Reckless Creed Read Free Page A

Creed’s attention. He couldn’t see any marks from a predator. It looked untouched. He heard the crunch of branches behind him and turned to see Grace. She was prancing and wagging, proud to be bringing him something. She offered it to him, and that was when Creed’s stomach dropped to his knees.
    It was another dead robin.
    â€œGive it to me, Grace.” He kept the emotion from his voice as he put his hand out. She released the robin, dropping it into his palm.
    â€œI thought your dogs weren’t supposed to put dead stuff in their mouths.”
    Sheriff Wylie had made his way over to the clearing and stood with strings of kudzu trailing from his pant legs while he swattedmosquitoes on his face. He looked like a comedic character from an old movie, slapping himself and leaving red welts from his own hand.
    â€œThey know the difference,” Creed told him, “between dead animals and dead humans. I don’t train them to track dead animal scent, so it’s not off limits. She saw I was interested in this one and brought me another.”
    Creed pulled out two plastic Ziploc bags from his daypack and gathered the robins, one in each bag. He stayed calm and kept his movements casual. He didn’t want to punish Grace for doing something that was second nature to her, but he also didn’t want her to see his concern.
    Truth was, he had a bad feeling about these dead birds, and he hated that Grace had taken one in hermouth.

TW O DAYS LAT ER
    MONDAY

4
    CHICAGO
    B y the time FBI agent Maggie O’Dell’s flight started its descent, a light dusting of snow covered the runway at O’Hare International Airport. She’d left Washington, D.C., in sunny skies. Sun or snow, it didn’t matter. O’Dell hated flying. But if she had to land in snow, thank goodness it was at an airport that was used to it. Where better than Chicago?
    As the plane taxied, O’Dell watched the ground crew, some in jackets and no headgear, caught off guard by the unexpected March snow as though it were winter’s last hurrah. She hadn’t just left sunny skies but warm weather as well. The East Coast had been enjoying springlike conditions for weeks now.
    Looking out the window, O’Dell suddenly felt a chill. She pulled up the zipper of her sweater, but she knew it had nothing to do with the weather. It was this assignment. Months ago it had already become a cold case. There had been no leads, no trails, no digital footprints.
Nothing.
    It was almost as if the subject, Dr. Clare Shaw, had vanished. As if she had been buried in the North Carolina mudslide that hadtaken out the research facility where she’d served as director. It was the last place the scientist had been seen. Yet they had good reason to believe that not only had Dr. Shaw evaded death, but, quite possibly, she had murdered several people in order to cover up her own escape.
    O’Dell had been tasked with finding Shaw. After five months it was beginning to feel like she was hunting a ghost.
    Until now.
    â€”
    Detective Lexington Jacks had arranged to meet O’Dell at baggage claim. O’Dell picked out the detective from across the terminal—the woman was the only one in the crowd without a handbag or suitcase. Plus she looked like a cop, dressed in a trench coat and trousers with her legs spread and arms at her side. Her eyes were inspecting everything and everyone and still they skimmed over O’Dell, dismissing her.
    Then Jacks backtracked and found her. She made eye contact but waited to be sure. When O’Dell nodded, Jacks started making her way through the crowd.
    The detective was tall with a confident gait. Her hair was pulled back, emphasizing smooth brown skin flawed only by a faint white scar on her upper left cheek. Up close, O’Dell could see that the woman was older than her, most likely well into her forties. Crow’s-feet danced at the corners of her eyes.
    â€œDetective