He crept in the shadows, trying to listen beyond the barks. Night birds he didn’t recognize seemed to fill the air, possibly stirred up by the dogs’ barking. He was almost to the corner of the building where the pen began when he heard a man call out for him.
“You just as well come out, Mr. Creed.”
The deep voice had a heavy Spanish accent. That surprised Creed. He expected the Iceman to blend in better. The dogs had quieted, and Creed had to step slower and softer without their barking to cover his approach. His fingers started to pull the pistol out of his waistband when he heard a dog cry out in pain.
He recognized that cry. It was Grace.
68
The man had Grace tucked under his left arm. In his right hand was the end of a short rope. The other end was tied around Grace’s neck. A slipknot allowed the man to pull it as tight as he wanted.
“Put her down,” Creed said, as he came out from around the corner of the building, holding his hands up in front of him. Anger and panic made it difficult to keep calm when he wanted to race straight ahead and rescue her.
“This is the little bitch that started this whole mess. Is that not correct?”
The man grinned at him with white teeth made brighter by the dark stubble on his jaw. He looked about Creed’s age — middle to late twenties, brown skin, and greased black hair. He wasn’t dressed like his hit squad. Instead, he wore blue jeans and a designer T-shirt that he had never intended to soil on this night.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Creed said, while he tried to make eye contact with Grace.
He wanted to tell her it would be okay, even if he knew it might definitely not be okay. The man kept the rope tight around her small neck, so tight she didn’t move in his grip.
“The fishing boat. This little bitty thing. Who would have guessed she would be the start of so much trouble. Such a mess, and no one to clean it up except me.”
“Put her down and I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. It’s really me you came for. Not her.”
“Oh, the Iceman will still have you to himself.”
“You’re not the Iceman?”
This made the man laugh.
“My name is Leandro Ramos. If you were not so stupid, you would know that. I run Choque Azul in these parts. You took something of mine. It is only fair I take something of yours.”
“I didn’t take anything off that boat.”
He laughed again. “Not off the boat. At the airport.”
“You mean Amanda? If you wanted her back so badly, why’d you run her off the road?”
He shook his head, the grin still in place. “I was done with her anyway. And by running away, she got you to bring her here and led us right to you.”
“So then you must mean the cocaine?” Creed told him. “I can get it for you. Just put the dog down.”
“Yes, of course, you will get me my cocaine.”
Creed started to breathe a sigh of relief just as the man named Leandro dropped his arm out from under Grace. She jerked, then dangled at the end of the rope. Leandro now held up the other end, letting the slipknot bite into her neck.
Creed’s hand went for the pistol at his back. Before he could yank it free, Leandro’s left knee exploded, sending him to the ground. Without even looking to see where the shot had come from, Creed rushed to scoop up Grace. He didn’t even notice that while Leandro was screaming in pain, he was reaching for his own pistol.
This time Creed saw a flash of fur, then he heard a snarl. Somehow Chance had gotten out. He grabbed Leandro’s arm and made the man scream.
“Don’t let go, Chance.”
He heard a growl, then the big dog shook his head. Leandro screamed even louder.
That’s when Creed felt a lick on his hand. Grace looked up at him and he massaged her neck. Had it really been only a second or two that she had dangled at the end of the rope? It had felt like minutes.
“You okay?” he asked her. And she started to wag.
“How about you?” someone asked from behind Creed.
He turned to see Jason and another man coming out from the woods. Both were dressed in fatigues. Jason had a rifle with a scope swung over his shoulder.
“Go check on him, Tony.”
The other man was already going to take care of Leandro, but stopped when Chance growled and shook again, and Leandro screamed.
Over his shoulder Tony said, “He screams like a girl.”
“I know you said you didn’t want any help, but we just happened to be in the neighborhood,” Jason said with a grin that Creed had never seen on the kid.
Creed hugged Grace closer. He pointed at the rifle. “Was that you?”
“Oh yeah, I guess I might have forgotten to mention. The army trained me as a sniper. Amazing what you can still do with only one hand.”
Sunday
69
O’Dell greeted agent McCoy as he came up the Bagleys’ front porch steps. Behind her the forensic team was finishing up. She could see the other FBI agents waiting for her by the outbuilding where the children had been kept.
“Is this your first time here?” she asked McCoy.
“First time in Alabama.”
“Really? But this was such an important case.” She held the screen door open for him.
He maneuvered around her into the entry, and she noticed his eyes darting around the place.
“It’s called delegating, Agent O’Dell. You should try it sometime.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, obviously impatient with her. “So what’s so important that you brought me all the way out here and on a Sunday, no less?”
“I appreciate you taking the time.”
“Yeah, well, be sure not to waste my time. I wouldn’t be here if your boss wasn’t busting my boss’s chops. Now that we have George Ramos’s son in custody, my people are anxious to close this sorry-ass case.”
“It’s just too bad they haven’t found the Iceman.”
He shrugged. “According to Leandro Ramos, the Iceman’s apprentice was supposed to be at the scene last night, too. And we haven’t found him yet either.”
“Maybe he’s a ghost, just like his boss.”
She thought she saw a spark in McCoy’s blue eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was more impatience or perhaps a flicker of respect that both the Iceman and his apprentice had beaten them all once again.
“So what’s so important?”
“It’s upstairs in the master bedroom.” She pointed to the open staircase, then she led the way up, stopping for one of the forensic team who was coming down.
“They should be finished,” McCoy said as they passed another tech in the hallway.
“Pretty much.”
The door to the master bedroom was open. She stepped in and waited for him. She watched him glance at the altar, then scan the rest of the room as if he were looking for what it was she thought was so important.
“Something’s been bugging me about the altar the Bagleys set up for Santa Muerte.”
“I hate to tell you this, O’Dell, but I’ve already seen this altar in the case photos that were taken. And believe me, they had all kinds of angles and close-ups, so please don’t tell me you brought me all the way out here to find what’s bugging you about this.”
“Have you looked at very many other altars to Santa Muerte?”
He let out a long sigh of frustration and said, “No, I can’t say that I have.”