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He took the turn down the road, drove as close as he dared and walked along the edge of the woods until he reached the water. They never looked up from their task, and even though he was only a hundred feet from their house, they never saw him.
He stood for a few moments, watching the old man and the younger one work in a well-coordinated routine and scouting the best spot to take his shots. He had no way of knowing if there was a woman inside the house, but he would find out soon enough when the men went down.
The old man moved into position first, but Hershel waited. He needed to take the young one down first. A couple of minutes later he got his opportunity, sighted him through the rifle scope and fired.
The young man dropped without making a sound. A muscle jerked in Hershel’s jaw as he waited for the older man to turn. He saw the look of shock on his face. Saw, rather than heard, the cry of dismay, and then took his second shot. He saw blood splatter out behind the old man’s head as he went down. Then he stood, waiting to see if anyone came out. Nothing moved except the water. He slipped the rifle into the crook of his arm, pausing long enough to eye the river as it continued to swallow the land, and headed back toward his truck.
* * *
By the time she heard the shots and got to the window, her husband and his father were down, and the shooter was staring at the house. She clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her scream and watched as he walked away. As soon as he was out of sight, she ran for her cell phone, sobbing as she went.
* * *
Tate was in his bedroom, on the phone with the director, filling him in on the new direction they were exploring. The data they’d requested from Quantico had come through, and the techs who’d sorted it had done an amazingly thorough job, especially given how little they’d had to go on. But because of the devastation of Hurricane Katrina and the length of time it had taken before real help ever arrived, there were literally hundreds of stories to look through.
“Damn,” Cameron said as he began scrolling through the online report. “I need this stuff printed out to be able to sort it. I’ll print, if one of you guys will separate the copies into three sets, and then we can see if there’s anything in there that fits what we already have.”
“I’ll do it,” Wade said.
Nola was doing her part by staying out of the way. They had every tabletop, as well as the kitchen island, covered in files and papers, and from the sound of their conversation, they were about to make it worse.
She thought about what a hassle Laura must be having at the Red Cross center and wished she could help. It would be a useful way to pass the time, but they’d already gone that route and put a lot of people in danger. It wasn’t fair, but while the killer was running free, she was the one in jail.
Tate came back into the room as they were printing out the last pages.
“The director is pleased to learn we have a new angle. He’s assigning extra help back at headquarters for us, so we need to sort through this stuff ASAP, eliminating the stories we don’t think apply, then give them the names we need further background on and they’ll do the rundowns.”
“That’s fantastic,” Wade said. “This would take days otherwise, and that’s time we don’t have. I’m sorting by date. I’m thinking the earlier disaster stories could be what we need to look at, because later on, after the National Guard and FEMA finally showed up, things changed.”
“Agreed,” Tate said. “Let’s sort by date, then pull any of the stories that have to do with a woman’s death, and especially stories where a man and woman were trapped and she didn’t make it.”
By now it was nearly eleven. Nola was getting hungry, and she knew they would be, too. There was no room to cook with everything going on. It would be sandwiches again. She longed for her old kitchen, and her grandmother’s pots and pans. That perfectly cured cast-iron skillet that fried the best chicken in the South, the family silverware that had survived Sherman’s march through Georgia and accompanied Great-Granny into Louisiana when she married. It hurt to her very soul to know those links with her family were nothing but memories.
She got up quietly to see what sandwich stuff was left. These three men had gone through in two days what would last her a week or more. Before she could make a decision, Tate changed the plan.
“Hey, honey, don’t worry about making something. Call Eats and order some burgers and fries, and one of us will go pick them up.”
“Then the question is, how many burgers apiece? I already know Wade wants two plus everyone’s leftovers.”
They all laughed, including Wade.
“Wade, if you ever get married, I hope she can cook,” she added.
His smile shifted slightly. “Oh, I’ve been married, and cooking had nothing to do with why we’re no longer together.”
“Sorry,” she said.
He shrugged. “Life happens. I’ll settle for your leftovers and not complain.”
She patted him on the back as she left the room to call in the order, and a few minutes later Cameron went to pick it up.
As he did, he passed their neighbor driving back into the trailer park. He waved, but the man didn’t seem to notice.
* * *
Hershel pulled up in front of his motor home and parked. He got out with the full intention of going inside to change and get back to the gym, but when he turned to glance at the trailer where the Feds were staying, he saw something on their roof, and when he realized what it was and that it was staring back at him, he froze. He kept thinking it would fly away, but it didn’t, and he found himself in a stare-down with a vulture.
* * *
