Going Gone (12 page)

“Oh, your sons live in the area?” Hershel asked.

“Not
my
sons. The boys...you know...CIA. I still have connections. William Harold was one of them once.”

Hershel’s belly rolled. Good thing he’d found out now. He did not want the spooks on his ass, too. He gave her what he hoped was a congenial smile.

“Yes, ma’am. Well, I’ll say good morning and be on my way. I need to do a little grocery shopping.”

“Good morning to you, too,” she said, and went back to deadheading.

She heard the engine start, but she didn’t turn around. He didn’t seem to like being watched—at all.

Eleven

L
aura had been on the phone most of the night calling some of her local volunteers as well as suppliers, making sure the basics would be on-site. Then she called her boss to let him know she wouldn’t be coming in. This was her hometown. She wasn’t going to abandon it to someone else when she’d spent the past ten years going all over the country helping other communities just like this.

She left her house just before dawn dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a red hoodie that zipped up the front. She’d learned a long time ago that noticeable colors helped people find her more quickly. Although Cameron was still at home, he promised to stop by before he left town, just in case she needed his help. He was still dragging his heels about going, although this day trip to Virginia for a follow-up on a case had been in the works since last week.

Laura didn’t argue. She hadn’t been out on a disaster site since before the plane crash and was hoping this didn’t trigger an anxiety attack.

Daylight was only moments away as she drove up to the blast site. She needed to see what they were dealing with before heading to the shelter. After flashing her credentials, she went past a barricade that an officer moved aside for her.

Having a local volunteer who had offered the use of a very upscale motor home for a temporary headquarters was a coup. She couldn’t count the times she’d bunked in a tent or in the building with the evacuees, which often made it difficult to work. Having privacy and a place to sleep was invaluable to her job.

She saw the motor home parked less than a block down and drove up behind it to park. She got out with her iPad and a travel mug of coffee, and knocked on the door. Laura recognized the owner, Bea Thomas, a sixtysomething ball of energy.

“Laura! Come in, come in. There’s coffee on the stove.”

Laura smiled as she climbed the steps. “Hi, Mrs. Thomas. Thank you so much for offering the loan of your motor home.”

“Call me Bea, and you’re very welcome. It’s just been sitting in the driveway since my husband died. I’m happy to put it to good use.”

Laura was impressed that a woman so small could handle a vehicle this large.

“Thanks again, Bea. And getting right down to business, have you heard anything from the first-shift volunteers? Last night I told them all to meet here. That was before I had confirmed the Wesley Methodist Church as our first shelter.”

Bea dug through some paperwork on the table and handed her the list.

“These are the ones who have already reported in. I did what you asked me to do this morning and sent them to the church. Also, there was a man here earlier, said his name was Kevin Holmes.”

“Good. He works for the Red Cross, too. Where did he go?”

“He went to the blast site.”

Laura nodded. “I’m going to go find him, but I’ll be back soon. If anyone else shows up, send them on to the church, as well.”

“Will do,” Bea said.

Laura looked up Kevin’s number and called it as she began walking. The smell was sickening, and the smoke from the smoldering debris hung motionless in the air.

He answered on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Kevin, it’s me, Laura. Where are you? I’m walking into the area right now.”

“I’m all the way down at the other end. I’ll head your way. There’s nothing we can do here other than leave word with the searchers as to where we’ll set up.”

“Who’s in charge?” she asked.

“Right now there’s a fire marshal and an arson investigator here, so probably them.”

“Are there any survivors?” she asked, and then heard his breath catch.

“No.”

“What’s the death estimate?”

“Not sure yet, but four blocks of personal residences on both sides of the street are gone. You do the math.”

“Dear God,” Laura muttered. The smoke was making her eyes burn, but it wasn’t the only thing that brought on the tears. It was the sight of all this devastation and the thought of being a witness to the final resting place of so many dreams. “Are there any bodies?”

The catch in his breath was more pronounced this time.

“Not a whole one.”

Laura stopped. She wiped the tears away and took a deep breath.

