Stranded

Guard crew had already taken the warden to the hospital. Two others stayed behind. They had an inflatable Sea Eagle SE 370 in the water ready to go, but then the clouds burst open. The downpour hadn’t let up yet. Lightning streaked the sky, long flashes and flickers accompanied by claps and crashes of thunder. They waited in their vehicles, parked single file behind the two Chevy Tahoes.
    An hour passed with the storm only growing stronger. There were no signs of it letting up anytime soon. Creed sat behind the steering wheel. From the backseat, Bolo laid his head on the console next to him, his nose nudging Creed’s hand until Creed petted him.
    One of the Coast Guard crew knocked on Creed’s window.
    “We’ve got to leave. If it lets up, we’ll be back.”
    “I understand. Thanks.”
    He watched them in his rearview mirror. Their SUV had to back up and turn in the narrow space. Rainwater ran across the red-clay dirt path. It wouldn’t take much more and the road would be a mess. But Creed made no attempt to follow. How could he leave when he knew Maggie and Tully were somewhere out there, one of them bleeding? That it could be Maggie gnawed at him.
    There had to be a way. But night came quickly in the forest. The lightning only grew more intense, rippling clear across the sky with the crackle of thunder making it truly sound and feel as though the heavens were ripping apart and breaking into pieces.
    Creed had gone through two thermoses of coffee. His eyes felt like sandpaper every time he blinked. Too little sleep. And too little to eat, but his stomach was churning acid. He couldn’t even look at the sandwiches Hannah had prepared for him. He tried to feed Bolo, but the dog was as miserable as Creed.
    Although dogs didn’t associate scents or sights with emotions, they did read their owners’ and handlers’ emotions very well and could easily become depressed, upset, or subdued. It was one of the reasons Creed tried to keep his emotions in check when he was with his dogs, and the habit rubbed off into his personal life. Probably why he had no personal life.
    His cell phone startled him and his pulse quickened. He saw the caller ID, hoping it was Tully. Then he recognized the number and his heart settled back down.
    “Have you found anything?” he asked in place of a greeting.
    “I checked the property taxes and federal land sales as well as leases like you suggested but nothing came up for Otis P. Dodd or any family members,” Agent Alonzo told him.
    “Did you check Santa Rosa and Okaloosa Counties?”
    “Yes.”
    Damn it!
There was a small portion of private property thatbordered the forest. Creed knew there were some old fishing cabins on the river that had been battered by the hurricanes but were still used. It was a long shot, but he was so hoping it would pan out.
    “Blackwater River goes up into Alabama,” Creed said. “Starts in the Conecuh National Forest, right at the border. You might check Escambia and Convington Counties up in Alabama.” But that was an even longer shot.
    “I’ll take a look,” Alonzo promised. “I did find something interesting, though, when I started looking into Otis’s family background. He left home when he was fourteen. Ended up at Boys Town in Omaha, Nebraska, then was sent to a foster care home. A couple in Iowa who couldn’t have children of their own took in troubled boys. I could kick myself that I didn’t check out Otis’s childhood.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Otis spent several years of his childhood with Helen and William Paxton at their farm. The same farm where you guys just found a half dozen bodies.”

CHAPTER 64

    A crash of thunder shook the entire cabin. It was enough to rattle everyone’s nerves. Except Jack’s. He looked calm and unfazed by the weather, even when Otis began pacing. Otis had changed from the bloody orange prison jumpsuit into clothes Jack had brought for him. The trousers were several inches too short, as were the sleeves of the shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. He hung on Jack’s every word and did whatever Jack asked.
    Jack pulled up two straight-backed chairs to the potbelly stove. He sat down in one and patted the other.
    “Stop pacing,” he told Otis.
    “You know I hate storms.” But he still had the grin, though it looked like he was clenching his teeth. He sat down, shoulders slumped and feet set and ready to go again.
    “You know what a magpie is?” Jack asked Otis, and the big