body was seizing. Lightning flashed long enough for Hershel to see the shock and horror on his victim’s face, but he felt no guilt. When the man finally went limp, the release of endorphins that flowed through Hershel’s body was nothing short of elation.
Working quickly, he removed the electrodes from the man’s chest and then proceeded to strip him naked. Once the dead man was completely nude, he tossed the clothes and pulled a piece of Sheetrock over the body. There was nothing sexual about the act. It was all about humiliation and how the family would feel when their loved one was discovered in such a condition.
Satisfied with what he’d done, he stepped out from behind the wall and walked back down to the street just as a pair of young men came running toward him.
“Anyone in there?” they yelled.
“All clear,” he said, ducking his head, and kept moving in the opposite direction.
He added two more victims before the police and rescue workers closed off the hardest hit area, then returned to where he’d parked, jumped in the truck and began trying to find his way out of town. The power was out almost everywhere, and the place felt like a ghost town as he drove carefully through the streets. After a lot of stopping and backtracking, he found the highway he’d been looking for and pulled off the road. He took out the cell phone and sent FBI agent Tate Benton a text. Sending texts now and then had been part of his ritual since the agents began hunting him, and he needed to feed off their frustration to make this work again.
I am not dead, so do not weep. It was not my time. I have vows to keep.
Then he turned off the cell phone so it couldn’t be traced, and plugged it into the cigarette lighter to recharge as he pulled back out onto the highway.
As he drove, he could tell how far the power was out by the lack of house or security lights along the way. About five miles from his campsite, he began seeing the occasional light off in the distance, where people still had power.
When he finally found his turnoff and drove off the highway onto the old dirt road, he pulled around behind the abandoned ranch house where he’d set up his tent and parked so the truck couldn’t be seen. He checked to make sure nothing had been disturbed, and once he was satisfied all was well, he zipped himself inside the tent, took off his filthy, rain-soaked clothes and crawled naked into his sleeping bag. He was asleep in minutes.
Washington, D.C.
Tate Benton was in the den eating salted cashews and nursing a bottle of beer. The television was on CNN, and his wife, Nola, was in her art studio, working on a commissioned painting. He was coming off of a long, drawn-out kidnapping case that had ended badly, so when his cell phone indicated an incoming text, he almost didn’t answer.
Then he glanced at Caller ID and the skin crawled on the back of his neck. The last thing he expected was a message from the Stormchaser.
I am not dead, so do not weep. It was not my time. I have vows to keep.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and immediately forwarded the text to his partners, Cameron Winger and Wade Luckett.
Within moments his cell phone rang. It was Wade, and he had Cameron conferenced in.
“We’re absolutely sure it’s him?” Wade asked.
“It came from the same phone he used to use,” Tate said.
“I didn’t know the agency kept that old phone activated,” Cameron said.
“That’s on me. I told them to,” Tate said.
“I turned on The Weather Channel,” Wade said. “There’s a tornado outbreak along the Texas-Oklahoma border.”
“Do we wait for the bodies to begin showing up or go now?” Cameron asked.
“He’s already killed or he wouldn’t have sent the message. But we won’t know for sure that’s where he is until the medical examiner makes that determination,” Tate said.
“I’m packing tonight anyway,” Wade said. “I’ll be ready when you call.”
“I’m going to talk to the Director and then I’ll let you know what he thinks,” Tate added.
“I’m with Wade,” Cameron said. “I’ll pack and wait for you to tell us when and where to meet up. And just for the record, this sucks big-time, even though it means I’ll probably see Laura again.”
There was a click in Tate’s ear, and then the line went dead. It appeared Cameron’s attraction to the pretty Red Cross worker they’d met last year was ongoing. He knew the rest of his news wasn’t going to set well with Nola, but he had to tell her what had happened. After the hell the Stormchaser had put her through last year, he hated to let her know the bastard was starting up again.
He smiled when he walked into her studio. The painting she’d been working on for several weeks was almost finished, and the child’s face, which was the subject of the work, looked alive.
“Hey, pretty lady, do you have time to be bothered?”
Nola looked up and smiled. There was a smudge of paint on her cheek and more on her fingers.
“I always have time for you. What’s up?”
“Not-so-good news.”
She frowned. “Oh, no. Please tell me you’re not going to be leaving again so soon.”
He showed her the text and watched the blood drain from her face. Then, without speaking, she put the brush in cleaning solution and began wiping her hands. When she looked up at him, she was trembling.
“I thought for sure he was dead. I wanted him to be dead.”
“So did I, honey, so did I,” Tate said, and slid a hand beneath her hair to rub the back of her neck.
“Do you have a location?” she asked.
“Not yet. There’s a tornado outbreak on the Texas-Oklahoma border, which might be where he is, but we’ll have to wait for the autopsies to know for sure.”
“Dear Lord. Those poor people,” Nola said, and wrapped her arms around him.
They held each other without speaking, lost in the memories of what they’d gone through before.
“You have to stay safe,” Nola whispered.
“I will, honey. He’s not after us. We’re part of the package that feeds his ego. If we’re dead, he doesn’t have anyone to needle, you know?”
“Okay...I get it, but still, he’s not normal. I was with him, remember. He talks to his dead wife like she’s right there beside him.”
“I remember. I remember everything—including thinking I was going to lose you.”
“Am I in danger again?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, but I’ll know more once we find out what he’s done.”
Nola
