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“No, and I can say that with assurance. It may be just an added way to dig at me personally for not being able to catch him, but no matter who witnessed his acts, he would need that moment erased.”
“Then how does being left-handed mean anything?”
“It’s in one of the texts he sent. It was biblical, and it made no sense at the time.”
“What did he say?”
“It’s from the Book of Matthew. I’m paraphrasing, but it’s the one about ‘if your right hand offends you, cut it off.’ On the surface, it meant nothing. But…this changes his personality profile.”
She shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
“As a profiler, we look at all kinds of things to help us understand a perpetrator. This gets into the psychology of a killer’s brain, but for instance, if killing randomly in some way disturbs him psychologically, he could convince himself that his sin was absolved by using his other hand.”
She was amazed. “How did you learn to do all this?”
He shrugged. “Studies on human behavior and a pretty good instinct. How did you learn to paint?”
“Okay, I get it. Part of it you’re born with, and part of it you learn.”
He smiled, then slid an arm around her waist and pulled her into a gentle hug.
“It’s close to 3:00 a.m. You need to get some rest.”
She shivered as a flash of lightning shot across the sky.
“The last time I slept in weather like this I woke up in the water.”
He hated the anxious expression on her face and once again was in awe of what she had survived.
“Where, exactly, was that tree you climbed?”
“Remember that grove down past the barn?”
He frowned. “That was a long way from the house. You walked that far while you were sick?”
“Up to my knees in water, out of my head with fever, in the dark, with live critters bumping against my legs, every time imagining it was a gator.”
“Sweet Lord,” Tate said, and then pulled her close, grateful she was still with them. “Just remember, you’re not alone anymore,” he said. “How’s your arm now?”
“Better. I guess the pill kicked in.”
“I need to get you to a doctor tomorrow, and make sure there’s no infection and get the dressing changed. That was done under pretty rough circumstances. Is Doc Tuttle still practicing?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll give him a call and get you in a back door or something. Don’t want to alert the media where you are and have them camping out here at the trailer park.”
“Okay.”
“Go to bed, baby. Sleep while you can,” he said softly, then leaned down and brushed his lips across her mouth.
“I will. Might be wishing I wasn’t sleeping alone,” she added.
He groaned. “Don’t tempt me.”
Nola wrapped her good arm around his neck and gave him a hug.
“Night, Tate. Sleep well.”