After a few minutes of staring at the fuzzy words on the screen, he decided to call it a day. He wouldn’t do Jordan or Devon or anyone else any good keeping at it when he was this tired. It was too easy to miss something critical.
He threw on his jacket and headed down to his car. He saw nothing out of the ordinary on the street and was certain no vehicle was following him as he drove home, though he took a few extra turns along the way just to be sure.
His house was dark when he pulled up. He’d forgotten to leave the porch light on again. Ella had always made sure to leave a light on for him, a beacon of love guiding him home no matter how late he arrived or how awful his day had been.
He sighed heavily. It was one of a million little things that he hadn’t truly appreciated until she was taken from him. The thought of her made his heart ache.
Henry unlocked his door and entered the darkened house. It was so still now without her. Ella had filled their home with her warmth and laughter, so much so that every room had buzzed with her joyful spirit. Now the house was a mere shadow of itself, as was he. More than anything, he hated the stillness.
Henry emptied his pockets on the counter. It was an old habit Ella had broken him of during their marriage, now returned in her absence. He set down his keys, notepad, pen, wallet, change, and two phones in a haphazard pile, and then hung his jacket messily on a hanger in the hall closet. He poured himself a short glass of scotch and settled into his recliner, hoping against hope that the drink might help his mind to settle down. It didn’t work, as he knew it wouldn’t. As it never did. The only thing that had ever been able to settle his mind was Ella.
He heard something vibrating in the kitchen. It was his disposable phone. He picked up quickly. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” Jordan answered, a faint smile in her voice. “Rough day?”
Henry chuckled. “Do I sound that bad?”
“You always sound that bad. You got anything new?”
“Not much. I called Coleman, got him working to get us the personnel file from Roscoe and the arson report.”
“A little pressure from the feds never hurt.” Jordan paused. “What did you have to give up?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
It was good to hear Jordan’s laugh. His partner was well aware of his ongoing series of wagers with the agent. They bet on anything: baseball games, horse races, congressional elections, which movie would be number one at the box office Fourth of July weekend. They’d once had a bet over how long a federal government shutdown would last. Henry had won, much to Coleman’s chagrin.
“It’ll help if he can get it,” Jordan said. “Would be good to better understand that period of his life. It’d be even better to have a photo of him.”
“Agreed. What about you? Anything new?”
Jordan went silent for a moment and he could hear Max churning up dried grass and leaves, likely racing around Jordan in elliptical paths, always just out of reach at his closest point.
“He’s an organized killer. Meticulous and controlled. As long as he stays that way, we’ll only find what he wants us to find. The murders of Chuck and Sally, and of Jessica, were coldly efficient, despite their brutality. I would include Devon’s mother in that group as well, and even Mrs. Brindle.”
“Mrs. Brindle wasn’t killed with a knife.”
“I know, but look at what we know. All the facts line up with Devon’s story—there’s not one piece of evidence that conflicts with what she’s said.”
“Jordan, I wasn’t—”
“I know you weren’t questioning her, Henry, though it’s okay for us to question her. We need to question everything. You and I both know there’s still more to this yet.”
Henry did know, could feel it in his gut, but they would get to that.
“But if Billy caused Mrs. Brindle’s accident, then it completely fits. Meticulous, controlled, coldly efficient. They were all a means to an end.”
Henry felt a chill run down his spine. “Devon.”
“Exactly. All of these murders were about Devon. At first I thought they were about revenge, about making Devon pay because she got away from him and he had to make someone pay, or he just wanted Devon to lose people close to her. And I certainly think there’s an element of that here, but these kills were really about protecting himself, about covering up. He’s stayed hidden for twelve years. Everyone thinks he’s dead—it’s how he moves around so easily, how he can keep coming after Devon. And he’d do anything to protect that.”
“Anything?”
