Going Twice

by Sharon Sala

  He braked. “There you are,” he said, watching as they turned toward the sound of his tires sliding on mud and gravel. He saw their reactions to his presence and smiled. They would chase him. Perfect. If he got them going fast enough, he might get lucky enough to watch them die.

  The race was on.

  He took off, making sure not to lose them until they got themselves turned around to follow, and then, once he saw them come over a hill in his rearview mirror, he floored it.

  * * *

  Tate was on the phone with the state police, who were finally nearing the entrance to the park after being held up by a multi-car accident on the interstate. Once he apprised them of the situation, they sent several cars in and began setting up a roadblock at the exit, leaving Tate and his team to flush Hershel straight into their trap.

  “This is crazy,” Jo insisted. “He should have been long gone. What was he doing up there? Why did he wait?”

  “Who knows?” Wade said. “Buckle up. This is going to be a wild ride.”

  Cameron had left the SUV in four-wheel drive. His jaw was set, his focus on keeping the van in sight while staying safe on the muddy, rut-filled road. He was finally beginning to gain on the van when it hit blacktop. Seconds later it disappeared.

  “Son of a bitch,” Wade muttered, and reached for Jolene’s hand. “Don’t lose him, Cameron. Don’t lose him.”

  The moment Cameron drove off the dirt and onto the blacktop he shifted out of four-wheel drive and stomped on the accelerator. They came over a hill just as the van was disappearing over the next one.

  “It’s okay,” Tate said. “This vehicle maneuvers better than a van in a high-speed chase. Either he’ll go off the road, or the state police will stop him. Just keep pushing him.”

  But Jo felt anxious, and it had nothing to do with their speed.

  “I’m telling you. This doesn’t feel right. He had hours to get away from us. Why didn’t he? Why on earth would he hang around?”

  Tate looked over his shoulder at Jolene. “What do you know that we don’t?”

  “Nothing. It just doesn’t fit. He’s been so damn careful to stay ahead of everything we do, and now this?”

  “She has a point,” Wade said. “Why would—”

  “Oh, shit!”

  Cameron’s outburst ended the conversation.

  “What’s wrong?” Tate asked.

  Cameron gripped the wheel as they flew around a downhill curve.

  “We don’t have any brakes.”

  Wade groaned. “Now we know why he waited.”

  “He wants to watch us die,” Tate said.

  Jo leaned back and tightened her seat belt, then reached for Wade’s hand again.

  Wade was furious. “Then let’s make damn sure the bastard is rudely disappointed,” he said. Unbuckling his seat belt, he scooted next to Jo and took her into his arms.

  “Buckle your seat belt,” she begged.

  “I’m not going to sit there when you’re here,” he said. “Look! I’m buckling up again.” He reached for the center belt, matching his actions to his words.

  Tate was talking to the state police again when Cameron saw the sharp curve ahead. He looked at the speedometer, and then took a deep breath. “Hang on, everybody. We’re not going to make this curve. Take a fast vote. Do we go off the mountain, or do we hit it?”

  “Well, shit,” Wade said, and wrapped his arms tighter around Jolene.

  * * *

  Hershel kept watching the rearview mirror as he drove. He had a gut feeling there would be cops waiting for him at the park entrance, and an even stronger feeling that the brakes on the agents’ SUV had to be gone by now. He needed to take the upcoming turn or lose his only chance to get away.

  If you hadn’t stayed to watch more people die, you would already be safe…safe…safe…

  “Thank you for the update, Louise. I can always count on you to state the obvious.”

  Regretting the fact that he was going to miss the fireworks, he took the turn off the blacktop onto a well-graveled road and floored it. According to the map he’d been studying while he waited, he could take this road south out of the park and eventually angle back east until he hit I-55. His plan was to stay on it straight to the Cape Girardeau exit, catch a plane and disappear.

  He had just topped a small hill when he heard a loud explosion and braked. He looked back across the trees to his right as a thick black column of smoke began rising into the air.

  “See you in hell, you sorry bastards,” he muttered and then looked at himself in the mirror.

  He was a soldier who’d been at war with the people who hurt him. He had the scars and the PTSD to show for it, but he’d taken them down. He’d dodged the law and all the storms God could throw at him, and he’d proven he was the smarter man. But without the team to challenge him, he didn’t have the heart for this anymore, and he’d made his point. They were dead. Louise was dead. It was time to move on.

  * * *

  Everyone braced for impact as Cameron turned the wheel sharply to the right and headed into the side of the mountain, the lesser of two evils.

  The car began to skid. The scent of burning rubber seared their nostrils, and then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The car was turning and sliding and turning and sliding. The hood was aimed straight at the mountain, but the wheels were turned as far to the right as Cameron could hold them. They were only twenty-five feet from impact when the car suddenly spun. Instead of going headfirst into the mountain, the driver’s side hit the unyielding rock. A thousand-plus pounds of metal ran into an immovable object at almost a hundred miles an hour.

  Dazed by the impact, Cameron was still hanging on to the steering wheel when smoke began pouring out from under the hood.

