Free Going Once (Forces of Nature) by Sharon Sala

and then stretched out gratefully and pulled up the blanket. After a few uneasy moments he gave in to the urge and rolled over on his side to face Nola, and then lay watching her sleep.
    Once he’d known every nuance of her facial expressions and what every hitch in her breath meant when they made love. Now she was an enigma. They had a past, but his parents had screwed up their future. Now he was just a man in the middle with a heart full of pain.
    As he watched, her forehead began to furrow and her jaw clenched. She was dreaming—God only knew of what, but she’d been through hell, and if he could help it, he didn’t intend for her to be in danger again.
    When she started crying, he reached out across the narrow aisle and took her hand.
    She flinched as her eyes flew open and she found herself looking at Tate.
    “You were crying in your sleep,” he said softly.
    Cognizant of her crowded surroundings, she was embarrassed that someone might have heard.
    “Sorry,” she whispered, and then closed her eyes. It never occurred to her to object that he was holding her hand.
    * * *
    Hershel was amped. He’d just had his first up-close-and-personal glimpse of his Fed buddies, and they didn’t even know it. They had popped up quietly in Queens Crossing, just like they had in Natchez. He’d left them plenty of bodies to play with there, but no clues as to how to find him. And he’d given them plenty to work with here, too. Seven bodies. His most in one location—so far.
    It is a sin, Hershel, not something to brag about. You should be on your knees praying to God for forgiveness, not gloating about getting away with murder.
    Hershel frowned. “Hush, Louise. It’s time to rest. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow. Just because you don’t sleep anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t need mine.”
    And just to prove he was in charge, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and typed a little message to his pals, just to say hello, then sent it to Tate Benton’s cell phone. It would be a nice way for Benton to start his day tomorrow.
    It wasn’t as if they could trace the message back to him, because the phone belonged to one of his victims from the tornado in Dubuque. What they would know from the cell towers it pinged off of was that he was here, which was what made it so perfect. He tucked the phone away for the next time, and then kicked back and closed his eyes.
    * * *
    The first news crew showed up just after daylight. The flood was one story, but finding out that the Stormchaser had struck again was bigger news. They got info on a time and place for the news conference being held at midmorning, then headed for the Red Cross station hoping to get personal stories from people who knew the victims, and the more dramatic the better.
    * * *
    It was a baby crying that dragged Nola up from the depths of sleep. She opened her eyes, only to find that Tate had pushed his cot even closer to hers and fallen asleep holding her hand. She was so shaken by the sight that she quickly closed her eyes, willing herself not to move.
    She heard him stir, and moments later the weight of his hand was gone and she could hear him pulling the cot back into place. She waited until his footsteps moved away before she dared another peek. As soon as he disappeared into the men’s bathroom, she jumped up and headed for the women’s restroom.
    When she came out, she heard a commotion near the entrance and wondered what was happening. All of a sudden Tate was behind her, whispering in her ear.
    “The media is here. Don’t talk to them, and don’t acknowledge that you know me. Someone here may reveal that you were a neighbor of three of the victims, but all you have to say is that you don’t know anything about what happened to them, because you’ve been sick and just got out of the hospital. Then walk away. Don’t let them draw you into a conversation, okay?”
    She nodded, but her heart was racing. Reality was catching up with them, making her