“You should try to get some sleep,” he said.

She nodded. Smiled. “I haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

“Insomnia?”

“Guess it comes with the territory.”

“I’ve found that Scotch or bourbon usually works.”

“You, too, huh?”

“There’s a legend that says when you can’t sleep it’s because you’re awake in someone else’s dream.”

She thought about that. Took a few more sips of the soda, then said, “Someone else’s dream? Or someone else’s nightmare?”

That’s when Tully came into the room. His hair stood up where he’d raked his fingers through it too many times. Maggie noticed a fresh stain on his shirt—pizza sauce. He looked exhausted. He leaned a shoulder against the wall as if he needed it to prop him up.

His eyes found and held Maggie’s. “Sounds like you and me are going to Florida.”

CHAPTER 51

Before Agent Tully could finish explaining why they were being sent to Florida, Creed’s phone began to ring. It was Hannah. He left the two agents and retreated to the other room as he checked his watch. His jaw clamped tight. Only bad news came at this time of night.

“Is everything okay?” he asked in place of a greeting.

“Everything’s fine. Don’t get your Jockeys in a twist. I knew you’d spazz out but I also knew you’d be awake.”

“Dogs are okay?”

“Everybody is fine. How’s Grace?”

“I can pick her up at seven tomorrow morning. Actually, this morning. I called and checked on her two hours ago and they said she was resting. Doing good.”

“She’s a tough girl, but I won’t lie, I’ll be glad to have her back home where I can fuss over her.”

That made him smile. Hannah probably already had a place set up for Grace in their office where she’d be able to watch her.

“I just got a phone call from Agent Alonzo,” she said. “He wants to know if we can provide a cadaver dog and handler on Saturday here in our neck of the woods.”

So that’s where Maggie and Tully were headed. Creed hated that his first response was a twinge of excitement.

“Felix isn’t back until next week. Andy is still 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 was with 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 this site 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 appeared a little slow and awkward.

Jack—but that wasn’t his real name. Not the one he went by anyway. After Lily’s frantic phone call, Maggie and Tully believed their highway killer’s name was Buzz. Thanks to Sheriff Uniss and Agent Alonzo, they now knew that the foreman, Buzz, was Stanley Johnson. However, he had disappeared from Iowa and apparently so had Lily.

“We thought he was watching us,” Maggie said, trying to relax into her seat. “We just didn’t know from how close.”

“It was strange how he gave you that cap and then it just disappeared from our table at the truck stop.”

Maggie pulled out her laptop from the case she’d stuffed under the seat in front of her. She’d downloaded a file Alonzo had e-mailed them just before they boarded. Now she was anxious to open it and get her mind off being locked in a metal tube miles above the earth even if it meant digging into the psyche of a serial killer.

“He doesn’t exactly fit the profile,” Tully said. “And Buzz was managing that construction crew before we got there.”