Going Once (Forces of Nature) (17 page)

Tate began slowing down, looking for house numbers.

“There it is,” Wade said. “The white frame house with the blue trim.”

Tate pulled into the drive. “I’m not looking forward to this, so let’s get it over with.”

Wade patted his pocket to make sure he had a notebook, and then got out and followed Tate to the front door. It opened before he had time to knock, and a large man stepped into the doorway.

Tate took out his badge. “I’m Special Agent Benton from the FBI, and this is my partner Special Agent Luckett. We appreciate the opportunity to speak to your daughter.”

“Larry Conway. My daughter is in the living room. The doctor’s done been here and gave her something to calm her down, so she’s a little sleepy, but she wants to talk to you. Follow me.”

They walked into the foyer and took a right into the living room. Several people were there, including a twentysomething woman wrapped in a quilt and holding a cup of coffee in her hands as if it was the Holy Grail. Even though the weather outside was sunny and calm, and the temperature was comfortable inside, she was shaking.

“That there’s my daughter, Rebecca Fremont. Y’all take a seat on the sofa next to her. Becky, these are the agents from the FBI.”

“Thank you,” Tate said, and he and Wade nodded to the others in the room and took their seats.

The young woman looked at them blankly and then seemed to pull herself together.

“Is it true you’ve been looking at this killer for a while?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s true,” Tate said. “May we ask you some questions?”

But she had one of her own first. “Why haven’t you been able to stop him?”

Tate sighed. “Because we don’t know what he looks like.”

“I saw him!” she cried, and then sat up a little straighter. “I saw him plain as day.”

“How was he dressed this time?” Tate asked.

“This time?” she echoed.

“We’ve learned that he most likely uses a different disguise every time he goes out.”

“Oh, my God, oh, my God. This is crazy. He was crazy.” She started to weep.

Tate waited for her to gather her emotions. When she’d calmed down, he urged her to continue.

“Just tell us exactly what you heard and saw. Don’t leave out anything, no matter how small.”

“We’d been sandbagging for two days, hoping to hold the water back. I wanted to come in off the farm, but J.R., that was my husband, wouldn’t leave his daddy out there alone, and Jacob wouldn’t leave. So we stayed. I was carrying the family keepsakes to the second floor, and they were filling bags and patching up the little levee we’d built. I heard a pop, and then another one.” She began to rock back and forth, clutching the tissues. “I looked out, and saw J.R. and Jacob on the ground. Blood was running out beneath their heads, and a man was walking out of the trees.”

Then she put her head down onto her knees and broke into sobs.

“I’m so sorry,” Tate said. “I realize this is painful, but it’s also the best time for us to talk to you. It’s when you remember everything most acutely. Do you understand?”

She moaned, then pulled herself upright, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, ma’am, we’re sorry,” Tate said.

“If you can, think of this as something you are doing for your loved ones that they can’t do for themselves,” Wade added.

She nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

“You said the man walked out of the trees. What did he do?” Tate asked.

She leaned forward. “He just stood there, like he was admiring the view. He didn’t see me. I know that. But I saw him. He was middle-aged for sure, in black pants and a black leather vest with a lot of those biker chains for decoration. His hair was black and shaggy, and he had a big, bushy mustache. He was wearing a baseball cap and carrying a rifle with a scope.”

Wade glanced at Tate. That explained the clean shots.

“Did you see him fire the weapon?” Tate asked.

“No.”

“Can you remember how he was carrying it?”

She closed her eyes, picturing it and him in her mind, then looked up.

“It was in his left hand, and then he put it in the crook of his arm and walked away.”

Strike one, Tate thought. “Did you happen to get a look at what he was driving?”

“Yes. It was a late model, short-bed Dodge Ram pickup. Couldn’t tell whether it was black or dark blue. If I had to pick a color, I’d say dark blue.”

Tate’s heart skipped a beat. Strike two. The man in the motor home near the trailer drove a truck like that.

“Is there anything else you can think of?” he asked.

“He was bowlegged.”

Strike three, and he saw from Wade’s eyes that they were on the same wavelength. Tate stood abruptly.

“This is my card. If you think of anything else, please give me a call, and again, we are so sorry for your loss.” He turned to her father. “Mr. Conway, thank you for allowing us into your home.”

Her father got up and walked them to the door.

