Going Once (Forces of Nature) (14 page)

He kissed her chin and pulled her close.

“Nola Jean Landry, I sincerely love you to the depths of my soul,” he said, laughing. “Here I was, fearing you were going to go off the deep end, and instead you’re complaining about the price of fame.”

She kissed the side of his cheek and then his mouth, lingering long enough that she made him groan before she pulled back.

“I love you, too, Special Agent Man, and I am putting my life in your hands, because I don’t know beans about dodging the bad guys.”

All of a sudden things were serious again. Just the thought of being responsible for her life made him sick to his stomach, because the only thing they knew for sure about their killer was how deadly he was.

* * *

Hershel was feeling much better and was in the bathroom shaving. He didn’t like whiskers. They made his face itch. He would go to work tomorrow and ease himself back into the routine while he watched the Feds’ movements and established an escape route before he made his move to snatch the Landry woman. He needed to find out exactly where she’d witnessed him in the act and take her back there. To undo a wrong, he had to go back to the beginning to make it right.

You can’t make anything right if you keep doing everything wrong. You’re crazy, Hershel. You’re certifiably crazy.

“Hush, Louise. I told you I wasn’t the man you married. The sooner you accept that, the happier we’ll both be.”

He rinsed off the shaving cream, eyeing himself in the mirror. In his youth, Louise used to say he looked like a young version of Marlon Brando. Now he looked more like Dick Cheney. Satisfied with his clean, smooth shave, he began drying off. As soon as he was dressed, he moved up front to watch a little TV before going to bed.

He had just turned it on and was channel surfing when a picture of Nola Landry flashed on the screen. He gasped, then raised the volume, listening to the newscaster’s coverage of the story.

Just hearing the media say there was a witness made him crazy. Now they would be laughing at him—saying he’d made a mistake. He had to fix it so the laughing would stop. The only positive out of the entire broadcast was that he now knew the kill site. There was only one location that had three people waiting for rescue, and he knew exactly where he’d been. He closed his eyes, thinking back to how the area had looked, and vividly remembered going past a stand of partially submerged trees. So that was where she’d been—up one of those trees. Now that was where he would take her, back to the place where the mistake was made. That was how you made mistakes go away.

Hershel Inman, I will never speak to you again if you hurt that poor girl. Do you hear me, Hershel? I mean it!

“I hear you, Louise, now you need to hear me. I will do it, and there’s nothing you can say to stop me. You died and left me alone here, and now I’m doing what has to be done.”

* * *

Nola was showered and in her sweats watching TV when Wade and Cameron came back. She heard a knock at the door, and then Wade calling out.

“It’s just us,” he said as the key turned in the door.

They both came in carrying grocery sacks.

She shut and locked the door behind them as they dumped everything on the island.

“Did you bring ice cream?” she asked.

Wade dug through a bag and pulled out a pint of rocky road ice cream. He took off the lid, stuck a spoon in the container and handed it to her.

“Knock yourself out, honey. That one is all yours.”

She didn’t argue. Instead, she wrapped a paper towel around the carton and headed for the living room with her prize.

“Where’s Tate?” Wade asked.

“In the shower. Oh, wow, this is good. Thank you!”

“We figured it was the least we could do after your television debut.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m not talking about that,” she muttered, and scooped up another bite and poked it in her mouth.

“Here he comes. We got your favorite, buddy,” Wade said, and tossed Tate a honey bun.

“Thanks. Did you bring any Pepsi?”

Wade pointed to a twelve-pack on the counter.

Tate poured one in a cup, added some ice and then sat down beside Nola.

“Trade you a bite,” he said.

“Deal,” she said as he tore off a piece of honey bun and fed it to her. Then she scooped up a big bite of ice cream and spooned it into his mouth.

Cameron elbowed Wade, who grinned and nodded.

“We leave and look what happens,” Cameron said.

Tate heard them but ignored them, and Nola no longer cared.

She’d lost her home.

Someone wanted her dead.

The only man she’d ever loved was back in her life.

Some would say that only one out of three wasn’t optimum odds, but life didn’t come with guarantees and she wasn’t wasting a minute of it with what-ifs.

