DESPERATE CREED: (Book 5 Ryder Creed K-9 Mystery Series)

by Kava, Alex

  “Something cheerful,” Isaac told her as he reached over and began petting Kitten.

  “Yeah,” Thomas said. “Monsters hate when boys and girls are happy. They want us to be afraid.”

  “You know what else helps?” Isaac looked up at her, genuinely serious about helping her.

  “What?” Brodie asked.

  “Milk and cookies.”

  “That’s right,” Thomas agreed. “Mom, Brodie needs some milk and cookies.

  She realized she wasn’t shaking anymore. Kitten purred beneath her fingers. As silly as it seemed, she suddenly felt safe flanked by these two boys and a cat. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and the continuous flicker from the outside. Down below she could finally see Hannah’s face. Despite the furrowed brow, Brodie could see she was smiling.

  29

  South of Montgomery, Alabama

  Creed was surprised to find less than a dozen guests in the hotel’s breakfast area. He told the sheriff last night that he didn’t want to take two rooms away from people who may have been affected by the tornado. The sheriff assured him that most of the other first responders and volunteers were close to home or staying with family. From the half empty parking lot, he realized there were very few travelers. Yet, as soon as he and Grace walked into the dining area a manager rushed up to him.

  “Sir, we don’t allow dogs in the public areas.”

  “She’s a working dog.”

  The man looked down at Grace, and she wagged at him as if showing off her vest.

  “Sorry, rules are rules.”

  He was about a decade older than Creed and a head shorter, but he stared up at him with unflinching authority. He didn’t seem to mind that he had the attention of all his guests. The place had gone so quiet that a clink of a fork against a plate sounded like thunder. Before Creed could answer, Jason came around the corner with Scout at his side. The man’s head spun so quickly Creed almost laughed.

  “Mornin’,” Jason said to both of them. Then he noticed the whole room watching and stopped.

  “No dogs are allowed . . .” the man paused when his eyes caught a glimpse of the black mechanical hand at the end of Jason’s shirtsleeve.

  Creed was curious to see if it would change the man’s mind.

  “These dogs aren’t allowed in the public areas.”

  Nope, it hadn’t changed anything.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” one of the women called from a nearby table. “Are you the men who found that baby yesterday?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Creed said. He gestured to Grace. “She found him.”

  “You’re all over the news,” she said, pointing up to one of the three televisions. “Someone caught a part of it on their phone.”

  That surprised Creed.

  “What seems to be the problem?” asked another guest, an older gentleman sitting with three others. He was addressing the manager.

  “We don’t allow dogs in the public areas,” the man told him, but his voice had lowered.

  “I don’t think any of us mind,” the woman said, looking around. “Any of you mind if these men and their dogs have breakfast with us?”

  Creed watched the manager from the corner of his eye as the room erupted in agreement with the woman. The man’s neck started to redden against his white collar.

  “Well . . . just this once,” he ended up saying before marching out the door.

  “Thanks everyone,” Creed said, waving a hand to the group.

  “Someone has to stand up for heroes,” the woman said.

  He was grateful when they all went back to their breakfasts and conversations. He didn’t want to talk about Baby Garner. He was anxious to get something to eat and head back out.

  Jason found a table by the window far enough away from the others. Creed sat down and told Jason to go ahead. He’d settle the dogs. He could see the kid eyeing the buffet line even when the manager was still trying to throw them out. To his surprise, Jason brought him a mug of coffee and set it on the table in front of him then bee-lined for the food. Sometimes Creed was still amazed at how much the young vet had changed.

  The first time they met, Jason had a chip on his shoulder the size of Montana. An IED had blown off half his arm and sent him home. It had also left him belligerent and morose. He’d even admitted to Creed that he had fantasies of suicide and was proud of the fact that he had hoarded enough pharmaceuticals to do the job right.

