Page 5 of Fallen Creed

—3—

In Afghanistan, Creed and his fellow Marine K9 handlers often called their dogs truth detectors. He remembered one incident in particular, a dusty, sunbaked afternoon. They were searching a village for an informant who had mysteriously disappeared.

They told Creed they had shown a photograph of the man, but the villagers shook their heads without taking a glance. The unit had been there for almost an hour before Creed and Rufus arrived. The presence of the big Labrador stopped people in their tracks, widened their eyes, and refreshed their memories. It was as if the dog were a magic talisman that could read their minds.

So Creed wasn’t surprised that Freddie Mason didn’t want Grace inside his house. He hadn’t resisted law enforcement officers from the county sheriff’s department, state patrol and FBI. He figured he had fooled all of them. But a dog, even a small Jack Russell terrier like Grace, Freddie knew enough to be worried.

“You can’t bring that dirty mutt into my house,” the man still protested, grunting the words out. His face had gone red and twisted in pain as Maggie kept his arm behind him. Creed noticed Freddie didn’t challenge or resist the vice-grip as much as he was resisting Grace.

“We have a search warrant,” Pakula reminded the man.

“It doesn’t give you a right to bring a mangy dog into my house.”

“You’re forgetting, Freddie. I’ve already been inside your house. You can’t be worried about this clean, well-behaved dog messing it up. We’ve already done that. If anything, I might need to be worried the dog doesn’t catch something being exposed to your filth.”

“I don’t want that dog in my house.”

Pakula gestured to a deputy who had come out the front door when he heard the ruckus.

“Deputy Trent’s going to help you calm down,” Pakula told Freddie as he nodded to the deputy then pointed to the handcuffs on his utility belt.

Freddie was still yelling and arguing with Pakula about calling a lawyer as Maggie led Creed and Grace into the house, letting the screen door slam behind them.

“How was your drive?” she asked with a touch of her hand on his arm.

The entrance was small, boxed in, and secluded. Up close, he could see she had hardly broken a sweat from the ruckus with Freddie, but Creed got a distracting whiff of her coconut shampoo. Before he could answer, Maggie squatted down to pet Grace.

“It was a good trip. I forgot how nice and cool the weather is up here.”

She stood back up, facing him now and smiling. “Don’t get used to it. There’s a cold front moving in.”

He wanted to kiss her. Something in her eyes told him she was thinking the same thing. It had been too long since he had stood this close to her.

“And snow,” a man said as he came around the corner.

“Snow?” Creed asked, pretending the guy hadn’t just interrupted an intimate moment. He and Maggie had never really discussed it, but both of them had been careful to keep their professional lives separate from whatever it was they were feeling for each other. “I haven’t seen snow since I was a teenager.”

“You haven’t missed much,” the man told him. He pushed his fingers through a thick mop of silver hair. He wore a crisp navy blue shirt with the shirtsleeves rolled up, blue jeans and worn leather work boots. “It’s white and cold and can make a mess of things. You must be the K9 handler.”

He thumbed over his shoulder as two uniformed deputies came around the corner, excusing themselves without introduction as they headed out the front door.

“They’re clearing out,” the man said. Creed moved Grace into the arched doorway of the room the deputies had just exited. Still, the entrance was tight enough they had to squeeze past with their equipment, evidence bags and collection kits.

When the screen door slapped behind them, Maggie made the official introduction. “Ted, this is Ryder Creed and Grace. Ryder, this is Ted Spencer. He’s the Clay County Sheriff. He’s part of Pakula’s team.”

“Hey there, Grace,” Spencer said as he offered his hand. “Agent O’Dell’s been telling us a lot about you.” Then to Creed he said, “We’ve tossed the place. Flipped ceiling tiles. Checked heating vents. Pipes under the sink. Toilet tank. Even ran an electronic gizmo. Battery died after three false readings.”

“The one thing about Grace,” Creed said as he glanced down at her impatiently shuffling, “her battery never seems to die.”

“Hold on a minute,” Spencer raised his hand and grabbed for his back pocket. He glanced at the cell phone. “I need to take this.” He walked a few steps down the hall as he tapped the screen.

“Are you doing collection?” Creed asked Maggie, wanting to get started but not wanting her to leave.

“I think Pakula will insist on bagging anything you find,” Maggie said. “I’ll go change places with him. Besides, Freddie was just warming up to me before he saw Grace.” She said this last part with an uncharacteristic grin. With her back now to Spencer, she put her hand on his arm again and said, “It’s really good to see you.”

“Sorry about that,” Spencer said, marching back while he slipped the phone in his pocket. “My wife.”

“I’ll go get Pakula,” Maggie told Spencer, and she headed out the door.