“Excuse me, sir,” Creed said before he knew what he was going to say to the trucker.

The man stopped but glanced over his shoulder as if he thought Creed might be addressing someone else. Creed watched his eyes dart to Grace and there was something there that told Creed the man didn’t like dogs. Maybe was even fearful of them.

He looked younger than Creed originally thought. Probably no older than Creed, which meant late twenties. Thirty at the most.

“My dog loves kids,” Creed lied. “She’s been pulling on me to come see your little girl. I think she’s missing my daughter.”

He squatted down to pet Grace and in doing so he pointed to the little girl. Grace took the signal and started wagging, finally relieved to have some instruction. She focused her attention on the little girl, leaning toward her and sniffing.

“See, she’s smiling already,” Creed said, only this time he said it to the little girl, who was staring at Grace in awe. And the little girl was smiling, too.

Creed stayed on his haunches next to Grace and watched the man. From this angle he appeared less threatening but also from this angle if he shot the man in the face with the pepper spray he would be shooting upward and miss getting any on the little girl’s face. As he kept a hand on Grace he kept his other tucked inside his jacket, fingers ready on the canister.

“Can I pet her, Daddy?”

Creed didn’t need to know much about kids to hear the little girl’s voice was genuine. Nothing sounded forced, including calling the man Daddy. But the man still seemed wary of Grace. Was it just dogs or was there something else he was hiding?

Before Creed could figure it out he heard the truck’s cab door open and slam behind him. He stayed in position but his nerves were firing, his fingers itching.

“Bonnie loves puppy dogs, don’t you, sweetie,” a woman said.

Creed glanced back to see her.

The young woman came over. She was in jeans and a denim jacket.

“Is it okay for her to pet your dog?” she asked Creed.

“Absolutely.”

The woman waved the little girl over and she started to rush. “Slow down. Don’t spook her. And be gentle. Like this.”

The woman gave Grace her hand for Grace to sniff it, waiting for permission. Then she stroked Grace’s back. The little girl mirrored the woman’s gestures, giggling when she finally touched Grace.

“Bonnie adores dogs,” she said to Creed.

“No school this week?” Creed asked casually.

“Spring break. We thought it would be a treat to join Rodney. Show Bonnie what it is he does all week when he’s away.”

The man was actually smiling now, watching the little girl.

“See Rodney, just because you’re scared of dogs—”

“I’m not scared.”

“He had a dog attack him when he was a little boy, so he doesn’t trust them.” Then to her husband, she said, “I can’t believe you took her to the bathroom without putting her shoes on.”

“She didn’t want them on, then she was crying that she was getting her socks dirty.”

The more the couple bickered, the more Creed relaxed.

They sounded like a normal family.

CHAPTER 18

He slipped two receipts into the back-cover pocket of his log book, then turned to a new page and jotted down:

Tuesday, March 19

10:47 p.m.

Pilot Plaza #354, Sioux City, IA

He had just filled his gas tank and had done a quick maintenance check. He was ready to head out on the road again. He was still flying high on adrenaline. Not only had he been able to hear what everyone thought about his handiwork back at the farm, but he had also been able to finally meet Maggie O’Dell face-to-face.

Magpie: even more exquisite up close

He’d even bought her a beer … well, a round of beers for all of them. But it gave him surprising pleasure to watch her drink it. He cataloged the details now on the flip page of his log book:

Sam Adams lager

He liked that she waved off a frosted mug, choosing to sip directly from the bottle. He took note of what and how she ordered her food, too, adding to his page:

Cheeseburger, medium-well

cheddar cheese, bacon, extra pickles

side of fries (lots of ketchup)

She thanked the waitress whenever she brought Maggie something, taking the time to notice that her name was Rita and using it, glancing up and making eye contact. No one else paid attention to the woman as she served them, reaching over and around again and again all evening long.

He saw that Maggie left her a nice tip, too, even though someone else had picked up the tab. He should have been quicker. He could have bought her meal, too, but someone beat him to it and he didn’t want to make a fuss.

Until today he had observed Agent Margaret O’Dell only from a distance, but he felt like he’d known her for years. From the first time he saw her he realized they were kindred spirits. And no, he wasn’t easily attracted to pretty women. It took more than a pretty face to grab his attention these days. Besides, he was a professional, just like Maggie.

Last month he had watched her at a crime scene, a warehouse in D.C. that had been gutted by fire. He had also watched the asshole who set it on fire. Same asshole who later torched Maggie’s house. If he had seen him doing it, the guy would be maggot food right now. He never really understood the fascination with fire.

The only reason he had been at that warehouse that night was because he was dumping a body in the alley. Sometimes he liked to do that. Then stick around so he could be there when people discovered his handiwork. Once he even called 911 to report a body so he could observe the first responders. It wasn’t just to get off on it like some stupid sons of bitches. He actually learned a lot by watching the investigators, getting close enough to overhear their conversations and see what they collected.

There had been times like tonight when he frequented cop bars, just to listen to them. Buy them a few drinks and they started talking about all sorts of things. The time he spent hanging around cops and watching and listening had proven invaluable. It helped him change things up, perfect his methods, alternate patterns. He liked new challenges.

When he first saw Maggie—back at that D.C. crime scene—he could tell she liked challenges, too. Watching a CNN profile on her he’d learned that her mother sometimes called her “magpie” and that’s when he knew they were kindred spirits. His own mother had often spoken of the magpie bird and considered it a good omen. It was the only bird that refused to go aboard Noah’s Ark and instead perched on the roof. So spirited, just like him. Curious and constantly questioning, searching, learning, testing. What would it be like to take on a magpie?

That’s why he left the map for her. That’s why he included the socks—though he really hated repeating such an obvious pattern. He wanted her to find him so he could share his handiwork with her. Challenge her. See what she was made of. Poke and prod and prepare her for what he had planned. He hoped she wouldn’t disappoint him.

He saw Lily crossing the parking lot, her hair still a tangled mess, her handbag making her slouch as she walked. What a pathetic creature. She had knocked on almost all of the truckers’ cabs, even daring to knock on one that had a sign posted on the windshield: NO LOT LIZARDS! She was headed back to the main building of the truck plaza.

He started his engine. He’d offer her a ride. She’d recognize him from the farm and not give it a second thought. If she didn’t want a ride, he’d offer her twenty bucks to get in, though he didn’t want her touching him. Her sunken cheeks and rat-nest hair disgusted him. Already he was thinking it wouldn’t be much of a challenge to kill her. That’s why he didn’t bother with women like her. He didn’t imagine she was capable of putting up a good fight, let alone the psychological interplay he so enjoyed. She’d probably welcome death. He hated that kind of attitude. But he needed to look at this as a necessity.