When O’Dell clicked off she scrolled down to the messages she had purposely ignored from her boss. Now she punched in the last one and listened to his voice message: “O’Dell, where the hell are you? I need you in my office first thing in the morning.”
She checked for the day and time stamp. Today at 10:00 AM. By the current time on her cell phone, she saw that she’d never be able to catch an evening flight back to D.C. It would take driving all night to get there by “first thing in the morning.”
She dialed his number, and when his secretary answered — the secretary whose main job seemed to be playing interference and denying access — she passed O’Dell through so quickly O’Dell thought it had to be a mistake. Turns out Assistant Director Kunze was that anxious to chew her out. She let him rant for several minutes. Past experience had taught her that he tended to reveal important information during his angry outbursts. This time was no different.
In those brief minutes she learned that she had encroached on a classified case that the DEA had been working on for months. She had to bite back the fact that she had pointedly asked him about this being a drug hit. Now she wondered what exactly Kunze knew and when he knew it.
“I want you back here in my office tomorrow to explain to the DEA what exactly you found.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to talk to them right here?”
“Excuse me?”
“From what I understand, they’ve taken over the Bagley property. The county sheriff and his forensic team that were working the scene have been denied access and told to leave the property. They even raided the county coroner’s office and took Mrs. Bagley’s body.”
Silence. So Kunze didn’t know everything.
“Another floater was pulled from the Potomac this morning.”
That surprised her. But it probably explained part of Kunze’s fury.
“A second package,” she said.
“Stan Wenhoff thinks the victim died from poisonous spider bites — like dozens of bites all over his body.”
O’Dell couldn’t stop a shiver from sliding down her back. She could still feel the scorpions on her skin and in her hair.
“Driver’s license?”
“Don’t know yet. Mouth’s duct-taped shut. Stan won’t remove it until he does the autopsy tomorrow. I want you to be there. How soon can you get here?”
At that moment Creed came back to the apartment, entering through the door from the kennels below. He had left to work with the dogs. He saw that she was on the phone and offered a wave and a nod.
His T-shirt was drenched in sweat and stuck to him like a second skin. His jeans were mud-stained and his hiking boots must have been, as well, because he had left them behind somewhere and came in with bare feet. He carried what must have been another of Hannah’s casseroles. The aroma reached O’Dell clear across the loft — something wonderful with garlic.
She watched him carefully place the glass dish on his stovetop, then instinctively lick one of his thumbs that accidentally grazed the masterpiece. She found herself smiling, then surprisingly caught herself thinking, I could get used to this place… to this man.
“Agent O’Dell, did you hear what I said?”
Kunze startled her back to attention.
“Stan will start as soon as you can get back. Agent McCoy will be in my office tomorrow afternoon at three. You need to be back here in the morning. Is that clear, Agent O’Dell?”
He was actually waiting for an answer, as if it made a difference. Maybe he expected her to argue. Instead, she simply said, “I’ll be there.” And she ended the call.
48
“I don’t want to put you out of your bed for a second night,” Maggie told him.
Creed didn’t make the suggestion that he wanted to make. The bed was, after all, big enough for the two of them. Grace could sleep in the middle and supervise. Though it wouldn’t matter. He knew he’d never be able to get any sleep in that bed as long as Maggie O’Dell was anywhere in it. So he did the gentlemanly thing and prepared the sofa with a blanket and pillow for himself.
He realized Maggie probably wondered why Hannah didn’t offer for her to sleep at the main house. It was huge. Even from the outside there was no hiding the fact that it housed at least three or four bedrooms. But he couldn’t risk her running into Amanda. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Maggie; he refused to get her involved. Also, she was an FBI agent and would probably want to do the right thing. Creed didn’t think they’d agree on what the “right thing” was right now.
They finished Hannah’s casserole and the salad Creed had made for them. Maggie insisted on doing the clean-up. Grace and Rufus offered their undivided help and attention, both of them following and then sitting within feet of Maggie.
She stopped to scratch behind their ears. “I miss my dogs.”
“They must be with somebody you trust.”
“Yes, they are.”
She met his eyes and then suddenly her eyes left his and darted around, as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t be doing. There was electricity between them. There was no denying that. Just now he could have heard the crackle if he’d listened hard enough. But he knew he shouldn’t. He knew he ought to let her go back to tooling around his kitchen without any more of an explanation. For some reason he couldn’t. Not after what they’d just been through. He needed to know.
“The guy who takes care of your dogs, does he also have your heart?”
When she turned back around to look at him, she looked surprised at first. Like she hadn’t really thought of it that way. Or was she just surprised that Creed would ask so blatantly?
Then something passed over her and he swore to God she looked sad. That was the only word that came quickly to mind. He hated like hell that his heart leaped and rejoiced in the seconds that followed.
“Ben and I are…” Her voice trailed off, as if she were trying to figure it out as she was telling him. “I’m not sure what we are. It’s complicated.”
Creed stood and took a step around the counter. It was more instinct than anything else. She took a step back and he stopped. But only for a few seconds. In the next steps he felt the jolts as much as a magnetic pull. He was kissing her before she had a chance to think, before she could retreat. There was nothing about her lips or hands on his chest or her hips pressed against him that told him this guy Ben had a hold of her heart. But when she pulled away, her eyes said otherwise. There was want and need, but also a hint of guilt.
“I can’t” was all she said, almost a whisper. Then a bit stronger, she added, “Maybe I shouldn’t stay here tonight.”
He brushed her hair from her face. He let his hand caress her cheek, and he heard her breath catch.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “I’m a big boy. Takes a lot more to hurt my feelings.”
Just when she looked like she might change her mind, and Creed knew he’d never be able to pull away a second time, he pointed at Grace and Rufus, who had been staring at them the whole time.
“Besides,” he said, “Grace would never forgive me if you left early.” And he made his way to his sofa, thinking it was going to be a hell of a long night.
Friday
49
“I really don’t want to talk about this right now, Hannah.”
Creed didn’t want to talk, period. He had taken O’Dell to the airport early in the morning. He didn’t like the way it felt watching her leave — actually, he didn’t like that he felt something, and he was trying as hard as hell not to think about it.