of humor,” he drawled. “I can handle working with my ex-wife. Either one of you have a problem with it?”
“Not me,” Tate muttered.
“I’m good,” Cameron added.
“Fine. Then that settles that,” Wade said. “I hope the Director knows he’s just upped the team’s traveling costs. She doesn’t snore, but I’m damn sure not sharing a room with her.”
Tate laughed and Cameron grinned.
Wade grinned, but inside he was screaming. There was no way in hell this was going to work. And at the same time he thought that, he wondered what her reaction had been when she got her orders. He would lay odds she wasn’t any happier about this than he was. Still, if she didn’t make waves, he wouldn’t, either.
“So what are we doing for dinner?” Cameron asked.
Wade turned around. “I don’t know about you, but I think after that piece of news, the Director just bought us some fine dining.”
Tate was inclined to agree. “I say we check out the hotel restaurant.”
“Do we need a reservation?” Cameron asked.
“I’ll find out,” Tate said.
Wade heard them talking, but the words were all running together. Except for seeing her a few weeks ago at the cemetery, he hadn’t come face-to-face with her in over a year and a half. She was so angry, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she was angry with him. He hadn’t shot her, nor was he responsible for the death of the baby she’d been carrying. He’d never been so scared, never prayed as hard as he had that day. Losing the baby had been terrible. But losing her would have been unthinkable. Or so he thought, until she turned into someone he didn’t know and walked away. He had yet to wrap his head around why. Hell, maybe working with her would be good after all. Maybe he would finally get some long-overdue answers.
* * *
Jo had already packed except for the small stuff. Now all she had to do was run a few errands and catch a very early flight tomorrow. According to her info, one of the team would pick her up at the airport. She hoped to God they didn’t send Wade. She didn’t want one-on-one time with him right off the bat.
The more she thought about what she was going to be doing, the more anxious she got. She’d been gone for almost a week on another case and home only two days when she’d gotten this call. There were bills due, a prescription to get refilled, some toilet articles to replace, before she headed out again. Unfortunately there was nothing she could buy to protect her from the inevitable gut reaction to seeing Wade. It was such a bitch still being in love with the man she’d divorced. This wasn’t the first time she’d second-guessed her reason for doing it, but she had been slightly insane from her guilt and grief at the time, and it was too late to explain all that now.
She sighed. Whatever would be, would be. Either they would get through it or they would wind up killing each other. One way or another, this day had been a long time coming.
* * *
It had been five days, maybe six, since this killing spree began. Hershel had actually lost count, but it didn’t matter. He felt safe and sheltered at the campground at Keystone Lake.
The first thing he did after he woke up that morning was turn on the laptop to see what was happening, and the first thing he saw was his own picture. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it on-air, because it was being aired daily in conjunction with the murders, and he feared it was only a matter of time before someone took a closer look at him camping out here.
He’d spent over an hour last night watching the Weather Channel, trying to second-guess where the next serious storm threat might hit. There were a couple of places he could go and wait for it, but he couldn’t go home—not ever again. Once he would have just grown a beard, changed cars and locations, and disappeared under another name like he’d done after the Louisiana floods. But he had healed with severe facial scars, and the ability to grow a full, healthy beard was gone. He could always go to Mexico and disappear, but that felt too much like running away. If he did that, it would mean they’d won, and that didn’t set well.
He rolled out of his sleeping bag, reached for his jeans and began to get dressed. A few minutes later he was out of the tent and heading for the public bathrooms. Although it was still early, the day was already showing signs of heat. The air was still and muggy. Even the little ground lizards seemed uninterested in his passing, lying motionless beneath the underbrush.
Very few of the other campers were up, and the ones who were seemed occupied with making their breakfast. He saw one camper heading off toward the lake with a rod and reel, possibly to go catch his meal. It seemed like an iffy proposition to Hershel. In a pinch, he would rather rely on bread and peanut butter.
He made quick work of the toilet and washing facilities and was on his way out when he heard voices just outside the doorway. The last thing he wanted was to come face-to-face with someone and have to acknowledge their presence, so he stopped.
A few moments later the voices faded, and he took a quick look to make sure they were gone before heading out, walking with his head down. The next time he looked up he saw a little girl sitting on the picnic table near his tent.
“Hi!” she said. “I’m having breakfast.”
He frowned and kept walking, hoping his silence would deter her. It didn’t.
“My name is Louise. What’s yours?”
He stumbled. What the hell? Was this the universe making fun of him, or was this his Louise trying to communicate?
He turned around and gave her a closer look. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old and didn’t look a thing like his Louise. The moment he thought it, he told himself he was a fool. Of course she didn’t look like Louise, because she wasn’t Louise.
The little girl took another bite of the sweet roll she was eating, then licked her fingers as she waited for him to talk. When he didn’t, she offered up another question.
“What happened to your face?” she asked.
“Go away,” he said shortly, and moved toward his truck.
She got down off the picnic table and followed him, still eating and licking her fingers between bites.
“Does your face hurt? I fell off my bike and skinned my knee. It hurt a lot. Did your mama kiss your face and make it better? My mama kissed my knee and put three Cinderella Band-Aids on it.”
“Get lost, kid,” Hershel muttered, and began unhooking his generator. He needed to get the hell out of here.
The little girl frowned. “Getting lost is dangerous. I’m not supposed to get lost,” she said, and took another bite, chewing while she talked. “You said a mean thing. You shouldn’t be mean to people. It’s not nice. Do you go to church? You should go to church. It might make you nicer.”
Hershel froze. For just a moment he could hear his Louise nagging him, talking about God and changing his ways. He looked back at the kid again, wondered if Louise had somehow sent her, and then shook off the thought.
“Go back to your own campground,” Hershel said, and turned his back
