Going Once (Forces of Nature) (13 page)

Tate walked into the trailer with steps dragging, Cameron right behind him.

Wade took one look at the expressions on their faces and knew it wasn’t good.

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story. I need to change and wash up,” Tate said as he walked past his partner and headed straight for Nola, who was stirring something at the stove. He noticed she’d taken her hair out of the braid, and it moved with the motion of her body, like wind across water. Without explanation, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face against the curve of her neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he said.

That he was upset was frightening enough, but the tremor in his voice made it worse. She hugged him back, even though the stitches pulled, and because she was afraid to ask what was wrong.

Wade frowned. “What happened, damn it?”

Cameron shrugged. “Well, we found Leon Mooney right where Jeff found the victim. He must have been lying in wait for the cops to arrive. He was trying to pull a copycat, wanting to outdo the Stormchaser. He took a shot at Jeff and shot Beaudry in the shoulder. Tate took off after him, then wound up having to shoot him to keep him from killing Jeff Wilson’s mother. The kicker was that Mooney knew who the Stormchaser was. He saw him attack Nola. He recognized him, but he died refusing to tell.”

Nola gasped.

Tate felt sick. They’d been so close to solving this mess, and he’d taken out their only real witness without knowing it, leaving the man to his killing spree and Nola still in danger.

“Don’t be like this,” Nola said. “You didn’t have a choice. He didn’t give you a choice. I know Jeff’s mother. She’s a sweet lady. Thank God you saved her. I’m sure Jeff is grateful. Now go clean up. I have just created a silk purse out of a sow’s ear here in this kitchen, and I expect high praise and kudos for my effort.”

“That’s for sure. I’m the official taster, and it’s amazing,” Wade said.

“Go,” Nola said. “Get cleaned up.”

Tate walked away, still frustrated and more than a little anxious. He was in the bathroom when his cell phone beeped. He recognized the number and got pissed all over again after he read the text.

When wrong is done and never acknowledged, it takes many wrongs to make it right.

Tate’s eyes widened. Yet another clue to their killer’s identity. Somewhere in this man’s past, he had suffered at the hands of law enforcement or possibly people in power. But suffered what? And where?

Twelve

T
ate had washed up, changed out of his muddy clothes into jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and then headed back to the kitchen in his bare feet.

Cameron had cleaned up, too, and was in the process of giving Wade a blow-by-blow account of what went down.

When Tate walked in, he could see by the look on Nola’s face that she was rattled. Hell. He didn’t blame her. So was he.

“I’m here. Show me the silk purse,” he said.

She glanced up. She hadn’t heard him come in, and now she wondered how long he had been watching her. If he only knew how angry she was becoming at the whole incredible situation, he wouldn’t worry so much that she might have an emotional meltdown. She was too pissed for that. She waved her hand toward the table, which had already been set.

“Sit. While you and Cameron were playing in the bayou, Wade and I created this amazing feast.”

Wade carried a big cast-iron skillet over to the table and set it on a magazine they were using for a trivet. Nola got out a bowl of salad and handed that to Wade. Her arm was aching, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t bear, and she didn’t want to take a pain pill until bedtime. Still, when she sat down at the table, she cupped her elbow to keep the stitches from pulling.

Tate saw her wince.

“How long since you took a pain pill?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Where are they?”

“I’ll take one after we eat, okay? For once, stop trying to orchestrate everything and relax.”

“It’s in my DNA,” he said.

“Like I don’t already know that,” she muttered.

Still, when Cameron dug into the casserole, the aroma shifted their attention.

“What do you call this?” Cameron asked.

“Feeb feed,” Nola said, and then grinned. “Isn’t Feeb another word for FBI?”

“In some circles,” Tate drawled, as he took a big bite. “Oh, my Lord, this is good! What on earth did you put together from that crazy assortment of groceries to make this?”

“Frozen hash browns, sliced ham from the deli, an onion, a can of corn and a can of peas. I made a white sauce from milk, butter and biscuit mix for thickening, and diced up some cheese for a topping.”

“I watched her doing it and still can’t believe she thought to use all this stuff together,” Wade said.

Cameron took a big bite. “It’s really good, Nola. If you’re available, I might be in the market for a girlfriend.”

“She’s not available,” Tate said shortly.

The men laughed, but Nola ignored them, dipping out a helping onto her plate, along with a serving of the salad.

“Hey, what about that pretty Laura Doyle at the Red Cross Center? I thought you had a thing for her?” Wade asked Cameron.

Cameron grinned as he took another bite. “She
is
really pretty, but I don’t know if she can cook.”

More laughter filled the room until Tate finally began to turn loose of regret. He’d been in this business for a while now and knew better than to take things personally. It was all because of Nola that he’d let this get under his skin.

