DESPERATE CREED: (Book 5 Ryder Creed K-9 Mystery Series) Page 23

  “Yes. And I also noticed you didn’t offer her any of your whiskey.”

  “Don’t need to. She’s already tripping on something. I’ve seen her popping pills a couple of times.”

  Maggie glanced at the woman, again. That could explain the glassy eyes and the unrealistic perception of her surroundings. She couldn’t worry about it right now. She scrolled to the first text message from Agent Alonzo. She wanted to read his in the order he sent them.

  HE’S DEFINITELY THERE.

  The second one read:

  STILL HASN’T LEFT.

  The third:

  I’M EMAILING WHAT I’VE FOUND ON CARSON FOODS. LOTS OF GOVERNMENT SUPPORT.

  And a fourth:

  2 OUT OF 4 SEPARATE LAWSUIT LITIGANTS HAVE DIED FROM “UNFORTUNATE ACCIDENTS.” I’M DIGGING DEEPER.

  The fifth one read:

  MAGGIE, YOU OK? I JUST SAW THE DAMAGE.

  And the last:

  LET ME KNOW YOU’RE OK.

  She tapped out a message telling him she was fine, but they were trapped underneath the restaurant.

  His response was immediate:

  DAMN! ANYTHING I CAN DO?

  Before she could type another message she stopped. She smelled something. More gas fumes? No. It was something else. Sulfur? Smoke?

  “What is it?” Frankie asked, alarmed by Maggie’s expression.

  “I think something might be on fire.”

  57

  Maggie left Frankie so she could investigate. The water was getting higher. She still couldn’t figure out where it was coming in. Halfway to the stairs she practically ran into Hank. In the halo of the flashlight’s beam the man’s eyes were bulging, even more pronounced by the sunken, dark circles under them.

  “Something’s on fire up above,” he told her.

  He said it so loud she could hear gasps around her coming from the dark.

  “Fire! What are you talking about?” Stephanie was on her feet.

  “And there’s a tornado on the ground just ten miles south of us,” Beth said without looking up at them, her head bent over her phone.

  Gus came down the steps. Max was close behind him. It occurred to Maggie that she hadn’t seen the man she had nicknamed Loverboy. She heard him at the top of the stairs, still pounding. She remembered now how the stairwell wasn’t a straight-shot down. It was an L with a landing in between two sets of stairs.

  “What were you guys doing to the door?” Maggie asked. “Did you accidently create some sparks? Remember you said there could be gas in the broken lines.” That’s exactly what Hank had told her earlier. “Which could mean there’s gas leaks up above, too.”

  She tried to study Gus’ face, thinking at this point Hank was too upset to read. She expected Gus to be the exact opposite. The man had been calm and composed and totally unreadable since the storm hit. But now, she could see his jaw was clenched, his hands balled up into fists.

  Max was a little easier to read. The expression on his face told her he was pissed and ready to get the hell out of here. He tapped on his phone even as Maggie waited for a response.

  It was Hank who answered while one side of his mouth twitched. “I told them to be careful. They could have ignited something.”

  “We didn’t ignite anything,” Max said without looking up from his phone.

  “They’ve only made such a small hole,” Hank continued. “I don’t see how it could have sparked anything.”

  She glanced back at Gus and caught him checking his watch. Only then did she realize it was a smartwatch like Frankie wore. But he wasn’t checking the time. She could glimpse a message across the square face, a miniature screen. He was receiving messages without having to use his phone. Convenience or did it allow him a level of secrecy?

  It didn’t matter, because now he was clearly rattled. He ripped a cell phone from his back pocket, started punching in a message. When he noticed Maggie watching, he turned his back to her and walked off into a dark corner.

  Maggie pulled out her own phone and called Ryder. If the rescuers had to back off because of the approaching storm, he might still know what’s going on. It rang for a long time then went to voice messaging. She asked him to call her as soon as possible.

