Page 79 of Fallen Creed

He checked his watch. Damn! Why hadn’t he set an alarm for her next dose of pain meds? He’d take his chances with his own, but not hers.

Already his mind struggled to figure out the timeframe. How long it had been since Ariel stabbed him? Twenty-four hours? Longer? How much longer?

Grace pushed her nose against his arm again, and he released his fingers from his side so he could pet her until he saw they were bloody. Grace nudged his arm aside, then tucked her nose between his arm and the back of the bench. When she saw she had his attention, she sat down and stared up into his eyes.

The girls were still whispering at the counter. Ariel was trying to whisper. Libby seemed to realize how ridiculous the gesture was with Creed sitting less than fifteen feet away. He had been able to mask the pain before, but now the simple movement of reaching behind his back sent a fire through his belly.

Creed clenched his jaw and slowly moved his clean hand along the back cushion without leaning into the table too much. He didn’t want them to hear or see what he was doing. He scooted his butt forward a few inches for his hand to squeeze into the crack where the seat cushion met the back cushion.

He looked at Grace out of the corner of his eye. She was watching, no longer panting. All of her attention focused on his search. His fingers found something hard and about a quarter inch thick. He slid a finger down until he felt an edge, then a square corner. The table hid his hands, but not his movements. Slowly, he dislodged the object. When he could finally get a grip on it, he brought it to his lap.

Grace relaxed and wagged, satisfied that he had retrieved what she had alerted to. He stole a quick look. He shouldn’t have been surprised. The girl was still working, sniffing out the newest scent in her repertoire. The item, now safely tucked between his legs, was a cell phone.

—62—

Grand Island, Nebraska

“Are any of these images good enough for facial recognition?” Maggie asked Alonzo.

“I’m one step ahead of you, boss.”

She hated when he called her boss. Technically, she was.

“Have you gotten anything?”

“The guy took extra precautions. He never looks at a camera, but he appears to know where all the cameras are. The bill of his cap is pulled down. Those chunky, black-framed glasses cover a good portion of his face.

“But I grabbed some decent screen shots of the women. Right now I’m running them against socials. It’ll take a while. I’m betting the old dude doesn’t have a Facebook or Instagram account. But if I can find just one of the women, there’s a chance she’s taken pictures—even selfies—that capture the guy.”

“That’s a lot of betting and maybes, Antonio. I don’t have a lot of time here.”

“You think these three have Ryder?”

“Don’t you?”

“I guess we need to consider it.”

“Libby Holmes, aka Emma Hobbs, is involved,” Maggie said. “She’s obviously a part of this.”

“If she helped snatch and murder Kristen Darrow, why wait until almost a week later to run?”

Maggie didn’t have the answer. All the killer profiles she’d constructed in the last ten years didn’t seem to apply to Libby. And yet, how does a teenager end up a suspect in one murder investigation and, seven months later, become a part of another without being involved in the actual murder?

Unless she was manipulated or coerced.

Maggie had worked on human trafficking cases where victims had helped their captors recruit or kidnap other victims. Sometimes the victims had been imprisoned, isolated and abused for so long they simply remained silent and agreeable to avoid further punishment.

She thought about Brodie Creed and all those years her captors had drugged and starved her. Self preservation made people do strange things. Fight or flight was a natural instinct, but when you couldn’t do either? What were the options? Give up or get along?

Maggie stared at the computer screen as she played the last video file again. These young women, possibly teenagers, looked healthy and fit. The video’s quality was good enough to tell they weren’t emaciated or jittery. They both looked calm and confident. As the blond turned to watch Kristen walk by, there were no jerks, no darts, not a single uncomfortable gesture. Both women had complete and steady control over their body language. From this point of view, they certainly didn’t look cowed or bullied into taking part in this shopping spree.

And yet, Maggie couldn’t help wondering what hold this man might have over them.

“Maggie?”

She startled at Alonzo’s voice. She’d forgotten they were still connected.

“How did they end up paying?” she asked.