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“Initial search here I think. Then have it towed to Quantico. If there’s anything in there that might help us run him down, they’ll find it.”
* * *
By the time they got back, the usual small-town grapevine had already heard the news. The Stormchaser hadn’t died in the explosion, and the FBI was no closer to arresting him now than they had been two months ago. It was not their finest hour. The only positive in the entire day was that the news crews had left town, abandoning them for a hot new story.
They stopped by the trailer to shower and change, then Tate grabbed his laptop to file the reports and pocketed a couple of candy bars, and they were out the door.
Wade dropped him off at the hospital and headed back. He was going to do the initial search of the motor home and hope for a break. They were due one.
* * *
Nola was sitting up in bed when Tate walked in.
“I heard,” she said. “What happens next?”
He put his laptop on the chair and then headed for the bed.
“You are my hero,” he said, and wrapped her in his arms. “I screwed up.”
“You blew him up and he’s still alive. How is that your fault? Stop beating yourself up and kiss me.”
He groaned and kissed her until good sense made him stop.
She patted the side of the bed for him to sit down, so he did.
“What did you do with Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee?” she asked.
He grinned. “I sent them back to the trailer for the night.”
“Do you have to stay here to continue your investigation?”
“We’re checking area hospitals for burn or accident victims. If nothing turns up there, and we don’t get any leads from the stuff in his motor home, then we go back to D.C. and wait. Either he’ll go to ground and call it quits, or something will trigger the urge and he’ll start all over again.”
She rolled her eyes. “Does this happen often?”
“No, but it happens.”
“Does it make you crazy?”
He smiled. “You make me crazy.”
“When all my bruises fade, I will marry you.”
The smile slid off his face. “It feels wrong to be grateful that a serial killer brought me back to you, but that’s pretty much a fact of our life.”
“All I can say is that we’re not naming our firstborn Hershel.”
His smile was back. “Uh, Nola Jean?”
“What?”
“When your bruises fade, will you marry me?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You’re going to like Washington,” he said.
“I know. We’re going to find a house with a room for my studio, and you’ll chase bad guys and I’ll paint pictures, and we’ll live happy ever after.”