Going Gone (6 page)

He glanced at the clock. It was just after six. He was going to have to check in with work today and let them know when he would be coming back. Laura was capable of being on her own now, but he wanted to make sure she had everything she needed beforehand.

He was still planning the day when he realized she was beginning to wake up. He eased out from under her grasp and turned to face her just as she opened her eyes.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said softly.

She smiled. “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

“It’s real, and so am I.”

She eyed his sleepy look and the tousled strands of dark hair across his forehead, then reached for his hand.

“I like waking up to see your face.”

Cameron’s pulse was racing, but to no avail. He threaded his fingers through her hand and lifted it to his lips.

“There is nothing I want more than to make love to you right now. But you, my love, still have a lot of healing to do, and I have no intention of making things worse.”

“You wouldn’t ma—”

He put a finger on her lips before she could finish.

“Yes, I would. Not on purpose, but it would hurt you, and abstinence won’t hurt me. So I’m going to get dressed and make coffee. Go back to sleep if you want.”

“No. I’m so grateful to be home, I just want to walk through the house and center my world, you know?”

“Yes, I know,” he said, and then kissed her.

Her lips were warm and soft, and when she cupped the back of his neck and pulled him closer, he groaned.

“We’re so not going there,” he said, then kissed her again to underscore the warning. “Since you are getting up, make a list of things you need, including groceries. I’ll get everything before I come back.”

“Okay,” she said, and then smiled to herself as she watched him walk into the bathroom. He was naked except for a pair of gym shorts, and she did love to look at those long legs and broad back.

* * *

Cameron had already shopped for groceries and dropped them off at Laura’s house before stopping by FBI headquarters to check in. After a short visit with his boss and an update on Laura, it was decided he would report for work in two days. He was more than ready to resume a regular routine.

It was just after ten in the morning when he reached his apartment building. There were no surprises as he entered the apartment. It wasn’t any cleaner than it had been when he left. When he got to the bedroom, the clothes he’d tossed aside were still on the unmade bed and the light was still on in the bathroom.

He’d been so scared while packing to go search for the downed plane, praying Laura had survived, that neat and clean had been the last things on his mind.

Whatever.

He refolded, then put away the clothes he’d left behind, took the dirty ones out of his suitcase and repacked it with clean things, ready to stay over again tonight and, he hoped, forever.

He stepped inside his closet to open his private safe and took out the small black-velvet box sitting on top of his passport. He dropped it in his pocket, then took it right back out and opened it, imagining how it was going to look on Laura’s hand.

Two carats of square-cut diamond winked as it caught light from above. He shut the box and dropped the ring back in his pocket, took the suitcase into the living room and added his unopened mail and his laptop before heading out.

As he got in the car and drove away, it began to snow.

* * *

Laura was going through mail and paying bills when she came upon a letter from two sisters who had worked as on-site volunteers with her in Louisiana, where she’d first met Cameron when he and his partners had arrived on the trail of a serial killer known as the Stormchaser. She smiled, remembering how funny Peg and Mary were together, like a comedy duo. One played the straight man, and the other always followed up with the funny remarks. They’d been in charge of cooking for the displaced residents. She remembered Peg was taller and Mary was the redhead.

When she opened the letter, some snapshots fell out. She let them lie in her lap as she read the letter.

Laura, we heard about the plane crash. Very sorry for your coworkers, but we were thrilled to learn you had survived. Always thought there was a tough cookie beneath that pretty face and blond hair. Peg sends her love, and I’m sending love and pictures. We took them at the gym when we were helping out. Get well soon.

Love, Mary

She smiled, then picked up the pictures and turned them to the light for a closer look. Some of the names she remembered, some she didn’t, but the faces were all familiar. She often formed special bonds with volunteers while working together during disasters—some, like Cameron, were more special than others.

When she got to the last picture, she gasped. Of all things, there was a picture of the man she’d known as Bill Carter, who’d turned out to be Hershel Inman, aka the Stormchaser.

It was strange that her memory of him was of a hard worker with a ready smile. She searched his expression for clues to the cunning and madness that lurked behind his smile, but she saw nothing that would have given him away. He’d had the perfect cover, helping those displaced by disaster, to keep him in close proximity to people in need of rescue, the same people who had become his victims.

