by Sala, Sharon
“And the killer is dead?” Don asked.
“I don’t know that.”
“Really? I thought...”
Unwilling for the whole floor to hear their argument, Tate lowered his voice to just above a whisper.
“You don’t give a shit about anything but yourself, and we both know it, so what the fuck are you doing here?”
Don shrugged. “Honestly? I was hoping she might intercede with you on my behalf.”
“With me?”
Don nodded. “I’m sorry if you aren’t prepared to talk to me, but—”
Tate wanted to shake him and had to remember he had recently been in a wreck.
“Remember the night you wouldn’t talk to me?” Tate snapped.
Don sighed. “Yes.”
“Well, so do I, and that is never going to change. You are nothing to me. You were dead to me the night you threw me out of the only home I’d ever known like some stray off the street. Go away. You will never be a part of my life.”
“But if you and Nola marry, what about my grandchildren?”
“Nothing of mine will ever be yours. Go home. If you want someone to talk to in your waning years, talk to God. You have a lot of explaining to do.”
“But—”
Tate went back inside and shut the door, leaving Don alone in the hall. It was beginning to dawn on him that in working with the dead, he’d lost his ability to communicate with the living, and that was his burden to carry. He put a hand on the door, then turned and walked away.
Inside, Tate resumed his seat at Nola’s side, exhausted by the continual pressure from his father. The man was such an egomaniac. He’d rejected him once for a lack of proper lineage, and now that he had proof his precious DNA had been reproduced, he was ready to lay claim to his son again. The sooner they left Queens Crossing the better, and as soon as the entire team was healed at the same time, they would be gone.
Cameron still had at least a couple of days before he would be released for travel, and Nola’s welfare was up in the air. They were all holding their breath that she didn’t develop pneumonia or some kind of infection. The original wound in her arm had just begun to heal before this happened. She was a long way from out of the woods, and he wasn’t leaving without her.
As for the killer’s fate, there was a knot in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t go away. Until he had physical proof that the man was dead, Tate would not rest easy. He wanted to go back to the site of the explosion and search the shore on both sides of the river. As soon as the guards he’d sent for arrived to stay with Nola, he and Wade were going, if for no other reason than to complete their final report.
Nola moved restlessly beneath the sheets, which led him to believe she was in pain. A deep frown creased her forehead as she reached for the bandages on her arm.
“No, baby, leave it alone,” he said softly.
She reached out again, but this time grabbing his hand and then holding on.
“I’m here,” he said. “Rest easy.”
“Love you,” she whispered, then drifted back into a semiconscious state again.
“Love you, too,” he said, remembering the fear that had swept through him when he’d seen her fighting the man they’d been chasing for so long.
She’d had her hands on the killer, which was a hell of a lot more than they could say. She’d fought him for her life and defeated him twice. It couldn’t happen again.
* * *
The two bodyguards Tate had hired arrived before daylight. He got a text from Wade saying they were at the trailer and would be at the hospital by 7:00 a.m. He sent a text back to acknowledge the message and remind Wade to bring the duffel bag from his bedroom when he came to pick him up.
* * *
Nola was dreaming. She was standing on one side of the flooded river, and the killer was standing on the other side. Even from that vast distance she could tell he was laughing.
An ambulance siren suddenly sounded beneath the window of her room and woke her up just as Tate was finishing a call. She saw him drop the phone in his pocket and called his name.
“Tate?”
“I’m right here.”
“I had a dream. I dreamed he wasn’t dead.”
He brushed the hair away from her forehead and then kissed the side of her cheek.
“Dreams are just dreams, honey. Are you in pain? Want me to get a nurse?”
She nodded.
He buzzed for the nurse and then helped her sit up.
“Are you dizzy?”
“I don’t think so. Just weak.”
He took her hair band out and smoothed her hair back down with his hands, then refastened the band.
“Where’s a hairbrush when you need one, right?” he said.
She leaned forward and laid her face against his chest.
“I thought I was never going to see you again.”
“I was pretty scared about the same thing myself,” he said.
“Ask me to go with you,” she whispered.
He wrapped his arms around her.
“When we leave here, will you come with me?”
“Yes.”
The love she felt was on her face, and he saw it.
“No matter where my job takes me, I’ll always come back to you. Is that okay?” he asked.
“Yes, yes.”
“I have a nice apartment in D.C., but we can get a house with a great room for your studio.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I don’t care where I live, as long as it’s with you.”
“Well, I care, and you won’t regret it. I promise,” he said.
“The only regret I’ve ever had was losing you before. I won’t let that happen again,” she said.
The door opened, and the nurse came in carrying a syringe. After a quick check of Nola’s IV and bandages, she injected the pain meds into the port.
