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Wade frowned. “Damn. Was she that big a bitch?”
Tate sighed. “No. She was that good. No one else ever measured up.”
Wade glanced at Cameron, then shrugged.
“So what happened to screw it up?” Cameron asked.
“It’s all tied into the mess between me and my dad. I’m driving. Get your things.”
He walked out, leaving them to make what they wanted of that.
Wade looked at Cameron, shrugged and grabbed the sack of doughnuts as Cameron picked up his laptop. They were on their way out the door when Cameron saw Laura Doyle in the makeshift kitchen. She looked up and waved as they hurried past. He was still smiling when they drove away.
* * *
Nola washed her hair, then left it down to dry. Tate used to say it was the color of dark chocolate, his favorite treat, and it looked even darker when it was still damp, like it was now.
“I so need a hair dryer,” she said, and then thought about what she’d just gone through and sighed. “No, I don’t need a hair dryer, although a hair dryer would be nice. What I need is a house. Sorry about that, God.”
The fact that she was talking to herself was immaterial. She’d been doing a lot of that since her mother’s death. She continued to run her fingers through her hair, combing and fluffing it, until the door to her hospital room opened and four men walked in.
She recognized the parish police chief from Queens Crossing, but when she saw the three men with him, she went from shock to disbelief to anger so quickly it made her head spin. Unwilling to be caught in a vulnerable position, she hit the control on her bed until she was sitting completely upright.
Beaudry smiled as he headed for her bed.
“Hey, Nola, it’s good to see you. I hear you had a rough time of it out there.”
She nodded, but her gaze was fixed on the men behind him.
Beaudry could see she was as shocked by Benton’s appearance as Benton had been when he’d found out she was the witness, but they were here on police business, not unfinished business.
“These men are from the FBI, and they’re working a case connected to the recent murders in our area. We got a copy of the statement you gave Lieutenant Carroll about what you saw, but they want to talk to you some more, okay?”
She pointed at the men behind him. “What is he doing here?”
Beaudry frowned. “Uh, like I said, these men are from the FBI. That man is Special Agent Benton and—”
“I know who he is. I asked you what he’s doing here.”
* * *
Tate thought he’d prepared himself for this moment, but he was wrong. The girl he’d left behind had turned into a stunning woman. The soft round cheeks he used to kiss were firmer, the cheekbones more defined. Her eyes were still as blue, and the black winged brows above them were gathered into a mute statement of her anger. The abrasions on her face and hands were evidence of what she’d suffered. It hurt to think about what she must have endured before she was rescued.
“I’ll speak for myself,” Tate said. “Hello, Nola. This is a heck of a way to meet again.”
Tate. Oh, Lord. I can’t go there. Nola’s heart was beating so fast she felt faint, but it was anger that came up first.
“It’s a damn shame people had to die to bring you back.”
He ignored the anger. It was to be expected.
“These are my partners, Special agents Luckett and Winger.”
“And that’s their problem, not mine,” she muttered.
Cameron frowned. “Ma’am, excuse my bluntness, but whatever is going on with you and Agent Benton is going to have to be shelved. We’re looking for a serial killer, and you’re the first person who’s gotten a look at him and survived.”
Nola accepted the setdown. Her personal issues with Tate needed to take a backseat to finding a killer.