* * *

The morning had dawned clear and cool. It was a good day for early September. The flowers in Don Benton’s flower beds in front of the house were still blooming. Asters and chrysanthemums. Julia had called them hardy flowers when she’d planted them. Even though she was long gone from the house, he’d kept everything just as it had been. It was his way of pretending nothing in his life that mattered had really changed.

But it had. Seeing Tate again had rattled him, and the anger, while not surprising, had been so vicious he would not have been shocked if the two of them had come to blows. He could tell the night he stitched up Nola Landry’s arm that their relationship would most likely resume. He didn’t care. It was nothing to do with him.

When they’d first left, there had been countless sleepless nights when he’d lain awake, trying to figure out who Tate’s father could have been. Finally he’d pushed the jealousy aside and written off his wife and her bastard as a deal gone bad. It didn’t matter who she’d had an affair with. They were both out of his life, and now she was no longer of this world. It had been a shock to learn how she had suffered before she died, but as time passed, he decided life had dealt her exactly what she had deserved.

He had some paperwork to catch up on and then was thinking about a short trip to New Orleans. Maybe spend a couple of days there seeing the sights and visiting old friends. The food was amazing and he needed a break.

He was driving down Main Street on his way to the morgue when a car came out of an alley. He caught a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye, and then everything went black.

* * *

Nola was sitting at the island in her sock feet eating cereal and watching Tate make toast. Wade was in the shower, and Cameron was on the phone with the director. She could tell by the way Tate’s head was tilted that he was listening to everything Cameron was saying. Both men had filed their reports on the copycat incident last night before they’d gone to bed, and she guessed they were waiting to see how their boss reacted.

Tate had just watched Nola take her last bite when his cell phone rang. He noticed it was the hospital and assumed it was probably Beaudry, laid up and bored and wanting an update.

“This is Benton,” he said.

“Tate, this is Doctor Tuttle. Your father was in an accident. Someone came out of an alley down on Main and T-boned his car on the driver’s side. He has some internal injuries and is losing a lot of blood.”

Shock sent Tate back to his childhood, to the man who was his hero, then flashed forward to the night that same man had punched him in the face and sent him tumbling down the stairs. Finally he made himself focus.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked.

“I know this is a long shot, but your dad has a rare blood type and with everything going on, we don’t have any on hand. By any chance are you O negative?”

“Yes. Where do I go?”

“Fantastic! Come to the E.R. I’ll have them set up and waiting for you. And, Tate...time is of the essence.”

“I’ll be right there,” he said, then glanced at Nola as he hung up.

“What’s up?” Cameron said.

“Dad was in a wreck, and they don’t have any O negative on hand. I’m going down to donate.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Nola asked.

“I want you to, but you can’t. Sorry.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Okay, I know you’re right. I hope he’s okay.”

Tate nodded. “I won’t be long,” he said, then grabbed his wallet and gun and was out the door.

“If the old bastard survives, I hope he’ll realize what a mistake he made,” Cameron said.

Just then Wade walked into the kitchen to check on breakfast and noticed they were one short.

“Where’s Tate?”

When Cameron filled him in, his reaction was the same.

“That’s one cold-blooded man. I still can’t wrap my head around what he did to Tate. It’s just crazy.” Then he looked at Nola. “It’s part of what broke you guys up, right?”

She nodded. “Only I didn’t know it until he told me the same day he told you.”

“But you’re both okay now?”

She smiled. “We’re very okay.”

They both gave her a thumbs-up.

“So...what’s on the schedule?” Wade asked.

“You mean besides babysitting me?” she said.

Cameron frowned. “Hey. It’s not babysitting. It’s called protecting a material witness.”

“Which we’re happy to do, because we usually have to order in when that happens. Your cooking skills are a bonus,” Wade said.

She grinned. “Changing the subject now, but has either one of you heard if the river has crested yet?”

“No. That last rain added to the runoff. I heard them predicting it for sometime tomorrow evening,
if
it doesn’t rain again anytime soon.”

“Thanks,” she said, and then took her bowl to the dishwasher as Wade walked into the kitchen behind her.

“Who made toast?” he asked, pointing to the two slices in the toaster.

“Tate.”

“Don’t want to let them go to waste,” he said, and grabbed a plate.

