Creed had never dealt with drug mules before, but he knew enough to realize that if a balloon with cocaine had burst inside her stomach, she’d already be dead. But there was nothing to stop it from still happening. A few times he had to look hard to make sure she hadn’t died on him. He kept thinking she had fallen asleep because she was so quiet, but each time he glanced over, he noticed that her eyes stayed open. Her head pressed against the seat’s headrest. She stared out the window, almost as if she were expecting to recognize some of the scenery.
She didn’t ask any more questions and neither did Creed. He didn’t want to hear anything else, not right now. There would be plenty of time to decipher her lies. Hannah would help him figure out what to do with her. She’d be madder than hell with him, but she’d still help.
It was about a four-hour drive from the Atlanta airport to his home in the panhandle of Florida. Usually he took Interstate 65, but outside Montgomery, Alabama, he exited and traveled a two-lane until he was convinced that no one had followed him.
Every time he glanced in the rearview mirror to check on Grace, she was staring at him from her perch. The backseat of the SUV lay flat with Grace’s bed in the middle and their equipment squeezed into the far corner. She had her pink elephant beside her but she caught his eyes in the mirror every time he looked at her. Then she’d turn her head and glance in Amanda’s direction.
Under other circumstances he’d probably laugh at her persistence. She didn’t understand why he’d brought the “fish” with them. He’d never brought it inside the car before. In all of her training and in all of her past experiences, he would ask her to “go find fish.” People in a crowded airport looked at Creed funny when he used the word “fish,” but if he used the word “drugs” for the cue, they might scatter and run.
Grace was one of his multitask dogs, which meant she could search for bodies dead or alive as well as particular things, like drugs. But she needed different cues to know what she should search for. Creed put different harnesses or vests on her for certain tasks, but he also used different words for what she was supposed to search out.
So Grace was confused. Today she had completed her task successfully. She had searched out and found what he had asked for. For which she’d been rewarded with her pink elephant. But unlike ever before, her master had brought the “fish” with them, and poor Grace had no idea what she was supposed to do with it. She was looking to him to help her figure it out.
“It’s okay,” he told the dog. “Just lie down, Grace. All done.”
She laid her head down on her front paws but her eyes stayed on Creed. He’d feel them there for the entire trip back home.
20
O’Dell could see Benjamin Platt waiting for her in the far corner booth of Old Ebbitt Grill. He was looking at a menu and hadn’t seen her yet. A half-empty pilsner reminded her how late she was. Still, she took an extra few seconds to stand back and take a good look at him.
Despite the restaurant’s dim light, she knew she would automatically peg him for a military officer — ramrod-straight back, clean-shaven, handsome face, short-cut hair, and the long, steady fingers of a surgeon. The serious set of his jaw remained, whether examining test tubes of level 4 viruses or simply making a decision between cheddar or American cheese for his burger. Sometimes she wished he wasn’t always so serious. He had a wickedly dry sense of humor and a kind and gentle manner, but his position demanded a tougher façade. O’Dell was one of the few people who saw the other side of Benjamin Platt. His serious manner was, of course, an understandable occupational hazard of his chosen profession.
As an infectious-disease officer (actually, director of USAMRIID, pronounced U-Sam-rid — United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases), his choices had to be careful and measured. The habit seeped into his personal life. Even his choice of seating was a well-thought-out process, taking the side of the booth that put his back to the corner wall so he’d be able to see everyone approach or pass by the table.
Maybe it didn’t bother her because her own career had ingrained similar habits in her that she had allowed to invade her personal life. Only recently had she realized how much of a personal life she did not have. When you chased killers for a living, you tended not to trust anyone except yourself. It was easier to keep people out.
She’d learned to compartmentalize the horrible crime scenes she’d witnessed over the years, and along with those images she’d stashed into separate compartments, she added the emotions of anger and fear. She’d gotten so good at it that she didn’t even realize she did the same thing with her personal life, bordering off her feelings and keeping people at arm’s length.
Then one day she realized she no longer even had much of a personal life. Why had she been surprised? You couldn’t shut people out just because you didn’t want to risk feeling too deeply or possibly getting hurt. Especially when she worked so hard to put up all those barricades in the first place.
In her experience, the hurt always came. It was just a matter of time. And that was the one thing she and Ben shared. They were so much alike that it was easy to be together. Like they had an unstated understanding of what to expect from each other. But perhaps that wasn’t enough to build a relationship on.
He saw her. Smiled. Like an officer and a gentleman, he stood up from the booth to greet her.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as he leaned over and kissed her cheek. He smelled good, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. And only now did she realize that his hair was still damp, his face smooth from a second shave of the day. His khakis looked freshly pressed and his polo shirt was neatly tucked in. Had he primped just for her? Like a date? She searched his eyes for an answer, but he was already looking for the waiter.
“You’re always worth the wait,” he said with a glance as he continued to politely wait for her to sit down before he slid back into his place. He waved at a waiter, finally getting one’s attention. He pointed at his own pilsner and held up two fingers.
Maggie smiled and wondered when they had become so predictable with each other. Maybe it was simply that they had become comfortable with each other. Nothing wrong with that. Theirs had been a crazy dance. They had become friends — very good friends — then almost lovers. “Almost” because of Ben’s deliberate and measured choices, as though taking that next step was something that needed to be analyzed and calculated.
Recently he had made the mistake of confessing that he wanted children. O’Dell shouldn’t have been surprised, knowing he had lost his only daughter at the age of five. But when he announced it as though it were a requirement before they proceeded — that request, that admission, had been like a cold shower, putting the skids on whatever physical attraction had been there. So they had decided that they would be friends only. And just when they decided that was best, things started to heat up again. They were in the middle of heating up again over the last month or so, and neither of them seemed to want to admit it and rewrite the rules all over again. So they resorted to flirting, exchanging long, meaningful glances like a couple of goofy teenagers. Yes, a crazy dance.
They ordered burgers, fried calamari, and house salads off the late-night menu. Ben asked for blue cheese on his burger, raising O’Dell’s eyebrow and making him grin, as if to say, “See, I’m not so predictable after all.” So he had known exactly what she had been thinking.
As soon as the waiter left, Ben asked, “How’s Gwen doing?”
Gwen Patterson was O’Dell’s closest friend. No, she was more than that. Fifteen years O’Dell’s senior, Gwen was also a mentor as much as confidante. Three months ago, she’d been diagnosed with stage II breast cancer. O’Dell knew that Gwen was still trying to wrap her mind around that fact. As she told Ben about Gwen’s latest consult for yet another opinion, O’Dell couldn’t hide how worried she was that putting off the inevitable surgery would only make matters worse. All she could do was continue to nag Gwen, but her friend was already avoiding seeing or talking to her because of it.