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

by Kava, Alex

  He shot the light back and forth as though trying to get his bearings.

  “We’re directly under the kitchen,” he said. “That must be the grill or the dishwasher.”

  She waited for more of an explanation. She could see him working his jaw as his eyes examined the ceiling.

  Finally he said, “I just realized, that’s a lot of weight above us.”

  He skimmed the flashlight everywhere now, shooting it in people’s eyes. He was looking for something or someone.

  “Rita’s not down here,” he said with a hint of panic. “I don’t see Ann Marie or Sofia either.”

  Maggie realized that it only now occurred to him to look and see if his co-workers had followed him.

  The other waitress, Val overheard. She stayed by Ronald’s side, but to Hank she said, “You know Ann Marie is scared to death of going down underground. They probably went back into the restrooms. Isn’t that where they always tell us to go?”

  Maggie watched the two of them exchange glances. Hank looked up, shooting the ceiling above the freezer with his flashlight beam as if he might be able to see if the women were safe in the space above.

  Maggie already felt guilty about Rita. How did she miss seeing the other two women? She couldn’t think about it. There was nothing she could do for them now. Hopefully they were safe.

  “Any chance there’s another flashlight down here?” she asked Hank.

  “I have no idea. I’m guessing all this crap is the previous owner’s. We never came down here.”

  “So it’d be okay if I looked around?”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” He pointed to her cell phone. “Have you been able to send anything? Mine doesn’t have a signal, but it’s about five years old.”

  “I received one. Not sure if mine got delivered.”

  “It’s hit or miss.” The woman who Maggie had pegged as one of the lovebirds had been tapping since the storm ended. “I was able to get a call through.”

  “You talked to someone?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes. But only briefly before my call got dropped.”

  “I’ll keep trying then. Let me know if either of you hear anything,” Hank said and he left for the stairs, taking the brightest light with him.

  “I’m Maggie,” she told the woman.

  For the first time, she looked up from her phone.

  In the stark white light Maggie could see laugh lines around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes. She was probably in her late forties, maybe fifty. She was pretty with intense blue eyes and chin-length blond hair.

  “I’m Beth,” she finally said. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the shoulder holster inside Maggie’s unbuttoned shirt. “You a cop?”

  Maggie glanced around then bent down and lowered her voice. “FBI. I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention it.”

  “No problem. We all have secrets.”

  It was a strange thing to say, but Maggie expected the woman might be in shock. After what they’d all been through it was no surprise that emotions would be skidding a bit over the edge by now. She was fighting her own battle with claustrophobia.

  “Maybe we can keep each other updated,” Maggie told her. “If we get a connection.”

  “Sure.” And the woman went back to her phone.

  There was something in her tone that told Maggie she probably wouldn’t share. After all, she hadn’t mentioned the call before now. Maggie knew how a chaotic situation could press one person to fend for herself, while another would risk his own pain from glass in his shoulder to help another. It wasn’t up to her to pass judgment, but she learned quickly the people she could rely on and those she would not.

  She went back to the shelves along the back wall. She turned her phone’s flashlight on. She needed to conserve her battery. Maybe there was a flashlight on the workbench where Hank had found the duct tape. No such luck. She skimmed the light over the boxes. Some were labeled. Most of them were taped shut. She glanced back at Frankie to see how she was holding up. In the dim light, Maggie could see the pain etched on her face.

  She shoved a couple of boxes around. Then in the back, she found one that interested her enough to pull forward. She peeled off the packing tape and shined the light down inside. Maggie pulled out one of the bottles in the case and ran the light over the label: Conecuh Ridge. Clyde Mays Alabama Style Whiskey. 85 proof.

  Finally, she found something that might take Frankie’s mind off the pain.

  52

  Creed offered for he and Jason to work a grid with Grace and Scout. The gas station and the restaurant were just off Interstate 65, which meant travelers coming and going. Just like yesterday it was difficult to know if anyone might still be missing and possibly in the rubble.