“Are you ever full?” Nola asked.

Wade shrugged. “It’s a metabolism thing.”

She grinned. “Is that guy talk to get around the fact that you’re a walking garbage disposal?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and stuffed a half slice of toast in his mouth.

Thirteen

T
ate sped through town, taking back alleys to keep from hitting stop signs and red lights. He made it to the hospital in just under eight minutes. He entered the E.R. on the run, and was met by a lab tech and a nurse.

He recognized the nurse but couldn’t remember her name. She, however, knew him.

“This way, Tate,” she said, and led him into an unoccupied bay. “Lie down here and push up your sleeve.”

He did as she asked without saying a word. Within moments they had the needle in a vein and the blood began to flow. He glanced over at the tube, watching the bright red blood running down into the bag and thought about the power contained in the dynamics of a family. Did blood prove you belonged? If you didn’t, did they care? Did belonging isolate you or insulate you? Some families drew closer when tragedy struck and others splintered. He knew where his fell in that scenario.

The nurse was standing beside him, waiting to rush the blood into the O.R. Without knowing the dynamics of his family, she assumed Tate would be concerned about his father’s welfare.

“He’s a tough man, Tate. They’re doing all they can.”

“I’m sure they are. Who was in the other car?”

She grimaced. “Mrs. Coffee. She didn’t make it.”

“Oh, my God,” Tate said, and closed his eyes.

He remembered the little librarian from his high school days and was sad that such a sweet woman’s life would end this way.

“Not much longer,” the tech said.

He glanced at the bag. It was almost full. If this was what saved Don Benton’s life, his dad was going to be pissed.

“That’ll do it,” the tech said, and stopped the flow, pulled the needle and quickly taped it off. “Here you go,” he said, and handed the blood off to the nurse.

“God bless you, Tate,” she said, and left the room at a run.

When Tate started to get up, the tech stopped him and handed him a juice box.

“You need to lie here for about ten minutes. I snagged you a fresh doughnut to have with this juice.”

Tate thanked him and sat up just enough so that he could swallow.

He ate and drank without thought, taking the food like medicine, and wondered how Beaudry was doing. Since he was already there, he decided go by and check on the chief before he left.

* * *

Hershel showed up for work with a snap in his step. Word had leaked out, and like everyone else in town he’d heard all about Leon Mooney being a copycat killer. He considered it a compliment. Too bad his intended victims weren’t dead. It would have added to the Stormchaser’s cachet, having a successful copycat following in his footsteps.

“Hey, you! Good to see you up and around,” Laura Doyle said. “Did you drive here?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then I need you to haul some of our supplies over to the First Baptist Church. Take this list and fill it from the storeroom. Do you know where the church is located?”

Hershel took the list, scanning it quickly. “I think so. Isn’t it the one a block south of Eats?”

“That’s it. Get some of the guys out back to help you load, and take someone with you. Doesn’t matter who. As soon as you’re through, come back here.”

“Will do,” he said, and went back out to drive his truck up to the back of the gym.

* * *

When they told Tate he could leave, he went to see Beaudry. The door was ajar, and even before he went in, he could hear the man griping, which had to mean he was on the mend. He knocked once then walked in.

Beaudry looked up and waved him over.

“Good. It’s you. I can’t see shit without my glasses, and I’m trying to find Channel 10 on this TV. Help me out, will you?”

“Sure thing,” Tate said, and got it on the right station for him, then hit Mute. “You’re set. All you’ll have to do is hit Mute again to get your sound back.”

“Thanks. What brings you to the Louisiana Hilton?”

Tate chuckled. “You. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay. It hurts, but it’s healing. I’m just grateful to be alive.”

“I hear you,” Tate said. “That was some crazy stuff.”

Beaudry shook his head. “I will never understand the mentality of a copycat killer. How can you fixate on someone who’s wreaking havoc in the world and want to be like him?”

“All kinds of things play into it, but lack of self-esteem, feeling like you’re invisible, wanting to be famous, hating the establishment, holding a grudge against society...then mix that with just plain mean, or maybe some type of mental illness, and you’ve got the setup for that kind of hero worship.”