  She tucked the phone into her back pocket, no longer caring who saw the shoulder harness and gun tucked under her arm. She had tried to be discrete letting the lightweight shirttails cover it. But the shirt was drenched in sweat now, as was her T-shirt.

  She hated feeling so completely helpless. As long as she took control and guided the others she could keep the claustrophobia at bay. The dim light and the dark corners only made it worse. And then for the first time she noticed something else. Her breathing was a bit labored. The air was getting thinner.

  Maggie whipped her phone back out. She tapped out a message to Ryder. She sent one to Jason, too.

  Then she waited.

  58

  Creed didn’t remember blacking out. He woke with a jerk. Cold water lapped against him. His eyes blinked. The lids scraped like sandpaper. It hurt to breathe.

  He tried to keep his eyes open. The world looked upside down.

  He remembered Grace’s crate underneath him, pressing against his ribs. Now, it was up on top of him. The floor of the Jeep had replaced the roof. It was dented in, trapping him. He couldn’t move.

  “Grace!” The one word took his breath away.

  He tried to lift his head then dropped it back. It was too heavy to hold up. He still had his helmet on. He lifted his head a second time. He needed to see inside the crate.

  His wrist was caught in the seatbelt strap and he remembered wrapping it to secure himself. Now, it handcuffed him to the frame of the vehicle restraining his movement. His other hand was free, and he twisted his arm so his fingers could feel the metal grate, the door to Grace’s crate. It was still intact. He couldn’t reach the other side to see if the rear grate was in place.

  The water was getting higher around his neck, gurgling close to his ears. From what he could tell it was starting to fill the inside of the vehicle, seeping in through the blasted out windows.

  Creed tried to move his body out from under the hard-shell enclosure. Pain stopped him. He was pinned in.

  The water was cold against his skin. But it actually felt good, soothing his raw back. Was that really possible or was it simply shock?

  “Grace?” His voice sounded like a croak. The emotion he heard surprised him.

  If she was gone, he’d never forgive himself. She trusted him. She depended on him to keep her safe, and he let her down.

  He laid his head back. It was too difficult to keep holding it up. The water climbed up towards his ears. His chest ached. He heard his own rasps. He was breathing through his mouth, and it was still difficult to get enough air.

  He closed his eyes. Maybe it was too difficult to care. If he’d lost Grace...

  There was motion outside of the vehicle. Boots crunched glass and sloshed through water.

  “Over here,” he heard someone yell.

  He opened his mouth to call out only to have water trickle down his throat. He choked and spit. He arched his back and tried to shove the weight off his chest.

  Nothing moved.

  And this time pain exploded inside his chest. He craned his neck, keeping his face out of the water. It hurt too much. He dropped his head back down, splashing water over his face, sucking in another mouthful. He jerked up, choking and spitting.

  The water had seeped all around his body. He no longer could hear what was happening outside. He closed his eyes and held his breath as his head fell back. Water lapped entirely over his face now. He was a good swimmer but he couldn’t do this. Not with the weight of the vehicle crushing down on top of him. He wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t breathe without panic.

  His fingers still gripped the metal grate. And just then, he felt Grace’s soft tongue on his fingertips.

  He jerked his head back up, sputtering and choking.


  “Grace!”

  It took all his strength to twist and turn, but he still couldn’t see her.

  He was gulping for air when a shadow came over him. Someone was lifting the crate. From behind him he felt strong hands grabbing his shoulders and starting to pull him free.

  “Grace,” he spat out the word along with a mouthful of water. “She’s inside.”

  “We’ve got her,” someone told him.

  A woman’s voice. Familiar.

  But he couldn’t see anyone. Free of the confines of the demolished Jeep, the brightness hurt.

  He blinked. Finally, he could see the sky, and he could feel grass against his searing back. It was like lying on a bed of needles. No more cold water to soothe the raw pain.

  Out of the corner of his eye he got a glimpse of the black metal hand still holding onto his shoulder. He tilted his head back, and he could see Jason. There were two other men, but he didn’t recognize them.

