Hidden Creed Read online

  They couldn’t have gone far. He skidded to a stop and twisted around. In his hurry, had he taken a wrong turn?

  More rustling.

  “Oh no!”

  It was Brodie.

  He had gone too far. He backtracked to her voice.

  “Are you okay?” he yelled. “Is Grace okay?”

  He came around a thick stand of trees and finally saw them. Brodie had fallen, her hands and knees coated with mud. Grace stood beside her, agitated and whining. She looked from Brodie to Creed and back. Her eyes darted in sync with her front paws dancing in place.

  But as Creed came closer, his stomach did a nosedive. It wasn’t mud. Brodie was covered in blood.

  Chapter 3

  “It’s not mine,” Brodie told him, sitting back on her knees but holding up the palms of her hands to show him.

  Creed hurried over, giving in to his panic. He was so concerned about Brodie, his eyes searching for injury, that it took him a minute to see what had caused her fall.

  The body was buried in a shallow grave. Really only half buried, face down, arms flung up around the head. Matted hair was caked with blood where flies had already settled and had begun their work. Blood pooled on top of the leaves and dirt. The thick humidity kept it sticky enough to cling to Brodie.

  “Are you okay?” he asked reaching out his hand to help her up.

  When her eyes met his, he held them looking for shock and horror and was surprised to see neither.

  “I guess this is what Grace was trying to show us,” she said. “Not the Mason jar.”

  She ignored his extended hand, standing up without effort. She was careful where she stepped. Creed couldn’t tell if she was being reverent to the dead, or she simply didn’t want to slide in the mess again.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked a second time.

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” Brodie nodded.

  She stared down at the body while holding her hands up in front of her as if she had just washed them and was trying not to drip before reaching for a paper towel.

  “Who do you think he is?” she asked.

  Creed thought it was an interesting question. Brodie wondered who the victim was while his mind sorted through the process of the killer. How did he manage to drag a body all the way into the forest then only half bury him? Actually, there was an awful lot of blood. Did the murder happen right here?

  His eyes started scanning the landscape around them. Was it possible the killer was watching?

  The flies told him this didn’t just happen. But the sticky mess that covered Brodie’s hands and knees meant it had been recent.

  “We need to be careful,” he told her. “So we don’t disturb any evidence.”

  “Okay.”

  He caught her glancing at her hands, and this time, she winced. From his daypack he pulled out one of his extra T-shirts. During the summer he usually rolled up and stuffed several inside to change when the humidity left him soaked in sweat.

  He offered her the shirt, but Brodie only stared at it.

  “Go ahead and use it to wipe off.”

  “But it’ll stain your T-shirt.”

  “I have dozens of them. Go ahead but don’t toss it. We’ll take it with us just in case.”

  As he was zipping up his pack, he noticed Grace wasn’t at his feet waiting for her reward toy. She’d found the body and alerted, yet she’d disappeared again.

  Before he called out, he saw her tail poking up out of the scrub grass about thirty feet away. He watched the tail wag, go straight then curl over her back.

  The realization hit him. Grace didn’t want her reward yet, because she wasn’t finished.

  “Brodie, did you hide the Mason jar at the base of a tree?”

  He looked back at his sister. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the dead body. But now she glanced up.

  “I wedged it inside the branches of a cedar tree.”

  Grace nosed through the grass just enough to find Creed and stare at him. Brodie twisted around and noticed the dog’s alert. Her head swiveled, taking in the clearing and the surrounding landscape. Creed did the same and was quick to realize there wasn’t a cedar tree in sight.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Just a few minutes ago it had vibrated with a text message, but now there were no bars. It wasn’t unusual in the middle of the forest for cell reception to come and go.

  To Brodie he said, “Do you think you can find your way back to the house from here?”

  “Of course, I can. I’m not lost. I just took a wrong turn. I haven’t been on this side of the ravine before.”

