Going Once (Forces of Nature) (9 page)

“This should knock her out.”

“Write the prescriptions for whatever you think she needs. We’ll get them filled,” Tate said.

Don frowned. “Happy to oblige if I can find a prescription pad. I keep repeating myself, this is not what I do for a living.” He dug around in the bag again, then shook his head. “I’ll go see if there’s one down in the morgue. I’ll be right back.” He hurried out of the room.

A few minutes later, he was back. He handed Tate one for an antibiotic to combat infection and one for pain, then gathered up his things. He paused, adding as an afterthought, “You have my number,” and walked out.

“That was weird,” Cameron said. “Nice of him to help out, but weird.”

Tate didn’t care. Nola had gotten what she needed. The braid in her hair was coming down and there was blood all over her, but she was alive. He leaned down and brushed the hair from her forehead.

“Hey, honey, is that shot kicking in yet?”

“I feel like I’m floating.”

“That’s good. Just hang in there with us while we figure out what to do with you.”

Cameron shoved his hands in his pockets, remembering the chaos they’d left Laura in the middle of when they’d driven away.

“We can’t go back to the gym, it’s too dangerous for the families,” he said.

“That goes without saying,” Tate said. “But we need to put her someplace safe.”

“I have four empty cells,” Beaudry said.

“Where’s Allen? I don’t want to sleep next to him,” Wade muttered.

“In a holding cell just behind the front desk. The other cells are in the back, down on the first floor.”

“We’ll take you up on that,” Tate said.

“Give me some time to make sure it’s clean enough to bring her down,” Beaudry said, and left again.

“Cameron and I will go to the gym and get our things,” Wade said.

“So sorry...” Nola said.

“It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault,” Tate said.

But she kept remembering the people running, scared out of their minds, and all because of her and the man who wanted her dead. Her thoughts were beginning to muddle, and it was hard to come up with the right words.

“Scared them.”

“We know that, but if anyone is to blame, it’s us for putting you there,” Wade said. “We knew the killer was irrational. Finding out there was a witness to his crimes probably pushed him into taking a chance in a public place. Now wait here. We’ll be back soon.”

“Hey!” Tate said, and pulled the prescriptions out of his pockets. “Find the pharmacist, even if you have to get him out of bed, and get these filled.”

“Will do,” Cameron said.

As the two agents left, Nola reached for the bandages on her arm.

“No,” Tate said. “Just close your eyes and let go.”

“Stay with me?”

“I’m here,” he said.

She clutched his hand and took a deep breath as her grip loosened, then went limp.

He ran a finger down the curve of her cheek, where the abrasions were healing, then leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I
am
here, baby, and I’ll never leave you again.”

She sighed but didn’t move, and he didn’t care. He would say it again, when the time was right.

* * *

Hershel pulled up to his motor home and got out on the run. The moment he was inside, he locked the door and began to undress. He yanked off the wig and mustache, and tossed them on his bed, pulled the hooded sweatshirt over his head, then stripped and tossed everything in the little washer and started it up. His switchblade was as bloody as his clothes, and he took it to the kitchen, threw it in the sink and covered it with bleach.

He was so pissed he couldn’t think. Even though he’d cut her, it wasn’t life-threatening. His first mistake had been in leaving a live one behind. He wondered where she had been, and which victims she had seen him kill. He knew she was up a tree, but there had been half-submerged trees all up and down the flooded river.

And now, when he’d tried to eliminate her, she’d escaped him once more, and that was
not
okay. Mistakes had to be corrected. It was how you lived life. When you know better, you do better.

That’s what Oprah always said. When you know better, you do better. Remember, Hershel? Remember how I always liked to watch my afternoon shows?

“Stop talking to me, Louise. Oprah can’t help me, and I need to think.”

You did something bad again, didn’t you? Answer me, Hershel! Did you hurt someone again? Did you commit another murder?

Hershel walked from one end of the motor home to the other, with Louise going on and on in his ear. As soon as he got in the tiny shower stall, he proceeded to scrub every inch of his body until all the blood was gone and his thoughts were clear. When the time was right, he would grab Nola Landry and take her back to the place where she should have died with the others, and that was where he would shoot her. If he did that, then all the other mistakes would be erased.