His complete lack of compassion was horrifying. And from the way the picture had been taken, it was as if he was looking straight at her. She knew he’d been off the FBI radar since last year in St. Louis, and no further deaths had been attributed to him. Someone had made the suggestion he might have died at last, after cheating death more than once by living through an explosion and a tornado, but until they found a body, the case would remain unsolved. She shuddered and laid the picture aside.

She was still going through mail when she heard a car slow down and then come up her driveway. Her pulse jumped when she saw it was Cameron, and she got up to let him in.

“You’re back!” she said as he came up the steps, his arms loaded with groceries, and stomped snow off his shoes on the mat.

“And you’re gorgeous,” he said as he bent down and gave her a quick kiss.

He’d brought the scent of winter in with him, which quickly dissipated as he carried the sacks into the kitchen and shed his coat.

“You sit and tell me where stuff goes, and I’ll put it away,” he said, and then proceeded to empty the bags.

The ring was burning a hole in his pocket. Before, he’d planned on a romantic dinner and finding the right moment to propose, then he’d nearly lost her. Waiting for a better moment didn’t seem so important anymore. As soon as everything was put up, he turned around and looked at her.

Laura smiled, but when he kept looking, she shifted nervously in the chair.

“What? Is something wrong? What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

He started to speak, then stopped to clear his throat and started over.

“Nothing is wrong.”

She relaxed. “Thank goodness. For a moment there I was afraid you were about to tell me the Stormchaser was back.”

He frowned. “What would make you think of him?”

“Wait until you see what came in the mail,” she said, and went back to the living room, got the pictures and quickly returned.

“Remember Peg and Mary...the two sisters who cooked at the shelter we set up in Louisiana?”

“Yes, they were great ladies.”

“So they heard about the crash and sent me a nice little letter, and included some pictures that had been taken there. Look at this one. Who do you see?”

It was the first face he focused on.

“I’ll be damned. Hershel Inman.”

“Who I knew as Bill Carter, and honestly, the picture gave me the creeps. We still don’t know what happened to him, do we?”

Cameron frowned. “No.”

“Do you think he’s dead?”

He sighed. “There’s no way in hell to know that unless a body turns up.”

When she frowned and looked away, he hesitated. This had turned awkward really fast. Not the most perfect moment to propose.

Then Laura looked up. “I just remembered something!”

“What?” he asked.

“You said we had something to talk about and you told me we’d talk about it once we got home, right?”

He grinned.
Yes. There is a God!

“Why, yes, I believe I did say that.”

She put her hands in her lap and looked up.

“Am I going to like it, or is it going to piss me off?”

He laughed. “Why do you think I would ever discuss anything with you that would piss you off? I live to see a smile on your face, not a frown.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just not like you to be so secretive, and the past two weeks of my life have already left me in something of a pissy mood.”

He took the box out of his pocket and dropped to one knee.

Her eyes widened. Her mouth made a perfect little O.

He struck while she was still in shock.

“I had plans to do this on Valentine’s Day at your favorite restaurant. What happened to you changed my view on making plans. Now I’m more of a ‘there’s no time like the present’ kind of guy, and I’m counting on you to agree.”

He opened the box and watched her expression go from shock to awe.

“Cameron! Oh, my Lord!”

He took the ring out of the box.

“Laura Doyle, the luckiest day of my life was walking into that high school gym and seeing you behind the desk. You have become the most important thing in my life, and I want to spend the rest of it with you. I love you most. I love you madly. Will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!” she said.

He slipped the ring on her finger, then stood up and pulled her into his arms.

“Right now, I am one seriously happy man,” he said, and kissed her senseless.

Laura’s head was spinning, her heart pounding, when he finally pulled away.

She stopped him. “Now I have something I want to discuss with you.”

He smiled. “I can assure you the answer is yes.”

She put a hand on his chest. “Don’t say that until you hear me out. I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready to do.”

He frowned. “If it involves you, I’m ready.”

She rolled her eyes. “At least let me ask.”

His smile widened. “Sorry. I’m listening.”

“This house belongs to Sarah and me, but I know she’s never moving back here again, so how would you feel about moving in with me? It’s not because I’m afraid or anything, so if you aren’t comfortable making such a big change so quickly, please, don’t say yes just because you think I need to be taken care of or something.”

