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When she began to roll over, he shot her with the Taser, rendering her immediately immobile.
“It’s time, Nola Landry. I said I’d come for you, and I have.”
The terror on her face was balm to his soul. This was what had been missing. They had to respect his authority.
He threw her over his shoulder and carried her down the hall and out the door, and out to the pickup.
Nola couldn’t believe this was happening. The pain she was experiencing from the Taser was nothing compared to not being able to speak or move. Her whole body was seizing, and when she saw Cameron lying in the grass as the killer carried her out the back door, she wanted to scream, but her muscles had been rendered useless. Despite every promise Tate had made, she was going to die.
“Upsy daisy,” Hershel said as he dumped her onto the floorboard of his truck, so she was sitting with her back against the seat. He rolled her over like a rag doll, tied her hands and ankles, and then gagged her so she couldn’t scream. Only then did he roll her onto her back and pull off the electrodes. The electrical charge was gone, but her heart was hammering so hard it felt as if it would explode, and the muscles in her body were still seizing.
Hershel drove out the front gate, right past two kids on bicycles and a lone news van. As he was turning onto the highway, he met a police cruiser running with lights flashing. When he saw the car take the turn into the trailer park, he panicked. It might be nothing, or it might mean that Winger had already been discovered. Either way, he wasn’t staying around to find out. He glanced at Nola, then hit the gas.
* * *
If their vehicle had wings, it would have been airborne. Tate was taking the curves on two wheels. His gut feeling was that the new kills had been done specifically to draw them away, making it easier for the killer to take Nola when just one man was standing guard.
The silence inside the vehicle was brutal as they waited to hear back from the Queens Crossing P.D. When Wade’s phone finally rang, they both jumped, and Tate’s fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel.
“This is Luckett. Yes. Oh, damn, is he alive? Any witnesses? Thanks.” Wade disconnected. “They found Cameron unconscious by the back door with a head injury, and Nola is gone. A news van saw a late model, dark blue Dodge pickup driving out, but they didn’t see a passenger. They said the driver was a cop.”
Tate was sick. They’d been played, and unless a miracle occurred, Nola was going to pay for it.
“We need a boat,” he said. “Get on the phone and find us a boat. We’ll be in Queens Crossing in about five minutes, so tell them to have one waiting down at the public boat launch.”
Wade made the call to the P.D., who started scrambling to find one. Then he thought of the refugees who had been taken in by the Red Cross. Some of them had actually come into the city by boat, so he made a call to Laura Doyle. It rang so many times he was afraid it was going to voice mail, and then she finally answered.
“Hello, this is Laura.”
“Laura, Agent Luckett here. We need help. Did any of your refugees come into town in a motorboat? The killer has Nola, and we’re pretty sure he’s taking her to the river.”
Laura gasped. “Oh, dear God. Wait. I don’t know, but I’ll ask. Don’t hang up. I’m taking the phone with me.”
Wade could hear the frantic tone in her voice as she ran out into the gym and explained what she needed. He could hear other voices, all talking at once, and groaned. They needed help, not a debate. And then she was back on the phone.
“There are two men here who brought their families in to Queens Crossing in motor boats. They both have high-powered outboard motors and have volunteered to take you. They know the dangers, but they both know Nola and want to do it.”
“We need the fastest boat,” he said.
“He’ll be at the public dock waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” Wade said, and hung up. “Get to the dock. We’ve got a boat.”
The scenery was a blur, and when Tate hit the city limits he turned on the lights and siren, then drove all the way through town with lights flashing. When they reached the river, he slid to a stop at the dock. He and Wade got out on the run, heading toward a big fiberglass boat with a large outboard motor. The motor was already running, and the man at the wheel was grim-faced and waiting.
Tate recognized the man as Justin Beaudine, one of their classmates, as they jumped in the boat.
“Justin! Do you think you can find the Landry place in this flood?”
“I’ve run the river all my life. I know I can, Tate. Hang on.”
“Hurry, man. Run it wide-open. The Stormchaser has her, and he’s ahead of us.”
The motor roared as the boat sped away from the dock, its wake awash in foam and debris.
* * *
Hershel was high on adrenaline. Everything was finally falling into place. He would put this woman down and be home in time to help take out the garbage at the gym. He took the turn in the road at a steady speed, not wanting to call attention to himself needlessly, but time was not on his side. The cove where he’d hidden the boat was less than a mile up ahead. He hadn’t been there since the last rain, and he hoped to God it had not floated away from its mooring. That was how he’d lucked onto it in the first place, and it could happen again.