  Sheriff Krenshaw told Creed that all the staff at the gas station was accounted for. Several motorists and truck drivers had already been taken by ambulance to an area hospital. Some were still being cared for at the scene.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Krenshaw told him. “Too dangerous. Lots of spilled fuel. Couple of the 18-wheelers are all busted open.”

  “How about the restaurant?” Creed asked, wanting to get closer. He wanted to see what was left. “Are you sure everyone made it safely underground?”

  “Actually, they already pulled three people from what they think was the restroom.”

  “Were they able to tell you how many others might be trapped?”

  Krenshaw stared at him for a moment, clearly not understanding what Creed had asked. Then he saw the realization sweep across Krenshaw’s face. “I’m sorry, son, I should have said three fatalities.”

  Creed’s pulse started racing. He hadn’t asked Maggie about Frankie. But she would have told him. Or had she told him, and the text hadn’t come through yet?

  “Are you able to talk to your friends?” Krenshaw asked.

  “Not really. A text message finally came through.”

  “One of the carriers is bringing in a mobile station.” The sheriff craned his neck and looked at the access road. “Should be here soon. Or they might be setting up a bit farther out. Getting some generators trucked in, too.”

  “Have you guys been in contact with anyone trapped down there?” Creed asked.

  “I think they had a couple of 911 calls, but they keep getting dropped before they got much information. Without knowing names, we don’t have a number to even try. Family’ll be showing up soon. But you know how that works. Sometimes they can be more of a problem than a help. Rumors start flying, and it’s hard to sort through.”

  His eyes kept scanning the roads. Suddenly, he looked back at Creed. “Actually, if you can get through to your friend, you might be able to get us some information. My biggest worry right now is that we won’t have time to do a damned thing before those storms get here.”

  Creed glanced at the western sky. He could see the gray mass approaching, the lightning inside the clouds illuminated the motion and the layers.

  “Hey, mister,” Krenshaw called to someone behind Creed. “Only first responders are allowed on this side of the line.”

  Creed turned to see a giant of a man in Ray Ban sunglasses, dark trousers, a white collared shirt soaked with perspiration and the shiniest leather shoes he’d ever seen at a disaster site. Instead of answering Krenshaw, the man lifted the ball cap in his hand and pulled it on, struggling a bit. The cap was too small for his square head. The letters on the navy blue cap surprised Creed. They surprised Krenshaw, too.

  “What the hell is FEMA already doing here?”

  “This isn’t the first storm in the area,” the man told him as if that was explanation enough.

  Creed thought the guy certainly had the attitude of a federal administrator. But having served in the Marines, Creed would have guessed the guy for ex-military. There was something about his stance. He was taller than Creed, broad chested, square shoulders and square head to match. An ugly scar poked out of his shirt collar adding to Creed’s suspicions. He f
igured he’d leave it for Krenshaw to handle.

  “I’ll check in with you later, Sheriff,” he told him, and Creed headed back to the Jeep.

  As he turned away he tapped his cell phone, looking and hoping to see a new message from Maggie. What he did see was three bars. Instead of attempting another text, he hit the call button.

  It was ringing on the other end. That was more than he’d gotten earlier. Still, he expected the call to get dropped when someone answered.

  “Maggie?”

  “Yes, yes! Ryder? I can’t believe you got through.”

  “One of the carriers brought in a mobile unit, so it might be easier until it overloads. How are you doing?”

  “Hot,” she said and laughed.

  It was good to hear her laugh even if he also heard the tension in it.

  “Listen, Maggie, is Frankie down there with you.”

  “Yes.”

  Relief swept over him. Hannah would have been inconsolable if Frankie had been one of the three bodies they pulled from the debris. But his relief was short lived.

  “She’s hurt,” Maggie said, her voice lower and quieter. “She’s hurt bad. One of the support beams came down on her legs. We were able to pull her free.”