“We can do this, Kevin.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Never apologize for empathy. Why don’t you go ahead to the church and start setting up? I see some men in fire gear. I’m going to talk to them, and we’ll meet up at the church later.”

“Will do. The truck should be there with the cots. Are we expecting to shelter the people who were evacuated from the surrounding areas?”

“Yes, or at least most of them. See you soon.”

Laura pocketed her phone and increased her speed, anxious to finish here as quickly as possible. After introducing herself and meeting the fire marshal, who corroborated everything Kevin had just told her, she left her card and information on where the Red Cross would set up and asked them to direct anyone in need of food or lodging to the church.

Her steps were dragging as she sidestepped bricks and melted metal on her way back. She passed the hulks of burned-out cars, the top half of a child’s swing set and a broken bathtub that had been thrown clear during the blast, things that meant families had lived here.

All she had to do was look at the debris and she felt like throwing up. She kept flashing on the sound the plane had made when it hit the trees on the mountain, and the memory of waking up to the smell of smoke and burning electrical wiring. These people never had a chance of coming out of this alive.

Then she shook off the sadness. There was too much that needed to be done for her to dwell on the past. She decided to send Bea on to the church as well, and made a quick call.

“Hello.”

“Bea, it’s me, Laura. You can drive over to the church now. I think there’s a hookup for you in their overflow parking lot. A lot of traveling evangelists use motor homes these days, so they had one installed for their use. I’m on my way back to my car.”

“Will do,” Bea said. “Oh, a half-dozen more volunteers came by. I sent them to the church, the way you told me to.”

“Thank you. I’ll talk to them when I get there.” She disconnected, then made yet another call, this time to the local television station. She gave them her name and contact number, in case they needed more information from her later, and asked them to broadcast the location of the shelter for those in need, then called the radio station and requested the same thing.

She was almost back at her car by the time she finished the last call and had just pocketed her phone when she looked up to see Cameron standing by her car. She waved and walked faster.

* * *

Cameron had seen her coming from over two blocks away and started to meet her halfway when he realized she was on the phone. That meant she was in business mode, so he stayed put, feeling good about the purpose in her expression, the jut of her chin and the length of her stride. She meant business. When she looked up and finally saw him, he hurried toward her.

“Hey, honey, I see you’re already busy,” he said, and greeted her with a quick kiss.

But Laura didn’t want quick and leaned into the feel of his mouth on her lips, regretting the necessary briefness of the moment.

“This is such a tragedy,” she said.

“It is,” he said, gazing down the street at the chaos the explosion had left behind. “Were there any survivors?”

“No.”

He slid his hand under her hair and cupped the back of her neck.

“That’s rough, but you have several hundred displaced people who need you, right?”

“Yes, and I have to go. Call me anytime. I’ll be at the Wesley Methodist Church and then possibly spending the night on-site.”

He frowned.

She started to explain. “You know this is part of the job, and I’ve done it for years. This time someone donated the use of a really nice motor home for an on-site office, and if need be, there are beds in there.”

He didn’t want to remind her that it wasn’t about her ability to handle her business but that Hershel Inman could be alive and in town. However, she had a job that needed doing, and that was something he understood.

“I’ll call you later. If you need something, call me. Love you most.”

“Love you back,” she said, then stayed to wave him off as he got in his SUV and drove away.

A chill wind lifted the hair from her neck as she stared up the street, marveling at the houses so close to the blast site that were still intact. But the longer she stood, the more it felt as if she was being watched.

She slowly turned, checking out her surroundings, and even though the feeling didn’t go away, she saw nothing suspicious.

She shivered, hoping it wasn’t an omen of things to come, and then decided it was the energy from this place of sadness that she was feeling. Suddenly anxious to be away from this horror, she got in her car and headed for the church.

* * *

Hershel found out what had led to the fire when he stopped to buy gas. He was intrigued by a disaster of that magnitude that had not been caused by weather and drove around the area until he found the site. The streets were blocked off all around it. He parked a distance away from the barricades but close enough to still be able to see the devastation and smoke hanging in the air.