“He changes his MO. Though he favors the knife, and I believe prefers even more to slit his victims’ throats, he is adaptable. He’ll kill in whatever manner is required to achieve his goal at any time. With Mrs. Brindle, she had gone to the sheriff, but Billy needed her out of the way to get to Devon—so Billy needed her death to look like an accident. At the diner, Billy killed Chuck and Sally quickly and waited for Devon, but she was late. Sally’s wounds were a message to Devon, along with the penny. He was there. He had found her again. He will never stop.”
“And he’ll do whatever it takes to kill Devon.”
“Precisely. Devon is his motivation. His obsession.”
“Why?” Henry asked.
“I don’t know yet. He’s not interested in notoriety. The wheat penny is distinct but subtle, not meant to draw attention, but he feels compelled to leave it. In part, he’s telling the cops he’s better than them, so good, in fact, that they don’t even know about him. It reinforces his delusions of grandeur and his superiority. But I think that’s only half the story.”
“What’s the other half?”
“This coin means something to him. It’s his signature, something he’s compelled to do—everything else is flexible. Devon said he used to bring her these coins after his fishing trips, which is how she recognized he’d come after her. But why did he bring them? What did they signify to him that he needed to share with her then, and why use them now? He didn’t leave one at NIU, but he has since then—with Mrs. Brindle, and with Chuck and Sally.”
“He’s taunting her with it.”
“Yes,” Jordan agreed. “But I think it’s more than that. It’s a compulsion. I bet this has something to do with his parents, some kind of familial bond or symbol or meaning.”
Henry understood where she was heading. “I’ll have Lawson dig into Billy’s family in the morning.”
“Good.”
The line went quiet again, and Henry sensed Jordan hesitating. “What is it? What are you thinking that you don’t want to say?”
“You know me too well, partner.” It warmed Henry’s heart to hear her call him that again. “Five murders in twelve years aren’t very many for Billy’s level of organization, control, and skill.”
Acid crept up into Henry’s throat. But he felt almost relieved. His body was acknowledging what his mind had been trying to piece together for days, what had been nagging at him since the beginning. “You think there are others—murders not connected to Devon.”
“Yes. I think these are about Billy’s mission. But I think there are others motivated by something entirely different. And I think Devon might be the link between the two, whether she knows it or not. She’s so haunted, Henry,” Jordan said. “She blames herself.”
Like someone else he knew. “You’ll help her. You’ll find the truth.”
“I’m afraid to push too hard. She’s scared, and not just because she’s afraid he’ll find us.”
“Trust your instincts. You have one of the most intuitive minds I’ve ever come across. If you think there’s more, chances are, there is.”
Jordan laughed. “You blowing smoke up my ass, partner?”
Henry laughed, too. It felt good to lighten the mood a little, even momentarily. “Hardly.”
Jordan went quiet. Henry could practically hear her mind working, attempting to fill in the blanks. He knew she would drive herself crazy trying to figure it out.
> “You two all settled in now?” he asked to distract her.
“Yeah. We picked up some supplies at Mel’s this morning.”
“We? You took Devon with you?”
A pause. “She can be pretty persuasive.”
“I’ll bet,” Henry said, grinning to himself. Yet another reason he liked Devon.
“What did you tell Mel?”
“That Devon is an old friend from college going through a bad breakup and we’re up here for some R and R.”
“And she bought that?” Henry knew Mel well enough to know she had a nose for bullshit.
“Seemed to. But even if not, Mel won’t say anything. She’s no gossip.”
“So how did Mel and Devon get along?”
“What do you mean?”
Henry’s grin broadened. Jordan was intuitive about everything except how people felt about her. He knew she and Mel had gotten together a couple of times since Caroline left. Jordan saw her as a friend with benefits, but Mel seemed interested in more than a fling. It was a fact to which he knew Jordan was completely oblivious.
“Oh, nothing.”
They said their good-byes and Henry settled back into his recliner, picking up his forgotten scotch. He took a sip, chuckling to himself. Despite the gravity of their situation, he allowed himself a few moments to imagine how the sassy redhead had reacted to Jordan bringing the attractive blonde into her store. He had a sneaking suspicion that Devon would not have backed down from that challenge, as formidable as Mel could be.
