Free Going Once (Forces of Nature) by Sharon Sala Page A

situation even more precarious.
    “What if someone at the Tidewater P.D. slips up and tells them about me?”
    Tate shrugged. “We’ll deal with that if it happens. Just do what you were going to do today and pay them no mind. The Red Cross won’t let them in here, but if you go out, just beware, okay?”
    Nola sighed. “All things considered, thank you.”
    He nodded. “All things considered, you’re welcome.”
    “Tate?”
    “What?”
    “Why did you and your mother leave town?”
    “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
    There was a knot in the pit of her stomach. She had a feeling that if she’d known the answer eight years ago, it might have made a difference in her decision.
    She frowned. “That’s not fair. It mattered to me then. You abandoned me, and I still don’t understand why.”
    “I didn’t abandon you,” he said softly. “I had to leave town, but I asked you to go with me. You’re the one who rejected me.”
    Nola gasped. “I didn’t reject you! You came out of nowhere with the news that you were leaving, which changed every plan we’d made together for the entire length of our college years, and you wouldn’t tell me a damned thing about why. I don’t know what was going on, but I know I deserved a better answer.”
    There was a lump in her throat as she walked away, but she refused to let him see her cry.
    Tate was sick at heart. In retrospect, she was right, but he couldn’t change the past. He felt for his phone, then realized it wasn’t in his pocket and headed back to his cot. It must have fallen out in the night. He found it beneath the covers.
    “Want some coffee?” Cameron asked as he stretched, then stepped into his shoes and wandered in the direction of the food tables.
    Tate nodded as he sat down to check messages and missed calls. He was scanning through the list when he noticed a familiar number that made his skin crawl. It was the stolen phone that the Stormchaser had been using ever since they came on the case. They’d taken over paying for the number to make sure they had a way to stay in touch with him.
    “The son of a bitch,” he said softly.
    “What’s wrong?” Wade asked as he walked up behind him.
    “The Stormchaser just sent me a text. He knows we’re here, which means he must be, too.”
    “Well, hell,” Wade muttered. “What did he say?”
    Tate read the message aloud. “‘I’ve been having all this fun without you. What took you so long?’”
    “The bastard,” Wade said.
    “Who’s a bastard?” Cameron asked as he walked up and handed Tate a coffee.
    Tate handed him the phone, letting Cameron read the message for himself. Cameron’s thoughts were the same as his.
    “If he’s here, why the hell can’t we recognize him? We’ve been at every kill site from the second one on, and we know he’s been there watching us. We have crowd shots and film footage from every press conference we’ve held, and there are no repeat faces in the crowd. What is he, a chameleon?”
    Tate blinked. “Actually, that’s something we haven’t thought about.”
    “What do you mean?” Cameron asked.
    “A man of a thousand faces? Makeup. Disguises. Nola said he was wearing a parish police uniform, remember? That’s information we never had before, that he shows up prepared to pass as someone else. And she said he was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair and a mustache. All of that could be a disguise to go with the clothes he was wearing. Go ask Beaudry if he ever ran that info down about a missing uniform. If our killer’s turning up with a good ID and a new face at every scene, that explains why we never see a familiar face.”
    “On another note and speaking of press conferences, who’s going to handle the one this morning?” Wade asked.
    Cameron pointed at Tate. “He needs to. He’s the profiler. We just need to figure out what to say that can force the bastard to get careless.”
    “Or we’ll only make him kill again just to prove he can,” Tate