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“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.