Hershel, that’s silly. You can’t make stuff go away with do-overs. People are already dead. You can’t take back what you’ve already done.

“They don’t know who I am. They don’t know where I am or what I look like. I can do anything I want, and I want Nola Landry to go away. She messed everything up, and I have to fix it.”

He put on a pair of sweats, then stowed his wig and mustache and got his other cell phone. He’d put the knife in Tate’s woman. It was time to twist the blade.

Eight

T
he jail cells were small and smelled of industrial-strength cleaners. The floors were still damp where they’d been recently scrubbed down, and the stained and cracked commodes were vivid reminders of the temporary inmates who would have used them, but for the time being, it was the safest place in Queens Crossing they could put her.

Tate had pulled a mattress from another cell and put it on the floor in front of her cot, then spread the sleeping bag he traveled with out on top. Wade and Cameron were in the other cells in their sleeping bags, but no one was sleeping except Nola.

Tate had just emailed a full report of the latest incident to the director and was about to log out when his cell signaled an incoming text. His gut knotted as he recognized the number.

“Hey!”

His partners looked up.

“We’ve got another text.”

Wade ran over, and Cameron followed.

“What’s it say?” Wade asked.

The message was like a fist to the gut. He glanced at Nola. Even though she appeared to be out, he didn’t want her hearing any of this and handed them the phone.

How does it feel to know your bitch nearly bought the farm?

“Oh, shit,” Cameron said softly.

“Up until now, everything he’s done has been random. Now he’s making it personal,” Wade said as he handed the phone back. “He’s never done that before.”

Tate glanced at Nola. “That’s because the only witness to what he’s doing happens to belong to me, or at least that’s how he sees it. The woman I had a relationship with saw him in action, therefore it
is
personal. And the easiest way to stop me, stop us, is to hurt someone I care about.”

“What do you think he’ll do? Maybe he’ll just move downriver. The flood hasn’t crested yet.”

Tate shook his head. “He can’t. Up to now, everything has been going his way. This is his first stumble, and with his mind-set he’ll need to correct it before he
can
move on.”

Wade frowned. “She’s in a hell of a lot of danger. We should send her away somewhere.”

“That wouldn’t keep her safe,” Tate said. “She’s the problem, not me. He sent this message to remind us—
me—
of who’s in charge. If she leaves, he’ll go look for
her.
In a way, he considers her his jinx. He’ll be afraid to continue until he makes sure the mistake has been corrected. The only way I’ll know for sure she’s safe is if she’s with me.”

“What will the director say?” Cameron asked.

Tate shrugged. “I don’t know. I just sent the report. I can guarantee he won’t like it that a personal connection has developed between us, but I’ve already stated in my report that replacing me on the team won’t impact what the Stormchaser does. Nola will be his entire focus until, in his mind, his mistake is fixed.”

“Well, my focus is on getting us some new digs. I’ve never spent a night in jail in my life, and I want this to be the first
and
last time it ever happens,” Wade muttered.

Nola moaned.

Tate reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. Moments later, she quieted down.

Tate eyed his partners. “Go back to bed. We’re good here.”

* * *

Nola was dreaming that her arm was on fire. She kept trying to pour water on it to douse the flames, but the water wouldn’t come out of the pitcher. She was screaming for her mother when she woke up in Tate’s arms.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. It was just a dream,” he kept saying, as he cradled her in his lap.

She moaned. “My arm was on fire, and I couldn’t put it out. I couldn’t find my mom. Oh, my God, it was so real.”

“It’s from the pain meds,” Tate said. “They hit people like that sometimes.”

But her focus had already shifted to the cot and the iron bars.

“Are we in jail?”

“Yes, but not as in arrested. We’re here because, after what happened to you at the gym, we can’t go back there. It puts everyone else in too much danger.”

“Did the Stormchaser really try to kill me?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She swiped a shaky hand across her face.

“Oh, my God, why is this happening? I can’t identify him.”

“In his eyes, you’re the first loose end he’s ever left. You’re a mistake. He’s trying to fix it.”

“I’m scared, Tate.”

“I know you are, baby. But we’re here, and we won’t let him hurt you again.”