  He held back a smile at her long explanation. A slight relief swept over him. Brodie sounded like her ordinary self, again, even a bit indignant that he’d ask the question.

  “I’ll try to text Hannah,” he said and checked his wristwatch. They had walked for almost a half hour. “I’ll have her call the sheriff. Probably the medical examiner, too. They’ll need you to guide them back here. Can you do that?”

  “Sure. You’re not coming?”

  Creed looked for Grace. She’d already moved to another area. He slipped his hand into his daypack and his fingers searched for the surveyor flags he always carried with him.

  He nodded at Grace as he said to Brodie, “She’s still working.”

  He waited for his sister’s eyes then waited to see the acknowledgment that she understood. This time he saw a hint of alarm.

  As Brodie disappeared into the trees Creed texted Hannah.

  WE FOUND A BODY IN THE FOREST.

  He started examining the spot in the scrub grass where Grace had alerted. It was about three feet away from the base of a huge, old oak. He was careful not to disturb the layers of leaves and pine needles under his boots.

  His cell phone pinged with Hannah’s response.

  LORD HAVE MERCY. ARE YOU SERIOUS?

  YES. CALL WHOEVER WE NEED TO CALL. BRODIE’S HEADING BACK TO LEAD THEM HERE.

  OK!

  HANNAH. GRACE ISN’T FINISHED. THERE MIGHT BE MORE.

  OH MY DEAR LORD!

  He pocketed his phone and focused on the terrain under his feet. With the side of his boot, he swept the bed of leaves bringing them to life as tiny tree frogs jumped out of the way. Underneath, a tangle of tree roots snaked out of the ground, resembling gnarled fingers. Tall patches of scrub grass grew in between. He couldn’t see what had drawn the dog’s attention, but that wasn’t unusual. In the past Grace had alerted to bodies buried as deep as seven feet down.

  He bent to place one of the fluorescent flags in the ground when he noticed a crevice. Where two roots formed a V the dirt had caved in and left a deep hollow. Creed poked the flag in the dirt about six inches away then tugged a flashlight out of his pack.

  This time he squatted closer and shot a stream of light into the fissure. The sight startled him, jolting him back on his heels. He took a deep breath and repositioned himself. Before he could take a second look, Grace appeared at his side.

  She nudged his forearm with her nose. Whatever was down below no longer interested her. Instead, she was poking the air with her nose, glancing up into the treetops and shifting from one front paw to other. She had more to show him.

  “Just a minute,” he told her. “I need to take a look at what you found here first.”

  Carefully, he brushed some of the leaves out from between the web of tree roots. As he plucked and swept, debris crumbled and fell, leaving a wider gap to the hole below. It also gave him a much better look at the smooth gray-white orb half-buried about a foot down.

  This time there was no mistake. He was looking at the top of a human skull.

  Chapter 4

  Blackwater River State Forest

  If it hadn’t been for the voices he would have walked right into the path of these intruders.

  At first, he wasn’t sure they were real. He hadn’t slept much last night. Whenever he closed his eyes all he saw was that black body bag moving again and again. His night
fevers created something different crawling out each time. Sometimes the contents slithered out. Sometimes it burst through the bag.

  After hours of tossing and turning in sweat-drenched sheets he started second-guessing himself. Had it really even happened? Or had the drugs infected his mind so deeply he could no longer tell what was real and what was simply a figment of his imagination?

  When he couldn’t find his favorite ball cap, other memories started flooding back. He could remember how his heart felt like it would pound its way out of his chest. The humid air suffocated him. By the time he stumbled back to the boat he could barely breathe. He remembered being halfway down the creek when he raked his fingers through his hair and realized the cap was gone.

  Damn! He loved that cap. Tampa Bay Buccaneers. His favorite team.

  As soon as he finished his morning route he drove back out and headed up the river. He needed to make sure last night actually happened. If nothing else, he’d retrieve his ball cap.

