by Alex Kava
With the storm came darkness. Jack had instructed her and Tully to stay on an old, worn sofa in the corner farthest from the door. Streaks of lightning exploded outside the single-paned windows while thunder sent the glass rattling.
Jack lit a kerosene lamp and opened a drawer to take out two flashlights. Otis walked the length of the cabin, hands on his hips, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“This is real nice,” Otis told Jack. “It’s just as nice as you said.”
“No electricity, but you don’t need any.” Jack pulled open the hatch on a cast-iron potbelly stove and started filling it with the firewood stacked alongside it. “Got a chemical toilet through that door,” he pointed.
He opened another door beside it, and through the fading light Maggie could see a bed. Despite the musty smell the place looked well taken care of, stocked and recently used.
“Got everything you need right here,” Jack said.
“How about some water, a towel, and some alcohol?” Maggie asked.
Both men looked at her as though they had forgotten her presence.
She didn’t care. She no longer had anything to lose.
Her heart had been pounding with the rhythm of the rain, both filling her ears. Her panic had settled into a heavy weight that crushed against her chest and left her nerves raw. She had spent the last of her adrenaline. She was exhausted, damp with sweat, and cold. In her hurry she had shoved and snapped her handcuff too tight and the metal had been chewing into her flesh every time Tully jerked his hand. And Tully had not said anything more than what sounded like the mutterings of a man in pain. His skin was hot to the touch. His body was drenched with sweat. The bleeding had slowed but she had no idea how much blood he had lost.
Without a word, Jack went to one of the cabinets and, to Maggie’s surprise, pulled out a small towel. From another cabinet he grabbed a bottle of water, and from a lower shelf he pulled out a brown bottle with a black seal. Whiskey, no doubt.
He brought the three items to Maggie and set them on the floor in front of her.
“You’ve seen what I’m capable of doing,” he told her. “Are you sure it’s worth cleaning him up?”
She ignored him and grabbed the water, hoping in the dim light he couldn’t see how badly her hand was shaking.
“That’s what I like about you,” he said. “You take on a challenge even when it’s thrown at you. We’re a lot alike, Magpie.”
She wanted to tell him to stop calling her that, but it would probably only please him to know it bothered her.
“So that’s what this is about,” she said, but wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Instead she went to work on Tully, immediately finding it awkward to use one hand while the other was tethered. She pretended it wasn’t a problem and continued with her attempt to sound brave.
“You send me running halfway across the country,” she said, “just to get a good look at your handiwork. Then you drag me to the middle of nowhere to show me how much you and I are alike? Am I supposed to be flattered?”
“You want to know what it’s about? I’ll tell you.” He squatted down in front of her, a safe distance away but so that they were eye level. “I knew the first time I saw you that you’d be a challenge like no other.”
She hadn’t noticed how wolflike his eyes were. Narrow set, black, and piercing in an otherwise handsome and amicable face.
“As soon as the rain lets up I’m going to let you go.” He paused, and she knew he was looking for some sign of relief—a false relief. “I’ll let you and your buddy have a chance to run. I’ll even give you a head start. Just like I gave Noah.”
It felt like a jolt of ice shot through her veins.
“But if I catch you, the two of you’ll have to decide who I kill first.” He smiled and sat back on his haunches. “You have a background in psychology. I think you’d appreciate my little …” He searched for the right word. “My study of human nature. It’s quite interesting what a person will actually do or say to get me to kill their best friend first. I’ve heard all kinds of pleas and begging. Even bribes.”
Then his face got serious again and his eyes bore into hers as he said, “What are you willing to do, Maggie O’Dell, to save yourself? What are you willing to sacrifice? Who are you willing to sacrifice?”
CHAPTER 63
Creed had heard the Coast Guard helicopter land in the field at the other side of the forest’s entrance. It took them another fifteen minutes to find him. By then, Bolo had led him to where Maggie and Tully had left the bank and gone into the river. Bolo had even found what looked like a wadded paper towel, rust-stained with what Creed feared was blood.
Two of the Coast Guard crew had already taken the warden to the hospital. Two others stayed behind. They had an inflatable Sea Eagle SE 370 in the water ready to go, but then the clouds burst open. The downpour hadn’t let up yet. Lightning streaked the sky, long flashes and flickers accompanied by claps and crashes of thunder. They waited in their vehicles, parked single file behind the two Chevy Tahoes.
An hour passed with the storm only growing stronger. There were no signs of it letting up anytime soon. Creed sat behind the steering wheel. From the backseat, Bolo laid his head on the console next to him, his nose nudging Creed’s hand until Creed petted him.
One of the Coast Guard crew knocked on Creed’s window.
“We’ve got to leave. If it lets up, we’ll be back.”
“I understand. Thanks.”
He watched them in his rearview mirror. Their SUV had to back up and turn in the narrow space. Rainwater ran across the red-clay dirt path. It wouldn’t take much more and the road would be a mess. But Creed made no attempt to follow. How could he leave when he knew Maggie and Tully were somewhere out there, one of them bleeding? That it could be Maggie gnawed at him.
