Breaking Creed (25 page)

“I just found out about the fishing boat and the kids,” Maggie said. “I wasn’t even sure about the cartel connection. My politically inclined boss was stonewalling me. All I was doing was looking for the original crime scene so I could figure out what happened. Turns out I pissed off a bunch of people.”

“Welcome to the club.”

That made her smile. He sat back in his chair until he was even with her. Crossed his arms and leaned his head against the wall.

“I didn’t want anyone else involved,” he told her. “That’s why I didn’t tell you about the girl.”

“And it appears I’m already involved.”

She went ahead and explained what she knew about the Bagleys kidnapping and trafficking children for Choque Azul. Now that she had the case file, she knew much more. One of the three girls Creed and the Coast Guard had rescued on the fishing boat had already identified Regina Bagley from a photo lineup. It happened during their debriefing a week ago. So Agent McCoy knew that the Bagleys had kidnapped at least one of the children, but O’Dell said
she had asked McCoy why he didn’t question them or even arrest them—and she wasn’t thrilled with his answer. Something about building a stronger case.

She said the stories the children told during their debriefing were all different. One was taken from a mall. Another from a truck stop. She stopped when she saw Creed wince.

“Were they using them like Amanda? As drug mules?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know if anyone knows. Less than forty-eight hours after the captain of the
Blue Mist
was released from custody, he went missing. They pulled him out of the Potomac.”

“Spider bites. I know.”

“How could you know that?”

“Let’s just say someone heard about it and told me.” He ignored her second sigh. “So what are you doing back here?”

“For some dumb reason I took the case back.”

He turned to look at her and raised an eyebrow instead of coming right out and asking if she was crazy.

She smiled again and shook her head. “I know, it’s insane, right? But this asshole of a DEA agent pissed me off.”

And that made Creed smile.

“What did you do with the cocaine?” she asked in a low voice, though the couple on the other side of the room weren’t paying any attention to them.

“How the hell do you know there was any?”

“They said she was carrying.”

“They?”

“Agent McCoy. The DEA guy.”

“And how would he know?”

That stopped her, and Creed could see she was now wondering the same thing.

“He said something about security cameras in the airport terminal.”

Creed couldn’t believe that the DEA knew all along that he had been harboring a drug mule. Was that possible?

“The DEA already has an agent outside her ICU room, waiting for her to regain consciousness.”

He shot her a look of alarm before he could stop it. And Maggie noticed.

“You can’t keep protecting her. The information she’s able to share could put away some really bad cartel guys.”

“Or it could get her killed.”

“Or it could get you killed. I’m just trying to help.”

“And I’m just telling you that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you serious?” She jolted to the edge of her seat. “Do you think I’m wired or something?”

“No, I don’t. But I don’t want anyone else hurt. This is my fight.”

He stayed sitting back, head against the wall, eyes forward, even though he could feel her staring at him . . . hard.

Then suddenly she said, “Your fight? Let it go, Ryder. You can’t win this one.”

“Spiders and snakes”—he pursed his lips and shook his head—“they don’t bother me as long as they don’t hurt my dogs or anyone else I care about. But this . . .” And he jerked his chin in the direction of the ICU door. “They’re not getting away with this.”

“You’re kidding, right?” She glanced around them, then scooted closer until her knees were pushed against the side of his leg and she could make him look at her. “Let the DEA and the FBI handle these guys. You
cannot
win a fight against them.”

“That’s nice, but it’s not like I have a choice.” He finally met her eyes. “I know I’m on their hit list.” When she tried to look away, he gently took her chin with his fingertips and brought her eyes back to him. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Agent McCoy only mentioned a dog and handler when he told
us about the kids you found. Now that I know about Amanda . . . All the more reason for you to leave it for the DEA and FBI to handle.”

“Other than you, I don’t see anyone from either of those agencies running to my rescue.”

