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He grinned. “You’re welcome.”
She climbed into his lap and wrapped her arm around his neck.
“Well, I always wanted to be famous. When I was little, I used to pray to God to make me famous. Obviously I wasn’t specific enough. I should have added that I wanted to be famous for my paintings, not for surviving a serial killer’s attack.”
He kissed her chin and pulled her close.
“Nola Jean Landry, I sincerely love you to the depths of my soul,” he said, laughing. “Here I was, fearing you were going to go off the deep end, and instead you’re complaining about the price of fame.”
She kissed the side of his cheek and then his mouth, lingering long enough that she made him groan before she pulled back.
“I love you, too, Special Agent Man, and I am putting my life in your hands, because I don’t know beans about dodging the bad guys.”
All of a sudden things were serious again. Just the thought of being responsible for her life made him sick to his stomach, because the only thing they knew for sure about their killer was how deadly he was.
* * *
Hershel was feeling much better and was in the bathroom shaving. He didn’t like whiskers. They made his face itch. He would go to work tomorrow and ease himself back into the routine while he watched the Feds’ movements and established an escape route before he made his move to snatch the Landry woman. He needed to find out exactly where she’d witnessed him in the act and take her back there. To undo a wrong, he had to go back to the beginning to make it right.
You can’t make anything right if you keep doing everything wrong. You’re crazy, Hershel. You’re certifiably crazy.
“Hush, Louise. I told you I wasn’t the man you married. The sooner you accept that, the happier we’ll both be.”
He rinsed off the shaving cream, eyeing himself in the mirror. In his youth, Louise used to say he looked like a young version of Marlon Brando. Now he looked more like Dick Cheney. Satisfied with his clean, smooth shave, he began drying off. As soon as he was dressed, he moved up front to watch a little TV before going to bed.
He had just turned it on and was channel surfing when a picture of Nola Landry flashed on the screen. He gasped, then raised the volume, listening to the newscaster’s coverage of the story.
Just hearing the media say there was a witness made him crazy. Now they would be laughing at him—saying he’d made a mistake. He had to fix it so the laughing would stop. The only positive out of the entire broadcast was that he now knew the kill site. There was only one location that had three people waiting for rescue, and he knew exactly where he’d been. He closed his eyes, thinking back to how the area had looked, and vividly remembered going past a stand of partially submerged trees. So that was where she’d been—up one of those trees. Now that was where he would take her, back to the place where the mistake was made. That was how you made mistakes go away.
Hershel Inman, I will never speak to you again if you hurt that poor girl. Do you hear me, Hershel? I mean it!
“I hear you, Louise, now you need to hear me. I will do it, and there’s nothing you can say to stop me. You died and left me alone here, and now I’m doing what has to be done.”
* * *
Nola was showered and in her sweats watching TV when Wade and Cameron came back. She heard a knock at the door, and then Wade calling out.
“It’s just us,” he said as the key turned in the door.
They both came in carrying grocery sacks.
She shut and locked the door behind them as they dumped everything on the island.
“Did you bring ice cream?” she asked.
Wade dug through a bag and pulled out a pint of rocky road ice cream. He took off the lid, stuck a spoon in the container and handed it to her.
“Knock yourself out, honey. That one is all yours.”
She didn’t argue. Instead, she wrapped a paper towel around the carton and headed for the living room with her prize.
“Where’s Tate?” Wade asked.
“In the shower. Oh, wow, this is good. Thank you!”
“We figured it was the least we could do after your television debut.”
She rolled her eyes.