There had to be a way. But night came quickly in the forest. The lightning only grew more intense, rippling clear across the sky with the crackle of thunder making it truly sound and feel as though the heavens were ripping apart and breaking into pieces.
Creed had gone through two thermoses of coffee. His eyes felt like sandpaper every time he blinked. Too little sleep. And too little to eat, but his stomach was churning acid. He couldn’t even look at the sandwiches Hannah had prepared for him. He tried to feed Bolo, but the dog was as miserable as Creed.
Although dogs didn’t associate scents or sights with emotions, they did read their owners’ and handlers’ emotions very well and could easily become depressed, upset, or subdued. It was one of the reasons Creed tried to keep his emotions in check when he was with his dogs, and the habit rubbed off into his personal life. Probably why he had no personal life.
His cell phone startled him and his pulse quickened. He saw the caller ID, hoping it was Tully. Then he recognized the number and his heart settled back down.
“Have you found anything?” he asked in place of a greeting.
“I checked the property taxes and federal land sales as well as leases like you suggested but nothing came up for Otis P. Dodd or any family members,” Agent Alonzo told him.
“Did you check Santa Rosa and Okaloosa Counties?”
“Yes.”
Damn it! There was a small portion of private property that bordered the forest. Creed knew there were some old fishing cabins on the river that had been battered by the hurricanes but were still used. It was a long shot, but he was so hoping it would pan out.
“Blackwater River goes up into Alabama,” Creed said. “Starts in the Conecuh National Forest, right at the border. You might check Escambia and Convington Counties up in Alabama.” But that was an even longer shot.
“I’ll take a look,” Alonzo promised. “I did find something interesting, though, when I started looking into Otis’s family background. He left home when he was fourteen. Ended up at Boys Town in Omaha, Nebraska, then was sent to a foster care home. A couple in Iowa who couldn’t have children of their own took in troubled boys. I could kick myself t
hat I didn’t check out Otis’s childhood.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Otis spent several years of his childhood with Helen and William Paxton at their farm. The same farm where you guys just found a half dozen bodies.”
CHAPTER 64
A crash of thunder shook the entire cabin. It was enough to rattle everyone’s nerves. Except Jack’s. He looked calm and unfazed by the weather, even when Otis began pacing. Otis had changed from the bloody orange prison jumpsuit into clothes Jack had brought for him. The trousers were several inches too short, as were the sleeves of the shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. He hung on Jack’s every word and did whatever Jack asked.
Jack pulled up two straight-backed chairs to the potbelly stove. He sat down in one and patted the other.
“Stop pacing,” he told Otis.
“You know I hate storms.” But he still had the grin, though it looked like he was clenching his teeth. He sat down, shoulders slumped and feet set and ready to go again.
“You know what a magpie is?” Jack asked Otis, and the big man shook his head.
“It’s a bird. Colorful, unpredictable, high-spirited with high intellect and reasoning that it uses for deceptive schemes. The bird is a scavenger. They say it’ll take down smaller birds and even rodents though it’s not classified as a bird of prey.”
“You sure do know a lot about them,” Otis said, but his smile looked forced, as if he were trying to ignore a foul smell, and his eyes darted over to Maggie.
“My mother knew all kinds of superstitious nonsense. I remember her telling me about the magpie and all the legends connected to it. If you dare to kill one, misfortune will strike you down. It’s best to treat a magpie with respect. It’s believed that they carry a drop of the devil’s blood under their tongue. Mother had a silly rhyme she used to say:
“One magpie for Sorrow
Two for Joy
Three for Silver
Four for Gold
Five for a tale never to be told
Six for one that’ll make you cry
Seven you Live
Eight you Die.”
Maggie’s fingers struggled with the zipper of Tully’s windbreaker. She glanced up and saw Otis look over at her again, but he didn’t look amused or pleased. He didn’t like that Jack was giving her so much attention. This was obviously a reunion of sorts for them. If Maggie remembered correctly, Otis had been in prison for almost a year. Did he not approve of Jack’s game?
“You don’t talk much about your mother,” Otis said.
“She died when I was pretty young. Left me with that bastard I was supposed to call Daddy.”
Otis’s head wagged. “Remember, Miss Helen always told us we’re better than who we came from. She was a real special lady, Miss Helen.”
Both men went silent. Heads down, leaning forward, and Maggie was struck by what looked to be a show of reverence.
“Some days I still can’t believe she made me executor of her will,” Jack said, and Maggie realized they were talking about the woman who had owned the Iowa farm.
“She always said you were real smart. She sure was proud of the business you built all by yourself like that.”
Silence again.
“You know she sent me a letter almost every week no matter where I was,” Otis said.
“She did that?”
“Yep. Told me what all you were up to and what have you. She had a way of keeping me calm, you know what I mean? Keeping me from feeling so messed up in my head. Like as long as I knew she loved me …” Otis actually sounded choked up. He wiped a hand over his face. “I don’t know much, but I do know I wasn’t starting no fires until after she passed.”