“Is there anything else you need, honey? Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“I can take her if she needs to go,” Tate said.
The nurse nodded and left the room.
“So, do you want to go before you lie back down?”
“I guess.”
They had to roll the IV stand with her, and as soon as he got her to the bathroom, he stepped out to wait, and in that moment, standing in the dark in the hospital room, he felt his mother’s spirit so strongly that he nearly dropped to his knees. His eyes filled with tears, but he wiped them away.
“I miss you, Mom. Go with God. We’re fine,” he whispered, and just like that, the feeling passed.
When Nola came out, Tate rolled the stand beside her as she walked, then got her settled into bed.
“I have something to tell you,” he said.
A frown immediately crossed her face.
“Is it bad?”
“No, but it’s business and has to be done. In just a little while Wade and I have to go back out to the site of the explosion. We can’t finalize the investigation until both sides of the shore have been thoroughly searched. It’s just protocol.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t think he’s dead,” she whispered.
“That was just your dream, remember? We won’t know anything until we look. You know that, right?”
She nodded.
“So, what I want you to know is that two bodyguards will be here to watch over you, standing outside the door. When anyone comes inside, one will come with them. I’ve known these men since my days in the academy. They’re both ex-Navy SEALs and good friends. I trust them with my life, and I trust them with you. Are you okay with this?”
“Of course I’m okay. Just do your job, Tate. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Eighteen
The sun was a faded version of its normal self, which was all the warning they were going to get that the weather was likely to change. Tate didn’t care what it did, as long as it didn’t rain.
Cameron was unhappy about being left out of the search and as anxious as Nola to find out if the sorry bastard was still alive. It was an embarrassment to admit he’d been tricked, and nothing anyone said made it better. The only positive thing about his situation was that Laura Doyle was visiting regularly.
Tate had changed into the sturdier clothes and hiking boots from his duffel bag and was downing his last bite of doughnut as he drove out of town.
“What do you think we’re going to find?” Wade asked.
“I would be happy with a body part.”
Wade had worked with Tate Benton for nearly six years now and considered him more like a brother than just a partner.
“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in that statement?”
Tate shrugged. “Because I don’t think he’s dead.”
Wade was shocked.
“Why are you so sure of that? You saw the explosion, the fire, the boat in pieces and the gators.”
“I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel over.”
“Well, I hope to hell you’re wrong,” Wade said.
“So do I.”
“We’re on land, so how do you know how to get to the right part of the shore? There aren’t any roads, and all the normal landmarks are under water.”
“I grew up here. I’ll know,” Tate said.
About thirty minutes later, after driving down a lot of rural roads, and winding through a couple of pastures, Tate stopped.
“This is as far as we’ll be able to drive. We’ll have to walk it from here.”
As he got out, he checked to make sure his weapon was loaded, then used the compass on his watch to align with true south and started walking.
The land was spongy and waterlogged, which made walking slower than usual, and the footing was even worse the closer they got to the floodwater. As they entered the woods, their presence was duly noted by the local four-footed denizens, who either fled or took cover. A small alligator slithered out from beneath some leaves and headed for the water, reminding them that far larger ones could be anywhere.
“We’re almost there,” Tate said. “Keep an eye out for signs of the boat—or a body.”
Wade nodded, and a few minutes later they walked out of the woods and stopped just short of the water. Tate looked out across the flood, aligning where they were standing with what he could see of the shore on the opposite side.
“If he got out on this side, it would have been somewhere in this area. If we don’t find anything for a mile in either direction, then we’ll have to drive down to Tidewater to cross and check the other shore.”
“I’ll go downriver,” Wade said.
“And I’ll go up. Call me if you find anything, and watch out for gators. They could be up here sunning.”
“Dandy,” Wade muttered.
They parted at the water’s edge and started moving slowly in opposite directions.
Tate was about two hundred yards up from where he’d started when he stopped, staring in disbelief at what was in front of him. The drag marks here could have been a gator dragging itself out of the water to sun, except for the human handprints on either side. A dozen feet from the water, he saw footprints. His heart sank.
“Son of a bitch.”
He grabbed his cell phone and made the call, waiting for Wade to answer.
“Yeah?”
“I found tracks.”
“On my way.”
Tate disconnected, then switched to camera mode and began taking pictures all the way into the trees.
“In here!” he yelled, when he saw Wade approaching.
His partner came running.
“You’re right. Someone crawled out of the water here. The likelihood of it being anyone but our killer is slim to none,” Wade said as he stared at the tracks.
Tate pointed. “They lead off in this direction. If we’re lucky, we’ll find his body.”
