Breaking Creed (20 page)

Grace scampered across the room, her entire hind end wagging impatiently for O’Dell to follow her.

“You have any idea what happened to my pants?” she asked the dog.

Grace’s only answer was a two-step prance and twirl.

“No, I didn’t think so.” O’Dell couldn’t help but smile.

Grace led her to a door off the kitchen that had been left open.

The stairs were polished wood and spiraled down to a balcony that ran the length of the outer walls. It overlooked an atrium of a large warehouse-like building. Despite the open rafters and silver air-duct piping along the ceiling, windows at the top brought in streams of sunlight that sent shadows dancing across the earth-toned walls and the stamped cement floor. The place could easily be someone’s warehouse-style home. It was obviously the living space for Creed’s dogs.

From her stance on the balcony’s landing, O’Dell could see a full kitchen in one corner with stainless steel commercial-sized appliances and shiny countertops. But instead of a table and chairs, rows of different-sized bowls were arranged on the floor with decorative mats underneath.

There was a buzz and she saw a line of dog doors, several going up electronically now as dogs came in and immediately looked up at her. In the opposite corner, kennels lined the wall; more than a dozen dogs were sleeping or watching Grace and O’Dell from dog beds that were scattered around the floor. And in the middle of them she spotted Creed curled up—shirtless with only jeans on—nestled up between two large brown dogs. His head lay against the bigger dog’s back.

Despite the tousled hair and bristled jaw, she couldn’t help thinking how much he reminded her of a young boy, fast asleep and at peace among the friends he knew he could count on and trust most.

46

S
HE
HAD
BEEN
STUNG
BY
SCORPIONS
and awakened from a black fog, and yet the first thing she said to him was, “I couldn’t find my clothes.”

Creed stifled a grin. He didn’t want her to feel any more self-conscious than she obviously was. Already her fingers were tugging down the hem of his favorite T-shirt, stretching it out beyond repair and making it even more of a favorite.

“They were pretty dirty. Hannah took them to wash.”

“Hannah?”

“My partner.” He saw her glancing around his apartment and added, “She lives at the main house with her boys. You met her last night, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

They had come back up from the dog kennels, though he certainly wouldn’t have minded lying there a bit longer. He’d managed to get maybe three hours of sleep. When he woke to see Maggie
standing on the balcony above, he thought he was dreaming. The sunlight streaming down on her had made the white T-shirt practically transparent. She had looked like an angel—a quite shapely angel—totally unaware that he could see more than the bare thighs she was now trying so desperately to cover.

“She offered to bring your freshly laundered clothes back with some lunch.”

“Lunch? But you have something smelling wonderful here in your kitchen.”

“Oh, that’s actually for the dogs. I’ve got one with kidney disease. It’s always a challenge to get him to eat. And we have two new boarders who are missing their owners.”

“Ryder’s Dog Café?” She smiled at him, and he was glad to see she appreciated his effort rather than thinking he was silly. “Boarders? I didn’t realize that was part of your business.”

“It’s not. Hannah volunteers at a place called Segway House. They take in runaways, recovering drug addicts, pregnant teens, and a lot of returning military. They can’t have their dogs while they’re living there. A couple of our boarders are dogs whose owners have been deployed and there were no family members to take the dogs in.”

She was staring at him, and for a moment he thought perhaps she wasn’t feeling quite as well as she initially thought she did. “Wow!” she finally said. “That is really . . . admirable.”

And that was the last thing any man wanted to be called by a half-naked woman in the middle of his apartment.

“Sometimes it’s a pain in the neck. I end up with a dog I didn’t want.”

“The owner doesn’t come back for the dog?”

“Or he comes back in a flag-draped casket.”

“Oh.” It was obvious she hadn’t thought of that.

At the kitchen counter he filled glasses with orange juice, then
led her to the sofa, pointing to the blanket draped over the back. He waited for her to settle in while he held her glass. She tucked a bare foot up underneath herself, revealing even more than she intended before yanking the blanket over her lap.

