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He just shook his head, and handed her the panties and shirt.
“I’ll go get dressed. I don’t hear the shower, so you can go first if you want.”
“What’s going to happen today, Tate?”
“What do you mean?”
“The river is still rising, isn’t it?”
“It has nowhere else to go but to spread farther.”
“Is Queens Crossing in danger?”
“I seriously doubt it. I think it’s high enough to keep it dry, but this latest storm is bound to bring in even more people who’ve been flooded out.”
“Will the Stormchaser kill again?”
“Who knows what the crazy bastard will do. We’re expecting some data to come in from Quantico. Hopefully it’ll give us a new angle on the investigation.”
“Okay. I just wanted to know.”
“And you should know. You’re just as involved in this as we are, just for a different reason.”
“I’ll go shower. I won’t be long.”
“Hey, Nola.”
She paused as she threw back the covers. “What?”
“Love you.”
She shivered. They were words she’d thought she would never hear him say again.
“Oh, Tate, I love you, too.”
He winked and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Moments later she went into the bathroom with a hairbrush, a hair band and some clean clothes. She paused to look at herself in the mirror. Her lips were slightly swollen and her hair looked like she’d been in an orgy.
She smiled. The look was a good one for her.
* * *
Hershel hadn’t slept all night. Once the rain began, he’d started pacing. Louise had been on his case nonstop, telling him to lie down and get his rest, but he’d had a meltdown on her like he’d never had before, and now she was silent and it was worse than her harping had ever been.
This was how it had been right after she died, and it had been his guilt and the silence that pushed him over the edge. He needed to regain control, and the only way he knew to do that was to resume his quest. Living witness or not, there would be new people in need of rescue. He was saving the boat for Nola. They would be watching for it and him, by land and probably by air, so he didn’t dare use it again more than once.
So how could he make this happen? He didn’t know. What he did know was that the answer wouldn’t come to him in here. He needed to get out among them and the answer would come. It always did.
The first thing he did was select a different disguise. First he packed clothing, then a wig and makeup. He decided to opt for his rifle rather than the pistol today, because he wouldn’t be in the boat, which meant he wouldn’t be able to get up as close. He listened to the local news reports as he gathered his things, pinpointing the areas along the river that were now in danger. They were announcing more refugee centers being set up farther downstream as well as new ones here in town, but he didn’t care. Today he was not a volunteer, he was the Stormchaser, and he had a need for control.
Louise was still keeping quiet, and it was making him nervous. Everything was off-kilter. As soon as he got the Feds away from Nola, he would rectify his mistake and be on his way.
The day was still overcast, even though the rain had passed, leaving a slight chill in the air. The jacket he had on felt good as he headed out the door. He tossed his duffel bag in the front seat of the truck, checked to make sure his rifle and ammo were still secure behind the seat and got in. He glanced toward the trailer where the Feds were staying. The SUV was still there, and most likely they were, too. He smiled. He was about to scatter them like a covey of quail.
With the news reports in mind, he drove out of Queens Crossing and headed east for ten miles, then cut back south toward the flood zone to scout for prospects. It would be more difficult doing it from land than from water, but it also made his quest that much more interesting.
As soon as he got to a secure location, he changed into his disguise. Black pants and a black leather vest later, he was halfway there. He added a fake tattoo on his arm, some chains hanging from his belt loops into his pockets and more chain bracelets around his wrists, and he looked like a street thug. A shaggy black wig brushed the back of his neck, a handlebar mustache tickled his nose and his baseball cap touted a popular beer. There was nothing he could do about his vehicle, but he changed his license plate to a stolen one from Oklahoma just in case.
The first location he spotted was an older two-story frame house about a quarter of a mile from the road. Even from where he was sitting, he could see two men madly filling sandbags to reinforce the dam they’d build around their house. The water was shallow but had already encircled them. But for their dam, it would already have invaded the house. It was obvious their efforts were futile, and it was a good place to begin. In a way, he was doing them a favor, saving them from pointless labor and a world of grief.
