Breaking Creed by Alex Kava Read Free Book Online

met Creed’s eyes. There was something there—something hard and dark. Distrust, maybe a little anger. He didn’t flinch when he noticed the shotgun.
    He came around the side of his vehicle and that’s when Creed saw that the right sleeve of his denim shirt hung loose from the elbow down. He watched with those intense eyes as Creed noticed, almost as if he was daring Creed to dismiss him or say something inappropriate.
    “Jason, this is my partner, Ryder Creed,” Hannah said, coming around to stand in between the two of them as if she might have to referee. “Jason’s been home from Afghanistan for a few months. Looking for work. You know how hard it is to find a job these days.”
    “Unless you think there’s a problem with me working here,” Jason said.
    And there it was. Creed could hear the challenge in the young man’s voice, even as he lifted his chin. Lady had followed them out of the house. She joined Crockett, a retired rottweiler who could still be intimidating if he wanted to be. The pair began sniffing Jason’s boots.
    “Hiring is up to Hannah,” Creed said, and pretended not to notice as the young man slowly opened his left hand for the dogs to sniff while still trying to maintain his rigid tough-guy stance. In that small gesture he could see that Jason was comfortable with them. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. Instead, he had silently opened up for them to check him out.
    “I trust her judgment,” Creed added. “Besides, the dogs don’t care whether you have one hand or three. Just don’t park and sit at the end of my driveway, okay?” He nodded at Hannah and turned to leave.
    “Park? What are you talking about?” Jason asked.
    Creed looked back at the man and met his eyes. There wasn’t a hint of embarrassment, guilt, or anything that looked like a lie. Only confusion. Creed glanced at Hannah, and for the first time that morning, he saw a flicker of concern.

9
    COLOMBIA
    A MANDA COULD SMELL HIM before she heard him come into the room—a combination of sweat and that greasy hair gel he liked to use. She was still angry with him . . . and maybe a bit scared of him. Right now she’d hang on to the anger. That was easier to deal with, so she kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, though she was far from it. Back in the hot, humid room that she called home, she hugged a sweat-drenched pillow and tried not to think of the cool tiled floor and the luxury hotel that she’d left behind.
    It had been a tough trip back. The nausea continued, despite getting all the balloons to pass. She had checked each one herself, pushing Zapata away. She had touched each one, rolling and feeling to make certain none of the rubber had broken or the ties had come undone. Amanda had counted and counted again until the old woman started looking at her as if she had gone mad.
    And maybe she had. Maybe a little bit, because Amanda could swear that something felt ripped inside her.
    Coming back through the airport, the customs officer had scrutinized her passport for a beat too long. Adding to Amanda’s discomfort. No one had prepared her for what she should do if they detained her. There had only been warnings, no instructions.
    “You just came into the country,” the man said, his eyes narrowing as he ran them up and down Amanda’s body. “What’s the rush to leave?”
    Before she could answer, Zapata had laughed. A sound Amanda had never heard coming from the old woman’s mouth. It sounded so real, so genuine, so much like real laughter.
    “Parents with too much money,” Zapata told the officer, as if there might be a secret bond between the two of them. “They want what they want. I just follow their instructions.”
    It made Amanda glance up at the man. Her eyes caught his and she looked away. It was enough for her to see that the man might be of Hispanic origin, brown skin and dark eyes. When he spoke again, she could hear a subtle accent, thicker now, as though Zapata had given