by Sala, Sharon
He smoothed the scattered wisps of hair away from her forehead and then cupped her cheek.
“Are you all right?”
“I need to take this, and I’m out of water.”
“I’ll get it for you,” he said, and loped to the kitchen, with her walking more slowly behind.
Cameron looked up and smiled when he saw them coming.
“Sounds like that storm front finally got here,” he said, and poured the last of the coffee into his cup and then palmed a couple of cookies. “Want me to make some more coffee?”
“Not for me,” Nola said.
“I’m good. I’ll settle for a cold Pepsi,” Tate said.
“I just want water...and the pain to go away,” Nola said, and downed her pill when Tate handed her a bottle of water.
Cameron gave her braid a gentle tug.
“You’ve had a rough week, girl, but you’re as tough as they come. All we need is a break to catch our man so you can get your life back to normal.”
Nola didn’t want normal back, because it had been too damn lonely, but she couldn’t look at Tate without giving away her feelings, so she changed the subject.
“Would you please pass the cookies?”
Tate pushed the bag toward her just as the lights flickered again. Another round of thunder and lightning swept across the sky as the first drops of rain hit the roof. They swiftly progressed to bulletlike pings easily heard within the trailer.
“Great, more rain. Just what we don’t need,” Nola muttered. She started back into the living room and then paused. “Do you mind if I stay here to eat? I can’t go back to sleep until the pain pill kicks in.”
“You don’t need to ask permission to do anything,” Tate said. “Of course you can.” He eyed the sweatpants and the LSU shirt she was still wearing. “Are you cold?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Cameron emptied his coffee cup and then set it in the sink.
“I’m beat. I’m going to bed,” he said. “See you guys in the morning.”
“Night,” Nola said.
“See you tomorrow,” Tate added.
Rain was pounding against the windows now as Nola settled into the easy chair with her cookies and water. She eased her elbow up onto the arm of the chair for support, set the water bottle between her legs and bit into a cookie.
Tate grabbed a cookie and his Pepsi, and followed her into the living area.
“Better check the weather reports,” he said, and reached for the remote.
Nola popped the last half of the cookie into her mouth, and then settled back and allowed herself the privilege of watching him when he wasn’t looking.
His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down the front, and he was barefoot and in jeans. His short dark hair was standing up in spikes, as if he’d run his fingers through it more than once.
She watched the muscles in his jaw as he chewed and swallowed, studying the bone structure of his face and picturing how she would paint him one day. She’d known him once like the back of her own hand, and now this man was almost a stranger—but a stranger she wanted back in her life. The issue here was, did he want her back, as well? She desperately wanted to know, but he had more important things to worry about than her feelings, and she had to survive the Stormchaser before she could deal with the possibility of a future with Tate.
“Are you okay?” she finally asked.
He turned to face her, remembering what it had felt like to be holding her in his arms earlier that day.
“Yeah, I’m okay. How about you? Still mad at me?”
“No. Do you still feel like I rejected you?”
He shook his head. “I came to terms with my fault in all that years ago.”
She nodded. “Good.”
He sat there for a few moments more, watching the changing expressions on her face.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Wondering if I’m going to live through this.”
Anger followed shock.
“Hell yes, you’re going to live through this. And then you’re going to live a long and happy life.”
“It hasn’t been all that happy lately.”
His chin went up, and his eyes narrowed. “I could change that...if you were interested.”
She’d just gotten an answer to her question without having to ask. Her voice was a little shaky, but that was because her heart was beating so fast.
“I’m interested.”
“Thank God,” he said softly.
A weather warning began scrolling across the bottom of the television screen. They both read it in silence, and then Tate spoke.
“Well, this could amp up the Stormchaser’s kill rate.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If he’s still in the area, the river will rise even more, and more people will become stranded. He could make a second sweep, which means we’ll have new bodies turning up.”
“Do you think he’s still in the area?” she asked.
Tate hesitated, and then realized she needed the truth. It was her life on the line, and becoming too complacent could get her killed.
“Yes, I believe he’s still here.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Because of me?”
“Yes, because of you, but we will make sure you are safe.”
Nola’s eyes narrowed angrily. “You don’t have to sugarcoat anything. I saw him at work, remember? Coldhearted, methodical bastard that he is. He pulled up beside that roof and raised the gun, and then—” All of a sudden she leaned forward. “Oh! Left-handed! I just now remembered! He pulled the gun with his right hand, then traded hands and shot with his left!”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Tate flew out of the chair and ran to grab his laptop. He booted it up, then went to a file that held the killer’s previous texts.
Nola got up and followed him to the table where he was working, watching as a page opened.
“Son of a bitch!” he said. “Okay, I was right. Now how does this...?”
