Pensacola, Florida
Creed was grateful to Hannah for giving him an early out, releasing him like a caged animal into the wild. He was conversing, being polite, sipping champagne, and she could still see how miserable he was. How did she do that?
Hannah told him the new director had offered her a ride home, and they could use the time alone to assess the event. “Maybe,” she said, “bask in the glory and relief.” The two women had been working together on the fundraiser for the first time.
Creed didn’t question her. Simply nodded and tried to act nonchalant as his eyes searched for the nearest exit. He’d almost made it until a blond in a sapphire blue cocktail dress tapped him on the shoulder. He didn’t recognize her at first. To be fair, he was used to seeing her in an orange jumpsuit, what the Coast Guard crews simply called a “mustang.”
“Wow!” The word escaped his lips before he could stop it, and rescue swimmer, Liz Bailey laughed.
“You look pretty spiffy yourself,” she said. “Would you like to dance?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Don’t tell me the dog handler can’t dance?”
It was a fundraising ball with a full orchestra, including musicians from the local symphony.
“You don’t dance to this,” he told her. “I believe this is what you call a waltz.”
He raised his arm, elbow level with her shoulder and put up his other hand, fingers gesturing for her to do the same.
She raised an eyebrow at him before she followed his lead.
They waltzed. Creed couldn’t believe how easily it all came back to him. Step forward. Move to the right. Close left foot to right foot. Step back.
When his mother taught him at fifteen, she told him to envision his feet gliding around a box. She made him do it over and over again until the movements became instinctive. Until the music took over. It definitely helped to have a dance partner who could follow so smoothly along. They moved like synchronized swimmers through waves of other dancers.
It was actually quite nice. He didn’t hate it.
But now, as he escaped through the parking lot, he realized he had the top button of his shirt undone and his bowtie already in his pocket before he arrived at his Jeep. Evidently, as nice as it was, he didn’t want to dance all night.
Before he left, he texted Jason and Brodie. It was late, but they weren’t expecting him or Hannah until much later. He didn’t want to alarm them.
By the time Creed was pulling off I-10 and coming down the ramp, his phone lit up in the dashboard holder. Jason texted back that they were in the backyard watching the meteor shower.
Join us!
Meteor shower!
As he stopped to turn onto Avalon Boulevard, he looked up at the sky. Too many pines trees. His eyes swept back to the road and caught movement on the other side of the highway. It was back behind the Red Roof Inn. Close to where he and Norwich had started their search yesterday. Creed thought he saw someone running through the parking lot. Three others followed.
No, not followed. Chased.
Then Creed saw the dog running alongside the person being chased.
He sped up, reaching the intersection to the access road. Oncoming traffic made him wait to take the left turn. He maneuvered the Jeep around both parking lots that were lined with parked vehicles. No one else was outside except clear in the back corner by the Dumpster. Light didn’t reach that part of the lot. It was dark, but he remembered from yesterday how the woods came all the way to the concrete.
Creed stopped the Jeep in the middle of the empty space. He captured the activity in the headlights just as one of the men shoved Sully to the ground. Gunner snapped and barked, but Sully had the dog by the collar.
He had expected teenagers, but in the stark light, the men looked older. Old enough to be legally drunk in a public parking lot.
The biggest one had a dark beard and a shaggy head of hair. When his small, narrow eyes flashed in the headlights, they made him looked like a wild animal.
Creed pegged the ringleader as the tall, scrawny guy with a mop of blond hair. He was dressed in shorts with a long-sleeved polo shirt. He wore flip-flops. Nobody started a serious fight wearing beach thongs unless they knew they weren’t throwing the punches.
The third man was the shortest of the three but broad chested, his T-shirt tight to show off his muscles.
They stopped, almost freeze-framed, when they realized the Jeep wasn’t just looking for a parking spot. But they didn’t seem worried enough to think he might be a cop.
Creed left the headlights on as he opened the door.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, giving them an opportunity to make things right.
“We caught this old guy and his little dog stealing.”
He glanced over to Sully to make sure he was okay. The old man’s eyes flickered with recognition then slipped away, back to the ground. His focus was on protecting his dog.
“What did he steal?”
“What’s it to you?”
He was right about the tall, scrawny one being the leader. He was also right about them being drunk. Which could make this easier...or more dangerous.
“So you decided to rough him up?” Creed asked. “It took three of you to push an old man down?”
“Pushed him down? Nah, we didn’t push him down. He slipped.”
They all laughed.
“So who the hell are you supposed to be?” The bearded man pointed at Creed. “Take a look at this guy. Are you like some tuxedo model or something? Or did you lose your bride?”
They laughed again
At least their attention was no longer on Sully and Gunner. That’s when Creed noticed Sully wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The knuckles came away with blood.
“Why don’t you all apologize to this man and then get on your way?”
“Apologize?” The muscle man moved closer and only then did Creed see what looked like a footlong pipe hanging down from his hand. Of course, he brought a weapon, which told Creed the muscles were for show.
They came at him, spreading out, intending to surround him. Creed moved slowly, knowing they’d follow. He led them into the shadows and away from his Jeep.
In the back of his mind, he could hear Hannah warning about his bruised back and the wound in his side that was still healing. He could still feel the hitch there, a tenderness below his beltline. But that wasn’t why he moved the oncoming fight to the shadows. He didn’t want them to dent his Jeep or crack the windshield.
“You guys don’t have anything better to do on a Saturday night?” he asked, pulling them farther away from Sully and Gunner. “What are you, the Dumpster patrol?”
“Very funny. He’s a tuxedo model and and a comedian.” The ringleader walked on the balls of his feet, trying for a tough-guy’s bounce, but the flipflops only made him look ridiculous.
The muscle guy was the first to lunge at Creed. He swung the pipe clear over his own head, preparing to deliver a full-force wallop. Creed caught the guy’s wrist as it came down. But instead of stopping him, Creed pulled while he stepped aside. The guy’s forward momentum threw him off balance and he faceplanted onto the pavement.
Creed spun around just as the bearded man’s right fist caught his jaw. He ducked as the man’s left fist came in right behind his right. Creed’s head was down, but he slammed his elbow into the guy’s kidney. The man reeled back, fists flying. Creed pulled away, still getting clipped on the chin. Encouraged, the man started dancing around him like a boxer gearing up to place his final blows.
Behind them, his scrawny friend yelled his support, “Do it! Knock him on his ass.”
Creed had to admit, he never liked boxing. Hitting and getting hit in the head was the worst. But as the guy closed in again, bouncing and curling up his fists, Creed concentrated on his own balance and his own feet.
The guy had already telegraphed his technique: right, then left. When the right fist came again, Creed was ready. He leaned just out of reach, then kicked out and swept the man’s legs completely out from under him. Bearded guy landed hard on his back. The thud made his friend wince.
“Who the hell are you?” the flip-flop guy asked. His eyes were wide now, and he stayed back rather than attempting to help his buddies.
Creed glanced behind him. The muscle-head might have broken his nose. He sat with his hands cupping his face and blood dripping through his fingers. The bearded guy still hadn’t moved. He stayed flat on his back. He started coughing, trying to catch his breath.
From the corner of his eye, Creed could see a couple of customers coming out of the Waffle House to see what was going on.
To the ringleader, Creed said, “You might want to help your friends.” It looked like they both slipped and fell.”
He left them to go help Sully.