  As different as the two men were, Creed could relate. He’d been sent home from Afghanistan by an IED, too. Alone and missing his K9 partner—the only good thing in his life at the time—he had been angry and depressed. The first time he met Hannah he was drunk and had started a brawl with three men in the bar she was tending. She saved him. Lectured him then listened to him. Helped him figure out a way to give his life purpose.

  When Creed recognized a glimpse of himself in Jason, he took a chance that Jason needed the same thing. He gave him a puppy. Told him if he wasn’t going to stick around, he’d need to give the dog back. It wasn’t fair to the puppy to get attached then have his master off himself. Creed had been blunt, made it sound like he didn’t care what Jason did to himself. That was his decision. But he wouldn’t let Jason desert a puppy he’d committed to taking care of and training.

  Creed bent down and petted the black Lab that sat next to his boots watching and waiting for his handler. Scout and Jason made a good team. Both hardheaded and full of energy. Creed often described Scout as a jackass, but he meant it in a good way. Scent dogs needed that over-the-top curiosity and addiction to adventure. The stuff that drove ordinary dog owners crazy, or sadly prompted them to give up the dog, was exactly what Creed looked for in a search dog.

  He saw Jason’s tray piled high and wiped at the smile on his face. That was the other thing the handler and his dog had in common, both of them were eternally hungry. Both loved food, but were lean and muscular—not an ounce of fat on either from working hard.

  “Is there anything left?” He asked Jason as the kid unloaded from his tray to the table. There were several plates and saucers overlapping and filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy along with a tall glass of orange juice and another of milk.

  “Very funny.”

  The dogs had already been fed before they’d left their rooms, but Scout was licking his chops, eyes fastened on Jason’s hands, ever hopeful for a dropped morsel.

  “Aren’t you getting yours?” Jason asked, sitting down and ready to dig in, but again, waiting and trying to be polite. It was obvious this was a new habit for the kid.

  Creed lifted his mug. “I will. Just having some coffee first.”

  When Jason still hesitated, Creed added, “Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

  In between bites, Jason said, “You’re worried about Brodie.”

  A statement, not a question.

  “Hannah said she had a nightmare last night. And another panic attack. Found her at the top of the stairs like she was getting ready to race down and out of the house.”

  Jason washed down a mouthful before he said, “She hasn’t done that in a long time.”

  “Not since the first week. She did it in Omaha pretty often.”

  Creed let his eyes wander out the window. Blue skies, not a hint of the storms predicted for later in the day. He realized that was sort of how Brodie was. She nodded and said all the right things. She wasn’t afraid of any of the stuff he expected her to be afraid of: bugs, spiders, rats . . . even thunderstorms. Instead, she broke her food into tiny pieces, sometimes in an unconscious frenzy. She chopped at her hair until it was uneven, short and spikey. She washed her hands over and over again as if there were invisible stains that only she could see. There seemed to be an internal storm still brewing beneath her surface, though she pretended everything was blue skies.

  He knew that PTSD worked differently in everyone. He had dealt with his own on his own terms. But he also knew that it could sneak up on you when you least expected it. When you thought
you’d put it behind you. Just when you felt safe and secure.

  “Back in Omaha, I was always afraid she’d run out of the facility and get hurt.” He glanced over and was surprised to see Jason had stopped eating to listen to him. “They couldn’t lock the doors. That only made things worse. Sort of like Molly. Remember when we tried to put her in a dog crate?”

  Jason nodded. “She rammed her head against the grate so many times she made herself bleed.”

  Molly was the mixed breed they’d found after a mudslide in North Carolina. The vehicle she was trapped in had been buried by the avalanche of mud and debris. Molly was the only one of her entire family inside the car to still be alive. Her story was one that Jason had shared with Brodie. Now, Creed realized the two had something in common. Both had panic attacks when locked inside small spaces.