  The forest was over 200,000 acres. He’d chosen this area because of its isolation. It was on the northwest edge of what was officially Blackwater River State Forest, bordering private property that was just as undeveloped. All of it was so thick and wild he never saw anyone. Even the forest creatures treated him as if he were a novelty.

  And yet, someone was here!

  Not just in the forest, but right at the clearing. His clearing! His sacred grounds. How was it possible that they had stumbled across this secluded area?

  He had learned long ago how to be invisible, a difficult and cruel lesson for any child. Make yourself small so the other kids won’t notice how different you are. Stay quiet and don’t argue, so grown-ups won’t point out how stupid you are. Nod. Sit back. Instructions from a mother who thought she was protecting him.

  Now, being invisible was a part of his daily life. He didn’t mind that most people rarely saw him even when he was in the same room with them. Being invisible was his superpower.

  In a matter of seconds he backtracked then weaved around the intruders. Through the sliver of trees he could see at least two figures: a man and a woman. Was it possible they had gotten lost?

  Without alerting them he managed to come back at them from the other direction. It wasn’t until he was sitting ten feet up, hidden in the canopy of a tree that he noticed something else.

  A dog!

  It was small and hardly threatening. But dogs could smell things. Could it smell him?

  His past experience with dogs had left him with a scar over his eyebrow. Dogs never treated him like he was invisible.

  This one was definitely onto him, sniffing everywhere—the air, the ground, and the grass.

  He tried to listen in to the conversation, but the forest was too loud. Insects were buzzing and hissing. A woodpecker drilled. While the canopy of leaves created a safe barrier for him, it made it almost impossible for him to hear everything they were saying. He plucked only a few words out of the air.

  “find your way...sheriff...guide back...”

  The realization rushed over him in a wave that sent a chill down his sweat-drenched back. He craned his neck to see her leave. Here, this close to the river, the swamp hardwoods were large and so tightly packed that their branches overlapped. He shimmied and glided from one treetop to another then another with only a swish and a whir.

  By the time he dropped to the ground he was far enough away from the clearing that he knew the man and dog couldn’t see him. With only a glance, he saw the red kerchief weaving its way through the thick woods.

  The woman was about fifty feet ahead of him.

  If she never left the forest, she’d never be able to bring back the sheriff. That seemed like an easy task.

  He’d make her disappear...just like all the others.

  Chapter 5

  Brodie wiped her hands on Ryder’s T-shirt. She kept it balled up in one fist then the other, sometimes stretching it between both hands. Sixteen years of being held captive had taught her how to hide her hunger, how to see in the dark, and how to sleep through pain. She had also learned how to hide her emotions and feelings. She had told Ryder that she was okay. But honestly...she wasn’t okay.

  Having a dead man’s blood on her hands reminded her of the man she had killed. Aaron Malone wasn’t much older than Brodie, and she had taken his life. That was eight months ago, and yet, sometimes it felt like it was just last week.

  It didn’t take much to relive it. She could conjure up the image easily. How much pressure it took to stab the scissors into his neck. How the blood spurted out. It hit her in the face as she hung on, even when he tried to buck her off of his back.

  Seeing that man half buried with the back of his head bashed in...no, she wasn’t okay.

  She thought she was safe in the forest. It was the one place she could walk for hours and investigate and enjoy. Ryder had insisted she take one of the dogs. He had a whole kennel full of different sizes. And a couple of them had enthusiastically taken on the task of protecting her. But Brodie worried about the dogs running into snakes or bears or bobcats. All those things that Ryder had warned her about. Brodie was willing to take the risks, but she didn’t want the dogs to run into wild animals. Still, wild animals were one thing.

  Killers? She hadn’t expected that.

  This changed everything.

  She shook her head and increased her pace.

  That’s when she heard a twig snap. It was close and off to her right. Brodie froze. She let her eyes slowly scan around her.

