.

  “A GPS watch,” she finally answered when she realized Gwen was waiting for her response.

  “Those are nice.” Gwen’s eyes were watching her, studying her. “Expensive. Sort of a relationship worthy gift.”

  “Oh no. Do you think so? I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

  “I think the sex might have already done that.”

  Maggie winced and it only made Gwen laugh.

  “Why does this make you so uncomfortable? It seems so obvious that you both care deeply for each other. You’ve been through some crazy, difficult situations. Mudslides, an explosion, the bird flu. What else will it take to make you realize what this guy means to you?”

  “Maybe I just don’t know how to do relationships. Maybe it’s the relationship part that scares me.”

  “Scare you? Bullshit! That’s cop-out.”

  Maggie raised her eyebrows. She rarely heard Gwen swear. This conversation had taken too serious of a turn.

  “Hey, come on now,” she said with a smile. “Contrary to popular belief, I do have feelings.”

  “Yes, you do. And you are braver and stronger than anyone I know. I’ve seen you stand face-to-face with killers. You can be fearless. And yet, you’re a big ole scaredy-cat when it comes to getting close to someone. Trusting someone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s the one thing I know can hurt me beyond repair in a way I can’t control. I have no defense against.”

  “Oh sweetie. We all those fears to some degree. You know after the mastectomy I convinced myself that R.J. would leave me.”

  “Seriously? He’s crazy about you.”

  “I knew it was more about me, my fears of not feeling whole. It had little to do with him. At the same time it made me realize how much I want him in my life. How much I need him in my life.”

  Gwen pushed her plate away and pulled her wine glass closer all the while never taking her eyes off Maggie.

  “It’s easier to rely on just myself,” Maggie finally said. “Any time I’ve counted on someone else I’ve been disappointed—present company excluded, of course.” When Gwen didn’t answer, Maggie filled the silence. “Is that so awful?”

  “I just worry that you’re missing out on some incredible happiness while you’re protecting yourself. In the meantime, what about Ryder? He appears to be someone who’s been through his own personal fires. I’d venture to guess that he has his own issues with trust and commitment. Are you being fair to him? Not trusting him after all you two have been through might not sit well with him.”

  “I do trust him. He’s saved my ass a couple of times. So obviously I trust him with my ass.”

  Gwen smiled and said, “Your ass and the rest of your body.” Then as if that wasn’t enough damage, she followed with, “But not your heart.”

  When Maggie’s phone started ringing the sound was muffled inside her jacket pocket. She tugged it out as quickly as possible but not before other diners scowled at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she told Gwen. “I should have shut it off.”

  “Take it. I really don’t mind.”

  When Maggie glanced at the caller’s I.D. her first thought was that somehow the person on the other line had read her mind.

  “Hi Hannah. How are you?”

  17

  BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA

  Willis Dean glanced up to see Mia Long standing in front of his desk. He’d retreated to his messy back office just a few minutes ago. They’d gone off the air after the last watch and warning expired, but Willis couldn’t stop looking at the photos coming in. He’d been concerned about Smiths Crossings and grateful none of the area schools had been hit. But he hadn’t considered the Interstate.

  Crumpled vehicles had been tossed and scattered over the fields. Debris littered the area, pieces strung from the few trees that were still standing. At the interstate junction, piles of brick and boards, glittering glass and more smashed trucks and cars were all that remained from what was once a gas station, fast food restaurant and convenience store. From the aerial drone photos he wondered how in the world anyone had survived.

  “Five dead,” he said, shaking his head.

  “It’s a wonder there weren’t more,” Mia told him.

  This time when he looked up he noticed that she had a takeout container in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. She gestured for him to clear a spot so she could set them down.

  “You’re bringing me food?”

  “You haven’t eaten since you got here. Paul ordered sandwiches. I grabbed a ham and cheese for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Instead of making a spot for her to set the container down, Willis took it and the mug then did a half-circle, suddenly overwhelmed with the mess that surrounded him. A mess that usually didn’t bother him. Finally, he decided a pile on the credenza behind him looked sturdy enough for the food container. He sat back down and sipped the coffee. It was still hot with just the right amount of cream, no sugar. Mia always remembered exactly how he liked it.

  “We heard from Gary.”

  “And?” His eyebrow raised at the same time that his stomach clenched as he prepared for the worst.

  “His crew’s okay. A few scrapes and cuts. They’re still a bit shook up.”

  “How close were they?”

  “Too close. He said it whipped their vehicle around. Broke every window.”

  Willis took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted, but he immediately felt a tension in his shoulders break loose. When the damage reports started coming in, he realized where the tornado had hit. No matter how many precautions a storm chaser took there was always a risk.

  He glanced at the monitor on desk as the screen refreshed. The new reports were already coming in from the National Weather Service.

  “How do you want to handle the schedule?” Mia asked.

  The first outbreak of the season. Everyone would be on-call, but of course, his entire crew would want to be in on it. They were all weather geeks. Even if they weren’t in the studio they’d be on their phones and iPads checking the radar, watching the sky.

  “Why don’t you go home and get some rest,” he told her. “I’m doing the radio interviews this afternoon. I just as well stay.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

  She turned to leave, and Willis was relieved that she hadn’t seen through his excuse. He could just as easily do the radio interviews from home. He’d done it many times before. When Mia stopped in the doorway, he felt a hitch in his breath.

  Practically holding his breath. How ridiculous. Like that would make a difference.

  She glanced over her shoulder and pointed her chin at his credenza.

  “Don’t forget to eat.”

  “Oh yeah. Thanks again.”

  His desk phone started ringing. She gave him one last wave and was gone.

  “Willis Dean,” he answered.

  “Dad, I tried to call you but you must still have your cell phone off.”

  “Robbie, are you okay?” He grabbed at his jacket that he’d swung over his chair. He dug the cell phone out o
f his pocket and turned it.

  “What’s going? Mom said you guys are getting a divorce.”

  Willis slouched back in his chair and slid the phone across his desk. That was just like Beth. She kept everything secret, but when she made the decision to tell, she told everyone.

  He’d never lied to his boys, and he wouldn’t start now.

  “I guess we are.”

  “So it was a surprise to you, too?”

  Willis couldn’t help but smile. It appeared his oldest knew his parents well.

  “Yes, it was.”

  His wife’s unhappiness was a complete surprise to him. He knew that he spent too many hours consumed by his job. How many family events had he walked in the door late or missed entirely? But he loved his boys. He loved his wife. He’d never questioned either.

  It was at that moment it occurred to Willis, his three sons would be just fine. All of them were off building lives of their own. Beth would be fine, too. She had said as much. Willis would be the only one displaced from his home of thirty years, the rose garden he’d curated, the magnolia tree and crepe myrtles he had planted along with the bird feeders he’d built and placed.

  It was clear to him now that he spent too much time in his backyard and literally with his head in the clouds.

  “Dad,” his son’s voice brought him back. “Maybe it’ll all blow over, just like the storms. You know mom. Tomorrow she might change her mind and redecorate a different room.”

  That made Willis smile, but a bit of sadness poked at him. Maybe that was the problem, Willis realized. Maybe he really didn’t know his wife. He didn’t seem to know her at all.

  18

  SOUTHERN ALABAMA

  For the last several miles Ryder Creed had to swerve around pieces of debris in the road. He first noticed trees stripped of their leaves, and in some instances, stripped of their bark, too. In two spots he had to stop and remove fallen branches, once pulling out his chain saw. Electrical poles leaned, wires dangling and swinging in the breeze. Then he started seeing not just branches, but whole trees, shoved onto their sides with tentacles of roots. It looked like a giant had plucked them out of the ground and flung them aside.