She’d been feverish last night but the crimson today was definitely a blush. He hated that she was uncomfortable and hated it even more that he found it sexier than hell. Especially after what she’d been through. He’d had plenty of women come to his loft apartment, some stayed the night, others just several hours, but this was more intimate than anything or anyone before, and he hadn’t even touched her.

Then he realized that she probably thought he had.

“Just for the record, Hannah and Dr. Avelyn undressed you last night. They put the baking soda paste on the stings.”

She held up her hands and stared at the backs of them. The swelling was gone. A few welts were still visible under the paste. It was remarkable how, less than twenty-four hours later, Maggie looked almost back to normal.

“You’re sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I feel good,” she said as she took the glass of juice from him. Her eyes caught sight of his welts, and she reached up and touched the back of his hand. “Looks like you got stung, too.”

Her fingertips meant to caress, but Creed felt only the unexpected electrical charge. He shrugged and pretended the stings and her touch were no big deal. He asked, “No pain?”

She shook her head. “I guess I’m a little bit achy. It feels like I have a hangover. But otherwise . . . I feel amazingly good.”

“Dr. Avelyn gave you something for the pain and to help you sleep when she gave you the antivenin.”

“Dr. Avelyn?”

“Avelyn Parker.”

“You have a doctor who makes house calls?”

“She’s not an MD. She’s a veterinarian.”

She smiled, then nodded as if she should have guessed. And she didn’t seem bothered by the fact.

“This type of scorpion doesn’t inject enough venom to be lethal, but you had about eighteen stings. Actually, this particular type of scorpion doesn’t usually sting unless disturbed or threatened. You did kind of disturb them.”

“All I can remember is that I couldn’t breathe.”

“You had an allergic reaction. The symptoms come on quick and furious.” He reached out to touch her arm but stopped short, remembering the impact of her simple caress. Instead, he pointed to where the swelling had gone down on her shoulder and only a red mark showed through the paste. “Without the antivenin you could have died.”

“It was meant to be a trap or another torture chamber, wasn’t it? Just like the fire ants.”

“Most likely. The forensic team said there was a screen over the top to prevent the scorpions from escaping. The hole was lined with burlap to keep it moist. Someone had dumped rotted wood with enough termites to keep the scorpions fat and happy.”

“But Mrs. Bagley didn’t die down there.”

“No. I expect the coroner will be getting those details to you and Sheriff Holt when he knows the cause of her death. There is something else.”

He sat down in the recliner beside her, close enough that his knee brushed the blanket. He stayed at the edge of the chair, set aside his now-empty glass, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin on his fists.

“Your rental car’s been impounded by the forensic team.”

“What? Why?”

“Jason got your belongings from the trunk. He’ll bring them when he comes to work today.”

“I’m not worried about that. Why did they take the car?”

“Someone left a burlap sack under the driver’s seat. Jason found it when he tried to drive your car back yesterday. There were three coral snakes in the sack.”

She shot a hand up and ran fingers through her hair as she shook her head. “Seriously, what is it with these people? Fire ants, scorpions, snakes?”

“Coral snakes have the most virulent venom of all the poisonous snakes in the States. One bite can kill a dog in a matter of ten to twenty minutes.”

Her hand came down to her lap and her eyes widened. “Is Jason okay?”

“Yeah, he’s okay. A bit shook-up. Corals are shy, not aggressive. They like to hide, but if they feel trapped, they’ll strike.”

“Like the scorpions.”

He scooted closer. Drew her eyes to meet his. “Normally I don’t need to know everything from law enforcement except what’ll help me and my dogs do our job. But this is one time I think you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I told you. We fished Trevor Bagley out of the Potomac. We think someone tortured him.”

“With fire ants. I got that. But why?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“But you have your suspicions.”

Her eyes left his and without a word they confirmed what he had said.

“Look, Maggie, the scorpions have been there for whatever crazy reason. Scare tactic, torture . . . maybe somebody’s screwed-up idea of a joke. But the snakes . . . The snakes were put in
your
car on purpose.”

