by Sharon Sala
“No one ever said this job was simple. Stop worrying about it. We’ve been at this for over a year, and we’re still spinning our wheels. If you go and solve this too quickly, think how bad you’ll make us look,” Wade said.
“I’m done for today,” she said, then hit Save and began powering down her laptop. “I’m going to shower. Are we going anywhere for dinner?”
“We’ve been relying pretty heavily on room service and there are some great Italian places here,” Wade said.
“How much time do I have?” Jo asked.
Wade glanced at his watch. “Can you get ready in thirty minutes?”
“Let me guess. You’re starving?” Jo said. “Thirty minutes is fine.”
“It takes fuel to run a body this fine,” he said.
Laughter followed her out the door. She was still smiling when she got in the shower, but true to her word, she was dressed and street-worthy in just under thirty minutes.
Twelve
The restaurant was packed and noisy, the perfect place to blend in. The team was following their hostess to a table when a little boy came barreling around the end of a banquette. He ran right into Wade’s leg, then ricocheted backward so fast he would have fallen and bumped his head if Wade hadn’t reacted quickly. He caught the boy as he was falling, then lifted him up in his arms, laughing at the look of surprise on the toddler’s face.
“Hey, Speedy, where are you going so fast?”
At that moment a harried young woman ran up.
“I am so sorry! Squirt got away from me.”
Wade grinned at the little boy, who was giving him the evil eye now.
“Is your name Squirt?”
The little boy frowned. “No, I Todd.”
“Well, hello, Todd. My name is Wade. I think you need to tell your mama you’re sorry you ran away, okay?”
Todd frowned as Wade dumped him into his mother’s arms.
“Sowwy, Mama.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “As you can see by the frown on his face, he is less than sincere. Sorry again,” she said, and hurried off.
Wade was still grinning when he realized Cameron and Tate had already been seated a couple of tables away, and Jo was looking at him with an expression of such sorrow that it was all he could do not to hug her, a move he knew she would not appreciate. Instead, he held out his hand.
“Hey. No. Don’t go there,” he said.
She quickly looked away, but he could see the tears in her eyes. Damn it. One step forward. Two steps back.
He put a hand on the curve of her back as they moved to their table. The moment they were seated, he began talking to give her time to recover.
“Are we ordering appetizers? If we are, see if they have fried ravioli. I love that stuff.”
“I have yet to find a food you don’t like,” Cameron muttered.
“He doesn’t like eggplant,” Jo said, and then picked up a menu and started reading.
Tate gave her a quick glance and then looked at Wade, who frowned and shook his head.
“She’s right about that,” Wade said. “It’s a texture thing.”
The conversation kept moving, and within moments Jo had recovered herself enough to join in. By the time their appetizers came, outwardly she was fine. But she couldn’t get the image out of her head of Wade holding that little boy and laughing. Their son would have been that age, and, if he’d turned out anything like his father, about that wild.
When no one was looking, Wade slipped a hand under the table and patted her leg, as if to say, “I get it, and it’s okay.”
As soon as she felt his touch, she looked up.
He winked and smiled, and she remembered how good-natured he was about almost everything—until someone cheated or lied, and then he was all business and in your face. That endearing quality was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him. He was an almost-too-good-to-be-true kind of man.
The conversation slowed considerably as their entrées arrived. By the time they were back at the hotel, everyone was comfortably sated, and Jo was exhausted both emotionally and mentally.
“Is there anything pressing we can’t leave till morning?” she asked as they paused in the hall between her room and the team suite.
“Not that I know of,” Tate said.
“Good, because I’m beat,” she said. “I’m going to bed, but if anything comes up, just give me a call.”
“I’ll see you in a few,” Wade said. “I need to check email and grab some clean clothes.”
She swiped her key card to open her door and then handed it to Wade.
“Here, come in when you want. I might already be asleep.”
He took the card, kissed her cheek and gave her a long, serious glance that the other men couldn’t see.