Wade didn’t bother commenting on what would happen if they didn’t.
“He has to be hurt,” Wade said.
Tate pointed down at the ground. “You can see by these tracks that his steps are all over the place, and dragging.” He stopped to take some more pictures. “If we don’t find a body, we’ll notify hospitals in the area. It’s just after 9:00 a.m., so let’s go.”
They walked for almost an hour before they came up on a little clearing. There was a mooring rope still tied around a tree and tire tracks less than fifty feet away. Once again, Tate felt blindsided.
“This can’t be happening,” he muttered, and then shoved his hands through his hair in utter frustration. “Nola had a dream that he wasn’t dead. Damn it! I can’t believe he not only lived through that explosion and the gators, he actually got away.”
“It must have thrown him clear,” Wade said. “It’s the only explanation.”
For the first time since he’d joined the FBI, Tate actually felt defeated.
“I do not want to file this report.”
“Let’s head back. There’s a lot we have to do,” Wade said.
“We need to get some more pictures. I need some of the tire tracks and of the mooring rope before we leave.”
“I’ll call Queens Crossing P.D. and have them begin notifying hospitals in the area to be on the lookout for a burn victim.”
“Tell them to put a guard on the motor home, too. I don’t think he’d have the balls to come back, but I’m not taking chances.”
“Will do,” Wade said as Tate began taking pictures.
As soon as he finished, he sent everything to his laptop and to Quantico, and then they began the long walk back.
“You do know that he could have driven off and died somewhere on his own,” Wade said as they retraced their steps.
Tate shrugged. Anything was possible. They’d just been slapped with that fact.
The trip back into Queens Crossing was all but silent. Finally it was Tate who broke the silence.
“Nola said the man’s real name was Hershel. We need to go through that motor home and see if we can figure out what started him killing. Maybe it will lead us to where he would go to heal.”
“Are we going to do it here?”
“Initial search here I think. Then have it towed to Quantico. If there’s anything in there that might help us run him down, they’ll find it.”
* * *
By the time they got back, the usual small-town grapevine had already heard the news. The Stormchaser hadn’t died in the explosion, and the FBI was no closer to arresting him now than they had been two months ago. It was not their finest hour. The only positive in the entire day was that the news crews had left town, abandoning them for a hot new story.
They stopped by the trailer to shower and change, then Tate grabbed his laptop to file the reports and pocketed a couple of candy bars, and they were out the door.
Wade dropped him off at the hospital and headed back. He was going to do the initial search of the motor home and hope for a break. They were due one.
* * *
Nola was sitting up in bed when Tate walked in.
“I heard,” she said. “What happens next?”
He put his laptop on the chair and then headed for the bed.
“You are my hero,” he said, and wrapped her in his arms. “I screwed up.”
“You blew him up and he’s still alive. How is that your fault? Stop beating yourself up and kiss me.”
He groaned and kissed her until good sense made him stop.
She patted the side of the bed for him to sit down,
so he did.
“What did you do with Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee?” she asked.
He grinned. “I sent them back to the trailer for the night.”
“Do you have to stay here to continue your investigation?”
“We’re checking area hospitals for burn or accident victims. If nothing turns up there, and we don’t get any leads from the stuff in his motor home, then we go back to D.C. and wait. Either he’ll go to ground and call it quits, or something will trigger the urge and he’ll start all over again.”
She rolled her eyes. “Does this happen often?”
“No, but it happens.”
“Does it make you crazy?”
He smiled. “You make me crazy.”
“When all my bruises fade, I will marry you.”
The smile slid off his face. “It feels wrong to be grateful that a serial killer brought me back to you, but that’s pretty much a fact of our life.”
“All I can say is that we’re not naming our firstborn Hershel.”
His smile was back. “Uh, Nola Jean?”
“What?”
“When your bruises fade, will you marry me?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You’re going to like Washington,” he said.
“I know. We’re going to find a house with a room for my studio, and you’ll chase bad guys and I’ll paint pictures, and we’ll live happy ever after.”
“That sounds like a deal.”
She started to laugh and then coughed.
He frowned.
“Lie back down. You’re not well.”
“But I will be,” she said. “You wait and see.”
* * *
Hershel had little to no memory of how he’d gotten to Jackson. The race to escape through the night had become lost in the haze of drugs and pain that ruled his life for the past week. The burns on his face were beginning to granulize, and the healing was taking place. It was a slow process, but he wasn’t going anywhere. The first time he was allowed to get up and walk, the first thing he’d done was get to a window overlooking the parking lot to see if his truck was still there, but it was gone.
He tried to smile, but his facial muscles wouldn’t let him. It was comforting to know his fellow man had done him a favor by stealing it.