“Feel free to put a bullet through the bastard’s head for me when you finally run him down,” he said.

Tate headed for their SUV on the run, with Wade right behind him.

“Call Cameron,” Tate said, the moment they got inside.

Wade grabbed his phone and hit speed dial, then waited for the call to be answered.

“Do you think it’s actually him?” Wade asked.

“The fact that it
could
be is concern enough. Using the left hand to carry the rifle, drives the same color and model truck, and has the same damn legs. That’s too many similarities to ignore.”

The call rang five times, then went to voice mail.

“He’s not answering,” Wade said. He left a quick “call me” message, then turned to Tate.

“Call the police and have them send a car to the trailer to check it out. In the meantime, we’re going back.”

Tate pressed harder on the gas pedal, his lips compressed into a thin line. He wouldn’t let himself think about what this might mean, or that they’d gotten too cocky about keeping Nola safe.

Sixteen

H
ershel was working under time constraints. Without knowing how soon the other two agents would come back, he had to consider his window of opportunity a narrow one. Because he needed to break the jinx, he had to replicate everything from that day, including what he’d been wearing. So he’d packed the same cap and uniform, the wig and mustache, and headed out the door carrying his bag and a baseball bat.

The vulture was still on the roof.

It’s an omen, Hershel. You shouldn’t do this.

“It’s not an omen, it’s just a big ugly bird,” he snapped, and tossed his things in the front seat of the truck.

But instead of driving out of the trailer park, he drove all the way to the back lot and pulled in behind the bushes around an abandoned trailer falling to pieces on its lot. He dressed quickly, put on the wig, affixed the mustache to his upper lip and then added bushy brown eyebrows over his own gray ones and got back in the truck.

This time, as he drove back toward the entrance, he was coming up on the Feds’ trailer from the back.

He parked his truck out in the street so it would not be immediately visible from the front or the back door, then grabbed the bat, slipped his Taser into the holster on his belt, went to the back door and knocked.

* * *

When Cameron heard the first knock, he thought for a moment Nola must have awakened and was thumping around in the back bathroom. But then he realized someone was actually knocking on the back door, which made him immediately wary.

He pulled his weapon as he got up, and then slipped down the hallway and looked out a window. When he saw a Queens Crossing officer standing on the steps holding a baseball bat, he frowned.

“What the hell?” he muttered, and with his gun still in his hand, opened the door.

Hershel was all business, as he knew an officer would be.

“Sorry to bother you, sir, but we’ve had a report of a missing kid who lives out here, and we’re checking every residence.” He held up the bat. “I saw this laying in the grass and need to check and see if it belongs to any of your kids.”

“No, no kids here,” Cameron said.

“Be on the lookout, okay? He’s ten years old, slight build, shaggy blond hair and blue eyes.”

Cameron was disarmed by the question. “Yeah, sure,” he said, and looked up and out across the backyard, which was exactly what Hershel was waiting for. He swung the bat, caught the agent on the side of the head and knocked him cold.

“Sorry about that,” Hershel said, and dragged him off the steps where he’d fallen. He laid the agent down in the grass beside the trailer skirt, then pulled his truck up to the back door.

He didn’t have any way of knowing where Nola Landry would be, but he had to look fast. He moved to the front of the house and realized it was empty, then started down the hall to the bedrooms. The two closest ones were empty, which left the master bedroom.

He turned the doorknob and peeked in, then couldn’t believe his luck. She was in bed asleep. He hurried toward the bed and shook her.

“Wake up,” he said.

“Huh? What?”

When she began to roll over, he shot her with the Taser, rendering her immediately immobile.

“It’s time, Nola Landry. I said I’d come for you, and I have.”

The terror on her face was balm to his soul. This was what had been missing. They had to respect his authority.

He threw her over his shoulder and carried her down the hall and out the door, and out to the pickup.

Nola couldn’t believe this was happening. The pain she was experiencing from the Taser was nothing compared to not being able to speak or move. Her whole body was seizing, and when she saw Cameron lying in the grass as the killer carried her out the back door, she wanted to scream, but her muscles had been rendered useless. Despite every promise Tate had made, she was going to die.

