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“What’s going on?” Wade asked.
“We may have a break in the case. Judd Allen, real name Grady Bell, has two outstanding warrants for armed robbery and assault in Washington State. Beaudry is on his way to arrest him now, and Laura just told me the man came in as one of the early volunteers, that he was in Natchez and heard they were going to be setting up here, so he came ahead to help. He’s staying at the trailer park, too.”
“He was on the list the trailer park manager gave me, but I didn’t get any hits on the name Judd Allen. Now I know why. So what’s our plan?”
“You go around back and make sure he doesn’t leave that way. I’ll watch him from in here, and when Tate and Beaudry’s people get here, we’ll take him into custody.”
Wade nodded, and headed around to the back of the gym.
When Cameron went back inside he caught sight of Nola going into the women’s restroom, so he headed to the kitchen.
When he walked in the room was empty, and for a moment, he thought Bell had gotten away. Then Laura and Bill walked in from outside, laughing at something Brad and John were saying as they came in behind. Last was Judd Allen, who went to the sink to wash his hands. Leon and Patty were nowhere in sight.
* * *
When Hershel saw the Fed standing in the doorway, the hair rose on the back of his neck. He wasn’t in any criminal database, and he had never left any DNA behind—not that it mattered, anyway. That was the perk of committing murders in the middle of a disaster site. Everything was contaminated, including his crime scenes. But seeing the Fed immediately reminded him of Nola Landry. He was convinced now that she had seen him committing murder, and even though no one believed her and she would never be able to identify him, it was still a mistake. He couldn’t have mistakes. The last time he’d made a mistake, Louise had died. He needed to get rid of her now and, as an added bonus, destroy Benton, as well.
His pistol was in the truck, hidden in a secret compartment, but he couldn’t use it here, anyway. They would be on him in seconds once they heard it go off. He thought of the switchblade under the seat. A silent weapon, that was what he needed—that and a few seconds alone with her. One slash across her throat and she would be history.
“Hey, Laura, what time do you need me to come in tomorrow?” he asked.
She glanced at her clipboard.
“Why don’t you sleep in? We have enough help already on the schedule for the breakfast shift, so how about we see you at noon, okay?”
He nodded. “Sounds good to me. I could use a little extra sleep.”
He picked up his jacket, then strolled out the back door as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The moment he reached the parking lot, he hurried for his truck, which he made a habit of parking under the pole with the broken light, got in and drove away. But instead of going back to the trailer park, he made a quick turn at the end of the block, came in through a back alley and parked in the shadows.
He grabbed the switchblade, then took off his jacket and shirt, and traded them for a black hooded sweatshirt. He changed his work boots for black tennis shoes, and dug through another box for a quick facial disguise. He chose the same thick mustache he’d used with the stolen uniforms, and got the same wig. There wouldn’t be much of it visible under the hood, but just in case someone spotted him, he would fit what little description Nola Landry might have given.
He still didn’t know how he was going to get her away from the cops, but he was willing to wait for the opportunity. He already had a hiding place in mind and knew he could get there without being seen. Confident that he was prepared, he palmed the knife and headed for the gym, taking care to stay away from the streetlights and inside the shadows.
He walked in with a group of men, and then separated from the crowd and moved along the side wall with his head down. He didn’t look any different from most of the others, with their hand-me-down clothes and weary steps, and he was almost at the janitor’s closet when he heard a commotion in the back, toward the kitchen.
People were standing up near their cots to see what was happening, while others began running to get their children. He saw Judd Allen—the police on his heels—make a run for the front door, shoving people out of his way as he raced through the gym.
When people began screaming and running, Hershel didn’t know whether to follow through with his plan, or wait for a better time. But when Nola Landry came out of the ladies’ restroom, he had his answer. His target had just been delivered straight into his arms.
* * *
Nola was in the bathroom when she heard the uproar, and when people began screaming, she ran out to see what was going on. She could see the police, and someone running, and she got a glimpse of Tate before the crowd moved in front of her. She was debating whether to stay where she was or try to get back to her cot, when a masculine arm suddenly snaked around her neck and yanked her backward. She saw the knife from the corner of her eye, and without thinking, she rammed an elbow in her attacker’s belly, then stomped hard on the top of his foot.
When her assailant grunted in pain, she leaped forward, trying to twist out of his grasp. Just as she broke free, the back of her arm began to burn. She ran out of the gym screaming Tate’s name, and didn’t look back.
* * *
Beaudry and his deputies had Allen in handcuffs and were taking him to the patrol car when Nola came running out of the gym, screaming.
Tate spun toward the sound, saw her running and covered the distance between them in seconds. As soon as he caught her up in his arms, he saw the blood.
She was shaking, both from the shock and the pain.
“Behind me. He was behind me,” she gasped.
Tate’s heart sank. She’d just given them confirmation that Bell wasn’t their killer.
Cameron was already running back into the gym, trying to get past the people who were spilling out in panic.
