Page 3 of Chasing Creed

Go now. No more time.

Sara turned and started jogging toward the woods. She wouldn’t look back. She couldn’t look back.

Worry about yourself. Take care of yourself.

Don’t you dare look back.

Before Sara got to the trees, the dog was running alongside her.

2

Mississippi

Ryder Creed kept his back to the chaos behind him. He focused on preparing his gear and his scent dog. Grace was a pro, unbothered by the extra commotion, but Creed could already feel the tension creeping into his jaw. Bottom line, he hated when family members showed up at the scene during a search for a missing person.

Not that long ago, Creed had been one of them, so he could empathize with the need to be close. Their presence brought a whole different level of friction. Even his dogs could smell it: a combination of anxiety, panic, and in this case, anger. The mother of the missing man was not happy and not afraid to voice her opinion to the county sheriff in charge.

“Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?” Her voice was shrill. In the foggy, wet quiet that surrounded them, it came out loud and harsh. A flock of birds rose out of the tall pasture grasses, interrupted and startled.

Out of the corner of his eye, Creed saw the woman point at his Jack Russell terrier. There was nothing discrete about her outstretched arm and index finger poking in their direction. He ignored her. He did his best not to acknowledge her as he lifted Grace from the back of the Jeep. The little dog stayed under his arm while he searched for a safe spot on the ground. Small patches of prickly grass grew along this dirt driveway. All of it was speckled with sharp burrs. Even the drops of moisture clinging to the brambles wouldn’t soften their effect on his dog’s paws.

When he finally looked up, it was to examine the abandoned property they were here to search. His primary job was to keep his dogs safe and watch out for any hazards. What he saw made him anxious. The dilapidated outbuildings sprawled back behind the house, their roofs disappearing under the heavy layers of fog.

He counted three: a massive barn, a leaning equipment shed with doors long gone, and a smaller shed farther in the distance. All the buildings, including the house, were worn down to gray wood, not a sliver of peeling paint left. They melted into the fog like ghostly structures.

“My son deserves a real search dog,” the woman continued to complain. She wasn’t talking to Creed. She spoke to the sheriff as if Creed wasn’t there. Less than thirty feet away. “Is this some kind of joke? What’s going on here, Sheriff?”

Grace sat patiently while Creed continued with his gear. His dog watched him, excited to get to work. Her haunches shifted, ready and waiting. She was better than he was at tuning out distractions like this angry mother.

At a glance, Creed saw the sheriff standing tall and quiet over the woman. His hands dug deep into the pockets of his trousers. His head bobbed along as if in agreement. The man’s ball cap was pulled too far down for Creed to get a glimpse of his eyes, but he was being patient with this woman. Something Creed was sure he’d never be able to pull off. And exactly the reason he’d chosen to work with dogs.

Creed had never worked with Sheriff Daniels before. He and his team were recommended for this search by Sheriff Norwich from Creed’s home county of Santa Rosa down in the Florida Panhandle. Norwich was a sheriff he respected tremendously. They had partnered on dozens of searches. She understood what was necessary. How a K9 team worked. He wasn’t sure Sheriff Daniels had done this before. He knew nothing about the man or this piece of Mississippi. Now, Creed wondered how well Norwich knew this sheriff.

Most law enforcement officials Creed had worked with didn’t allow others, especially family members, to be at a potential crime scene. It wasn’t just because they might get in the way or mess up trace evidence. Their presence brought with it a veil of tension mixed with grief. Their emotions could affect the mood of the entire search team. Even the dogs could eventually pick up the added anxiety from their handlers. Most law enforcement officials understood that, and yet, here was the mother of the victim they would be searching for.

Her complaints didn’t bother Creed. He’d heard them before. None of his dogs looked like standard K9 scent dogs. As a Marine handler, he’d trained and worked alongside the kind of dogs this woman expected. But when he and his partner, Hannah Washington, started K9 CrimeScents, their mission was to rescue abandoned and discarded dogs.

Creed discovered quickly that he could train just about any breed or mixture of breeds to track a scent, especially dogs with an abundance of energy and prey drive. Grace was a prime example: a scrappy, sixteen-pound Jack Russell that he’d found abandoned at the end of their long driveway in rural Florida.

“Mr. Creed and his team come highly recommended,” the sheriff finally told her. “They can cover over three times the territory my men can and in half the time.”

Another Jeep pulled into the driveway, and Creed waved to it as it drove up the dirt path and pulled in alongside his vehicle. Jason, another handler, and Creed’s sister Brodie got out. Immediately, they started getting their dogs ready.

Creed leaned deep inside to grab some water bottles for his daypack. Just when he figured the sheriff had closed the discussion with the victim’s mother, he heard her gasp loud enough to stop all of them.

“Oh, my God! That woman brought a pitbull.”

“Staffordshire bull terrier,” Brodie called over to the woman. “His name is Hank.”

Creed wiped at a smile as he closed the Jeep’s tailgate. He didn’t want the mother to think he took any of this task lightly. What he smiled at was the fact that Brodie never saw the scary, big-jawed, muscular dog that others saw when they looked at Hank.

In his head, Creed started counting, concentrating on his breathing and Grace’s eyes. He waited, knowing, expecting Jason to come into view with his dog, Scout. The black Labrador wagged and grinned at all of them.

It took only a few seconds, and the woman reacted exactly as Creed predicted when she said, “Finally! A real search dog.”

Maybe “a real search dog” would calm her, but Creed hoped for her sake as well as his team they wouldn’t have to contend with a running commentary of their search efforts.

It had taken them five hours to drive here. While the dogs stretched, Creed raised his hand to get the sheriff’s attention. He, in turn, motioned to his deputy to take his place with the victim’s mother, giving instructions for him to escort her to her vehicle.