Page 33 of Desperate Creed

“But he’d have to know Gates’ passcode.”

“You said Gates was video-chatting when he met up with the guys. They wouldn’t need the passcode. And a lot of people don’t like to bother with passcodes. We live in an instant access society. Everybody wants to stay connected. They activate the Remember This Device. Social media accounts—Facebook, Twitter, Instagram—who signs out? Even their Amazon accounts and their email. A lot of people leave them open so they can quickly access them. Who has time to key in your password every time? The apps and accounts don’t remind you to logout. They want you to stay connected. Did you ever notice they’ve even made it harder to find the logout?”

“So anyone who steals the phone also has instant access.”

“Yup. And think about all the things we use our phones to do. Refill prescriptions. All you gotta do is scan the barcode. Same with checks. The bank lets you scan it and you see the amount in your account. If a person leaves that app open and doesn’t logout, anyone who picks up the phone has instant access to all those accounts. Not only to their email and their texts, but their friends and family. In fact, the killers might be emailing or texting acquaintances before they discover Gates is dead. Especially if they’re still looking for something—like who Gates might have shared information with from those hacked emails.”

“That seems rude.”

Alonzo gave her a look. “Yeah, we’ve never seen that before—a rude killer. Hey, I don’t suppose you could get me a copy of the emails they hacked?”

“Not yet,” she told him. “Russo said Tyler was sending her copies. I’m hoping to talk with her tomorrow. If she has anything, I’ll see if I can get them forwarded to you.”

“It’d be better if you can get me her email address and password.”

Maggie was still waiting to hear from Hannah to see if Francine Russo had agreed to meet her. Or if the woman would even be able to. Two young men were dead in a matter of an hour. It had to be an orchestrated hit. Whatever Tyler Gates and Deacon Kaye stumbled upon was enough to get them killed. And if Alonzo was right, the killers already had plenty of information about Russo. Most likely, the woman wasn’t just being paranoid that they would come for her next.

24

Southern Alabama

Creed’s fingers fumbled around inside his daypack. He couldn’t see through the pine boughs. When he finally pulled out Grace’s pink elephant she didn’t seem interested. Instead, the little dog kept prancing back and forth in front of the spot where she’d given her alert. She was more anxious for Creed to see what she’d found.

He looked over his shoulder. Norwich and Sykes had stopped about ten paces back. Creed guessed the wrecked vehicle was at least 300 feet away. Dread made him hesitate. He’d seen bodies in different stages of decomposition. Death was not kind. The smells that accompanied the dead rarely bothered him. In Afghanistan he’d witnessed corpses burned beyond recognition and ripped apart by IEDs. But he’d never seen anything like the body in the smashed wreckage. And that one had tons of steel surrounding and protecting it. He couldn’t imagine what happened to a person flung 300 feet into the air and slammed back down.

“Did she find the driver?” Trooper Sykes called out.

“I’m not sure,” Creed answered.

Grace kept her eyes on him even as she continued to pace. Every once in a while she would swing her head toward the downed pine trees as if she couldn’t believe how slow he was.

“Good girl, Grace,” he praised her, slipping the toy into the daypack.

She poked her nose through an opening between branches, clearly growing impatient with him. Creed dropped to his knees, craning his neck to see beyond the pine needles. It was too dark. He peeled a flashlight out of his pack and pointed the beam between the branches where Grace had stuck her nose. When he still couldn’t see anything, he crawled closer. He parted the branches with his hands and then his elbows, thrusting his torso in between despite twigs whipping into his face and needles sticking his arms.

Finally, he saw what looked like the back of a car seat. It was muddy, lying on its side and plastered with pine needles. Then Creed realized it was too small to be a regular car seat ripped from a vehicle. He jerked away, throwing off his balance and falling backward out from the branches and onto his butt.

“What is it?” Sheriff Norwich was right behind him now.

Trooper Sykes offered Creed his hand. Grace batted him with her paw and started licking his face. He waved off Sykes and gave Grace a pat before he got back to his feet.

“I think it’s a car seat,” he told them.

Sykes took off his hat and scratched his head as he looked out toward the vehicle.

“Not the vehicle’s seat,” Creed said. “A baby’s car seat.”

“Oh my God,” Norwich said under her breath.

Creed had done searches for lost children before, and always when one was found dead there was an eerie silence that overcomes even the most seasoned law enforcement officers. The three of them stood motionless. But then Creed noticed Grace. She was still prancing back and forth, impatient and bobbing her head toward her find.

To scent dogs, death was a game. There was no emotion attached to finding a corpse. Dogs could be influenced by their handler’s moods and attitudes. It was why Creed emphasized to his new handlers to never show discouragement. But grief was more difficult to hide.

As if she was fed up waiting for her human counterparts, Grace poked her entire head between the branches. Creed wiped dirt from his hands and picked up the flashlight where he’d dropped it. When he looked again, he saw Grace disappear under the fallen tree.

“Grace, come back here.” To Norwich and Sykes, he said, “She usually takes her toy. I’m not sure—”

A muffled sound interrupted him, followed by a whimper.