“Even the salad is good, but we didn’t have any salad dressing,” Wade said.

“I used salt, pepper and some lemon juice. In fact, this meal used up just about everything we had to eat.”

“We’ll get more,” Tate said. “I need to go by the hospital and find out if our victim came out of surgery okay.”

“I called,” Wade said. “He did survive the surgery, and the doctor thinks he’s going to make a full recovery.”

A little bit more of Tate’s guilt lifted, and he told them about the latest text, a genuine clue to what was driving the killer.

“Now if the chief comes out of surgery okay, then we can call this a good day,” Cameron said. “Wade and I will go check on him, then get more groceries, after we eat.”

“And I would like to swing by the Red Cross Center,” Cameron said, and then suffered their teasing in good-natured silence. He liked Laura Doyle and wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “I have a method in my madness,” he added. “Now that all the shouting has died down, I thought we might talk to the people there and see if someone might have seen what happened to Nola, or even have seen the killer making an escape. It’s worth a shot.”

“What about the news crews? Have they left town yet?” Nola asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” Tate said. “They’re all over the place. Murder always makes the news. When they get wind of a copycat killer, it’s going to get even crazier.”

“I can’t believe that all this started because of a flood,” she muttered.

“Actually, it began in Iowa, because of a tornado,” Tate said. “When the Mississippi flooded, he—” Tate stood abruptly. “Oh, man, how did I miss that?”

“Miss what?” Cameron asked.

“One of the last things Mooney said was that he’d never be as good as the Stormchaser because he didn’t have Katrina. I thought he was talking about a woman, but what if he was talking about Hurricane Katrina?”

Wade jumped up and headed for his laptop. “So how does that fit in with the whole revenge scenario?”

Nola frowned. “It makes no sense. Why would he want to kill survivors?”

“Without knowing who he is, we can’t really answer that,” Tate said.

Silence followed, each of them lost in thoughts of what was driving the killer.

“Do we have dessert?” Cameron asked to break the mood.

“If Wade didn’t eat all the cookies, yes. If Wade ate all the cookies, no.”

Tate eyed his partner and smiled. “I’d say the answer is no.”

“We’ll bring back some ice cream,” Wade said. “What’s your poison, Nola?”

“She likes rocky road,” Tate said.

Nola rolled her eyes. “He asked
me,
not
you.
My tastes could have changed.”

“Well, did they?” he asked.

“No, but—”

He grinned. “Then I rest my case.”

“I’ll clean up. You guys go do your thing before it gets too late. Places don’t stay open here as late as they do in the city.”

When Nola began carrying plates to the sink, Tate stopped her, took her by the shoulders and aimed her at the living room.

“You cooked. I clean. Put your feet up and enjoy.”

She didn’t argue, and within minutes Winger and Luckett were gone and Tate was doing dishes.

She watched him working, remembering how focused he’d always been at everything he did. She guessed it was what made him good at his job, being able to focus on details and the characteristics of the criminals they were trying to catch. He’d always been so faithful. If she hadn’t been so young back when they parted, she would have realized something terrible had happened to him to make him feel the need to escape from Queens Crossing and that she needed to give him the benefit of the doubt. If only she’d trusted her heart and not her head, none of this would be happening.

The truth was that she wanted to make love with him. Not many people got a second chance at happiness with the love of their life, and she had come too close to dying to waste hers. As soon as the last dish went in the dishwasher, she stood up.

“Tate?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“How do you really feel about me?”

In three steps she was in his arms. Without saying a word, he began feathering kisses all over her face, on her ear, on her brow, on the tip of her nose and her chin, at the nape of her neck. Everywhere but her lips.

“That’s how I feel about you, like I will never get enough. Finding you again is like winning the lottery, but better.”

“What happens to me when you leave here?”

Breath caught in the back of his throat. If he said the wrong thing, would he lose her again?

“What do you want to happen?”

“I don’t want to live the rest of my life without you,” she said.

“Then we’re good, because I feel the same way, only this is now, not back then. I have an investment in a career I like that demands a good deal of travel.”

“I have a job that demands very little travel and a good deal of my time.”

He cupped her face with both hands. “That sounds like a perfect match.”

She sighed. “Do you want to pick a fight and have make-up sex, or should we just skip to the chase and make love? I don’t know about you, but I’m eight years and counting since this has happened.”

“Are you serious?”

“About what, the making love part, or the eight-year dry spell?”

Tate laughed. This was the way it used to be between them. No hesitancy. No playing around. Just honest-to-God love wild enough to rock a man’s soul. He picked her up in his arms and headed down the hall. Once inside her bedroom, he set her down, locked the door and turned around.