He laughed.

“What?” she asked.

“My suitcase is in the car.”

She threw her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Cameron! This is the best day of my life.”

He slid his hands beneath her hair and cupped the back of her neck.

“This is the
second
best day of
my
life.”

She frowned. “What could be better than this?”

The smile died in his eyes. “The day I found you alive in that plane.”

Laura’s vision blurred as she buried her face in the curve of his neck. When she started to cry, his eyes filled with tears.

“Love you, baby,” he said softly.

Her shoulders were still shaking.

“I love you, too.”

Six

Lake Chapala, Mexico

H
ershel had settled in quite nicely, and once he’d had his last surgery, finished his weight loss project and had the excess skin removed, he was a completely different man. In fact, he’d gotten so immersed in his new identity that there were days when the bad parts of his past seemed as if they had happened to someone else.

But there was an anniversary coming up that meant a brief return to the States. Louise had died on August 31, and he hadn’t missed a year since of putting flowers on her grave. Despite his reluctance to return to United States soil, he felt it would be bad luck to miss what had become a tradition.

So two days before the date, he packed his little carry-on with a change of clothes, loaded it into his Volkswagen and drove into nearby Guadalajara to spend the night. He caught an early flight north to New Orleans, which was just a direct hop across the Gulf of Mexico, and got a room for the night in one of the local hotels.

Within hours of his arrival, the familiar sounds of the city drew him outside. The scent of pralines cooking in a shop down the street in the French Quarter and the aromas of Cajun cooking wafting out of the nearby restaurants made him homesick. He continued walking down the street until he came to a restaurant that looked appealing and went inside.

He ordered gumbo and rice, with a crème brûlée for dessert, and then settled down to wait for his food to arrive. As he waited, he started to panic when he saw a couple walk in whom he actually knew. What were the odds of that happening? He shifted nervously in his seat and wished he had a newspaper to hide behind. If they recognized him, what should he do?

But the question became moot. They looked at him as they passed by, just as they would have any stranger, and kept going without a glimmer of recognition. He was safe.

His food came soon afterward and he ate slowly, savoring the tastes of home.

Later, he walked back to the hotel, then, rather than go to his room, sat in the bar for a while absently watching the television as he nursed an after-dinner drink.

He thought of tomorrow and another visit to the cemetery and sighed. He’d lived all these years without Louise, but he was only sixty-two. His father had lived well into his eighties, his mother into her nineties. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hang around another thirty or so years. By the time he quit the bar and went to bed, his steps were dragging from dejection. Coming back here had only put him in a bad mood. He should have stayed in Mexico and left Hershel Inman buried, too.

Later, after he finally fell asleep, he began to dream and tossed fitfully, wanting out of the horror in which he’d been caught.

* * *

Hershel was walking naked down the aisle of the church he and Louise had always attended. The pews were packed. The choir was singing, and he was in a panic. He wanted to turn around and run out, but his feet would only move forward, as if being pulled by an unseen force. And the farther down the aisle he went, the more humiliated he became. Any minute now they would see him, and the proverbial shit would hit the fan. Some would laugh. Others would be shocked and horrified at his lack of decorum. Louise would never speak to him again.

And then he saw a casket at the front of the church. He broke out in a sweat as his heart began to hammer. He didn’t want to go any farther, but he couldn’t stop his feet from moving. Closer and closer he walked, until he was standing at the casket. The lid was open. When he saw his wife’s battered body, he threw his head back to scream, but no sound came out. He turned to face the congregation and admit his shame, that he’d come naked to his wife’s funeral, then realized they couldn’t see him.

* * *

He woke with a start, momentarily confused by where he was, and then took a deep breath and relaxed, thinking back to the crazy dream. It took him a few moments to realize what it meant, and then he relaxed when he finally got it.

The mourners hadn’t seen him or his naked body because that man no longer existed. He could walk among anyone today without fear of recognition.

Relieved, he rolled over onto his side and went back to sleep. The next time he woke it was almost one in the afternoon.

He’d slept almost half the day away.