  “Hey,” he croaked.

  “Hey, yourself,” Jason told him, and in those two words Creed could hear the mixture of fear and relief.

  “Here she is,” the woman said.

  Creed looked around just in time to see Dr. Avelyn deposit Grace at his side. Penelope Clemence was standing behind her. He gently pulled Grace to him. She was wet and shaking, but wagging.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he told the veterinarian.

  “I’m never sure what that means,” Dr. Avelyn said. She squatted down next to him.

  “It means I’m glad to see you. You too, Penelope.”

  “Well then, right back at you,” Dr. Avelyn told him. “Truthfully Ryder, you look like hell.”

  He laughed, but pain stopped him cold.

  Her fingers unsnapped the chinstrap, and she removed his helmet. A wave of fresh air swirled around him.

  He groaned and rolled onto his side.

  He was still trying to catch his breath when Jason said, “I don’t think we’ll be able to keep this one a secret from Hannah.”

  59

  Birmingham, Alabama

  Willis asked Mia to stay on the air while he juggled all the information coming in at a rapid-fire pace. Everyone including anchors, producers and staff was helping, taking phone calls, downloading livestream video and recording damage reports while Willis tried to map out tornadoes on the ground. At last count there were five. Paul would barely hand Mia a new set of warnings and Willis would give him more.

  And in the middle of this, Beth kept calling and texting him.

  Willis had asked Paul to leave one of the monitors on the live video feed the station had set up at the scene, showing the damaged restaurant. His eyes skimmed over it every time he looked from the radar screens to the other monitors sending views from their other city cams. Some of those had already been knocked out by the previous storms, but a couple of them still showed black, churning clouds filling the viewfinders.

  “We have a report of a hotel being hit,” Paul said as he came in the door to the weather desk. For the last half hour Paul’s voice had taken on a high pitch, the sudden inflection of urgency a bit nerve-racking to Willis.

  “Which tornado?”

  “It’s making its way up I-65. Just south of where the one hit earlier.”

  Willis twisted around to a radar screen and pulled up the area.

  “It looks like it’s following the same path,” Willis said and he could feel the acid in his stomach from too much coffee.

  His eyes flicked to the video feed watching over the restaurant debris. He almost missed the curl of smoke then he saw the flames.

  “What’s going on there?” He pointed.

  “Oh yeah, the news desk had a report of arson.”

  “Arson?”

  “Suspicious activity. There was a HAZMAT team before the storms made them leave the area. All those blue barrels.”

  Willis stood. The monitor was one in a row, up above and bracketed to the wall. He came in close, his head tilted up. Dozens of barrels were scattered around the site. They must have fallen out of the trailer.

  “Oh my God,” he whispered.

  If the contents were flammable the whole place could go up in flames any second. Suddenly, he knew why Beth was texting and calling. She and the others must already smell the smoke.

  He started to search for his cell phone when his eyes caught something else on the monitor. In the sky above the battered restaurant he could see a shadow slinking into view. A dark column was already emerging out of the gray mass.

  60

  South of Montgomery

  “You might have a concussion,” Dr. Avelyn was telling Creed.

  “I was wearing my helmet,” he countered.

  It was a weak defense, especially since he knew he had blacked out for part of the journey the tornado had sent him on. He had won the battle over whether or not he should be taken to a hospital. Creed argued that the ER would be filled with storm victims needing a doctor, and he had his own personal doctor with him.

  Dr. Avelyn had rolled her eyes at him. “Someday you’re going to need an MD, Ryder.”

  But in the end, she agreed with him that an ER wait could be a long one.

  Right now, he looked up from the bed. Grace was fast asleep in the pillows. He’d made sure Dr. Avelyn checked her before she started on him. Creed was lying on his stomach, and it hurt just to turn his neck. He didn’t dare admit that it hurt, nor did he admit he wasn’t quite certain where they were.

