Page 85 of Whispers at Dusk
“On my own, I would never do such a thing,” she said.
“Oh, great. Now I feel worse—you wouldn’t do this if you didn’t have faith in me?” he asked.
She laughed softly. “Don’t flatter yourself. We’ll have Gideon and a team out there. Okay, I admit I wasn’t sure at first, but you are the most extraordinary partner. In so many ways.”
They picked up their coffee as soon as they were ready and got back in the car.
He reached over and pulled her to him, pausing to study her eyes, and then kissing her gently on the forehead.
“I can’t lose you,” he whispered.
“And you won’t. You won’t, because you and I both know what we’re doing. We can read one another and... Well, honestly, I will be happiest if we can find Gideon.”
“What do we do about Fremont?”
“We’re splitting up, covering all the territory we can.”
He nodded. “You and I do not split up until we find Gideon. And even when we do, you keep me apprised on the mic about every move you make. Understood?”
“I have no desire to feed a vampire or become one, I promise you!” she told him. “Mason, please, think about it. We have both studied this man. He thinks he so superior to us. You’ll be right behind me.”
“He’ll take your gun. If he doesn’t disarm you, he won’t take you.”
“He doesn’t know about the Baby Browning.”
“Since he’s not stupid, he may figure out the backup is in your boot.”
“If so, you’ll know. And you’ll be right behind me.”
He nodded. She knew he didn’t like it. He would never like it. But he understood. He knew if she were anyone else, he’d accept the logic even if it was risky.
They had to take calculated risks. That’s how they caught this kind of killer.
“Promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?” she asked him.
“You keep talking. Let me hear you, no matter what is going on.”
She nodded solemnly.
He drove in silence then, and soon they reached the docks and found Detective Alan Fremont. He had changed to jeans and a denim jacket, attire that looked just right for hiking—or hunting—in a bayou region.
“You know just where you want to go?” Fremont asked. He seemed curious. “You really do know the area? You were from here?”
“No. I’m from New York. But I was assigned down here for a while,” Mason explained to him. “And Della...”
“I always loved New Orleans. I spent a lot of time here. And the terrain...” she said, shrugged, and added, “It’s not all that different from the Everglades.”
“Alligators,” Fremont said. “Guess you’re familiar.”
“Hey, we’ve got crocodiles down there, too. Same. Lethal snakes—and now about sixty thousand pythons that don’t belong, so...”
“You’re not worried about walking in dangerous marshy grasses,” Fremont said. “Good. Because in areas, it’s not easy. It’s mostly residents who come to hunt here. They go after the gators and sometimes deer and nutria, but it’s mainly fishing in the area. There’s great rainbow trout to be caught and other tasty fish. It’s not usually an area for most tourists, though tour boats come and stay out on the water.”
“That’s good because this guy will eliminate anyone in his way,” Mason said.
Della was silent, watching as they moved along the water. They left what some might consider the civilized section of the Crescent City, heading out to the wilderness. But just as she had always loved the Everglades, she loved the land as it changed here, as man’s hand upon nature became less and less obvious. Cypress trees and myrtle, oaks dripping with moss.