He dropped his fingers from her face but held her gaze until she looked away. She moved back to her original position. They sat quietly, side by side, for a while. Then suddenly Maggie got up.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

He watched her walk across the waiting room and head directly to the woman behind the window. The one who guarded the
RESTRICTED
door, who had told Creed she couldn’t let him see Hannah, nor could she even give him any information about her current condition because he was not family. The woman was black and she must have known that Hannah was black because while she told him he wasn’t family, she looked him up and down as if she were giving him a warning not to try to get that one by her.

Now he saw Maggie pulling out her wallet to show the woman something. No, it wasn’t her wallet—it was her badge. He couldn’t hear what she was saying. Maggie turned and pointed to him. The woman craned her neck, practically standing up to look out her protective window with the slot at the bottom. When she saw who Maggie was referring to, Creed saw her make a face. Maggie continued talking, and soon the woman was nodding, then she handed her something over the desk and through the open slot. He had no idea what it was.

Maggie walked back and gave him the item. He looked at the laminated badge, fingering the lanyard that was attached.

“You can see Hannah anytime you want. Just show that to whoever is at the reception window.”

He stared at her.

“The doctor overseeing her case will be in checking on her in the next hour. He’ll be sure to update you.”

“Always good to have the FBI on your side. Thank you.”

He didn’t want to ask for anything else, but there was one other thing he couldn’t do on his own.

“Would you mind checking in on Amanda? I don’t want her to think I deserted her.”

She made it easy on him. Didn’t even hesitate.

“Sure, I can do that. I’m staying on Pensacola Beach while we finish working on the Bagleys’ property. You have my cell phone number. Call me. I can give you an update on Amanda and you can let me know how Hannah is doing.”

He nodded.

“I know you’re too stubborn to ask, but despite falling into scorpion pits, I actually might be able to help. I’m pretty good with a badge . . . and even a gun.”

This time he smiled as he watched her leave. But he already knew he wasn’t going to let anyone else he cared about risk getting hurt.

60

PENSACOLA BEACH

C
REED
HATED
TO
LEAVE
H
ANNAH
. She looked so fragile with all those tubes and needles poking into her. Thanks to Maggie, he had been able to sit by her side and hold her hand. The doctor had told him her condition was stabilized, but they were keeping her in ICU overnight. No matter what the doctor had said, nothing could have made Creed feel better except maybe Hannah opening her eyes or squeezing his hand. Neither of which she was able to do.

He had promised Liz Bailey that he would meet her at Walter’s Canteen on Pensacola Beach.

“I heard about your business partner. How is she doing?”

“She’s a tough lady. Doctor said she’s stabilized.” He scooted his chair closer. The place was full and loud. He didn’t add that Hannah certainly didn’t look anywhere near stabilized.

“Maybe this is how they intended to hurt you.”

Liz Bailey said out loud what Creed already knew. He figured it
was definitely part of their plan, although he didn’t think for a second it was over. More than anything, he didn’t want anyone else involved or concerned, so he told Bailey, “Yeah, maybe this was their strategy.”

She filled him in on what she knew about the children they had rescued. All five had been returned home to their families. She said she had visited the little boy, whose name was Rudy, and he asked about Grace. Rudy’s parents had asked her to pass along their contact information.

“They want to meet you. To say thank you.”

“We were all just doing our jobs.”

She slid a piece of paper over the table.

“All I promised was that I’d make sure you got it. You can do with it what you want.”

Bailey’s phone started vibrating and she grabbed it. She took one look at the text message and frowned.

“I’m sorry. I gotta go. My night to be on-call and they’re calling.”

“It’s okay,” Creed said.

She started pulling out a twenty-dollar bill and he stopped her.

“But I invited you,” she said.

“Doesn’t matter,” he insisted. “Last time we were here, your dad picked up the tab. It’s my turn.”

She shook her head as she grabbed back the piece of paper she had slid across the table and wrote a second number down.

“If I can help, let me know. Or if you just want to talk.”

He couldn’t tell if she meant it flirtatiously or just as a colleague. She left as he tucked the paper into his wallet.