  “You know,” Jason said while he picked up a piece of bacon and started working on the rest of his breakfast, “I think she’s so much stronger than we all think. She survived for sixteen years. You and me didn’t even finish our tours of duty.” He paused to take a few bites, but was also measuring Creed’s reaction. Satisfied, he continued, “The first time I met her, do you remember what she said to me?”

  Creed had been so worried about how Brodie would respond to all the new surroundings that he hadn’t paid any attention to introductions. He shook his head.

  Jason held up his prosthetic hand and flexed the fingers.

  “Most people are fascinated or appalled. Or a combination. Like ‘oh my God’ and ‘what the hell.’”

  Creed smiled. The kid had come a long way to how he felt about it, too, but Creed wouldn’t remind him right now. Instead, he just listened.

  “But Brodie,” Jason said while his eyes flitted to somewhere over Creed’s shoulders. Creed had gotten a glimpse of his eyes and was surprised at the emotion he saw there before Jason tucked it back away and continued. “She asked me if it hurt really bad. She senses stuff, you know. She sees things that we don’t even notice anymore, because we’re so used to seeing them.” He rubbed his good hand over his jaw.

  Creed knew what he meant. A couple of weeks ago, one of the first warm evenings they’d had since she arrived in Florida, Brodie convinced him to pull out sleeping bags so they could look up at the stars all night. It was something they’d done as kids in their backyard. She made him point out different constellations, stuff he hadn’t thought about in years.

  Creed’s phone started ringing, and he grabbed it out of his pocket. It was a number he didn’t recognize.

  “This is Creed.”

  “Mr. Creed, it’s Sheriff Krenshaw. Sorry for the early call, but I wanted to catch you before you headed back out. We found Mrs. Garner.”

  Creed felt his jaw clench. He hoped his silence would coax the answer. Creed could feel Grace staring up at him, already sensing his tension.

  “Turns out you were right about them being up there putting gas in. She’d gone in to pay and was trying to get back out to the car when it hit. Knocked her clean off her feet.”

  At least her body wasn’t still out in that field tangled in some mess of debris. That’s what Creed was thinking about when the sheriff continued. Creed almost missed the part Krenshaw said about her being unconscious.

  “Wait a minute,” Creed said. “She’s alive?”

  “She was asking about her baby even as she was in and out of it. They had to take her in for surgery. Internal injuries. She’s still in critical condition, but they’re telling me she’s expected to recover. Prospects of that look much better now that she knows her little boy is still alive.”

  “That’s great.”

  “It’s supposed to get wicked again this afternoon. I wouldn’t blame you if you took off for home, but I’d sure appreciate it if you two stuck around. I have your rooms booked through the weekend.”

  Jason was finishing the biscuits and gravy, and Creed realized that maybe he had an appetite now.

  “We’ll stick around and head on home tomorrow.”

  He didn’t want to stay away any longer than that. He knew Jason was right about Brodie. She was strong, but he also knew she was still terribly vulnerable. And it probably wasn’t a coincidence that her nightmare happened the first night he was gone.

  30

  Birmingham, Alabama

  Willis Dean had slept on the sofa in his office. It wasn’t the first time he’d spent the night at the television studio, but it was the first time he felt like he had to. It wasn’t a problem. He kept a change of clothes and a toiletry kit. Shaving was tricky, and he had nicked himself good. He’d need to get makeup to cover it for him. And of course, his back was yelling at him that he wasn’t a young man anymore.

  As soon as he woke up he checked his email and text messages. It wasn’t the ones from the National Weather Service that he was anxious to see. There were half a dozen of those already. Instead, it was the text message that wasn’t there.

  What did he expect? Did he really believe his son could be right? That Beth would change her mind.

  For the first time in his marriage he hadn’t called or alerted his wife that he wouldn’t be home for the night. He always called. It was instinctive after all these years. So much so, that twice he’d caught himself tapping out a message, only to stop himself and delete it.

  He didn’t know how this worked now? He had no idea.

  When there was no text message or voice mail from Beth, Willis regretted his decision to not send something, anything. He couldn’t blame her for not extending those common courtesies if he didn’t do the same.

