Stranded

on the West Coast,” Hannah continued.
    “It’s an extension of this case,” he told her. “I can do it.”
    “Rye, seriously? You’re going to be on the road all day tomorrow.”
    “If I leave here by seven, I’ll be home late evening. I can meet them at the site on Saturday.”
    “What’s up with you? Something’s going on.”
    “This killer’s taking his victims from rest areas, Hannah. That farm up in Iowa—they think he’s had access to it for about ten years. If they’ve found another site, who knows how long he’s been using it.”
    She was quiet for so long Creed thought he might have lost the connection.
    “Rye, this has already been a long stretch for you.”
    Her voice was soft and gentle, that nurturing tone that set him on edge.
    “I told you I’d let you know when it was time to worry about me.”
    “That you did,” she admitted, and he could hear her let up. He supposed it was a bit like saying if a crazy man knows he’s crazy, then maybe he hasn’t quite fallen off the ledge … yet.
    “I know I might never find her, Hannah. But I can’t just stop looking.”
    More silence.
    “Okay, but I’m charging the FBI extra for this one,” she finally said.
    He smiled, but realized it was more out of relief than humor.

FRIDAY, MARCH 22

CHAPTER 52

    Maggie didn’t realize she was gritting her teeth.
    “No rain in the forecast until tomorrow,” Tully said, glancing at her grip on the armrest of her seat. “No thunderstorm turbulence.”
    Maggie didn’t let up.
    They had been greeted by roller-coaster turbulence at the beginning of the week when they flew into Omaha. No threat of turbulence was good. But it really didn’t matter. The plane was still climbing, that awful tilt, the pressure pressing her back against the seat cushion. She hated flying. Hated being thirty-eight thousand feet above control.
    But Tully? He was actually excited. Kunze had booked them in first class.
    “We get lunch on this flight.” Tully said it like a little boy awaiting a surprise. Maggie even noticed him leaning into the aisle, head tilting as he tried to catch a glimpse of what lunch might be. “First class is real plates, cloth napkins, real food.”
    She shot him a look. Like “real” mattered to him. Maggie had seen the man eat Pop-Tarts from a vending machine that were three months past their expiration date. Sometimes she wondered if food was all he thought about. The man could put away a pile and was amazingly indiscriminate about it. Good thing he waswith Gwen, a gourmet cook, who loved to cook as much as Tully loved to eat. Tall and lanky, his knees still didn’t seem to have enough room between his seat and the one in front of him—even in first class.
    “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked. “You didn’t have any breakfast.”
    “I can’t believe you didn’t wake me. Or that I slept, for that matter.”
    “You obviously needed it.”
    What she’d wanted to say all morning was that she couldn’t believe Creed had left without saying good-bye. He was gone before she got up. Tully said that Creed had knocked and glanced into her room before he left but saw her sleeping and knew how much of a commodity sleep was for her.
    “He was anxious to pick up Grace and get her home,” Tully had explained. “Besides, we’ll see him tomorrow. Alonzo hired him to bring another dog and help track at the new dump site.”
    The new “dump site.” All they knew about the site was that it existed somewhere east of Milton, Florida, off Interstate 10 in a heavily wooded area close to some rivers and creeks. That’s all Otis would divulge. He took his job as guide seriously, as well as his ability to manipulate and milk the situation for all it was worth.
    Kunze and Alonzo were convinced that Jack had another hiding place close to this new dump site, just like the Iowa farm, complete with privacy and a vacant dwelling. Someplace for him to stay while he took his time with the victims’ bodies. Jack had led them to Iowa. He wanted to share his handiwork. Since the federal government had started building the wildlife preserve, they would have started finding the bodies anyway and Jack would never get credit.
    But Kunze hoped to catch the killer off guard by invading thissite without his invitation. Jack had no reason to believe Otis P. Dodd would suddenly share his stories after a year had gone by. Kunze believed that Jack had probably forgotten about the odd, soft-spoken giant who