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CHAPTER EIGHT
The jail cells were small and smelled of industrial-strength cleaners. The floors were still damp where they’d been recently scrubbed down, and the stained and cracked commodes were vivid reminders of the temporary inmates who would have used them, but for the time being, it was the safest place in Queens Crossing they could put her.
Tate had pulled a mattress from another cell and put it on the floor in front of her cot, then spread the sleeping bag he traveled with out on top. Wade and Cameron were in the other cells in their sleeping bags, but no one was sleeping except Nola.
Tate had just emailed a full report of the latest incident to the director and was about to log out when his cell signaled an incoming text. His gut knotted as he recognized the number.
“Hey!”
His partners looked up.
“We’ve got another text.”
Wade ran over, and Cameron followed.
“What’s it say?” Wade asked.
The message was like a fist to the gut. He glanced at Nola. Even though she appeared to be out, he didn’t want her hearing any of this and handed them the phone.
How does it feel to know your bitch nearly bought the farm?
“Oh, shit,” Cameron said softly.
“Up until now, everything he’s done has been random. Now he’s making it personal,” Wade said as he handed the phone back. “He’s never done that before.”
Tate glanced at Nola. “That’s because the only witness to what he’s doing happens to belong to me, or at least that’s how he sees it. The woman I had a relationship with saw him in action, therefore it is personal. And the easiest way to stop me, stop us, is to hurt someone I care about.”
“What do you think he’ll do? Maybe he’ll just move downriver. The flood hasn’t crested yet.”
Tate shook his head. “He can’t. Up to now, everything has been going his way. This is his first stumble, and with his mind-set he’ll need to correct it before he can move on.”
Wade frowned. “She’s in a hell of a lot of danger. We should send her away somewhere.”
“That wouldn’t keep her safe,” Tate said. “She’s the problem, not me. He sent this message to remind us—me—of who’s in charge. If she leaves, he’ll go look for her. In a way, he considers her his jinx. He’ll be afraid to continue until he makes sure the mistake has been corrected. The only way I’ll know for sure she’s safe is if she’s with me.”
“What will the director say?” Cameron asked.
Tate shrugged. “I don’t know. I just sent the report. I can guarantee he won’t like it that a personal connection has developed between us, but I’ve already stated in my report that replacing me on the team won’t impact what the Stormchaser does. Nola will be his entire focus until, in his mind, his mistake is fixed.”
“Well, my focus is on getting us some new digs. I’ve never spent a night in jail in my life, and I want this to be the first and last time it ever happens,” Wade muttered.
Nola moaned.
Tate reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. Moments later, she quieted down.
Tate eyed his partners. “Go back to bed. We’re good here.”
* * *
Nola was dreaming that her arm was on fire. She kept trying to pour water on it to douse the flames, but the water wouldn’t come out of the pitcher. She was screaming for her mother when she woke up in Tate’s arms.
“You’re okay, you’re okay. It was just a dream,” he kept saying, as he cradled her in his lap.
She moaned. “My arm was on fire, and I couldn’t put it out. I couldn’t find my mom. Oh, my God, it was so real.”
“It’s from the pain meds,” Tate said. “They hit people like that sometimes.”
But her focus had already shifted to the cot and the iron bars.