Page 98 of Going Once

“I’m here, baby.”

“…saved me,” she mumbled.

Tate began checking her body for gunshot wounds or broken bones, but he found nothing. Her danger was going to be infection and pneumonia. The river was toxic, and she’d had a big drink.

“The boat blew up,” Wade said.

“Did you see the body?” Tate asked.

“No, but I saw the gators.”

Tate looked up at Justin.

“Take us past the wreckage for a look, then get us back to Queens Crossing as fast as you can.”

“Is she gonna be okay?” Justin asked.

“God, I hope so,” Tate said as he picked her up and settled her into his lap, then put his jacket around her and held her close.

Nola was cognizant of two things: Tate had found her, and she was safe. Beyond that, she asked for nothing. The stench of burning fuel was in her nose as they cruised past the site of the explosion, but she wouldn’t look. She didn’t need to. He was dead, and that was all that mattered.

Tate scanned the surface of the water and the shoreline with a steady eye. If there was even a piece of the killer left, he wanted it. It would be physical proof this bloody chase was over.

Wade pointed to a piece of the boat as it floated past them. Gator Bait. The boat had been aptly named.

A gator swam away as they passed. It appeared the man had died in the explosion and the gators had gotten what was left.

“Justin! Take it back!” Tate yelled.

Justin waved an okay, circled the boat and headed home.

Nola couldn’t quit shaking, but she was holding on to Tate’s shirt with both hands. When the wind began to tear through her hair, she turned her face to his chest and closed her eyes.

* * *

Hershel never knew how he got there, but when he came to he was on the shore, lying half in and half out of the water. He was in more pain than he’d ever felt in his life. When he touched a hand to his cheek and came away with pieces of skin stuck to his fingers, he gagged. The stench of burning fuel and scorched flesh was in his nose, and his eyes burned almost as much as his face. As he rolled over, he saw the fire out in the water and another boat a hundred yards downstream, and just like that, memory surfaced.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” he mumbled, and began crawling on his belly out of the water, up into the grass and into the woods.

He didn’t move so much as a muscle until the sound of the outboard motor had completely disappeared. Added to that, his head was throbbing and he couldn’t blink without wanting to throw up.

You have a concussion, Hershel. It’s a miracle you’re even alive. You’ve got to get back to your truck and run. They know who you are. You waited too long. I told you. I told you to stop, but you wouldn’t listen.

“God in heaven, Louise, stop talking. Just shut the hell up. I don’t even know where the truck is from here.”

You have to go upriver to find the truck, because you were coming downriver in the boat.

Hershel shuddered. For once Louise was actually making sense. He tried to stand up, but when he did, everything went black.

* * *

The next time he came to, the sun was only a couple of hours from setting. He dragged himself upright, and began the long and painful journey back to where he’d left the truck. Every step he took was in pain, every breath he drew an agony and what was left of the right side of his face was in shreds. At least he was on the right side of the river.

He couldn’t go back to the motor home, and once they began looking into his life, they would know everything, but he couldn’t let that matter. What he needed now was time, and a place to heal.

* * *

Wade made a call from the river, requesting an ambulance at the dock, and when they arrived there were several news crews with it. Once again Nola Landry had made the news. As they were loading her up on a gurney, the reporters descended.

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