Page 102 of Fallen Creed

No one said a word.

Scout barreled over and instead of stopping him, they all instinctively stepped back, letting the big dog investigate. In seconds, his whiskers twitched, his nose snorted over the area. He pawed the ice, breaking up the scent to get a better sniff.

Without paying attention to any of them, the dog circled with his head down, muzzle bobbing. Then he took off, slowly at first. He tested the air, then the ground. His walk turned into a trot, and Jason kept up with him. He didn’t bother checking on the others. He didn’t want to lose sight of Scout.

It didn’t take long, and the dog skittered to a halt, nails clacking on the ice. He reared his head, nostrils flaring, his snout seesawing from side to side. He swooped down, grazing the ground. At one point, he poked his nose into a drift, snorting before pulling it out and shaking his head.

Jason stood back. With only a quick glance, he could see Maggie, Brodie and Hank kept their distance, but they were watching closely. When Scout looked up at him, Jason remained stock-still. Despite the chill in the air, his palms were sweaty. His pulse raced. There was nothing he could do about either, but he tried to keep a blank expression on his face.

Scout hesitated. He skimmed the ground again with his nose. Turned and sampled the air to his left. He stood and stared out at the vast stretch of the snow-covered cornfield in front of them. The stalks hadn’t been harvested yet. The wind and snow had pushed them onto their sides, like fallen dominos. Instead of rows of corn with ditches between the rows, there were rolling humps of snow. It would be an obstacle course to trudge through the field now.

Jason’s eyes searched for footprints, or maybe a path carved out before the heavier snow had fallen. He looked back to the treeline in the opposite direction. Maggie seemed convinced that the dense camouflage along the river might be where Ryder had holed up during the storm. Scout had been heading in that direction until they found the wrapper. And the blood.

With his head swinging back and forth, Scout headed out into the field. The melting snow snarled the cornstalks, some broken, most of them twisted and frozen. In places, Scout could walk on top of the ice-crusted drifts, but every once in a while, his leg poked down. For Jason, it was a matter of stomping his feet and lifting them back up. Slow but steady. He didn’t want to doubt his dog, but he couldn’t believe that Ryder would have chosen to come this way.

Then Jason remembered. Ryder and Grace were tracking Libby Holmes, someone who might not have wanted to be found. Ryder didn’t choose. He followed his dog. Like Jason was doing right now. So, if Scout took him through this snow-crusted cornfield, that’s where the trail was leading Scout.

Jason pulled up his collar and increased his pace to keep up with his dog. There were no trees to block the warm sunshine, but there was also nothing to stop the wind, which had kicked up. Just as he convinced himself that it would be a long slog, Scout stopped suddenly.

The dog circled, nose twitching, ears peeled back, gait ready and alert. Jason couldn’t help thinking his dog had found something Jason hadn’t asked him to find. Scout turned to look at him, waiting and watching while he circled the spot. He didn’t take his eyes off his handler. When Jason drew close, he could see that the ground had been leveled here and appeared sunken. Cornstalks had been cleared in an area about ten feet squared. Just enough room to bury a body.

Then he heard the low-pitched whine. It was coming from his dog, and Jason’s stomach did a freefall to his knees.

—82—

Ruben hadn’t intended to cut the woman, but clearly she deserved it. He’d barely turned his back, and she raced to a bedroom down a long hall. She slammed the door in his face. Locked it. The door was solid, but Ruben had learned a long time ago how to kick out a doorknob lock. They were pathetic contraptions.

Nora Spencer was elbow-deep in one of the dresser drawers when he broke through. She wasn’t able to find the weapon she or her husband kept underneath the folded T-shirts. Even as he rushed her, she continued to search. It wasn’t until he slashed her arm that she stopped. That gave her a surprise, but instead of cowering, she grabbed one of the shirts and wrapped it tight around her arm. She was totally unprepared for his second slash that caught her shoulder and neck.

“Where’s Libby?” he demanded.

Her eyes darted around him, but he was pleased to finally see shock and panic. She retreated to a corner. He watched as her body slid down the wall and crumbled into an uncomfortable sitting position.

“She’s not here. She hasn’t been here for days,” she managed, pressing on the wound on her neck.

He shook his head.

Not possible. She had to be here. She was lying.

His time was up, and he was pleased when Shelby appeared in the doorway. He needed the interruption. They couldn’t afford another mistake, and yet, here he was ready to gut the only person who might tell them where the hell Libby Holmes was.

“Tie her up,” he told Shelby.

“Really? She’s bleeding all over the place.”

The woman was scrambling to wrap her wounds, a frenzy of fingers snatching and grabbing. Probably a worthless endeavor. There really was a lot of blood.

One thing she didn’t do. Nora Spencer didn’t ask who he was. She didn’t ask why he was here or what he wanted with Libby. He stared at her for a moment. It was almost as if she had been expecting something like this. Or someone like him.

His cell phone pinged. He dug it out of the uniform’s deep pocket.

A text message. Vanessa.

JUST SAW LH SNEAK IN THE BACK OF THE BARN.

He smiled. Grabbed one of the T-shirts from the drawer and wiped the knife blade. He handed Shelby a roll of duct tape and told her again to tie up the woman. “Or wait until she bleeds out. In the meantime, make sure she doesn’t call anyone.”

“What if she doesn’t die?” Shelby asked.