He finished his drink and zigzagged through the crowded bar. He was almost to the door when he noticed a commotion at the other end of the packed room. He recognized Jason in the middle of the mess, but he didn’t know the four men who had just started to shove Jason around.

61

I
N
ANOTHER
LIFETIME
—pre-Afghanistan—Jason would have enjoyed exchanging punches with these assholes. Most likely they were college boys on summer break with their perfect white teeth and all of their suntanned limbs still in place. Among the four of them there was enough bulk and brawn to cause some serious damage. So maybe he should have let it go when the one who looked like their leader for the night bumped into their table.

The guy was drunk. That was obvious. The place was crowded, wall to wall, standing room only. He probably didn’t mean to knock into them and topple their beer glasses, but Jason was drunk, too, and thought the guy owed them an apology.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” Jason told him.

The guy saw the spilled beer and smirked at him. “Tough break.”

Jason knew the type—the guy probably wasn’t used to anyone
telling him what to do. He wore cargo shorts and a crisp new tank top with
PENSACOLA BEACH
emblazoned across the front. Sunglasses hung from the shirt’s crew neck, and Jason could make out
GUCCI
on the side. He recognized the designer flip-flops, too. He didn’t know why it made him mad, but it did.

That’s when Jason stood up and shoved him.

Immediately he saw his mistake. The guy had three friends at the bar who saw what had happened and came pushing their way through to his defense. Jason had Colfax and Benny, who stared into their empty beer glasses. They looked completely miserable. He could see that they didn’t want to do this. They probably thought they couldn’t do this. And maybe that was another reason why Jason needed to do this. But tonight Tony wasn’t even here to give them a fighting chance.

“Come on, Mike, don’t bother with those losers.” One of his friends tried coaxing him away.

He didn’t listen to his friend.

“Don’t shove me, asshole.” And he gave Jason a shove.

“You owe us an apology.”

Instead of an apology, Mike pushed him again, this time harder, sending Jason slamming into one of his buddies. Before Jason could regain his balance, he was being shoved back the other way.

Mike was in Jason’s face, about to yell something when he winced suddenly and jerked backward. Ryder Creed had the guy by the back of the neck. He stood several inches taller than Mike and was able to pull him not only back but also up. The grip reminded Jason of the way Creed might hold a dog by the scruff of the neck.

“What the hell?”

“I thought I might join the fun,” Creed said. “Since it was a bit uneven. Four against three.” He let go of the guy and stood between them, glancing around and waiting.

“Nobody grabs me like that, man.”

“Nobody shoves my friends around. So why don’t we call it even and go home.” Creed shifted his weight, and Jason couldn’t believe he thought it was that easy. That it was all over.

Mike’s face had gone crimson, a combination of anger and humiliation. His friends were watching him, ready to move if and when he gave the word. Jason balled up his fist. He could still hit and kick, and he wanted to hit this guy more than ever.

Then Mike made his move. He reached his hand up to shove Creed the same way he had shoved Jason. Only his hand didn’t even make it to Creed’s chest. In less than a second his fingers disappeared in Creed’s palm. Suddenly the guy was on his knees, screaming in pain. Creed had his hand twisted and locked at an unnatural angle. It looked as though one more ounce of pressure and bones would snap.

His friends didn’t move. They stared at him and Creed as if they couldn’t believe what was happening. And all the noise seemed to get sucked out of the room, the vortex starting in the radius surrounding them.

Jason recognized a couple of the bartenders. They separated the crowd for the gray-haired man who was making his way into the inner circle as others backed away. Mike’s scream had been reduced to a whine, then almost a whimper. The old man looked at Creed, and that’s when Creed finally let go.

“That bastard almost broke my hand.”

He held it up for everyone to see. Jason didn’t think it was broken, but it was already starting to swell and turn blue.

Jason glanced over at Colfax and Benny, who looked even more miserable, if that was possible. He couldn’t help noticing that Ryder Creed didn’t look the least bit remorseful, and the old guy seemed to take note of that, too.