Page 19 of Chasing Creed

Her fingers moved intentionally, gently swabbing, trimming, probing all the while she told the dog what she was doing each step of the way. She kept her voice in a calm reassuring tone, the same one she used when she talked to herself. At times she paused, looking for signs of distress, a flinch of pain. Quite honestly, she was prepared to be growled at. Maybe even bitten. Instead, the dog just watched, as if mesmerized by Sara’s voice and movements.

The wounds were messy, but nothing Sara wasn’t used to. Nothing vital was showing or sticking out. Funny, that was the way Sara had come to measure her own injuries, too.

Twenty minutes later, the dog’s wound was taken care of: clean and sterilized, mended and no longer bleeding. The dog was exhausted by the time Sara stood at the kitchen sink, running cold water over the bite-mark on her arm. It had not broken the skin, but the puncture holes were deep. Already a bruise blossomed and the skin swelled.

She didn’t blame the dog for biting her. It was only doing what was instinctive.

“Okay,” Sara told the dog, satisfied with her efforts. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll fix us something to eat. Rice and ground beef are supposed to be easy to digest. That sound good?”

She pulled out a pot then a skillet. Searched for utensils while unpacking the groceries. When she glanced back, the dog’s head was down, her eyes closed. Finally resting. She really was a pretty dog. Her fur was mostly black, almost a midnight blue with smudges of gray and white marbled together. There was white on her face and around her neck. Splashes of copper only appeared on her legs, but every paw was a little white boot.

Sara scooped up the collar from the floor. She’d taken it off when she was cleaning the blood from the dog’s coat. Now, she saw the engraved name: SHADOW.

12

Mississippi

Creed took his time under his Jeep’s liftgate. They’d be running out of daylight soon. Still, he restocked his daypack as he searched for the sheriff, looking all the way through the interior of the Jeep and out the windshield. He shouldn’t have been surprised when the man popped open the driver’s door of the black and white sheriff’s department SUV.

The dark tinted windows had made the men inside invisible, as if they were watching through a one-way mirror back at a police station. With the door open, Creed could see them filling travel mugs from a big-ass Thermos. It wasn’t until he was heading back that the sheriff climbed out to meet him.

Creed told Sheriff Daniels about the electric fencing, and the man raised his eyebrows in surprise. But there was something about his reaction that seemed off. His delayed wince looked manufactured. Whatever hope Creed had that maybe he could goad the sheriff into revealing what he knew, was quickly dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“Lots of that stuff around here. I can’t believe your dogs can’t sense it ahead of time.”

Creed felt his fists balling up at his sides. He wanted to level this guy. He didn’t like being played. And he certainly didn’t like it when his dogs could be in danger because of someone's indifference.

“If there’s electricity to the fencing, someone’s paying for it,” Creed stated the obvious, but the expression on the sheriff’s face revealed he had not thought of that.

“Is it on in any of the buildings?” Creed asked.

“The place has been abandoned for years. It’s not like we were going in and flipping light switches.” He laughed as if the idea were ridiculous, but his eyes traveled over to the buildings. “I’m surprised your dogs are spending so much time in the pasture and the woods. I thought they’d be back here by now.” He gestured toward the house, suggesting it was the most likely spot.

The dilapidated porch missed so many boards it’d take a hop and a skip to reach the front door. Crumbling concrete steps had been replaced with a couple of cinder blocks. Weeds grew tall, making the foundation invisible. At one corner of the porch, Creed could see a patch of dirt disturbed underneath that suggested some critter had made a home.

Creed wasn’t willing to share that neither dog seemed interested in heading here.

“Didn’t you tell us that you and your deputy checked all the buildings?”

“Deputy Perry took a look. But he didn’t poke around or move any of the trash inside.”

“I thought you said they were empty?”

“Empty of people.”

The man put his hands on his hips and didn’t bother to hide his frustration with Creed. A heavy sigh followed, along with an upturned corner of his mouth. A slight shake of his head said he couldn’t believe what he was having to deal with. But his eyes didn’t meet Creed’s, looking everywhere else.

“Any idea when the forensic team will get here?” Creed asked.

“Forensic team?” This time, he stared at him.

“CSU. Crime scene techs.” Creed didn’t have to spell it out. He was only interested in the sheriff’s reaction. And the man did not disappoint.

“We haven’t verified that there’s been a crime yet. I know your team’s not law enforcement, so you might not understand how things work around here. Maybe when Sheriff Norwich gets here, she can explain things a little better to you. I would hope that your dogs would find something before then.”

“I’ll let you know if we get an alert,” he told him, then Creed turned and headed back through the tall grasses and the thick woods. Without looking, he could feel the sheriff’s eyes on him now.

When he returned, Brodie, Jason and the dogs had eaten. Brodie handed him a sandwich, still wrapped in a wax paper, like Hannah always prepared it. He wasn’t hungry but knew he needed to eat. He smiled when he found a dill pickle spear carefully tucked into the folds of the wax paper, so it wouldn’t leak through to the bread. Just the texture of fresh baked bread, the tang of mustard, and a stack of thinly sliced ham—all put together with Hannah’s great care—brought him a sudden and overwhelming sense of comfort. The woman managed to calm him even when she wasn’t nearby.