He waited to see that fact sink in. She looked tired. Her skin was still rash-red in places, and strands of hair stuck to the paste on her
neck. He noticed that her eyes were slow to track, almost as if her mind was playing catch-up. It was probably the residual effect of the drugs that Dr. Avelyn had given her yesterday.

“When?” she said. “When could they have put them in the car? The sheriff and his deputy—”

“Already checked on that. Holt said they left for about twenty to thirty minutes to meet the forensic team and then lead them to the place so they wouldn’t get lost. That’s not a long time span. Which means someone not only knew you were at the Bagleys’ place, but they were there somewhere—watching.”

“So you think they meant to scare me?”

“No, I think they meant to kill you.”

47

“DEA’
S
DESCENDED
on the Bagley place,” Sheriff Holt was telling O’Dell. “Why the hell would you do that?”

He had left over a dozen voice and text messages for her. By the time she returned his calls, he sounded exhausted and furious.

“I didn’t do anything. I only woke up a few hours ago,” she tried to explain.

“I apologize, Agent O’Dell. I don’t know what I was thinking. I haven’t even asked how you’re doing. Are you okay?”

“Sore and a bit achy. My head hurts.”

“So if you didn’t tell them, how’d the bastards even know?”

“Your forensic team? Maybe someone from the café?”

“Believe me when I say nobody in these parts calls the feds.”

Fortunately, in his anger he was treating her like one of his team. He had forgotten that O’Dell was a fed.

“They’ll be able to help with some lab tests that we wouldn’t be able to do.” She tried to keep positive.

“That’s great, but they’re not even letting us continue on the investigation.”

“What do you mean?”

“They were already there when we arrived this morning at eight. They ordered us off the property. We’re not allowed to return.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I sound like I’m kidding?”

“Let me see if I can find out what’s happening.”

“In the meantime, what the hell do we do?”

“Did they ask for the evidence the forensic team recovered?”

“Not yet, but I’m told they barged in on our coroner. Shoved some badges in his face, then loaded up and hauled out Mrs. Bagley’s body.”

O’Dell couldn’t say she was surprised. She’d had a gut feeling from the moment they pulled Trevor Bagley’s bloated corpse out of the river that this was a much bigger case. She just didn’t realize how big.

“What other evidence did your team find?” she asked.

“After they recovered the body, they spent a bit of time in one of the sheds behind the house. No more bodies, but it’ll make your skin crawl.”

She stayed quiet and waited. As angry as he was, she could tell this was something that was hard to digest.

“Looks like they kept some kids in there.”

Her stomach twisted in knots. “Did the feds ask for the evidence?”

“Didn’t ask and we didn’t tell. I don’t think they know how much we found. Maybe they don’t even know about the kids. Seems they’re more concerned about us busting up their drug case.”

“Did the forensic team find any drugs?”

“Not even a little.”

They discussed what to do with the evidence the team had collected, then promised they’d be in touch. It wouldn’t be the first time that O’Dell found herself on the side of the local law enforcement rather than her colleagues on the federal side. What was adding one more clash with her boss?

When O’Dell clicked off she scrolled down to the messages she had purposely ignored from her boss. Now she punched in the last one and listened to his voice message: “O’Dell, where the hell are you? I need you in my office first thing in the morning.”

She checked for the day and time stamp. Today at 10:00
AM
. By the current time on her cell phone, she saw that she’d never be able to catch an evening flight back to D.C. It would take driving all night to get there by “first thing in the morning.”

She dialed his number, and when his secretary answered—the secretary whose main job seemed to be playing interference and denying access—she passed O’Dell through so quickly O’Dell thought it had to be a mistake. Turns out Assistant Director Kunze was that anxious to chew her out. She let him rant for several minutes. Past experience had taught her that he tended to reveal important information during his angry outbursts. This time was no different.

In those brief minutes she learned that she had encroached on a classified case that the DEA had been working on for months. She had to bite back the fact that she had pointedly asked him about this being a drug hit. Now she wondered what exactly Kunze knew and when he knew it.