Page 2 of Fallen Creed

Was it gone? Had Nora found it?

She wouldn’t have taken it. She wouldn’t do that. If she found it, she’d be disappointed in Libby, but Nora would never confiscate it.

And then her fingers found a canvas strap. She tugged until the backpack came free, out from underneath the stack of folded blankets and pillows that hid it.

Libby dragged it into the middle of her bedroom floor, still on her hands and knees, crawling alongside it. Her fingers shook as she yanked zippers back. Her hands dived in, feeling around and taking stock. She couldn’t trust her eyes alone to do the inventory, especially since they kept darting up to the windows.

Her chest already ached, and she felt lightheaded. Sitting back on her haunches, she tried to slow her breathing. She closed her eyes and listened, straining to hear over her pounding heart, listening for sounds that didn’t belong.

Slow down, she told herself.

“You might have only an hour,” the woman had told her.

Libby made a mental checklist then stood on wobbly knees. She hated that after this much time he could still make her physically terrified just by mentioning him.

Stop it! He’ll win if you’re weak and unprepared. That’s exactly what he’s hoping to find.

Before she left the bedroom, she changed clothes and shoes. The sun would be down soon. Despite her body slick with sweat, she added another layer and stashed a few more items into the backpack. She took what she needed from her bathroom.

A brief pause in front of the door across the hall took precious moments. She admonished herself again. There was no time to worry about respect and privacy. No second-guessing about stealing something that didn’t belong to her.

She went into the master bedroom. She knew exactly which drawer to open and where to dig beneath the stack of T-shirts. Her fingers found the metal, curled around the grip and pulled out the gun, folding back and smoothing the clothes.

Satisfied, she headed to the kitchen, stopping at cupboards and drawers to gather the rest of her list. Her eyes surveyed every window, every sliver between blinds and curtains. Already she was assessing from which direction he’d come. The driveway would be too easy, but she checked the road, stretching to see as far as she could in both directions.

She slipped by a bookcase, and her eyes caught on a framed photo. There was no time to be sentimental, and yet she stopped. She grabbed the frame, worked the back and slipped the photo out gently, tucking it into a side pocket of her backpack. She returned the frame to its spot, leaving its glass down.

At the side door, she took one last look around at the one place that had truly felt like home. She tightened the backpack across her shoulders and swept a long, measured glance over the back property.

Then she took in a deep breath and left.

—2—

Tuesday, October 5

Ryder Creed had grown used to driving by yellow cornfields and green pastures. There was something very soothing about this landscape. Geese filled the big blue sky. Tall cranes feasted between the rows of the few harvested fields.

The paved two-lane needed repair. The white-line edges crumbled away with the broken asphalt. Gold and rust-colored grasses filled deep ditches. It was mesmerizing how the tall grass moved, almost as if something hidden inside was alive and raced alongside his Jeep.

“We’re definitely not in Florida anymore,” Creed said, glancing into the rearview mirror.

The Jack Russell terrier’s ears flapped in the breeze. Grace sat on the center of the bench behind him so she could see between the front captain's seats. She loved the half-rolled windows. Her nose poked at the scents flooding the Jeep’s interior. The Nebraska air was cool, crisp and dry. Yesterday morning, when they left the Florida Panhandle, it had been a sultry eighty-five degrees.

Creed recognized the farm a quarter mile away. It wasn’t difficult. A variety of law enforcement vehicles filled the front yard. Ten feet in, a sheriff’s department SUV blocked the driveway’s entrance.

He glanced at the rearview mirror again. Grace already recognized that they were close to their designation. Her eyes focused forward, and she sniffed the air with purpose.

“Almost there, girl,” he told her.

Creed and his friend, Hannah Washington, owned a fifty-acre facility where they rescued, housed and trained scent dogs. Grace had become more than Creed’s favorite. She was his partner, eager to learn and excited to work. Together, they tracked the missing and the dead. She sniffed out hidden explosives and drugs. She could detect C. diff and the bird flu. Whatever Creed asked, Grace searched and found. Today would be a first for both.

The deputy wore mirrored aviator sunglasses and moved his hands to his hips when he noticed Creed’s Jeep slow down. By the time Creed pulled into the driveway, the man had pushed his shoulders back. His right hand inched closer to his holster. He waved at Creed to back out and move on. Creed shifted into park and rolled down his window, but he knew better than to get out of the vehicle.

The deputy approached. He wasn’t happy.

“You need to move along,” he told Creed. “Nothing to see here.”

Creed held his ID wallet out the window, keeping his other hand on the top of the steering wheel.