“Upsy daisy,” Hershel said as he dumped her onto the floorboard of his truck, so she was sitting with her back against the seat. He rolled her over like a rag doll, tied her hands and ankles, and then gagged her so she couldn’t scream. Only then did he roll her onto her back and pull off the electrodes. The electrical charge was gone, but her heart was hammering so hard it felt as if it would explode, and the muscles in her body were still seizing.

Hershel drove out the front gate, right past two kids on bicycles and a lone news van. As he was turning onto the highway, he met a police cruiser running with lights flashing. When he saw the car take the turn into the trailer park, he panicked. It might be nothing, or it might mean that Winger had already been discovered. Either way, he wasn’t staying around to find out. He glanced at Nola, then hit the gas.

* * *

If their vehicle had wings, it would have been airborne. Tate was taking the curves on two wheels. His gut feeling was that the new kills had been done specifically to draw them away, making it easier for the killer to take Nola when just one man was standing guard.

The silence inside the vehicle was brutal as they waited to hear back from the Queens Crossing P.D. When Wade’s phone finally rang, they both jumped, and Tate’s fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel.

“This is Luckett. Yes. Oh, damn, is he alive? Any witnesses? Thanks.” Wade disconnected. “They found Cameron unconscious by the back door with a head injury, and Nola is gone. A news van saw a late model, dark blue Dodge pickup driving out, but they didn’t see a passenger. They said the driver was a cop.”

Tate was sick. They’d been played, and unless a miracle occurred, Nola was going to pay for it.

“We need a boat,” he said. “Get on the phone and find us a boat. We’ll be in Queens Crossing in about five minutes, so tell them to have one waiting down at the public boat launch.”

Wade made the call to the P.D., who started scrambling to find one. Then he thought of the refugees who had been taken in by the Red Cross. Some of them had actually come into the city by boat, so he made a call to Laura Doyle. It rang so many times he was afraid it was going to voice mail, and then she finally answered.

“Hello, this is Laura.”

“Laura, Agent Luckett here. We need help. Did any of your refugees come into town in a motorboat? The killer has Nola, and we’re pretty sure he’s taking her to the river.”

Laura gasped. “Oh, dear God. Wait. I don’t know, but I’ll ask. Don’t hang up. I’m taking the phone with me.”

Wade could hear the frantic tone in her voice as she ran out into the gym and explained what she needed. He could hear other voices, all talking at once, and groaned. They needed help, not a debate. And then she was back on the phone.

“There are two men here who brought their families in to Queens Crossing in motor boats. They both have high-powered outboard motors and have volunteered to take you. They know the dangers, but they both know Nola and want to do it.”

“We need the fastest boat,” he said.

“He’ll be at the public dock waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” Wade said, and hung up. “Get to the dock. We’ve got a boat.”

The scenery was a blur, and when Tate hit the city limits he turned on the lights and siren, then drove all the way through town with lights flashing. When they reached the river, he slid to a stop at the dock. He and Wade got out on the run, heading toward a big fiberglass boat with a large outboard motor. The motor was already running, and the man at the wheel was grim-faced and waiting.

Tate recognized the man as Justin Beaudine, one of their classmates, as they jumped in the boat.

“Justin! Do you think you can find the Landry place in this flood?”

“I’ve run the river all my life. I know I can, Tate. Hang on.”

“Hurry, man. Run it wide-open. The Stormchaser has her, and he’s ahead of us.”

The motor roared as the boat sped away from the dock, its wake awash in foam and debris.

* * *

Hershel was high on adrenaline. Everything was finally falling into place. He would put this woman down and be home in time to help take out the garbage at the gym. He took the turn in the road at a steady speed, not wanting to call attention to himself needlessly, but time was not on his side. The cove where he’d hidden the boat was less than a mile up ahead. He hadn’t been there since the last rain, and he hoped to God it had not floated away from its mooring. That was how he’d lucked onto it in the first place, and it could happen again.

As he topped a hill, he saw an old black pickup coming toward him, driving in the middle of the road. He honked the horn, which made the driver suddenly swerve. Hershel cursed as the man finally pulled back into the proper lane and sped past. That was all he needed—to get in a wreck with a hostage on the floorboard. He glanced down at her. She was starting to come around. He hadn’t recharged the Taser, but she wouldn’t know that. He picked it up and pointed it at her.

“Be still, missy, or I’ll shoot you again.”

Shame on you, Hershel! Shame, shame! Just look at her. She’s a beautiful, innocent young woman who deserves a chance to grow old. You let her go this instant!