  Tate’s head was bleeding as he tried to unbuckle his seat belt.

  Wade was already scrambling to get Jo out. “Tate! Are you all right?” he shouted, and shook his partner’s shoulder to make him focus.

  “Yes, I think…”

  “I smell gas. We have to get out. Get Cameron!”

  Like Cameron, Jo was barely conscious as Wade unbuckled her seat belt and dragged her out of the car.

  “Hurry! It’s going to blow!” Wade yelled as he carried Jo to the far side of the road. “Get down and stay down!” he said, and ran back to help Tate and Cameron.

  Tate was still trying not to pass out, but he had Cameron’s seat belt undone when Wade appeared.

  “I’ve got him, Tate. Run!”

  Tate staggered backward as Wade dragged Cameron out of the car, threw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and started running away, with Tate at his heels.

  They had just reached Jolene and set Cameron down when the car exploded. Tate grabbed Cameron, who was trying to sit up, and dragged him farther away. Wade had thrown himself onto Jo’s body only seconds before the car exploded. Fire and debris flew in all directions, but they were safe.

  Once the fire stopped falling out of the sky, Tate sat up to take a head count. Cameron was shaky but coming to, and Wade had Jolene held tightly in his arms.

  “Thanks, Wade,” Tate said. “We wouldn’t have gotten out in time if you hadn’t come back.”

  Wade wasn’t worrying about kudos. “Jo has a knot on her head. Check Cameron. They both hit the windows pretty hard. We might be looking at concussions.”

  Cameron felt his head, just above his ear. “There’s a knot, but I’m not too dizzy,” he said.

  Jo moaned as she began coming to. “Did we die?”

  Wade pulled her closer. “No, baby. We’re all still here.”

  She tried to sit up and pushed the hair from her eyes. “Where’s Inman?”

  “That is probably going to become the epitaph on my tombstone,” Tate said.r />
  Jo groaned. “He got away?”

  Tate began looking for his phone, then looked back at the flames still shooting in the air.

  “I think my phone was in the car.”

  “Here’s mine,” Wade said.

  Tate called the state police one more time.

  “This is Agent Benton. Do you have Inman in custody?”

  “He never exited the park, and the men I sent in haven’t driven up on him yet. You should be seeing them anytime now.”

  “He cut our brake lines. We crashed the car and need an ambulance or three.”

  The officer was all business. “I’ll notify the park service, as well as the state highway patrol. We had already issued a BOLO for the van and driver when we left Springfield, and we have an ambulance on-site. It’s on the way.”

  “Thank you,” Tate said, then hung up and handed Wade the phone. “Inman never made it to the main gate. He’s either hiding out in the park or he knew a different way out and is long gone.”

  Wade pocketed the phone in disgust. “This makes me sick to my stomach.”

  “It’s difficult to catch a serial killer with an evolving agenda,” Tate said. “Just when you think you know what you’re looking for, he changes the game and the rules.”

  “Will you have to stay here?” Jo asked.

  Tate frowned. “I doubt it. We’ll go back to work, and when the next natural disaster occurs, we’ll wait and see if he’s still on the move.”

  “I hear sirens,” Cameron said.

  “The state police,” Wade said, then groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. “There has to be something to salvage from this mess.”

  “We know one of his aliases now,” Tate reminded him.

  Jo was pulling down the hem of Wade’s shirt and poncho, trying to hide as much of her long legs as possible.

  He saw her and frowned. “They’ll have a blanket for you to wrap up in.”

  She sighed. “Good. I wasn’t crazy about mooning the state police, too.”

  “Just stay put. You’re not walking on those feet, and it will take the ambulance a while to get here.”

  * * *

  Hours later, the team was finally leaving the E.R.

  Jo was in a wheelchair, with both feet in bandages, wearing a pair of donated scrubs from the surgery unit. The knot on her head had turned into a bruise, as had the one above Cameron’s ear. Everyone but Wade had a slight concussion, which left him in charge.

  They rode back to the hotel in a taxi, grateful that it was night. They made it through the lobby and up to their rooms without drawing anything but a few curious glances.

  Tate went straight into the suite with Wade’s phone to talk to the Director.

  Cameron began writing a report, while Wade took Jo across the hall to her room.

  She crawled out of the wheelchair onto the bed and rolled over onto her back with a sigh.

  “I got up with every intention of seeing St. Louis from the Arch today and, as my daddy used to say, nearly ‘bought the farm’ instead. There were a couple of times when I didn’t think we were going to make it.”

  Wade sat down on the side of the bed. He kept looking at the floor instead of at her, and she could tell he was bothered about something.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We went to all that trouble to bug you, and then I nearly let him kill you anyway.”

  She frowned. “No way! I’m the one who got hit by a Taser twice by the same perp and didn’t see it coming either time. I’ll never hear the end of this at headquarters.”

  He reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. You weren’t returning texts or calls, so I checked on your location, and both times it showed you were still in the city. I should have known something was wrong.”

  “Why? Because you’re suddenly psychic?”

  “No, but—”

  She tugged on his hand and pulled him down beside her.

