Breaking Creed

49

“I really don’t want to talk about this right now, Hannah.”

Creed didn’t want to talk, period. He had taken O’Dell to the airport early in the morning. He didn’t like the way it felt watching her leave — actually, he didn’t like that he felt something, and he was trying as hard as hell not to think about it.

The minute he got back he’d wanted to get to work on the new security system he’d stopped off to buy on his way home. He’d come to the main house to install cameras, not argue about their houseguest. Even if the houseguest was the reason he was installing the cameras.

“What’d the electrician say?” Creed asked, trying to divert Hannah from the direction he knew she was headed in.

“He looked over everything, said it looked fine. You’re trying to change the subject. You seem to trust Agent O’Dell. I’m just saying it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to tell her about the situation. She’s FBI. She could probably help. Maybe even fix things.”

“I already told you, I don’t want another person involved.”

“We work with a whole bunch of law enforcement people. Any one of them might be able to help. Make this all go away.”

She waved her hand at the packages he had loaded under his arm.

“And what happens to Amanda?” he asked.

“That’s not your concern.”

“It’s not? She came to me, Hannah. She chose to trust me to help her. How can I just hand her off to someone else?”

“They’ll come for their merchandise. And not just the drugs. They consider her merchandise, too. Their merchandise.”

“I understand that. You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”

“And you’re willing to risk everything?”

“I’m taking care of things.”

“By making this place some kind of fortress?” She pointed at the cameras now. “This is not the way I want to live, Rye. It’s not the way I want to raise my boys, always looking over my shoulder, afraid someone’s watching. Maybe just waiting to hurt one of them.”

“If you show someone that you’re scared of them, then they’ve already won,” he said. “You told me that when we first met. You remember that?”

She crossed her arms and released a heavy sigh. She shook her head and said, “This is different, Rye.”

“Is it? Or are they just a different kind of bully?”

He didn’t wait for her response. Instead, he grabbed the tool bag he’d brought with him along with one of the cameras and headed to the kitchen. For a minute he thought she had given in, but he knew her better. He decided to wait. He set everything down on the kitchen table and grabbed a banana from the counter. Hannah would need to have the last word. Sure enough, he heard her coming up the hallway. He leaned back, peeled the banana, and took a bite.

“I understand why you don’t want to get Agent O’Dell involved. You’re sweet on her. But there are others who would help us.”

“I don’t get sweet on women I work with. ‘Sweet on’? Really? Does anyone use that phrase anymore?”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you have standards.” Then suddenly she frowned at him. “Where did you get that banana?”

“From the counter? What, you’re mad at me so I can’t have one of your bananas?”

“I didn’t buy no bananas. I haven’t been to the store yet.”

She came over to the counter, staring at the bunch as if they were foreign objects. He went to take another bite and she grabbed his wrist.

“Put it down.”

“Hannah, come on.”

“What’s that white stuff?”

She pointed at one of the bananas on the counter, and he saw what looked like a puff of cotton attached to it.

“Okay, so they might have a little mold. No big deal.”

He poked his index finger at the spot to rub it off. That’s when the puff of white erupted.

“Oh my dear God!” Hannah started screaming as dozens of tiny spiders burst out of the white web and raced across the countertop in all directions.

When he looked at the banana in his hand he saw a similar patch of white at the bottom of the peel. And now it was bursting open with tiny white spiders spiraling onto his hand and up his arm.

He searched the counter and grabbed a half-eaten loaf of bread. With one hand he popped open the bag and dropped the bread on top of the mass of spiders. It stopped those underneath, and suddenly the others turned and started coming back. In seconds the bread was swarming with the creatures. He swatted those on his hand and arm back down onto the countertop to join their friends.

“Get me a garbage bag,” he told Hannah, who stood paralyzed and deaf, watching with wide eyes and her hand over her mouth. “Hannah, where are the garbage bags?” He didn’t want to move too much and start banging cabinet doors in search of something that she knew exactly where to find.

Finally she turned slowly, mimicking his slow movements. She reached down and carefully pulled out a heavy black garbage bag from under the sink. As soon as she handed it to him, he gently unfolded it, never taking his eyes off the slices of bread that were now covered completely by tiny spiders. He couldn’t tell whether they were devouring the bread or simply attracted to it.

How the hell could so many spiders come out of such small pieces of web? Neither patch looked any bigger than a Q-tip head.

Hannah saw what he was planning and she shifted and bent down to the same cabinet where the garbage bags were. She brought out a short-handled squeegee. She nodded at him, then took a position, holding the squeegee up and ready, though he could see her hand shaking a bit.

Creed aligned the opening of the bag against the lip of the countertop as close as possible to the mass of creatures, dog-piling one another on top of the bread.

“We’ll only get one chance,” he told Hannah.

She didn’t take her eyes off the spiders. He saw her fingers tighten on the squeegee handle. “Let’s do it. You ready?”

“Ready.”

He was still holding the bread wrapper in case she missed. He’d sweep them in with his hand, too, if necessary.

“Dear Lord, give me strength,” Hannah said, and then she slammed the squeegee on the countertop and swiped hard and fast. Several spiders fell off but Hannah was faster than them, pounding the squeegee down again and sweeping them into the bag. She even swept the rest of the bananas into the bag and was ready for more, but there didn’t appear to be any.

Creed twisted the top of the garbage bag closed and held it tight, searching the floor for escapees.

“Did we get ’em all?” Hannah wanted to know, squeegee still gripped in her hand.

“I think we did.”

“Lord have mercy.” She released a huge sigh and stared at the garbage bag. “What you gonna do with them?”

He shrugged. He hadn’t thought that far in advance.

“Go ahead and mix them in with those bastards’ cocaine balloons.”

In the seven years he’d known Hannah, he had never heard her say a curse word even close to “bastard.” Suddenly he laughed, then watched the realization cross her face. She tried to give him her best scowl, but instead, she started laughing, too.