“Hush up, Louise. I’m not letting her go, and that’s the end of that.”

Nola moaned as her eyes filled with tears. Now he was hearing voices—voices that were telling him to let her go—and he was arguing with them, which at least must mean he was torn about what he was doing. She couldn’t talk for the gag in her mouth, but she damn sure wasn’t quitting. She wanted him to think she was, though, so she nodded, but the minute he looked back at the road she began trying to work her hands free of the ties around her wrists.

As he took a curve in the road, he swerved a little too close to the shoulder. The right front tire went off the blacktop with a thump. The pickup lurched, which threw her against the door. For a few moments she was cheek down on the floorboard and looking under the seat at a filet knife.

Her heart began to race, and without hesitation, she made a big show of trying to roll over and pick herself up. As she did, she dragged the knife behind her and began sawing at the cord he’d tied around her wrists.

“What the hell are you doing, girl?”

She froze and shook her head, trying to convince him she wasn’t doing anything.

Again he picked up the Taser and pointed it at her. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face against her knees. She couldn’t believe she’d survived so much, only to wind up back in the river. Her mama would never have awakened her and warned her to run if she was meant to die. She had no hope whatsoever that Tate would find out what had happened to her in time to save her, so she had to save herself.

All of a sudden the truck began slowing down, and when it did, her heartbeat accelerated. Was this it? Would this be where she died?

She panicked, but when he got out and circled the truck, she had a few moments more with the knife. She angled it down toward her ankles, sawing frantically at the cord in an effort to weaken the cotton strands.

Then she heard the click of the door latch and quickly shoved the knife back under the seat. The cord was fraying, and looser than it had been. When he grabbed her by the arms to pull her out, he inadvertently gripped the stitches. She threw her head back, groaning in sudden pain, swallowing the scream beneath the gag.

“Oooh, hey...got a handful of the stitches, didn’t I? My bad.”

He grabbed her under the arms, dragged her out of the truck and then tossed her down like a sack of feed. She landed shoulder first, then rammed her chin into the mud and the dirt, and felt blood spurt inside her mouth. But she was on the ground, which gave her friction to work on the gag. She rubbed her face against the dirt until she managed to work the gag out of her mouth. It fell down around her neck like a dirty necklace, but it was a weight symbolically lifted.

She could hear him banging and splashing in the water behind her, and rolled over to check his location. When she saw the words
Gator Bait
on the side of the boat, her heart sank. It was just as Tate had predicted. The killer was taking her back out on the river to undo his mistake.

She began struggling even harder to pull her hands and ankles free. Each time she tried, the cotton cords stretched just a little bit more.

The sun was in her eyes when she heard footsteps, and she knew he was coming. She blinked, looked up and caught sight of a small squirrel watching silently from the branches above her. Something crawled out of her hair and down across her forehead. Normally that would have freaked her out, but it was nothing in comparison to the man coming toward her.

“Well, I see you’ve managed to remove your gag. That’s okay. There’s no one for miles in any direction to hear you, so scream to your heart’s content.”

She wanted to, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She was trying to remember everything she’d heard Tate say about the killer’s mental state. She knew he thought of her as a mistake to be rectified, so she had to play off that fact to her advantage.

“You’re the one who’ll be screaming when the FBI finally catches you—and they will. If not now, then later,” she snapped.

Hershel didn’t like it that she wasn’t crying. Louise had cried on that roof. She had begged for her insulin, but he couldn’t get to it.

“They know nothing about me,” he said. “And you can shut up.”

“Then I’ll talk to Louise,” Nola said. “She’s the only one around here with any sense.”

Hershel frowned. Louise didn’t talk to anyone but him.

She’s right, Hershel. I’m the voice of reason. You better heed me. I’m telling you now to let her go.

“I’m not letting her go, and that’s the end of that, Louise.”

“See, she told you to let me go. I told you she’s the voice of reason.”

“She’s dead, so her opinion no longer matters,” he said.

“Well
I
didn’t kill her, and what you’re doing to me makes no sense, so I guess that makes you crazy,” Nola said, then waited for rage to follow.

Instead, his eyes narrowed and then he burst out laughing.

“That’s what they told me at the hospital. ‘You’re crazy, Hershel.’ That’s what they said.”