“What is it?” Nola asked.
“He’s been sending us texts almost from the first. His personal relationship with us has become part of his thing. It’s like he considers us partners in how his game plays out.”
Her stomach suddenly rolled. “Does he know about our prior relationship?”
Tate nodded.
“Is that part of why he’s after me?”
“No, and I can say that with assurance. It may be just an added way to dig at me personally for not being able to catch him, but no matter who witnessed his acts, he would need that moment erased.”
“Then how does being left-handed mean anything?”
“It’s in one of the texts he sent. It was biblical, and it made no sense at the time.”
“What did he say?”
“It’s from the Book of Matthew. I’m paraphrasing, but it’s the one about ‘if your right hand offends you, cut it off.’ On the surface, it meant nothing. But...this changes his personality profile.”
She shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
“As a profiler, we look at all kinds of things to help us understand a perpetrator. This gets into the psychology of a killer’s brain, but for instance, if killing randomly in some way disturbs him psychologically, he could convince himself that his sin was absolved by using his other hand.”
She was amazed. “How did you learn to do all this?”
He shrugged. “Studies on human behavior and a pretty good instinct. How did you learn to paint?”
“Okay, I get it. Part of it you’re born with, and part of it you learn.”
He smiled, then slid an arm around her waist and pulled her into a
gentle hug.
“It’s close to 3:00 a.m. You need to get some rest.”
She shivered as a flash of lightning shot across the sky.
“The last time I slept in weather like this I woke up in the water.”
He hated the anxious expression on her face and once again was in awe of what she had survived.
“Where, exactly, was that tree you climbed?”
“Remember that grove down past the barn?”
He frowned. “That was a long way from the house. You walked that far while you were sick?”
“Up to my knees in water, out of my head with fever, in the dark, with live critters bumping against my legs, every time imagining it was a gator.”
“Sweet Lord,” Tate said, and then pulled her close, grateful she was still with them. “Just remember, you’re not alone anymore,” he said. “How’s your arm now?”
“Better. I guess the pill kicked in.”
“I need to get you to a doctor tomorrow, and make sure there’s no infection and get the dressing changed. That was done under pretty rough circumstances. Is Doc Tuttle still practicing?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll give him a call and get you in a back door or something. Don’t want to alert the media where you are and have them camping out here at the trailer park.”
“Okay.”
“Go to bed, baby. Sleep while you can,” he said softly, then leaned down and brushed his lips across her mouth.
“I will. Might be wishing I wasn’t sleeping alone,” she added.
He groaned. “Don’t tempt me.”
Nola wrapped her good arm around his neck and gave him a hug.
“Night, Tate. Sleep well.”
“I will,” he said, and watched her go down the hall until the door closed to her room. Then he checked the locks on the doors, turned the volume down on the television and stretched out on the sofa. He had a clear view of the front door as he laid his handgun on his belly and closed his eyes.
* * *
Hershel’s fever broke at daybreak leaving him weak and shaky. It was still raining, which meant more people would be stranded, but he was in no physical condition to get out in such weather. He made himself some coffee and had just sat down to watch the morning news when his cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me, Laura. I’m just checking to see if you’re coming in today.”
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can. I’m still pretty shaky, and my fever didn’t break until an hour ago. If I don’t have a setback, and I get some food and rest today, I should be able to come in tomorrow, at least for a half day or so.”
“That’s okay. I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better,” she said. “I don’t want you to think I’m bugging you, but we really appreciate your help. I’m just trying to allocate the volunteers I have between all three rescue stations.”
“Three? What happened?” he asked.
“We’ve added two churches to handle the overflow, because the gym just can’t handle all the new people coming in. You take care, and I hope you feel better tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am, and thank you for calling,” he said.
“No problem. If you need anything, a ride to the doctor or anything like that, give me a call. I’ll find you some help.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, and hung up.
See, Hershel. That’s how decent people behave, offering to help their fellow man, not putting bullets in their brains. You got sick because God was punishing you.
He frowned. “Hush up, Louise. I did not get sick because God is punishing me. If He was going to punish me for killing people, He would have just struck me dead, don’t you think?”
God works in mysterious ways.
“Well, there’s nothing mysterious about my fever, and it’s already left me, which is what you should do, too.”
I can’t leave you, Hershel. Not until you pay for your sins.
Hershel upped the volume on the television because he didn’t want to listen to Louise anymore. After a while he decided to try eating a little food and opened a can of chicken noodle soup. When he was a kid, his mother always fed him noodle soup when he wasn’t well, and he had a need for comfort. That it came in a can didn’t matter. It served the purpose of the memory.