“I’m fine,” she said softly.
“As a liar, you suck,” he said, and kissed her again.
Her smile was a bit lopsided as she closed the door between them.
Wade followed the others into the suite and went straight to his laptop. Tate did the same, and Cameron went to change. The weather was clear and life went on, whether someone died or not.
* * *
Jo had been dozing when a click at the door woke her. She was reaching instinctively for her weapon when she saw Wade’s silhouette as he came inside.
“It’s just me. Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep,” he said softly.
She began pushing herself into a sitting position. “No. I wanted to talk to you and fell asleep waiting.”
He laid the clothes he was carrying on a chair, kicked off his shoes and pulled his T-shirt over his head. The night-light from the bathroom illuminated the room just enough for her to see the play of rock-hard muscles on his belly.
“Light on or off?” he asked.
“Off. It’s going to be hard enough to talk about this,” she said. “To borrow a quote from my grannie, who has long since passed, I had a come-to-Jesus moment when you picked up that little boy at the restaurant. It’s what made me cry.”
“Look, honey, you don’t have to—”
“No. I do have to. If we do this again, there needs to be total honesty between us first. In a nutshell, here’s what I need to say. In all of my guilt and grief, I never shared yours. I know you were sad. I saw you crying at the funeral just like me. But I never held you when you cried. I never talked about what you’d lost. It was all about me.”
A sudden wash of sadness caught Wade off guard. It happened so fast there were tears in his eyes before he knew it.
“I appreciate that,” he said. “I also understand it. You didn’t just lose a baby. The baby was murdered. And you nearly were, too. I was so scared that night in the hospital, afraid I was losing you both. Every time someone came to update me on your surgery, they were so cautious about what they would even say that I felt you slipping away. I needed to be with you, and they wouldn’t even let me see you.”
Jo threw back the covers, crawled over to where he was sitting and put her arms around his neck. He pulled her into his lap and kept talking, his voice shaking as he remembered that day.
“They told me that the baby was gone, but I’d already accepted that, because I’d seen them bringing you in. When I saw where you’d taken the bullet, I knew there was no way he could survive. So, in my heart, my son was already dead, and the sorrow that went through me was visceral. From the day we found out the baby was a boy, I’d had all these images in my head of the years to come. Teaching him to swim and ride a bike, how to play ball, and when he was old enough, giving him my Hot Wheels collection. It’s at Mom and Dad’s, and you didn’t even know about it. Afterward, it didn’t matter. I sat in the waiting room with Tate and Cameron, with the Deputy Director and his wife, with our friends, fielding frant
ic phone calls from my parents, who lived too far away to get there, and all I could think about was what would I do if I lost you, too?”
Jo was clutching his hand, too moved to speak as she swallowed back tears.
“When they came and told me you’d made it through surgery, my prayers had been answered. I expected your grief. I expected you to have all kinds of PTSD issues. What I hadn’t expected was your anger. But I dealt with it, because I understood how you could be mad at what fate had done to us.”
Jo lifted his hand to her lips and kissed the palm, then held it to her heart.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It took me nearly a year after we were divorced to fully understand what I’d done. I was so bathed in guilt I stayed defensive. My partner was dead. My baby was dead, and every time I looked at your face, I imagined I saw accusation and anger. As much as I dreaded this assignment, it was the best thing that happened to me, because it made me face you again. I quickly realized how mistaken I’d been in what you were going through. It’s what my therapist kept trying to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen. It’s survivor guilt. I lived and they didn’t, therefore everyone who loved them is probably mad at me. I just flat-ass shut you out, and I’m sorry.”
Wade wrapped his arms around her and tucked his cheek against the side of her neck, rocking back and forth in a slow, steady motion.
“I love you, Jolene. I will always love you. I want you back in my arms every night, back in my life forever. I don’t care how long it takes for you to be ready for that again. I’ll wait because that’s how much you mean to me.”