Nola knew he meant what he said, but there was no way he could keep that promise. Her thoughts were scattered. Her body ached, and circumstance had thrust her back into Tate Benton’s life in a way she would never have imagined. Her anger at him was still there under the surface. There was so much about their past that she didn’t understand. But now, sitting in his lap with his arms around her and her cheek against his chest, she felt whole again.

“Is there a bathroom anywhere close by?” she asked.

“You mean besides the one over there?” Tate asked, pointing at the toilet in the corner, and then grinned when she wrinkled her nose. “Just kidding. I’ll take you,” he said.

“I can walk, but I’m going to hang on to your arm. I feel dopey from the medicine. Is that the bag with my stuff?”

He nodded.

She looked at the bloody shirt she was wearing.

“I don’t want to look at this shirt another minute. Would you please find something else in there for me? It doesn’t matter what. They’re all a little bit too big, which is actually a good thing now.”

Tate dug through the clothing they’d given her at the Red Cross center, pulled out a large, oversize LSU T-shirt and held it up.

“Will this work?”

She eyed the width of the sleeves and neck against the bandages on her arm and nodded.

Tate walked her out of the jail area, then up the hall toward the receiving desk. Allen was asleep on the cot in the holding cell as they passed by, and they continued on without speaking until they’d reached the ladies’ room.

“This is it, but I don’t know how clean it will be.”

Nola sighed. “As long as it’s private, I can manage.”

“You’re not too dizzy or anything?” he asked.

“I’m okay. Wait for me?”

“Absolutely. Here’s your shirt.”

“Thank you,” she said, and went inside.

He was still standing in the hall when Wade and Cameron came down from the field office upstairs.

“Where’s Nola?” Wade asked.

Tate pointed to the bathroom. “What have you been doing?”

“Talking to Jonesy out at the trailer park,” Wade said. “When I was out there the other day I remembered him saying he’s a night owl, so I called and told him our dilemma. He has two trailer houses he rents out and one just turned up empty. The people who’d been staying there were in the same fix as Nola. Jonesy said they just left to go stay upstate with family, since their home is underwater. The trailer is the deluxe model, whatever that means, and he’s already cleaned it out, so if we want to take a chance on staying there, given the fact that our killer could be there, too, we have a place to go tomorrow.”

Tate shrugged. “Truth is, we don’t know where the bastard is. We took her to the Red Cross shelter and look what happened. At least we’ll be more isolated in the trailer park and can see who’s coming and going. It’s the best we can do under the circumstances. Good work.”

The bathroom door opened, and Nola came out carrying her bloody shirt.

“What’s going on? Is something wrong?” she asked.

“We were just telling Tate we found a new place to stay out at the trailer park,” Wade said.

“I thought they were all full.”

“A trailer house just came up empty. Jonesy offered to rent it to us,” he said.

Nola’s eyes widened. “Jonesy offered us a place to stay?”

“Yes, why?”

“It’s not the deluxe model he rents out is it?”

Cameron groaned. “What don’t we know?”

“It’s supposed to be haunted,” she said.

Wade frowned. “Well, shit.”

“As long as our killer isn’t in residence, I’m good with it,” Tate said. “It’s after 2:00 a.m. and you, young lady, need to lie back down.”

“Can I take another pain pill?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll follow you anywhere.”

A few minutes later she was back on the cot in her jail cell, tucked safely inside the sleeping bag and waiting for the pain pill to kick in. Tate positioned himself between her and the door, and Wade and Cameron were settling down in the other cells.

She finally fell asleep, and so did the others.

Except for Tate. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t even lying down. He was sitting up with his back to the cot, his pistol in his lap, watching the door.

Every so often he heard Nola mumbling in her sleep and guessed she was dreaming again. Those pain pills were kicking her butt.

Just before dawn his cell phone vibrated, signaling a call. He saw the number, jumped to his feet and ran out into the hall to answer.

“Hello. This is Tate Benton.”

“Mr. Benton, this is Doctor Andreas. I’m sorry to tell you that your mother passed away about an hour ago. She did not suffer. She took a deep breath, exhaled and never took another.”