  But then a little voice in the back of his mind told him, But you weren’t the one who asked for a divorce.

  Clearly, he had a lot to learn about this new world he was entering.

  By the time he made it down to the weather desk in the studio, his mind was back to where it needed to be.

  On the television monitor in the corner he could see Mia was on the air. They’d be taking turns all afternoon and probably into the evening. What they called their weather desk was really a small room. The separation gave them enough privacy and quiet to talk with each other, communicate on-line with storm chasers and make phone calls.

  A large glass window allowed them to look in at the studio. He could watch Mia in front of the green screen if he wanted, but the television monitor allowed him a view of what she was actually pointing to on the weather map.

  Willis immediately started reviewing the latest information. On a day like today, it would be changing and streaming in constantly. He couldn’t remember the atmosphere being like this in early March. All that moist air drifting up from the Gulf of Mexico was unseasonably warm, downright hot, and the trough coming from the Rockies was unusually cold. Yesterday those two systems started to clash. All the ingredients had been brewing and simmering, drifting into place. Now they were starting to come to a boil.

  The entire Tennessee Valley was under weather alerts for a weekend filled with dangerous thunderstorms capable of producing tornadoes. But the added threat was that this system would stall right over Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia. And Willis knew that meant that they were in for several consecutive days of violent storms.

  All maps and computer models confirmed the potential for significant and widespread tornado outbreaks. He glanced at the monitors. Just to the west, across the border in Mississippi the radar was already blooming. Green patches with bits of red and yellow splashes were popping as a squall line started forming.

  A news anchor replaced Mia. Willis glanced up and saw her grab two bottles of water then she came in and took the seat next to him.

  “Are these numbers correct?” he asked her.

  “Yeah, there’re crazy, aren’t they? Wind shear is off the charts.” She handed him a bottle of water. “I’m glad it’s the weekend. I hate when we have to worry about school kids.”

  “Except people don’t pay attention to us on the weekends. As long as the sky’s blue, no worries.”
>
  “Willis, you’re starting to sound jaded.” She smiled but didn’t look over at him as she added, “Besides, they hardly ever pay attention to us.”

  He shot her a look and saw her smile widen. Her eyes were tracking across the monitors. It was difficult to explain to others the camaraderie true weather nerds shared. Only they understood that surge of adrenaline and the electric-charged energy that supercells triggered inside them. Willis had felt it since he was a young boy, and most true weather nerds—Mia admittedly so—had also felt it. But it was difficult and almost embarrassing to try to explain it to a layperson. How could someone be so excited about a phenomenon that caused so much death and destruction?

  “NWS is saying yesterday morning’s storm was an EF4,” she told him.

  “Thank God, it didn’t stay on the ground for long. Smith Crossings would have been smack-dab in its path.”

  “Did you hear about the baby they found alive?”

  “What? No.” Willis said. He hated to admit he hadn’t been home. He hadn’t even had his regular commute last night or this morning to listen to the radio.

  “A ten-month-old boy was thrown from his parents’ vehicle. A search and rescue dog found him clear out under some fallen pine trees.”

  “Really?”

  “We’ve been running the video a motorist took from the highway. It’s a bit grainy but makes me tear up every time I see it.”

  An alert dinged on the monitor dedicated to the National Weather Service. Both of them turned.

  “A tornado warning,” Willis said. “Here we go.”

  31

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Maggie had taken an early morning flight to give herself plenty of time for the two-and-a-half hour drive from Atlanta to Montgomery. She could have waited for and caught a connecting flight, but the March day was gorgeous. That was only part of the reason for her choosing to drive. The other reason—Maggie hated flying.

  Originally, she had hoped to meet Frankie Russo at the Atlanta airport, but the woman got spooked when she thought she’d been followed to the Chicago airport. Hannah told her Frankie rented a car and had driven to Nashville last night without anyone trailing her.