Free Reckless Creed by Alex Kava

told him. “Like when we’d be drinking. You know, talking big. We’ve had friends eat their guns. I told you, one guy I know even hanged himself.”
    â€œSo what was your and Tony’s preferred method?” Creed asked it as casually as if they were talking about sports.
    Ironically it seemed to relax Jason. His eyes stopped darting for a few seconds.
    â€œFor one thing, we agreed we wouldn’t do something that would make such a mess our moms couldn’t look at our bodies.” He glanced back toward the door as if expecting someone. “You’re not gonna tell Hannah any of this, are you?”
    So much for suggesting that was who Jason should talk to. Reluctantly Creed shook his head.
    â€œI mean, I don’t know what jumping nineteen stories does to a body, but I’m guessing it’s not pretty.”
    â€œMaybe he was drinking. Not thinking straight. Could have been an accident.”
    â€œTony’s one of the few guys I know who thinks better drunk. Especially after his TBI.”
    Creed knew that although Tony looked normal, with none of the outward scars that Jason and his buddies came back with, his traumatic brain injury had had a tremendous impact on him.
    â€œIt’s like alcohol settled him down,” Jason continued. “He said it quieted the demons in his head.”
    â€œSo what are you saying happened?”
    Jason shrugged. “We both know Tony pissed off quite a few people. Some of them people you should never piss off.”
    Creed nodded.
    People like drug cartels. Jason, Tony, and their friends had come to Creed’s rescue last summer when members of Choque Azul, a Colombian drug cartel that used the Gulf of Mexico, had targeted Creed and his dogs. If it weren’t for Tony, Creed would have never known when the cartel’s attack was coming. He would have never been able to prepare for it, and even then, he wouldn’t have survived if Jason, Tony, and their vet buddies hadn’t come to his rescue.
    â€œI had a text message from him,” Jason said. “It might have been that same day.” He patted the back pocket of his jeans, but the cell phone wasn’t there. “I’ll need to check.”
    â€œWhat did he say?”
    â€œSomething about getting himself into a mess.”
    â€œThat could mean anything,” Creed told him.
    â€œMaybe. Maybe not.”
    A silence fell between them. Creed knew it was tough to convince yourself that a friend or loved one had actually committed suicide. When he found his father slumped on his own sofa with a bullet hole in his temple, Creed had searched the house for signs of an intruder. He remembered telling the 911 operator that someone had shot his father while he stared at the revolver still dangling from his father’s fingers.
    â€œWhat if Tony didn’t jump?” Jason finally asked, this time meeting and holding Creed’s eyes.
    â€œYou think someone pushed him.”

17
    CHICAGO
    O ’Dell and Platt bypassed the hotel’s luxurious four-star restaurant and chose a booth at the bar and grill. They ordered burgers and beers. O’Dell asked for a side salad. Platt chose the house-cut chips instead of fries. They were comfortable in settings like this, though they hadn’t spent any time together since the holidays. Both of them recognized that North Carolina had driven a wedge between them, one that would take more than time to dislodge.
    However, Platt was the quintessential gentleman and tonight was no different. Sometimes O’Dell felt guilty when some of his good-mannered habits annoyed her. She had spent her entire career trying to get male colleagues to treat her no differently than they would one another. Platt knew that, but he operated by a rigid code of ethics, one that included being a gentleman in the presence of a woman.
    An army colonel, medical doctor, and director of USAMRIID, he saw many things as black and white,