He dressed in a pair of pale blue slacks and a blue-and-white floral shirt. After a cup of coffee from the coffee shop downstairs, he walked out of the hotel and down the street until he came to a florist. He was inside the store before he realized he’d been in here numerous times when Louise was still alive. Once again, he was anxious.

The clerk greeted him cheerfully but without recognition, and as soon as he was satisfied she didn’t see through his disguise, he shifted focus.

“I need a dozen red roses, please.”

“Yes, sir. Do you want them arranged in a vase or boxed?”

“In a vase, please, but none of that extra stuff, just the roses with their own leaves.”

“I’ll get right on it,” she said. “If you’ll follow me up to the counter, you can sign a card to go with them while you wait.”

Hershel followed, eyed the cards and then chose one with flowers on one corner. Louise loved her flowers.

Without thinking, he started to write his name and then stopped. Instead, he wrote “Love you,” then slipped the card into a small envelope, wrote “Louise Inman” on the outside, then sealed it.

The woman was at a worktable a few feet beyond the counter, snipping stems and poking them into a vase. She glanced up, saw him watching and smiled.

“These are really nice ones. Just got them in this morning,” she said.

“They look fine,” he said.

She smiled again and kept working. A few minutes later she carried the vase to the counter.

“How does this look?” she asked.

“It looks good. Thank you. How much?”

“Seventy-five dollars.”

He handed her cash, poked the envelope in between the stems, walked out and hailed a cab.

“Where to, sir?” the driver asked.

“Greenwood Cemetery.”

The driver nodded and drove off. A short while later they were driving through the gates.

Hershel leaned forward to speak to the driver.

“Take that road,” he said, pointing, “and then take the third right. After that, I’ll tell you where to stop.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said, and drove slowly past the tombstones, crypts and mausoleums.

Within a couple of minutes, Hershel leaned forward again.

“Stop at this corner. I’ll walk from here.”

The driver stopped. “I’ll be waiting right here for you, sir, when you’re ready to leave.”

Hershel got out with the flowers and started walking, and was immediately enveloped in the heat and humidity. Once he bent his head to sniff the roses and frowned that they had no scent. How could something so beautiful be so lacking? Then he remembered she couldn’t smell them anyway, decided it wouldn’t matter and kept moving. The grounds were unusually silent, save for the birds chirping from nearby trees, oblivious to the fact that they were singing to the dead.

The farther he walked from the cab, the more anxious he became. He kept looking over his shoulder, half expecting to see the police coming at him with guns drawn. By the time he found Louise’s grave site, he was shaking. He’d taken a risk coming here, even in this disguise, and was banking his freedom on the fact that, even if someone was watching, they would never recognize him.

He paused to check out the area. There was one mourner about twenty yards away, and a couple at the far end of the row murmuring to each other. He could hear their voices, but not what was being said.

I almost didn’t recognize you.

Hershel stumbled, then looked around nervously as he spoke in a low tone.

“Louise?

Who else did you think it would be? Of course it’s me.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were gone,” he said.

I was thinking the same exact thing of you. You shouldn’t be here. You need to go back to Lake Chapala.

“I will, as soon as I put these flowers on your grave.”

He quickly put the vase down in front of the aboveground tomb. The card fell out, and when he realized the name of the florist shop was stamped on the outside of the envelope, he frowned. Worst-case scenario: that could lead the authorities to him again. He took the card out of the envelope and poked it into the flowers alone, pocketing the envelope to throw away later.

I remember flowers. I wish I could smell stuff down here again.

He frowned. “Don’t worry. They don’t have a scent.”

It doesn’t matter. Go home, Hershel. Go home...home...home.

Her demand sounded anxious. Maybe she knew something he didn’t. He turned around and headed back to the cab. The closer he got, the faster he went. By the time he got inside, he was breathless.

“Take me to the Marriott, please.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” the driver said.

Hershel kept an anxious eye out for police, but the ones he did see on the way back were on their way to somewhere else.

Once back at the hotel, Hershel began to pack. He had an early-morning flight tomorrow and didn’t want to be late.

When he went down to dinner later in the evening, instead of choosing one of the hot spots he knew so well, he ate in the hotel, picked up a half-dozen newspapers from different parts of the country and headed back to his room. It would be a treat to read a larger variety of American papers for a change.