Henry was no matchmaker, but he couldn’t help but think Devon was good for Jordan, that together perhaps Devon and Jordan could both find some peace. And maybe when this was all over, Jordan would finally allow herself to be happy.
Chapter Nineteen
Jordan lay on the couch, finding sleep frustratingly elusive despite her exhaustion. For once, however, her sleeplessness had nothing to do with a five-year-old boy. For the first time since the shooting, she found the burden on her soul was no longer quite so heavy. It wasn’t gone, not yet, but it was definitely lighter. And that was miraculous.
She couldn’t wrap her mind around it, but somehow speaking of her guilt had started to free her from it. But Jordan knew that talking was only part of it.
Devon, with her soothing touch and gentle reassurance, had helped Jordan reach inside that dark place and pull her guilt out into the healing light of day. That light had pushed back the shadows of shame obscuring her memory, allowing the truth to emerge. She was not responsible for that boy’s death, or for the two police officers that had been killed. Jordan could now allow herself to believe that without her actions it was likely more people would have died. None of those children would have escaped their father’s gun.
Somehow, Devon had helped her do what others could not. Not Henry, not her mother, and certainly not Caroline. Not that she blamed Caroline, not anymore. They had been drifting apart long before the shooting, even though she hadn’t admitted it at the time. Caroline had never been comfortable with the danger Jordan faced as a cop. It had created a wedge between them, one she had ignored. After the shooting, after Caroline’s fears were made real, Jordan had been too busy blaming herself, too busy pushing Caroline and everyone else away to care. Another wedge, this one creating a final, insurmountable divide.
No, she did not blame Caroline for leaving. But now she didn’t want to keep punishing herself for Caroline, or for the boy, or for any of it. She wanted to forgive herself. The wolf had hunted her for so long, and she was tired of running. It was time to kill her guilt, once and for all. And Devon had given her the strength to do it.
The bedroom door creaked, and she heard Max quietly enter the room. He rounded the corner of the couch and pushed his nose into Jordan’s hand.
“What’s the matter, boy? Can’t sleep?”
He whined plaintively, looking toward the bedroom and then back at Jordan. Now she could hear a faint whimpering coming from the bedroom. Jordan was off the couch in an instant, not fearing an intruder—Max would never have left Devon unprotected—but understanding something was not right.
She pushed open the bedroom door, soft sobs filling her ears. Devon was thrashing, her legs tangled in the blanket, in the throes of some nightmare. Jordan’s heart clenched at the sight. She could only imagine the visions tormenting this strong, resilient woman who had survived so much without breaking. She did not deserve whatever wicked dreams had overtaken her mind, just like she did not deserve any of the horrors that had consumed so much of her life.
Jordan did not want to wake her, knowing from experience that being woken from a nightmare could leave her shaken for hours. But she could not stand by and watch Devon’s anguish. So she did the only thing she could think of.
Jordan set her gun on the nightstand and slipped quietly into the bed beside Devon, wrapping her arms around her. She gently pulled Devon’s head against her lips and began whispering into her hair, soothing words without meaning and yet meaning everything. Devon’s movements slowed, her body unconsciously recognizing the warmth of Jordan’s and the safety of her arms. Her breathing eased as her body stilled, and she eventually fell into a steady, heavy rhythm.
Jordan wasn’t sure how long she stayed that way, holding Devon, keeping the nightmares at bay, but she knew she would stay forever if that was what Devon needed. It was a startling thought but she kept still, turning it over in her mind as she basked in the feeling of Devon in her arms.
Devon was beautiful and brave, strong yet compassionate, full of a humor and spirit that would be alluring in any woman but made all the more remarkable for all that Devon had been through. When Devon smiled at her, Jordan felt like she could do anything. She could walk on hot coals without being burned, swim across the Atlantic Ocean, outwrestle Hercules and outrun Hermes.
