victim.”
“A package in the Potomac,” she said. “Stan thinks the guy was probably killed hundreds of miles south of here. Someone delivers a body, calls it a package, and deposits it within view of Washington, D.C.—do you really believe it’s not politically connected?”
“Could be a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
They sat back as the waiter brought their burgers and salads.
“Two more?” He pointed to their glasses but spoke directly to Ben. And Ben looked to and waited for O’Dell.
“Sure,” she said, knowing full well she wouldn’t allow herself a second. She’d take a few sips, and Ben wouldn’t notice, or at least he politely wouldn’t acknowledge it.
When the waiter left, Ben leaned across the table. “So I’m guessing Kunze isn’t sending you someplace? Where is it that you’re headed?”
“Andalusia, Alabama.”
“How exotic. Probably not a vacation destination.” He stared at her, elbows planted on either side of his food, hands clasped with no intention of beginning his meal until she explained.
“Kunze wants me to investigate,” she said as she picked up her fork and stabbed at her salad, trying to diffuse the concern in his eyes. “In order to do that, I need to find the original crime scene.”
“In Alabama?”
“That’s the address on the victim’s driver’s license. Seems like a good place to start. Besides, I’m guessing there are probably a lot of fire ants somewhere around there.”
21
T HE FIRST THING THAT WENT through Amanda’s mind was that she had traded an angry, skinny, old woman for an angry, large, black woman. Both of them seemed like they would rather kill her than deal with her.
She couldn’t believe Ryder Creed had chosen to put her fate in the hands of this woman. He looked like such a nice guy. She hadn’t seen anger when she looked into his face. His eyes were a deep sky blue, like on a warm, sunny day when there isn’t a single cloud. She hadn’t seen a hint of anger in them—frustration, suspicion, impatience, but not anger.
Those eyes had convinced Amanda that he could be trusted. She was second-guessing that decision now. All of this simply reinforced what she already believed—that she couldn’t trust anyone but herself, even when she was sick and hurting.
“You need to take her to a hospital emergency room,” the woman,named Hannah, said while her eyes lasered up and down Amanda’s cramped body. “That’s my best advice.”
“They’ll kill me,” Amanda muttered. She had already said this three times to Ryder Creed, and she made sure her eyes remained focused on him and him alone. Did she really need to guilt him into rescuing her a second time? She didn’t have the energy to do that.
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you swallowed their product.”
“Hannah, she’s just a kid.”
It was still too soft for a scold but Amanda was relieved that Ryder Creed had finally said something, anything, that sounded like he might defend her.
“She’s only fourteen,” he added.
“That what she told you?” And the black woman rolled her eyes. She didn’t believe a word of it.
“It’s true.” Amanda shouted it, surprising herself. She had lied about her age for so long, always trying to look and sound older, and here she was telling the truth and this woman only raised her eyebrows at her.
She grabbed her stomach. The pain hadn’t gotten any worse but she didn’t want them to know that. Instead, she needed to keep reminding them that she was hurting . . . bad. Right now, it was her only salvation.
“I think one of the balloons might have ruptured,” she told Ryder Creed, mustering up some tears.
“None of them ruptured, missy,” Hannah told her with a bite on the title “missy.” In fact, the indifference on her face hadn’t changed in the least, even the risk of a ruptured balloon didn’t seem to alarm her. “If one of them had ruptured, you wouldn’t be here
“A package in the Potomac,” she said. “Stan thinks the guy was probably killed hundreds of miles south of here. Someone delivers a body, calls it a package, and deposits it within view of Washington, D.C.—do you really believe it’s not politically connected?”
“Could be a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
They sat back as the waiter brought their burgers and salads.
“Two more?” He pointed to their glasses but spoke directly to Ben. And Ben looked to and waited for O’Dell.
“Sure,” she said, knowing full well she wouldn’t allow herself a second. She’d take a few sips, and Ben wouldn’t notice, or at least he politely wouldn’t acknowledge it.
When the waiter left, Ben leaned across the table. “So I’m guessing Kunze isn’t sending you someplace? Where is it that you’re headed?”
“Andalusia, Alabama.”
“How exotic. Probably not a vacation destination.” He stared at her, elbows planted on either side of his food, hands clasped with no intention of beginning his meal until she explained.
“Kunze wants me to investigate,” she said as she picked up her fork and stabbed at her salad, trying to diffuse the concern in his eyes. “In order to do that, I need to find the original crime scene.”
“In Alabama?”
“That’s the address on the victim’s driver’s license. Seems like a good place to start. Besides, I’m guessing there are probably a lot of fire ants somewhere around there.”
21
T HE FIRST THING THAT WENT through Amanda’s mind was that she had traded an angry, skinny, old woman for an angry, large, black woman. Both of them seemed like they would rather kill her than deal with her.
She couldn’t believe Ryder Creed had chosen to put her fate in the hands of this woman. He looked like such a nice guy. She hadn’t seen anger when she looked into his face. His eyes were a deep sky blue, like on a warm, sunny day when there isn’t a single cloud. She hadn’t seen a hint of anger in them—frustration, suspicion, impatience, but not anger.
Those eyes had convinced Amanda that he could be trusted. She was second-guessing that decision now. All of this simply reinforced what she already believed—that she couldn’t trust anyone but herself, even when she was sick and hurting.
“You need to take her to a hospital emergency room,” the woman,named Hannah, said while her eyes lasered up and down Amanda’s cramped body. “That’s my best advice.”
“They’ll kill me,” Amanda muttered. She had already said this three times to Ryder Creed, and she made sure her eyes remained focused on him and him alone. Did she really need to guilt him into rescuing her a second time? She didn’t have the energy to do that.
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you swallowed their product.”
“Hannah, she’s just a kid.”
It was still too soft for a scold but Amanda was relieved that Ryder Creed had finally said something, anything, that sounded like he might defend her.
“She’s only fourteen,” he added.
“That what she told you?” And the black woman rolled her eyes. She didn’t believe a word of it.
“It’s true.” Amanda shouted it, surprising herself. She had lied about her age for so long, always trying to look and sound older, and here she was telling the truth and this woman only raised her eyebrows at her.
She grabbed her stomach. The pain hadn’t gotten any worse but she didn’t want them to know that. Instead, she needed to keep reminding them that she was hurting . . . bad. Right now, it was her only salvation.
“I think one of the balloons might have ruptured,” she told Ryder Creed, mustering up some tears.
“None of them ruptured, missy,” Hannah told her with a bite on the title “missy.” In fact, the indifference on her face hadn’t changed in the least, even the risk of a ruptured balloon didn’t seem to alarm her. “If one of them had ruptured, you wouldn’t be here
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