She began to cry. “I don’t want to wait for anything, but I also don’t want to go back. I want to go forward, where happiness isn’t just something other people have. When it’s time, I want to be your wife again. I will do better, be better. I want us to have another baby. Is that too much to ask?”
Now Wade was crying, too. “We will have all that again. I promise.”
Jo crawled out of his lap, then took off her T-shirt and held out her hand.
“Make love to me, Wade. It makes me feel whole.”
He stripped and stretched out beside her. He wiped away her tears and began leaving butterfly kisses all over her face, and then moved down her neck, then to the valley between her breasts, and then her belly. When he slid his hands beneath her hips and traced the scar with the tip of his tongue and then moved beyond, she moaned.
Everything they did that night, they did slowly and together. From whispers of sweet love words to arousing all the pleasure spots on each other’s bodies, they gave and they gave, healing the rift that had opened between them, until there was nothing left but their building passion.
Jo’s heart was hammering so hard, all she could hear was the rush of her blood.
Wade was so caught up in the rhythm of their dance that when he felt her climax coming, he let go and rode it out with her. When it was over, they fell asleep, motionless and exhausted in each other’s arms.
* * *
Hershel got up before daylight and showered. Despite the burn scars, he still needed to shave parts of his face, but at this point, there was no way he could run a razor over his skin.
He poked at the little stitches. They looked dry and healed, but the straggly-looking whiskers among the stitches looked terrible. He frowned.
“You’re never gonna be pretty, Hershel, so get over it,” he muttered.
He heard something clatter outside the bathroom window and shoved the blinds aside to look out into the alley. Some bum was digging through the Dumpster. This was definitely the seedier part of St. Louis. As he eyed the guy a little closer, he realized it wasn’t a man after all, but a woman wearing men’s clothing. From the filthy rags she was wearing to a ratty old fedora, she was a worthless piece of humanity. If it had been nighttime, he might have been tempted to put her out of her misery. But it wasn’t, and she’d just lucked out.
He dropped the blinds and went to get dressed. Today was a day for making things happen. He needed to find out if Connie Taliaferro was dead. Today was also a day for staying under the radar, which meant choosing a wig and mustache. He opted for red curly hair, and a bushy little handlebar mustache to match, then made sure to attach them securely. He dug through his meager assortment of clothing, opting for a pair of jeans and a Coors beer T-shirt, and put them on as he watched the morning news.
To his surprise, the police had already identified the hooker he’d killed. Proud Mary, aka Janet Good, had been a runaway wife and fifteen years long gone. Her murder by the Stormchaser had not only added cachet to her demise but apparently cleared her husband’s name, which the newscaster went on to discuss in detail. Damn it! Once again the Stormchaser’s accomplishments were taking second place to his victims’ former lives.
That’s because it’s not all about you, Hershel Inman.
Hershel frowned. “I’m not talking to you, Louise. All you do is gripe at me.”
You turned bad…bad…bad…
There was that damn echo again. He upped the volume on the TV and reached for his shoes. He wanted some breakfast, and he wanted to find Connie Taliaferro, not listen to his dead wife ream his ass out every day.
He left the motel room with a bounce in his step. Having purpose was what got him through the day. He unlocked his van and jumped in.
* * *
Gunner was poking about in the trash behind the motel when he saw the man get into the van and drive away, he was thinking about Proud Mary. It was all over the street now as to what had happened to her. The story to her life didn’t surprise him. Nearly everyone on the street was running away from something. Proud Mary had run away from one man, but the irony of her so-called escape was that she’d wound up sleeping with a whole lot of strangers to get by. Still, it didn’t matter what she’d done. No one deserved to die like that.
He watched the van until it completely disappeared, then closed his eyes and tried to picture the taillights on the van Proud Mary had gotten into, but he couldn’t. It had been raining really hard, and he hadn’t seen the driver at all. Still, it was something to pay attention to. If another storm blew through the city, he would make it a point to check out this guy’s moves.