  “No buts, Wade. I’m just so glad we’re alive that I could weep.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t cry,” he muttered.

  She smiled as she pulled his head down onto her shoulder. “You know what?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “I’m starving.”

  He was still for a moment, and then he raised his head and grinned.

  “I’ll order food, and while we’re eating, we can decide who’s moving. Are you moving in with me, or am I moving in with you?”

  “Are you still in our house in Virginia?” she asked.

  “Yes. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I know it was where we were the saddest, but it was also where some of the happiest times of my life happened.”

  Her eyes welled. “My apartment is a sad place. Nothing good ever happened there. I choose going back to you.”

  “You’re not going back. You’re coming home, and we’re sealing it with a kiss.”

  When he centered his mouth on her lips, it released the last of his guilt and fears.

  * * *

  Because of Jo’s, Tate’s and Cameron’s concussions, flying was put on hold. By the time they got back to D.C. a couple of days had passed and the Bureau was abuzz with the latest on Inman. It was getting the Lee Parsons alias that had turned the tide. They’d tracked the missing money from the New Orleans bank to banks in Dallas, Seattle and Chicago, with all three accounts under different names.

  But by the time they identified the accounts, they were already empty. With unlimited money, Inman could buy any identity, use any disguise and disappear. If he never killed again, the Stormchaser was about to get away with murder.

  Reston, Virginia

  Wade pulled up in the driveway of his house and then looked over at Jo and saw a muscle jerking at the corner of her mouth. She was trying not to cry. His heart skipped a beat. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  “You okay?”

  She smiled through the welling tears.

  “I’m more than okay. What I am is grateful, grateful you didn’t quit on me, and grateful for this second chance.”

  Wade leaned across the seat and kissed her.

  “Ditto that, my love. Let’s grab our bags and get inside. It looks like rain.”

  And he was right. Within seconds of walking into the house, the heavens opened. Jo stopped just inside the doorway, set down her suitcase and let the vibe of the house settle within her.

  Wade hadn’t changed a thing about the décor or the way the furniture was arranged. In a way, it almost felt like she’d only been away for a long trip and was just now coming home. Thunder rumbled overhead as she reached for Wade’s hand.

  “I’m taking this as a good sign that we’re starting over here. Rain washes everything clean,” she said.

  He took her in his arms. He was still having nightmares about how close he’d come to losing her to the Stormchaser.

  “Everything is good here,” he said softly.

  She leaned back far enough so that she could see his face.

  “Yes, everything is good,” she echoed.

  He could see his own reflection in her eyes, and only after it began to blur did he realize she was crying.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I can’t take it,” he whispered.

  “If we make another baby, I promise I will shelter it with my life.”

  “Trust me when I tell you that we will make love and babies and loads of happiness here, Jolene.”

  She sighed, then leaned her forehead against his chest.

  “I’m tired. Can we look at the house together later? Right now all I want to do is crawl in bed and sleep for a week.”

  “You’ve seen the house before anyway,” Wade said. “I vote for bed.”

  Jo laughed. God, but she did
love this man.

  Tijuana, Mexico

  Hershel rolled into Tijuana in a Volkswagen Beetle under the name Paul Leibowitz, with a suitcase full of clothes and what he called his bag of tricks hidden in the lining. He was there for his first appointment with the plastic surgeon to remove the damaged skin from the burns that scarred his face.

  He shaved what little hair he had left, dyed his eyebrows and the small thin mustache he’d grown to a nice matte black, and was on the way to losing the gut he’d carried for the past thirty years. In the few weeks since St. Louis, he’d lost nearly twenty pounds and was working toward at least twenty more before he quit. The weight loss had completely changed the shape of his face, and once he lost the rest he was considering a neck lift as well, to get rid of the flabby skin.

  He went into the doctor’s office dressed in white slacks and a black shirt with tiny white pinstripes, black sandals and a gold pinky ring with an emerald the size of a pat of butter. He was as far removed from Hershel Inman, Bill Carter and Lee Parsons as a man could be. The last gift Conrad Taliaferro had given him was this identity, with a warning never to call him again. He considered it a good deal.

  The doctor came into the examining room well aware that he had an American client, and quickly shifted his language from Spanish to English.

  “Good morning, Mr. Leibowitz. I understand you are here about your burn scars.”

  “Yes,” Hershel said. “I am retiring in your beautiful country and would like to be able to enjoy the sun and the beach.”

  “How did you acquire your scars, if I may ask?” the doctor asked.

  “At a family barbecue. The wind blew some of the liquid fire starter onto my face just as someone lit the fire.”

  “And you have had no plastic surgery on these scars before?”

  “No. No money, but now I’m using some of my retirement package to have it done.”

  The doctor nodded.

  Within the hour they’d agreed on an appointment for the surgery in a week to the day. That just gave Hershel time to find a little place to recuperate in afterward. And then, when he was well, he was moving to Lake Chapala, to an area he and Louise had picked out where aging Americans came to retire. It was the last plan they had made, and he didn’t have a better idea.