It looked like footage from a war zone, which made him wonder what had happened to the people who’d been inside those houses, then whether they had found anything left to bury. It looked nasty, and he did not envy anyone the job of making sense of this hell. At the same time, a piece of him wanted to make it worse. But this wasn’t his niche.

He started up his van and shifted into gear, intending to drive away, when a car drove past him, then was allowed past the barricade. It looked like the car Laura Doyle had been driving the other day. Out of curiosity, he waited. When he saw it park behind a motor home a few yards down, he looked closer. It
was
Laura Doyle getting out of the car. At that point he put his van back in Park.

Here she was again! What the hell was going on? Fate kept shoving her in his face, daring him to take advantage of the opportunities. But like before, there was no way he could kill her now and make it work.

He shut off the engine, pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his bald head and slumped down in the seat, curious as to what would happen next.

A few minutes later he saw her come out of the motor home and walk down toward the blast site. She was just like he remembered, and yet different. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it was there. He watched her walk farther and farther until she was almost out of sight.

A few moments later an SUV drove up to the barricade, and like before, the guard let the car pass. He watched as the driver parked behind her car, and when the driver got out, his heart skipped a beat.

Cameron Winger!

Now he wished he
had
driven away, because he was too damn close to the man for his peace of mind. He reached down to start the engine, and then realized Winger would hear it and might turn around to look. Even if the man didn’t recognize him, he didn’t want to put the image of this van into his mind. So if he stayed, he needed to be doing something besides gawking. On impulse, he took out his cell phone and then looked down as if he was texting, watching from under lowered lids, and he didn’t look up.

Not once.

Not when the motor home turned around and drove right past him.

Not when Cameron Winger did the same thing as he drove away.

He waited for Laura to leave as well, but when her car didn’t move he looked up and saw her staring up the street in his direction, looking at the empty houses as if she’d never seen them before.

That was when he got a really good look at her face and finally figured out what was different. He didn’t know what had happened to her since they’d last met, but she’d aged, both mentally and physically. The little blond ingenue look was gone. Her chin was up, her shoulders back, and she had a “don’t mess with me” attitude that was impossible to miss.

His eyes narrowed. This could change everything about how he took her down, and he was glad that he’d played the voyeur. He waited until she got in her car and drove past, and then he followed, just because he could.

When he realized where she was going and that she would most likely be there for a while, he decided to push his luck. The universe had been throwing them together, and he wanted to see how close he could get without giving himself away.

* * *

Even though it had been months since Laura had been on a disaster site, she fell back into the rhythm of the job like a pro. Kevin was supervising setting up cots and folding tables while she began checking invoices against the supplies being delivered. She had one volunteer out front taking donations of food, clothing, blankets and other necessities while another volunteer was taking personal information from the first wave of arrivals, most of whom were evacuees.

She’d thought it would bother her, being around so much tragedy again, but instead her anxiety settled. This was something she was confident in doing, and it needed to be done.

* * *

Hershel drove up to the church in a stream of vehicles and flashed back on Queens Crossing, Louisiana, and helping Laura Doyle set up for the flood refugees in the high school gym. He finally found a place to park, but instead of getting out, he stayed in the van, watching the chaos until he began to see a pattern in the rhythm of all the coming and going. And in the midst of the turmoil, there she was, steadfast and calm, with a phone at her ear, busy puzzling out the latest emergency.

It made him antsy. He needed to rattle her cage, so he left and drove until he found a grocery store, then made a quick purchase and drove back to the church site.

He grabbed the two commercial-size packs of diapers he’d purchased and got out of the van, counting on his appearance to help him blend in. He was at least fifty pounds lighter than when she’d seen him last, and the dark slacks, long-sleeved white T-shirt and dark hoodie made him look even smaller. He had the hood pulled up over his bald head, and his face had a slightly different shape after all the surgeries to remove the scarring. The last bit of his disguise was the sunglasses. He was literally betting his life she wouldn’t know him, and the risk gave him a high.