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Tate nodded.
The other two grinned at him when she left.
He grinned back and flipped them off.
* * *
Hershel was sitting in a chair by the window, sipping coffee, when he saw a Queens Crossing cop car pull up beside the Feds’ SUV. Moments later the trailer door opened and Benton came out, flanked by the other two agents. It took him a second to realize there was someone else walking between them, and then he grinned. She was there. They had just delivered her up to him on a platter and didn’t even know it.
“Hang tight, missy. You and I have a trip to take upriver.”
* * *
Nola took a dive into the backseat of the cruiser and then scooted down. Tate slammed the door and then got in the front seat with Beaudry. The other two waved and walked back inside.
The chief looked up in the rearview mirror and caught her eye.
“Stay down. A news crew followed me all the way to the front gate of this place.”
Nola got on her knees and curled up in the floor as Beaudry drove off.
Tate kept his focus on the news people at the gate, wondering if the killer was with them.
One of the vans loaded up and took off after the chief’s cruiser.
Tate eyed them in the side view mirror. “We’ve got a tail,” he said.
Beaudry looked up in the rearview mirror again, and then smiled.
“I’ve got this,” he said, and called up a deputy to stop the van for a broken signal light.
Within a block another police cruiser shot out of an alley and hit the siren in a series of short blasts. Beaudry watched as the driver of the van threw up his hands in frustration and then pulled over to the curb.
“Clear sailing. That’s what I’m talking about,” Beaudry said.
“Chief, you are getting way too much fun out of this,” Nola said.
Tate grinned as Beaudry accelerated across an intersection, then turned down an alley and drove the back way to Tuttle’s office. By the time they pulled up behind the office, Nola’s leg was cramping. She was trying to get up without much success when Beaudry got out and headed for the delivery door. As planned, it was already unlocked.
Tate scooped Nola up off the floor and into his arms, and carried her inside. The whole maneuver took less than ten seconds.
“My leg, my leg. Put me down, Tate. I need to walk out a cramp.”
He set her on her feet and then dropped to his knees, ran his hands down the back of both legs, felt the cramp and immediately put pressure on it, then began kneading it out.
“Oh, that feels good,” she said as the pain began to ease. “Thank you, thank you.”
He stood, patted her backside and grinned.
“You’re welcome.”
“Well, hello, Nola. I hear you’ve had yourself quite a time.”
Nola hadn’t seen Doc Tuttle since the night her mother died, and hearing his familiar voice brought all the memories flooding back. She was suddenly struggling with a lump in her throat as she saw his familiar face.
“Hi, Doc. Really good of you to help us like this.”
He patted her head as if she were still a kid and then nodded at Tate.
