“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
Creed hated to leave Hannah. 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
In 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.