Jack stayed quiet. Up until now, he had been the one talking, telling, bossing, but the subject of Miss Helen subdued him. And Otis seemed to know it was a subject he could use.
“My little hobby keeps me in check,” Jack said, raising his head and smiling at Otis. “It’s a powerful thing. I can’t even describe it.”
“I like power.” Otis nodded his head again, excited now. “I told Miss Gwen I was a powermaniac, not a pyromaniac.” He laughed, what sounded like a nervous cackle.
“Miss Gwen?”
“The woman who came to see me in prison. She’s a friend of your Magpie’s.”
Jack gave him a hard, quick nod. He didn’t want to hear any more. “You liked taking that finger?”
Otis’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “The Demon was an asshole but he was sure crying.” The lopsided grin spread wide across his face.
“When you cut open a person there’s like a steam that rises up out of the body,” Jack explained, resuming his role of mentor. “But it’s not just the cutting that gives you power. You know ancient warriors ate parts of their enemies. Did you know that?”
Otis shook his head. Stayed quiet.
“Just think of the power you’d get from a magpie.”
And Jack settled back and smiled.
There was something terrifying about that smile, and despite the warmth of the room, Maggie felt a chill.
By now, Maggie had realized that she and Tully might never leave this forest alive. But she didn’t want to think about what they might have to endure. Death might be preferable, and she wondered if she should have left Tully.
Her one hope was that Tully had actually sent off a text to Ryder Creed with their location. But that hope was fading fast. Too many “ifs.” Even if Creed found the dead troopers, even if the dog he brought led him to the water’s edge, even if his dog was able to follow the trail of bloody paper towels, he’d never be able to do it in this storm. And Jack giving them a chance to run? There was no way she could find her way through the forest with Tully barely able to walk.
Suddenly she felt Tully yank at his own zipper, helping her, not wanting her to stop. His head lolled with his chin to his chest. No words. A slight groan as she lifted and peeled the jacket off. She was able to tear away his polo shirt. And then she got a good look at the damage and she fought a wave of nausea. She had seen plenty of bullet wounds but usually on dead bodies that no longer required her help.
The hole still oozed dark blood that had the thickness of motor oil. The tissue around the rim of the wound was red and angry. Though she initially thought he had been shot in the heart, the bullet had hit much higher. It looked like it had gone all the way through his shoulder. She reached behind him and fingered the exit wound. He winced and stiffened.
Was it good or bad that the bullet had exited?
She started cleaning it, first with the water.
“You need to leave me,” Tully said, so softly she barely heard him.
Maggie glanced back and was glad to see Otis and Jack busy opening cans and packages, hungry and not interested. The thunder was a constant rumble. If she had a hard time hearing him, then so would Jack and Otis. Still, she leaned close.
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“Leave me,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let him kill us both.”
“It wouldn’t matter because if I left you behind, Gwen would kill me.”
She thought she saw a hint of a smile.
She held up the whiskey bottle for him to see. Then she ran a thumbnail through the seal and leaned close to him again. “This is going to hurt like hell.”
He surprised her by putting out his hand for the bottle and she gave it to him. He took a long swallow. He handed it back and said, “Let’s do it.”
She wet down the towel with the whiskey but then remembered and whispered to him, “Do you still have those pills in your pocket?”
He gave a slight nod.
The antibiotics for his sinus infection might not be strong enough to battle this infection but it was worth a try, even if she had him take all that was left.
With his free hand he reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the plastic ziplock bag. With it came a pen and he handed her
both. It took her a few seconds to realize that it was the one Gwen had given him. His James Bond pen.
She felt a hollow emptiness. Cool as the pen was, an X-Acto blade, a light beam, and a screwdriver wouldn’t do them much good. And neither would the nifty GPS without being able to report the coordinates. When she looked at Tully she saw a flicker of despair, and she knew that he realized all that, too.
CHAPTER 65
QUANTICO, VIRGINIA
“Otis could not have done this on his own,” Gwen insisted. “I am not defending him, I’m just saying, how would that be possible?”
“He could have managed to get one of the trooper’s service revolvers,” Kunze said as he paced the conference room.
“But he hasn’t ever hurt anyone before. He’s gone to great lengths to not hurt people every time he’s set a fire.”
“His juvenile records are sealed,” Alonzo told them without looking up from his laptop. His fingers continued to tap. “There was a reason he was sent to Boys Town, I just can’t access it.”
“He certainly didn’t kill the tattooed biker in the barn,” Racine said. “Or the woman they found in the black garbage bag. He couldn’t have killed Gloria Dobson and Zach Lester either. He was already in prison.”
“Those had to be his friend Jack,” Keith Ganza agreed. “Jack was there today. He planned this ambush.”
“But who the hell is Jack?” Kunze yelled and the entire room went silent. Even Alonzo’s fingers quieted.
Gwen finally breached the tension. “Agent Alonzo, you said this couple took care of other troubled boys.”
“That’s right. Boys and a few girls. Dozens of them over the course of three decades.”
“Is there any way to get those names? Or are they classified?”