  “Is Frankie conscious?”

  “Yes, but she’s in a lot of pain, Ryder. How soon do they think they can get the door open for us?”

  His eyes trailed back to the mountain of rubble that used to be the restaurant and the 18-wheeler sealing that door she was talking about. Then he looked at the sky, again. It was the middle of the afternoon, and it was getting so dark that headlights on the vehicles traveling the side roads had automatically come on.

  How much could he tell her? How much should he tell her?

  “Ryder?” she asked when he took too long. “It must be bad.”

  “There’s a lot of stuff they have to remove before they can get to the door. How many people are down there with you?”

  “Let me think.” She started naming them off out loud, “Me, Frankie, Clara and Adele, Ronald, Val, a woman and her son, Beth, Max, Hank, Loverboy and Gus. How many is that?” He heard someone else answer her then she said, “Thirteen. Ronald has a chunk of glass in his shoulder. I think the bleeding’s stopped.”

  “Anyone else hurt?”

  “Cuts and scrapes.”

  “How about you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She answered too quickly like she was trying to convince herself as much as convince him.

  “Listen Ryder, there’s a gas leak. I think we turned off the valve down here, but someone mentioned the crews might be able to turn it off at the main.”

  “I’ll check that out.”

  “And water’s coming in.”

  “How high is it?”

  “Not high. Almost to my ankle. Do you have any idea how long it’ll take to get us out? Give it to me straight. I’m a big girl.” Before he could answer, she added, “A big girl with claustrophobia.”

  Creed remembered too well what it felt like to be buried underground. He’d gotten caught in a mudslide once. It didn’t take much to conjure up that feeling of panic. Just the thought of layers of dirt on top of him could still break him out in a sweat. Someone with claustrophobia didn’t need to imagine an 18-wheeler capsized on top of them, threatening not only a possible exit, but adding to the risk of caving in.

  “They’re bringing in some equipment to help move off the debris. But Maggie, more storms are coming, so they may need to back off for a short time.” Even as he told her this, he watched some of the first responders waving at each other. They were loading up their equipment.

  “How severe?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Another tornado?”

  He could hear the edge of panic in her voice.

  “I haven’t heard the forecast. I’m headed back to the Jeep. Jason will know.”

  “Ryder, I don’t think we can take another hit. All the kitchen’s equipment—the grill, dishwasher, walk-in refrigerator—Hank says it’s all right above us.”

  He winced at the thought, and in his mind he added that burst open trailer and those blue barrels.

  53

  Frankie already felt better. So much better. At least her pain was easing. She slumped against the cool concrete wall and tried to take advantage of the short reprieve.

  Maggie had found frost-burned packages of meat in the old chest freezer. The white butcher paper was stamped with the year 2013. She came back with an armful of various sizes. She’d distributed packages to the others, but said she’d saved the best cuts for Frankie.

  “Rib-eye for this leg,” she told Frankie as she carefully laid the wonderfully cold package on her burning leg. “And a sirloin for this leg.”

  But the best gift was the bottle of whiskey.

  At first, she’d rolled her eyes at Maggie. But then she noticed the change on Maggie’s face when she read her phone.

  “What’s wrong?” Frankie had asked.

  “It might be a while. Ryder says the crews need to leave. More storms are coming.”

  “And they can’t rescue us in the rain?”

  When Maggie didn’t answer, Frankie knew. She held out her hand for the bottle of whiskey.

  That was four gulps ago. Maybe five.

  She was no longer feeling the searing pain. Just a nice, warm buzz.

  Maggie had found an old three-legged stool and sat beside her. Despite the cool concrete against Frankie’s back, she was still drenched in sweat. Her legs were splayed out in front of her with packages of frozen meat taking away the rest of her pain.

  “So you and Ryder,” Frankie said, all inhibitions scattered in the dark. They were trying to conserve cell phone batteries. “Are you and Ryder, you know, doing it?”