  He knew their hotel had been damaged. Dr. Avelyn and Penelope Clemence had barely checked in before the storm hit. He vaguely remembered Jason packing up all their gear into Jason’s Jeep. Creed’s was obviously totaled. At some point, they had caravanned to another hotel up the road. Now, from his limited view—mostly of the rug and bed linens—he noted they’d upgraded. This was a much a nicer room.

  He jerked and winced at the pain.

  “Sorry,” Dr. Avelyn said from above him.

  She had pulled the desk chair to the edge of the bed. When that didn’t work, she crawled onto the bed with him and went to work on his back. Creed had insisted they take a photo and show him. He hardly recognized it as his own. Never mind the cuts and bruises. The middle of his back was riddled with pine needles. It reminded him of a porcupine. Dozens of them were driven into his skin, all in the area where his back had been exposed after the sunroof got sucked out. Dr. Avelyn was removing them, one by one, dabbing each puncture with rubbing alcohol. He wasn’t sure which hurt more—the stab of the needle or the sting of alcohol.

  “How many?” he asked every once in a while to gauge her progress.

  “Twenty-seven. You sure you don’t want something for the pain?”

  “I’m good.

  “You’ll need an antibiotic.”

  “Okay. What about Grace?” he asked.

  “Already took care of her.”

  It wasn’t the first time the veterinarian had tended to his wounds or stitched him up. He trusted her with his dogs. Why wouldn’t he trust her with himself?

  “She’s doing really well by the way,” Dr. Avelyn said. “Wrapping her up like you did cushioned her. It probably saved her life.”

  “What about her paws?

  “Actually, they don’t look bad. Jason did a good job taking out all the glass. She didn’t blow any pads. But I do think she’s finished for this site. She’ll need to rest for a week. I’d suggest two weeks, but I know Grace.”

  Creed felt his muscles tense.

  “Sorry. I’m digging out some glass. You want to take a break?”

  “No, keep going.”

  “You know, I think Brodie could be on to something,” she told him as she worked. And now he knew she was trying to get his mind off the pain. “She watched me chipping dogs last week. We put one in Kitten. But she wanted to know if it would work in people. I’m thinking we might need to chip you with a tracking device, so we can find you when you get buried or fly off.”

  “Very funny.” He
thought about Brodie’s curiosity. “Do you know if she was thinking about herself or me?”

  “I’m not sure. I explained to her that it only identifies a dog and tells us how to contact the owner. I can’t remember exactly what she said, but clearly she was wondering about the tracking capabilities.” She paused for a moment then asked, “Do you think she worries about being taken, again?”

  “I hope not. It’s interesting that she asked about it. When we found her she had a tracking device strapped and locked around her ankle. Iris Malone put it on her after Brodie tried to escape too many times.”

  “Wow! I didn’t know that. When we talked about it she didn’t seem traumatized by the thought. She was genuinely curious like she could see the benefits.”

  “Did you see her yesterday or today? Hannah said her nightmares are back. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because I’m gone.”

  “No, I didn’t. But she needs to know that she can survive without you.”

  “Yeah, but my mom’s visiting this weekend.”

  “Ah! You sure that’s not why you bailed? Although, I can’t imagine you choosing this over spending time with your mother.”

  “Have you met my mom?”

  A soft tap-tap at the door interrupted them.

  “Come on in,” Dr. Avelyn said.

  “Still not finished?” Jason asked.

  Creed could see he was carrying a tray. Before he put it down Creed could smell something wonderful. Leave it to Jason to find food.

  “Anything about Maggie and Frankie?” Creed asked. He shoved himself up on his elbows so he could look at Jason better.

  “Why don’t we wait until Doc is finished. I brought you both something to eat. Three women in a silver SUV pulled into the hotel parking lot with all these sandwiches and stuff for all the first responders and storm victims.”

  “Thanks, but just tell me what you know.”

  Dr. Avelyn tapped him on the shoulder and gestured for Creed to lie back down.