“I have had this dream so many times, but it always ends when you start taking off your clothes.”

Nola unsnapped her jeans.

“It’s not going to end this time,” she said, then hesitated, suddenly a little shy. “This used to be easy between us.”

“It will be again. Let me help.”

But it wasn’t really help. It was more like laying claim. He stripped her so fast she didn’t have time to be embarrassed. All of a sudden she was naked and Tate was coming out of his own clothes.

He slid onto the bed beside her, then cupped her breast and rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger, just enough to make her ache.

“I left a pretty girl and came back to a magnificent woman. You take my breath away.”

She combed her fingers through his hair the way she used to, loving the springy feel of it beneath her palms.

“Make love to me, Tate. I’ve learned the hard way that nothing lasts forever. I don’t want to die never knowing this again.”

His eyes narrowed sharply. “Don’t say that! You won’t die. I won’t let him hurt you.”

She shook her head. He couldn’t promise that, and anyway, she didn’t want to think about tomorrow.

“Just love me now. I won’t ask for more.”

So he did—smothering her with kisses, turning her on with his hands and his mouth until she was out of her mind.

Ignoring the pull of her healing stitches, she reached for him, encircling his erection with her fingers, feeling the surge of blood beneath the surface as it pulsed between her hands.

“Be with me...love me,” she whispered.

He rose up and then over her, parted her legs with a knee and then slid inside. She was hot and wet, and he came close to losing control before they even began.

Nola locked her legs around his waist as he braced himself above her, and when he began to move, she began to cry.

“Don’t,” he whispered, kissing the tears running down the sides of her face.

“Don’t talk,” she said, and kissed him long and hard until he forgot about words.

Nola closed her eyes, and just like that, the eight years without him were gone. She remembered it all: the catch in his breath, the beat of his heart, the play of muscles across his back. The blood rush in her body was almost frightening in its intensity. Making love with Tate meant relinquishing control, and she’d done it. With every thrust of his body, he took her closer to the edge. It felt good to play with fire when he was the one fanning the flames.

Tate had long since lost his ability to focus. He was just riding out the madness that was dragging him ever closer to the little death. When the climax hit him, she was already coming. All he could do was hold her, because he was beyond thought.

Nola moaned as the last ripples of her climax rolled through her.

“Oh, sweet Lord,” she whispered.

Tate kissed her chin, then her lips.

“I missed you, baby.”

“I missed you, too,” she said.

“I can’t move.”

She sighed. “And I don’t want to.”

Just as Tate closed his eyes, his cell phone began to ring.

“Oh, man,” he groaned, then rolled over and got the phone out of a pocket in his jeans.

“Is the television on?” Cameron asked.

“No, why?”

“Turn it on...pick a channel...any channel. Nola is front-page news.”

“Damn it,” Tate muttered, and grabbed his jeans as he headed for the living room.

Nola flew out of bed, dressing quickly as she followed him up the hall. She was still trying to wrestle her sore arm into her shirtsleeve when she heard her name on TV.

“What the hell?”

Tate upped the volume as they stared at the picture on the screen and listened to the newsreader.

“This is a still shot of well-known regional artist Nola Landry coming out of the doctor’s office. Miss Landry has just been identified as the only witness to the serial killer known as the Stormchaser. Although she says she was never close enough to see his face, she did witness the cold-blooded murder of three people who were stranded on the roof of their house just outside Queens Crossing, Louisiana. Landry herself was clinging to the branches of a tree she had climbed to escape the water’s wrath, hanging on for her life when the murders happened. Hours later she was rescued by members of the Louisiana National Guard in one of their choppers. Just two days ago the Stormchaser, in an effort to silence his only witness, made an attempt on her life at a local Red Cross shelter, where she, along with dozens of other locals, had taken refuge after losing their homes. She has since been moved to an unknown location. Federal agents are on the scene, following the killer’s trail, but as yet have been unable to name a suspect. Landry has garnered a reputation as a talented painter, and people in the art world are praying for her safety. These are examples of some of her work hanging in a gallery in Savannah, Georgia.”

Nola dropped onto the sofa, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Oh. My. God. They pretty much told everything about me but my current address and dress size.”

Tate sighed. “We knew this would happen when they got the pictures, remember?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what I thought would happen, but it wasn’t this.”

“Your paintings are amazing.”

She shoved a shaky hand through her hair. “Thank you for pointing out the silver lining in the storm cloud.”

He grinned. “You’re welcome.”

She climbed into his lap and wrapped her arm around his neck.

“Well, I always wanted to be famous. When I was little, I used to pray to God to make me famous. Obviously I wasn’t specific enough. I should have added that I wanted to be famous for my paintings, not for surviving a serial killer’s attack.”