  One of Iris Malone’s punishments was to leave Brodie in the dark. Sometimes she left her for days at a time. Brodie quickly learned that her other senses came to life when she couldn’t see. Suddenly, she could hear rats skittering between the walls. Mildew that she didn’t notice before stung her nostrils. She tasted even the slightest bitterness of the drugs added to her food rations. She could feel the electricity of an approaching thunderstorm long before the clouds rolled in. She could sense things that others didn’t notice.

  And she was certain now that someone was following her.

  She started walking again, pretending she suspected nothing. She continued to swing the T-shirt with her left hand as her right hand sneaked up to her utility belt. Carefully, she slid the bear spray into her palm. Without looking, she closed her fingers around the canister and flipped the safety tab to the side.

  She left the path and purposely slithered between the tall, longleaf pine trees. Here, the trunks grew so close even Brodie had to weave her thin body between them. The brush grew wild and scraped noisily against her pant legs. It would slow her down, but it was also a shortcut. Most importantly, Brodie counted on the person not following directly behind her. She expected him to continue to track to her right.

  Directly to her right, Brodie remembered a wide swatch of elbow-deep shrubs that she knew to avoid. The plant was deceptively attractive with reddish stems and glossy dark, green leaves. This time of year there were even pale, yellow clusters of flowers. The shrubs grew between the pine trees so dense that if you accidentally walked into the middle of them, it was impossible to not get the oil from the leaves on your clothes. And it was worse, if the oil got on your skin. More people were allergic to poison sumac than both poison ivy and poison oak.

  She heard the swish and crackle behind her, and yes, to the right. She picked up her pace, her feet skipping over fallen branches hidden in the thicket. The subtle scuffs and shuffles turned into thrashing. The person was no longer hiding, and he was coming fast.

  Brodie didn’t slow down to look. She ran.

  She leaped over obstacles. Zigzagged between trees. In places, her shoulders scraped against bark. Twigs grabbed and whipped her in the face. Vines snagged her feet. She pushed up the incline ignoring the stitch in her side.

  Now, the footsteps pounded behind her. No longer was the person bothering to sneak. Snaps and cracks grew louder and closer.

  At the top of the incline, Brodie reached for then grabb
ed the slender trunk of a young pine tree. She lifted her feet off the ground and let the momentum spin her, allowing her to take a sharp left. As soon as she dropped to the ground it was a race downhill.

  She leaned into the slide, keeping her balance and using the humidity-drenched leaves to increase her progress.

  Finally, through the tops of the trees she could see the roof of the fieldhouse. It was impossible to hear anything behind her. Her heart thumped against her ribcage. Her breathing came in rapid gasps.

  Feeling safe at the base of the tree line and back on Ryder’s property, Brodie slowed down. She still had the bear spray canister gripped in her left hand as she pivoted around.

  There was no one.

  She looked up at the top of the ridge where her skid marks began. All she saw was the blur of blue fabric before it turned and disappeared into the forest.

  Chapter 6

  Pensacola, Florida

  FBI agent Maggie O’Dell parked the rental car in front of Storage Unit B12. The place was quiet. Even the guard hut had been empty when she tapped in the code to lift the security gate. So she was surprised to see the woman leaning against a Lexus SUV parked just across the lane.

  Her short hair was flame red. Maggie guessed her age at somewhere in her forties. Dressed in a T-shirt, faded jeans and Birkenstocks, she was petite, but judging from her stance—crossed arms, one foot kicked back against the bumper—Maggie knew there was nothing diminutive about the woman’s self-assurance.

  She lifted her chin to Maggie as a greeting but didn’t move or even lift her designer sunglasses.

  “You the FBI agent?”

  “Yes,” Maggie said as she glanced around.

  She had expected Escambia County Sheriff Clayton to meet her. He was the one who had requested her presence. But Maggie hadn’t seen any signs of him or his vehicle as she drove up and down the lanes that gave access to the hundreds of storage units. Maybe he sent a staff member to open up the door.

  “Have you worked with Clayton before?” the woman asked.