Beaudry shook his head. “At any rate, I’m sure grateful you stopped him before he could hurt Jeff’s mother. She’s a real nice lady. And speaking of nice ladies, how’s yours?”

“She’s getting better. Frustrated by the imposed isolation. Angry with the situation.”

“Any new leads on your killer?”

Tate thought of his last text and grimaced. “Other than the fact that he’s right-handed but shoots his victims with his left, no.”

“Really? How does this help you find him?”

“It doesn’t, actually,” Tate said. “It’s just a clue for a profiler.”

“Do you think Nola is still a target?”

“I know she is,” Tate said. “And, speaking of her, I better get back. When do they let you out?”

“‘Soon’ is all they’ll say. The bullet didn’t hit anything important, so it’s just a matter of flesh and muscle healing. I’ll be on desk duty for a while, which sucks, but I’ll take it rather than be stuck at home with Elsie. I love my wife, but I do not want to be home 24/7. She never stops talking.”

Tate laughed. “Do you ever answer her?”

Beaudry blinked. “Not sure I really do, now that you mention it.”

“You might try it. If she got a little cooperation with the conversation, she might not feel the need to handle it all herself.”

Beaudry grinned. “I think I might just give that a try. You’re pretty sharp for a local boy.”

Tate shook his head. “Not really. Just a student of human behavior. Take care.”

“Thanks for stopping by,” Beaudry said.

Tate got all the way down to the lobby before his cell phone rang. It was Doc Tuttle.

“Hello?”

“Tate, this is Doctor Tuttle. I wanted to let you know that your father is out of surgery. Your blood donation made the difference for him. He’ll be mighty grateful when he finds out.”

“No, he won’t,” Tate said. “But thank you for the information.”

He disconnected before Tuttle could say anything more and headed for the parking lot, only to be caught by the media.

“Agent Benton! Do you have a comment about the copycat killer?”

“He’s dead.”

He kept walking, ignoring the rest of the questions they threw at him, got in the car and drove away.

* * *

Hershel had copped an attitude on the way back to the Red Cross Center. Everyone had been talking about the copycat and not saying a word about him. He needed to make something happen to draw the attention back to him, and he needed to do it fast. He wanted to go downriver and find his next kill site, but he couldn’t do it until he broke the jinx.

A new volunteer named Floyd Tully had gone with him to the church, and it was Hershel’s personal opinion that Floyd was a pain in the butt. He kept talking about football and the New Orleans Saints like they were something next to God. Except for hunting, Hershel had never been much for sports, and he was sick and tired of listening to Floyd talk about the Saints’ current quarterback. When he finally got back to the gym parking lot, the urge to throttle him eased.

“Here we are,” Hershel said. “We better check in with Miss Doyle and see what she needs us to do next.”

“I don’t know,” Floyd said. “I told my wife I’d be home for dinner at noon. Don’t your wife worry about all this killing?”

“My wife is dead,” Hershel said tersely, then got out of the truck and slammed the door behind him, leaving Floyd to get out on his own.

I’m still here, Hershel, and you know it.

“Yeah, but you’re also still dead,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” Floyd asked.

“No.”

“Hey! Y’all tell Miss Doyle I’ll be back later, okay?”

Hershel nodded and kept walking. It was nearing the noon hour, and as he walked in he could see lots of activity back in the kitchen area. He guessed she might be there, and he was right.

“Hey, I’m back,” he said. “Floyd went home to eat. Said to tell you he’ll be back later.”

Laura nodded, and kept spreading mustard on bread then slapping ham and cheese between the slices.

“Is there something else you need me to do?” he asked.

“Not right now,” she said. “Oh, wait. You’re staying out at that trailer park, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We found a bag with some of Nola Landry’s things under the cot that she used.”

Hershel smiled. “She and the Feds are staying in a rental trailer just a few lots up from mine. I see them coming and going. Want me to drop it off?”

“That would be great. It’s on my desk up in the office. Tell her I said hello.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll grab a bite to eat and then be back in time to carry out the garbage, okay?”

Laura smiled wearily. “Yes. You’re a lifesaver. Thank you for staying with us.”

Hershel smiled. “It’s the benefit of being retired. I’m happy to help.”