As soon as he ate he felt stronger—strong enough to shower and get out of the clothes he’d been sleeping in ever since he got sick.
He showered quickly, but by the time he shaved, he was already shaky again, and he hurried to get some clean sweats. He happened to glance out the window as he was dressing, and then stopped and stared.
That car up the street looked like the Feds’ SUV. But why would—
He sat down on the side of the bed with a grin. They weren’t at the gym any longer. Probably kicked out because of all the commotion. So the Feds were his neighbors. He cackled, then slapped his leg with glee. They had been chasing him all over the United States and couldn’t find him. If they knew he was only five lots down and could wave at them from his front door, they would break their necks getting down here.
The longer he thought about it, the funnier it became. Every time he went past a window and looked out, he laughed all over again. He wondered if the woman was still with them or if she was in a hospital. He’d cut her good. Hell, they might have shipped her out of the state.
The moment he thought that, he panicked. She couldn’t be gone, because that would mean he couldn’t fix his mistake. And he had to fix his mistake or he couldn’t continue, and if he couldn’t continue, then Louise’s death would never be avenged.
He began to pace. How was he going to find out if she was with them? Maybe he could just keep watch on the trailer. They wouldn’t stay there all day. Surely they had stuff to do. He would just keep an eye out and see what transpired before he let himself panic.
* * *
Nola woke up and went to the kitchen for coffee, walking into a very visual image of what their field offices looked like.
They had pictures of bodies taped up on one wall, a stack of files knee-high on the floor and a couple more files open on the coffee table. Cameron was working on his laptop, Wade was on the phone and Tate was pouring coffee.
“Good grief,” she mumbled as she walked into the kitchen.
Tate eyed the expression on her face and pointed to the crime scene photos.
“Are you going to be okay with these?”
“Well, I’ll never be okay with them, but they’re not going to make me run screaming out into the yard. Do what you have to do. I just won’t look, okay?”
Cameron grinned, shook his head and went back to his work.
Wade winked, and then continued with his conversation.
But it was Tate she wanted, and she went straight into his embrace and gave him a one-armed hug.
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” he said. “Cereal okay with you?”
“Sure. You pour and I’ll eat.”
She scooted up onto a bar stool at the kitchen island, laid the pain pill down on the counter and waited for the cereal. When Tate set it in front of her, she hungrily took her first bite. Then he gave her a glass of water and a cup of coffee.
“Water for the pill. Coffee for you,” he said.
“Did you put—”
“Two sugars and a shot of milk? Yes.”
She grinned. “Thank you.”
His phone rang just as she was taking another bite. Beaudry’s number.
“This is Benton.”
“Morning, Tate. It’s me. I got in touch with Doc Tuttle. We’ll take Nola in through the delivery door at the clinic, and we’ll take her in my cruiser. The media already recognizes your SUV.”
“Thank you
. When he can he see her?”
“Whenever we get there. You tell me when to come.”
Tate eyed Nola’s hair and outfit, and knew she wouldn’t leave looking that way.
“She isn’t through with breakfast. Give us about forty-five minutes and we’ll be ready.”
“Will do. See you then.”
“What?” Nola asked when he hung up.
“Beaudry is going to drive us to Doc Tuttle’s office. Hopefully that way we can keep the media from finding out.”
She began to fidget, feeling her hair and looking down at a spot on her shirt.
“When? I’m a mess.”
“Forty-five minutes. You have lots of time to get pretty. Finish your cereal, and I’ll help with the rest.”
“We’ll all help,” Wade added, grinning.
Nola rolled her eyes. “One of you is more than enough.”
Cameron laughed, and Tate gave both of them a look, but they ignored him. They’d already figured out that he was long gone on the woman and thought it was funny when he got all territorial.
As soon as she was through eating, she headed for the bathroom.
“I’ll yell when I’m ready for help,” she said.
Tate nodded.
The other two grinned at him when she left.
He grinned back and flipped them off.
* * *
Hershel was sitting in a chair by the window, sipping coffee, when he saw a Queens Crossing cop car pull up beside the Feds’ SUV. Moments later the trailer door opened and Benton came out, flanked by the other two agents. It took him a second to realize there was someone else walking between them, and then he grinned. She was there. They had just delivered her up to him on a platter and didn’t even know it.
“Hang tight, missy. You and I have a trip to take upriver.”
* * *
Nola took a dive into the backseat of the cruiser and then scooted down. Tate slammed the door and then got in the front seat with Beaudry. The other two waved and walked back inside.
The chief looked up in the rearview mirror and caught her eye.
“Stay down. A news crew followed me all the way to the front gate of this place.”
Nola got on her knees and curled up in the floor as Beaudry drove off.