* * *
Hershel was at the library again, this time searching death records. Last night he had remembered that Connie was originally from Memphis, so he began running the name Conrad Taliaferro through the records there.
He didn’t find a death certificate, but he did find a name he recognized. Roger Taliaferro. Conrad had a son named Roger. He made a note of the address and phone number, then left the building. He stopped long enough to pick up a disposable telephone, had it activated and sat in his van to make the call. It rang four times, and he was about to hang up before it went to voice mail when he heard a man’s slightly breathless voice, as if he’d been running to answer.
“Hello. Taliaferro residence.”
“Mr. Taliaferro, my name is Junior Wardley. Are you the son of Conrad Taliaferro?”
He could practically hear Roger Taliaferro frown. “What’s the old bastard done now?”
Hershel’s heart skipped a beat. Hot damn, Connie wasn’t dead.
“Oh, no, no, it’s nothing like that. I’ve been out of the country for a couple of years and just got back. Connie and I became good friends while he was in Stately Hill, outside of New Orleans, and I wanted to look him up.”
Roger snorted. “Oh, you mean the loony bin?”
Hershel frowned. “He told me then that he always wanted to go to Florida. Did he?”
“No. He’s back here in Memphis.”
“Really? I’m in Missouri at the moment, but heading east. I would love to stop off and visit with him. Mind giving me his number?”
There was a moment of silence, and Hershel was afraid he was going to say no, and t
hen Roger spoke.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Wardley. Junior Wardley.”
“Yeah, what the hell. I can give you his number. If he doesn’t want to talk, he won’t answer. He’s still weird, but he’s harmless.”
Hershel was so excited he felt like giggling. “I appreciate this,” he said.
“Got a pen and paper?” Roger asked.
“Yep. Right here.”
Roger read out the phone number, then added, “He’s like a damn vampire. Sleeps all day. If he answers at all, it would be at night. Call him then.”
“I will, and thank you again.”
Hershel hung up and then glanced at the time. It was a little after noon. Restaurants would be crowded with people on their lunch hour, but he was in the mood for something besides fast food. It was a damn shame he’d had to give up using a motor home because he could have cooked something for himself. That was so much more convenient but considering his past, that would be the first thing the FBI team would look for.
Still, he had a new plan of action, and that was a good thing. He started up the van and drove away.
* * *
It was obvious to the other team members that Wade and Jo had come to some kind of an understanding. The warmth when they spoke to each other was a far cry from the uneasy truce with which they’d started.
As the day wore on, the temperature rose. Early weather reports were predicting the possibility of thunderstorms, which would cause the river running through the city to rise even more. On top of everything else, parts of St. Louis were in danger of flooding, a disaster the Stormchaser seemed to favor.
Except for the healing cut on Jo’s forehead and the slight redness still on her chin, she looked fine. And after her talk with Wade last night, she felt one hundred percent better, too.
She was running the name Bill Carter through a database that could tie it to Hershel Inman’s age and physical description. Unfortunately, Bill Carter was a very common name, and so were middle-aged, bald, bow-legged men. She was also rerunning searches on everything pertaining to Hershel’s life prior to when he began killing, everything from the church he and Louise had attended to the yearly plumbers’ union convention they attended. She was looking into where he’d grown up, the high school he’d attended, and the members of both his and Louise’s extended families. It was maddening to get nowhere, and she was beginning to get nervous. If she didn’t come through for the team, the chances were good the Director would pull her off the case and send her elsewhere. Not only did she not want to leave Wade again when they’d just found each other, but Tate had made it clear that no matter where she went, he was certain that if the Stormchaser could find her, he would take her again. He had a thing about failures and needing to rectify them by repeating the process until he was successful. She rubbed the back of her neck where the chip had been implanted, grateful it was there, as she kept on working.
