Stranded by Alex Kava Page A

hoped he wouldn’t regret not bringing his gun.
    From this close, Creed realized the little girl was crying. Theman held her right hand but her left was at her face, wiping at her nose. And he was right—she wore only white socks. No shoes.
    Creed’s pulse continued to race. There was no longer panic as much as urgency that pressed him and caused his heart to bang against his ribs.
    Grace scampered alongside him, constantly looking up, then forward and back up for a signal from her master. Never once did she whine or hesitate. Even after she saw that they were headed toward a child Grace didn’t show any additional excitement. Somehow dogs always seemed to react differently to children. Grace remained focused on Creed.
    He still wasn’t sure what he should look for. He didn’t know many children or spend time around them. His experience extended only to the memory of his sister and Hannah’s two boys, who were too young for Creed to compare to this girl. He guessed she was nine or ten. Maybe eleven, at the most. Brodie had been eleven. Yes, this girl looked about Brodie’s age. Was that it? Was that the only reason an alarm seemed to have gone off inside his head, inside his chest? Was it only that she reminded him of Brodie?
    He was counting on Grace’s instincts.
    As he approached, Creed tried to assess the man. He was Creed’s height but outweighed him by about a hundred pounds and none of it looked like fat.
    Creed stood an inch over six feet, and had broad shoulders but a thin waist, long arms and legs—a lean swimmer’s build. Several years ago when Hannah declared their business solvent and making a steady profit, Creed had added an enclosed (heated and air-conditioned) Olympic-size swimming pool to their complex. It allowed him to include water rescue and water tracking on their list, but it also ensured his own physical health and mental sanity.Since he was a kid, swimming had been the one escape, the one retreat that he enjoyed. No, it was stronger than that. There was something about diving into water and feeling it surround his body that rejuvenated all of his senses. But Creed was well aware that swimming wasn’t exactly a sport that prepared him for a brawl.
    “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 callingthe 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