He skimmed through a local paper and then the
New York Times,
before he picked up the
Washington Journal.
He was already yawning and about ready to call it a night when he turned a page and realized it was the society section. The photo of the little blonde looked familiar, and he stopped to read the story below it.

That was when he realized why she’d looked familiar. The soon-to-be bride was Laura Doyle, the Red Cross woman he’d worked for during the floods. He kicked back to read further, but when he read the name of her fiancé, he gasped.

“What the fuck?”

Cameron Winger? The third fed. The one he’d cracked on the head when he’d kidnapped Nola Landry. He wasn’t dead? Why wasn’t he dead?

He sat up to read further. The notice mentioned a wedding shower being given by Jolene Luckett and Nola Landry. His heart skipped a beat. That damn female agent hadn’t died, either?

“Son of a bitch,” Hershel muttered, and then grabbed his iPad out of his luggage and began running a search of death certificates for Tate Benton and Wade Luckett. He couldn’t find one for either one. “They’re alive. They’re all alive. Why didn’t they die? I thought it was over. I thought I’d won.”

He was sick to his stomach as he crawled into bed, and then when he finally fell asleep, his dreams were filled with horror and recriminations.

* * *

Cameron was at his desk writing up a report on a case he’d just closed when his cell phone signaled a text. When he saw it was from Laura, he stopped typing to read.

Wedding shower amazing. So many pretty gifts. Bringing you some goodies. Leaving in 15. Will text when I get home.

He frowned. The one side effect Laura still suffered from after the crash was the fear of being in trouble and no one knowing where she was. He typed in a response and hit Send.

Drive safe. I’ll be home around 6. Don’t cook. I’ll take you out. Love you, too.

He got a happy face back for an answer and grinned, then finished up the report. Just as he was filing it, he got a phone call and noticed it was from fellow agent Tate Benton. He answered quickly.

“Hello. How goes it?”

“Hello to you, too,” Tate said. “I heard from Nola. She said Laura’s shower was a big success. You’ll be writing thank-you cards for days.”

Cameron laughed. “Yes, Laura just texted me. She sounded excited.”

“How’s she doing? Does she still have PTSD?” Tate asked.

“Yes, she’s still afraid she’ll be in trouble and lose touch with me. I’m not sure what to do to reassure her, although the promotion she got after she went back to work was huge. She doesn’t have to go out to disaster sites anymore, so that’s almost eliminated travel. She’s seeing a counselor a couple of times a month, and I’m hoping, with time, some of this will smooth itself out.”

“I had a thought,” Tate said. “Remember when we were in St. Louis and the Stormchaser tried to snatch Jo? We had the CIA implant a tracking chip in her.”

“Are you saying Laura should do that?”

“That, or something similar. Maybe put one inside something she always wears—a watch or something.”

“That’s a good idea,” Cameron said. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll check into it.”

“Good. However, that’s not why I called. There’s something you need to know.”

Cameron frowned. “Like what?”

“I’ve already told Wade, and I’m giving you a heads-up, too. Do you know what today is?”

Cameron glanced at the calendar to confirm. “The last day of August.”

“It’s also the day Hershel Inman’s wife died.”

Cameron’s stomach rolled. “You still think he’s alive, don’t you? Even though he hasn’t killed anyone since St. Louis.”

“Let’s just say I’m leaving nothing to chance, which is why I put in a call to the New Orleans police department today and asked them to send an officer to the Greenwood Cemetery, where she’s buried.”

“And?”

“And someone left a dozen red roses at her grave.”

Cameron groaned. “Was there a card?”

“Yes, but no name...just ‘Love you.’”

“Do they have security cameras?”

“The ones they have don’t cover the grounds, and what they have aren’t working anyway,” Tate said.

“It could have been a friend.”

“A friend wouldn’t send a dozen red roses. That’s from a lover or a spouse,” Tate argued.

“So what do we do? Wait for the next shoe to drop?”

“Or the next storm,” Tate added.

“This is why you asked about Laura, isn’t it?” Cameron asked, and then heard Tate sigh.

“Look. He’s really mad at us,” Tate said. “Nola threw the first kink in his plan, and Jo made it worse. You’re pulling Laura into the circle, and I just don’t want to leave her unprotected if he decides to resurrect the Stormchaser.”