Tate had been expecting this, and yet he felt the bottom falling out of his world. In every way that mattered, she was all the family he had left, and even though she hadn’t recognized him for years, he was surprised by the depth of his grief. His voice was shaky.

“Did you call her husband?”

“Yes. He’s on record as one of two notifications that were to be made. You are the other one.”

Tate was grateful. That meant he didn’t have to talk to his father again.

“Thank you for taking care of her all these years.”

“Of course. I’m sorry this was how it ended...with her breaking her hip, I mean.”

“So am I,” Tate said. “I assume you know the situation I’m in.”

“Yes, yes. You and I have spoken about this at length. Have no fear. I will carry out your mother’s last wishes. The crematorium has been notified. They will pick up her body in the morning and will wait for you to claim her ashes.”

“Thank you for calling,” Tate said.

“She is no longer suffering, Mr. Benton.”

“I know, and that’s the only thing that makes this bearable,” Tate whispered, then disconnected.

He dropped his cell phone in his pocket, then turned to the wall and closed his eyes, glad he’d had the foresight to go by and see her before they’d begun this chase. Hot tears rolled down his face, but he wasn’t crying for the woman who had died. He was crying for the woman she had been. It was finally over, and she was at peace. Now he had to find his own.

He stood for a few minutes until he got his emotions under control, then wiped his face with the heels of his hands and strode back into the jail.

He watched everyone sleep and thought how strange it was that life could be this way. One person’s world was crashing, one was being stalked by a serial killer, and everyone else went on as if nothing was wrong.

* * *

Don Benton was bereft. It was an old-fashioned word that his mother had been fond of using, and it fit his feelings perfectly. Even though he hadn’t seen his wife in over eight years and had never forgiven her, he had not been able to stop loving her. It was a joke life had played on him, but he wasn’t laughing.

Despite himself, his thoughts turned to Tate. He would be devastated, but that was none of his concern. He poured himself a stiff drink and downed it like medicine. His hand was shaking as he set the glass on the bar, so he poured one more and then tossed it back, letting the burn roll all the way down his throat.

His last responsibilities to Julia were over. He had not betrayed his wedding vows. He’d kept her as his wife, even when she had abandoned him. He was full of self-righteous anger as he strode into the kitchen and began a pot of coffee, then turned on a burner to heat a pan to fry his eggs. When he saw the flame, he remembered Tate telling him she had asked to be cremated. He stared at the fire, imagining the beautiful woman he had known being consumed in such a manner, and all of a sudden bile rose in his throat. He made it to the bathroom just in time, then retched until his belly hurt and there was nothing left to come up.

“Ah, Julia...damn it...damn
you,
” he whispered, and began splashing cold water on his face.

He could smell the coffee when he walked back into the kitchen, but he didn’t want food anymore and turned the burner off without looking at it again. He poured a cup of coffee and walked out onto the back porch to watch the sunrise.

His career had been built on his skill as a coroner. The condition of a body often spoke a much-needed truth on behalf of the deceased. But there was no one to speak for Julia. He knew what had killed her, but she had never spoken the words he needed to hear, and now it was too late.

A siren sounded at the far end of town. He listened for a moment, then relaxed. It wasn’t an ambulance, it was a cop car. Hopefully they wouldn’t be bringing him any bodies later to autopsy. There had been too much death here already and he wanted everything back the way it was before the flood—and before the killer came, bringing Tate back with him. Seeing him was a reminder of wasted years and all he’d lost.

* * *

Beaudry entered the jail area just after 7:00 a.m. with hot coffee for the team, eager to check on Nola’s condition, only to find everyone up and packed and getting ready to leave.

Tate was quiet and unusually solemn, but the chief chalked it up to the seriousness of the situation.

“Hey, where are you guys headed?” he asked.

“We have another place to stay,” Tate said. “But thank you for your help last night. It was a lifesaver.”

Beaudry handed out coffee while eyeing Nola’s pale face.

“I’m real sorry about what happened to you,” he said.

“So am I,” she replied. “It’s a nightmare that keeps getting worse. I keep wishing I would just wake up and find out it was all a bad dream.”

“I thought you should know that the media found out you were attacked last night. Everyone at the Red Cross center was talking about it and now they’re looking for you all over town for an interview.”