Page 4 of Fallen Creed

Creed and Maggie went back almost three years. They had worked together enough times that the two of them had developed a friendship. No, that wasn’t even close. It was more than a friendship. It was complicated, sometimes frustrating, but lately he realized he couldn’t imagine not having her in his life, no matter the limitations.

They talked and texted frequently these days, but he hadn’t seen her since June. That was the part he didn’t like. She lived in Virginia. Creed had a home and a successful business in the Florida Panhandle.

“So let me get this straight,” Pakula said, interrupting Creed’s thoughts. “Grace might be able to sniff out any external hard drives, jump drives, SIM cards? We’ve already searched through drawers, cabinets and boxes. You name it. And we’ve found zilch. These things are so small it’s literally like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“This is a first for her. For both of us, but she’s done great in our training sessions.”

She stood before him on the open tailgate, wagging. She knew they were talking about her, but she waited patiently for him to put on her working vest. Dogs were creatures of habit, so Creed tried to take advantage of that. For a multi-scent dog like Grace, he used a particular vest or collar for each scent.

He also made sure he had a specific name or command for each scent he wanted her to find. He used “fish” for drugs, because it was less likely to cause dealers to run in a crowded airport or through a border stop if they believed the dog was only searching for agricultural contraband instead of drugs.

But sometimes, because Grace was a multi-scent dog, she couldn’t help but alert to other scents present at the scene. Other scents she’d been trained for, even if it wasn’t the one Creed had asked her to find. Last time he was in Nebraska, she was supposed to lead them to a body buried in a pasture. Instead, she had tried to alert them to the explosives planted over a grave of roadkill. A deputy lost his hand. Creed was lucky, with only a few broken ribs.

“O’Dell’s sources believe this guy has a catalog,” Pakula was telling him.

Creed glanced over his shoulder. Pakula’s eyes looked off toward the back of the house where cornfields stretched as far as you could see. Did he expect the suspect to bolt? How easy would it be to get lost inside the row after row of tall corn?

“And you think he has it stored on an electronic device?”

“Nobody keeps something like that in the Cloud.”

Weeks ago, when Maggie talked to Creed about being a part of this operation, she was already calling it Operation Fallen Stars. Before she explained, he knew she meant “fallen stars” represented the missing, some of them children. They hoped to recover as many as possible before all leads burned out. But when Pakula mentioned a “catalog,” Creed immediately felt a knot tightening in his gut. What the hell was wrong with people?

Times like this he tried to be grateful that Brodie hadn’t fallen into a human trafficking ring, though she had come close. Her captor, a woman named Iris Malone, had grown tired of Brodie constantly trying to escape. Just days before they found her, Brodie had been exiled. He didn’t like to think about how close she had come to being lost forever in that hidden world. Not that what she had endured for sixteen years wasn’t bad enough.

“You okay?” Pakula asked.

Grace licked Creed’s hand, and only then did he realize he’d stopped. “Hard to imagine someone puts together a catalog.”

“People think human trafficking is about the border and coyotes smuggling women and children over. They don’t realize how many locals go missing. Teenage runaways, drug addicts, kids trying to escape abusive home lives only to find themselves trapped in a worse nightmare. If that isn’t bad enough, we’ve got parents selling their own kids. There certainly are some messed up people.”

Pakula paused, and Creed followed his eyes. Maggie came from around the back of the house with a short, thick-chested man walking a pace in front of her.

Grace’s tail wagged right at the same time Creed noticed the uptick in his pulse. Maggie looked their way and lifted her chin, a subtle gesture acknowledging their presence but serious and focused, not daring to take her attention off of the man. He was as tall as Maggie, but stocky with bowed legs that made his walk look more like a wobble from side to side. He was barefooted, causing him to step gingerly through the patchy landscape that took the place of his lawn. It made Creed check the ground around the Jeep. Sure enough, some of the yellow-brown tufts had sandburs.

“These scumbags all know each other. They look out for one another,” Pakula said. “But that’s changing. Lately, there appears to be a turf war brewing. We hit a place outside of North Platte yesterday. A car dealership. By day, the owner is an upstanding guy in the community. By night, he’s just another one of these scumbags. Delivering used cars for Johns to test drive, and sometimes—surprise, surprise—there’s a girl along for the ride.”

Creed shook his head.

“Anyway, that guy led us here. Gave up his buddy pretty easily.” Pakula rubbed his jaw. “This one feels too easy.”

“You think you’re being set up?” Creed asked.

“We were here early.” He glanced at his watch. “If something was going to happen, I think it would have by now. Maybe they’re looking at ways to knock each other out of business. One more reason we can’t afford to screw up. I’m glad you and Grace are here.”

“We’ll check the house.”

Creed finished packing his daypack. Grace was getting antsy. She wanted to greet Maggie and was pacing along the Jeep’s windows for a better view. He realized he was anxious to see Maggie, too. She looked good. She always looked good. Her FBI ball cap was pulled down low over her brow. He could see the flash of auburn ponytail. She wore a black T-shirt like Pakula, hiking boots, and blue jeans. And yes, she looked good in blue jeans.

Suddenly, Freddie Mason became agitated as Creed lifted Grace from the Jeep to the ground.

“Get that frickin’ dog out of here,” he yelled, his arm swinging up, his finger punctuating the air.

The wobble became a trot, ignoring his bare feet. He hurried across the yard. Maggie caught up to him quickly. She grabbed his arm, and he shoved her off.

Big mistake.

The next time she grabbed his arm, she twisted it up behind him, and the man instantly dropped to the ground. She placed a knee in his back then looked up at Pakula and Creed. She lifted her chin at them again, but this time, she was smiling.