He strode toward the office at a brisk clip, found the sack in the middle of the desk and headed for his truck. He was smiling broadly by the time he got in, and when he drove out of the parking lot he was humming.

He glared at the news crews parked outside the gates to the trailer park as he drove by. News whores. They acted as if the Stormchaser had ceased to exist. Like him, they’d figured out where the witness was being held because the Feds were no longer coming and going in threes. One always stayed behind at the trailer, which they took to mean he was guarding Nola Landry. Hershel was no long enamored of having a copycat. Damn Leon Mooney for stealing his thunder.

He drove to the big trailer on the corner lot and pulled right up into the yard as if he was going to visit. When he grabbed the sack and got out, he was whistling.

* * *

Nola was frying hamburger patties when someone knocked at the door. She looked around for the men, but neither one was in the room, so she headed down the hall.

“Hey, guys! Someone is at the door.”

They came out of their bedroom armed.

“Stay back!” Wade said, and both men headed for the door.

Wade glanced out the window, recognized the truck and frowned.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

“Open the door and find out,” Cameron said. “I’ve got your back.”

When Wade opened the door, he immediately scoped out both the man on the doorstep and the surrounding area.

“Sorry to bother you,” Hershel said. “I’ve been up at the Red Cross station all morning and was leaving to go to lunch when Miss Doyle asked me to drop this off for Miss Landry. She said someone found it under the cot she used.”

He smiled, handed over the sack and started to leave, then paused.

“Nearly forgot. Miss Doyle said to tell Nola hello.”

“How did you know she was here?” Wade asked.

Hershel pointed. “That’s my motor home right down there, see? The one with the green stripe. I’ve been laid up with a fever and had a lot of time on my hands. Saw you all coming and going over the past couple of days. Besides, everybody knows it. The only reason the press is camped out at the entrance to the park now is in the hopes of getting her picture.”

“Thank you,” Wade said.

“No problem. I’ll be off now. Have a nice day.”

Wade watched until the man left, and then went inside and locked the door.

Nola came out of the hallway.

“That’s one of the men who works at the Red Cross station,” she said. “The cooks think he’s cute but too bowlegged.”

Wade grinned. “Well, Laura sent him by with this. I guess we missed it when we were gathering up your things. And...according to him, everybody knows you’re here.” He grinned. “Not that we didn’t suspect it, but it’s so damn reassuring to hear it from a perfect stranger.”

“It’s a small town. That’s how stuff happens,” she said, then took the bag, looked in, recognized the things inside and carried it back to her room.

Cameron was frowning. “That was the guy we interviewed who was so sick, right?”

Wade nodded as Nola returned to the kitchen.

“These are about ready. Has anybody heard from Tate?”

Cameron could see the front yard through the window from where he was standing and watched the SUV turn off the road into the yard.

“He’s driving up.”

“Just in time. I hope everything is okay,” she said.

“Do we have onions?” Wade asked.

“Yes. I sliced some for the burgers. They’re on a plate in the refrigerator. Grab them and we’ll be ready to eat.”

Tate walked in, locking the door behind him.

“Dinner is ready,” Nola said.

“Be there as soon as I wash,” he said, and disappeared down the hall.

She frowned. He was definitely not happy, but he would talk about it when he was ready.

Tate returned, slid an arm around her waist and gave her a quick hug and a kiss.

“Thank you, honey.”

She smiled. “What for?”

“For being you. Something smells good.”

“Burgers,” Cameron said. “Sit down, Nola. You cooked. We’ve got the rest of this.”

As soon as she sat down, Tate took the chair beside her.

“Doctor Tuttle said Dad came through surgery and that the transfusion probably saved him.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I didn’t want him dead, if that’s what you mean, but I also didn’t ever intend to go through that blood relation thing with him again.”

“Oh, that.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that.”

“Here, build your burger and quit worrying about the old fart,” Wade said, and slid a plate of burgers and a bag of buns on the table as Cameron added all the fixings that went with them.

“What do you want to drink?” Tate asked her.

“I’ll just have water,” she said.

He got up and fixed the cups.

She sat back, watching how the men worked in tandem without confusion. It was obvious how bonded they were and that they’d done this kind of thing countless times before.