  She couldn’t see Maggie’s face. Only her profile, but Frankie laughed. Harder than she’d laughed in a long time. Hard enough to get the others to look up from their cell phones.

  Before Maggie could answer, Frankie added, “Oh my God, I swear I can hear you blush.”

  “It’s not exactly like that.”

  “But you have?”

  “I think you’ve had too much medicine.”

  “I’ve always thought he was absolutely yummy,” Frankie confessed. “You know Hannah had to tell him to stop bringing women to his apartment over the kennel. Her boys started seeing them leave in the early morning and they were asking questions.”

  “Are you saying he’s a womanizer?”

  “No, no. I’m saying he’s a hot commodity.” She swung her hand to pat Maggie’s shoulder. “Surely, you’ve noticed—oh my God, I just called you Shirley.” She giggled. And snorted. She hadn’t giggled since she was a little girl. Yep, she was a little bit drunk.

  “Let me rephrase that,” Frankie said, trying to focus. The whiskey was really making her head spin. “Certainly, you’ve noticed the way women look at him when he walks into a room. And you know what the best thing is about that? He doesn’t even notice the way women look at him. Usually he has a dog along, and he seems to think they’re all looking at the dog.”

  She got quiet. Then serious. She hadn’t let herself think about Gordon and his infidelity. Or Tyler. Oh my God, Tyler! How could he be dead? She shook her head.

  “What is it?” Maggie asked.

  “I’ve been running since yesterday morning. Literally, running for my life. I’m gonna be really pissed off if I die in a stupid tornado.”

  “You’re not going to die. Not if I can help it,” Maggie told her without looking over at her.

  Frankie felt her eyes tearing up. She didn’t want to cry, but that was one of the nicest things anyone had said to her in a long time. But then, Maggie had to go and ruin it when she added, “Hannah would kill me if I let you die.”

  It made Frankie laugh. She took another gulp. A small one. She didn’t want the buzz to go away.

  “Hannah does have that effect on people. How long have you known them?�
�

  “A couple of years. I met Ryder and Grace at a crime scene. We needed them to help us find dead bodies. A serial killer turned an abandoned farm into his graveyard.”

  “Well, that is their specialty. So was it love at first sight?” Frankie giggled again, and this time Maggie took the bottle away from her.

  “It wasn’t anything like that. We’ve worked on three different cases since then, but that’s the only time we see each other. I’m in Virginia. He’s in Florida.” Frankie saw her give a little shrug. “What are you gonna do? It is what it is.”

  “But you like each other. Really, really like each other, right? And you’ve done it?”

  Maggie groaned. “Once. Only once.” She confessed then wiped the mouth of the bottle and took a swig.

  “What’s the problem?” Frankie asked.

  “For one thing, I just found out he sleeps with a lot of women, so our night together probably didn’t mean as much as I thought it did.”

  Despite her pleasant buzz, Frankie could hear the disappointment.

  “I doubt that’s true. I know for a fact that he doesn’t sleep with women he works with. Have you ever met their veterinarian? I asked Hannah if anything was going on between her and Ryder, and Hannah was practically indignant about it. Said he has a strict rule about that. I think the simple fact that he broke it for you means a lot.”

  They were quiet for a while and Frankie realized that the constant banging sound was coming from a group of men taking turns ramming the door at the top of the stairs. Everyone else seemed to keep their distance from Frankie and Maggie. They stole glances at Frankie, and she wondered if they didn’t want to be reminded of how badly she was injured.

  “I stink at relationships,” Maggie said, her voice low and almost a whisper as if she really was making a confession. But Frankie figured it was probably the whiskey. “My dad was a firefighter. He died in a fire when I was twelve. And my mom...let’s just say she wasn’t a great role model in the male companionship choices she made after that. She’s still fundamentally a suicidal alcoholic.”

  Maggie got quiet, and Frankie waited but realized that was it. Something told her it wasn’t easy for this woman to share, and that was her limit.