Jordan was all too aware how perfectly their bodies fit, lying here with Devon so close. Devon had snuggled into her, molding her body against Jordan’s, Devon’s every curve locking into Jordan’s hollows, as if they were one.
Devon shifted her leg up onto Jordan’s. She could feel the warm apex of Devon’s thighs pressing against her and a flurry of unbidden images flooded her mind, of heat and skin and smooth and wet. Jordan was suddenly infinitely aware of the swell of Devon’s breasts pressing against her, of Devon’s hot breath on her throat, her lips only millimeters from Jordan’s skin. What it would be like to feel Devon beneath her, moving against her, meeting her thrust for thrust and moan for moan.
Jordan shut her eyes tightly, willing the pictures from her mind, the flush from her skin. This was not the time or the place. Devon was trusting Jordan to keep her safe, and here she was lusting after the woman she was supposed to be protecting. She had a job to do and she needed to stay focused. Devon deserved that much.
Jordan slipped from the bed, careful to not break the peaceful sleep that had finally overtaken Devon. Max, who had followed Jordan into the room and taken up watch beside the bed, now jumped up onto it, as if knowing that was where he was needed. He settled down beside Devon, not touching her but close enough Jordan was sure Devon would be able to sense him.
“You’re a good boy, Max,” Jordan whispered. He rested his head on his paws, blinking up at Jordan before settling into his own restful slumber. Jordan retrieved her weapon and headed to the doorway. She lingered there, taking in the way Devon’s hair gleamed in the moonlight filtering in through a gap in the window drapes. She looked like an angel, and to her, Devon was one. And she would do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if that meant putting aside her own needs.
In another life…
*
Billy was not a happy man. Since the debacle at the house, there had been no sign of Maddie or her gallant Detective Salinger. Yes, he knew Salinger’s name now, and Lieutenant Wayne’s, courtesy of some nosy neighbors at the crime scene.
After midnight, Billy had gone to a run-down Internet café to learn more about his quarry. Lieutenant Henry Wayne, thirt
y-year veteran of the Pittsburgh Bureau of Police. Widower, no children, no ties of any kind to be exploited. Numerous commendations over his career, with an impressive arrest record and an even more impressive rate of conviction for cases he investigated. Promoted to lieutenant following the Dubois hostage incident. A formidable opponent, to be sure. Billy liked that.
Then there was Detective Jordan Salinger, the hero cop of the Dubois affair. She was the wild card. On the force for ten years, a detective for five. Out on medical leave after getting shot. Saved two children, killed Dubois. One child dead, along with two cops. The media had hailed her as a hero and, after an internal affairs investigation, so had the Pittsburgh Bureau of Police. She had been offered a promotion and a raise, pretty much anything she wanted, but she turned it all down. She had also turned down all requests for interviews: Detective Salinger could not be reached for comment.
A champion of the people, who eschewed her celebrity status. Interesting. Definitely a wild card.
It would make her downfall all the more satisfying.
That was, of course, assuming Billy could pick up their trail. He needed to catch a break, but so far, he had nothing.
Billy felt like tearing the steering wheel from the dashboard and beating someone to death with it. Instead, he took in a deep lungful of air and released it slowly, calming his inner rage.
My God, why have You forsaken me?
No, God had not forsaken him. The Lord was testing him, testing his faith. Like Abraham, like Job, he was being tested and his faith would be rewarded. He just had to be smarter. Bolder. Nothing good ever came from waiting. In order to see the sign, he needed to look for it, not wait for it to appear.
He had not been able to find anything that would point him to where Salinger might have taken Maddie. An easy hack of the local tax records showed the house belonged to Salinger’s mother. Her father had died many years earlier, so that was no help. The mother, though, might have potential if he really got into a jam, and if he could find her. So far, there’d been no sign of her, either. And there was no other property he could find attached to either Salinger or her mother, at least not in Pittsburgh. When he had time, he would broaden his investigation.
Season of the Wolf Page 15
