Season of the Wolf

by Summers, Robin

  He laughed at that. Investigation. Funny how he still thought like a cop after all these years. Of course, the skills he had learned at the sheriff’s office had come in handy. One of these days, he’d have to find a way to thank them. Another lesson his momma had taught him: always say thank you. Maybe he’d make an anonymous donation to their softball team, if they still had one. Get them some new uniforms or something.

  The one thing he did know now was why Salinger had behaved as she had that first morning outside of the police station. She probably hadn’t been back to the station since the shooting. She was afraid. And that might certainly be something he could exploit.

  Sometimes Billy thought he should have gotten a degree in psychology, though he had read enough books on it over the years that he figured he had earned an honorary one, at least.

  He had read plenty of books about serial killers, too, and one thing Billy was sure of was that he was no mere serial killer.

  Such a mundane term, and so inadequate to describe his work.

  Billy’s was a much higher calling than simple murder. He was a purifier of souls. What serial killer could say that and mean it, honestly?

  He had not planned to kill his wife when he had. It had not been her time, and it was his greatest—his only—mistake. Billy was meticulous about his work, planning every detail, calculating every variable. From his very first kill, Billy had always been in control.

  His wife had been…impulse. And Maddie had been failure. A failure he was finally going to rectify.

  One way or another, the endgame was near. Maddie was his greatest hunt, and in the end, he would fulfill the Lord’s plan. In order to do that, though, he needed to find her. And he would need to be bold.

  Chapter Twenty

  Devon awoke feeling better rested than she had in ages. She knew she had been tired, but was surprised at how well she had slept. It was unusual for her to sleep through the night. She often woke up multiple times, almost always with a nightmare fresh in her mind. She tended to remember her dreams for days and months, even years, afterward. This morning, however, she had no nightmare lodged in her brain, nor any dream. Instead, she had only the fleeting feeling of being held.

  She found Jordan in the kitchen making pancakes, the ever-present gun tucked into the holster at Jordan’s hip. It was so domestic, apart from the gun. So almost normal. She nearly laughed, especially once she saw the flour coating Jordan’s shirt and the big gob of batter clinging to her hair.

  “What time is it?” she asked instead, suppressing her laughter. It would be terribly impolite to make fun of the woman who was trying to make her breakfast.

  “About nine,” Jordan said, flashing a smile at Devon over her shoulder. “I’m making pancakes.”

  “I see that,” Devon said, standing beside Jordan now. She reached up and picked the batter out of her hair.

  Jordan considered the gooey smear in Devon’s hand. “Guess I should say I’m trying to make pancakes.”

  Devon leaned over the skillet, her hand naturally finding its way to the small of Jordan’s back. The pancakes actually looked surprisingly delicious, considering the mess. “Smells fantastic,” she said, turning back to Jordan. She noticed that Jordan had stopped moving and was staring at her, unblinking.

  “What’s wrong?” Devon asked. Then she realized where her hand was. “Oh, sorry, I…” she sputtered, stepping back and dropping her hand.

  Jordan appeared to shake herself out of a trance. “No, it’s fine,” she said quickly. She flashed Devon a grin. “Hungry?”

  Devon nodded and sat down at the table, which was already set. What in the world had possessed her to touch Jordan that way, like they were lovers cozied up in a bungalow instead of refugees hiding from a madman? It had felt so natural, so right. The intimacy of it frightened her.

  The pancakes were, in fact, delicious and the breakfast conversation was light, with none of their earlier awkwardness. But the heat from Jordan’s skin lingered on Devon’s hand, unsettling her.

  After they finished, Jordan made a move to wash the dishes, but Devon beat her to the sink. “We had a deal, remember?”

  Jordan nodded, stretching as she stepped out of the way.

  “Do you need another rub?” Devon asked as she scoured the frying pan.

  “I’m okay,” Jordan said.

  Devon wasn’t buying it. “You’re not a superhero. And sleeping on that couch isn’t doing anything for your injuries.”

  Jordan didn’t respond.

  “You can’t spend another night on the couch,” Devon said. “Not in your condition.”

  “What am I, eighty-three?” Jordan joked. “The couch is—”

  “Is not where you’re going to be sleeping tonight. You’re taking the bed, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  Jordan, seeming to finally understand that she could not win this argument, relented. “Fine.”

  Devon nodded, knowing full well this discussion wasn’t over. Which was fine with her. She would win in the end. She finished rinsing the last plate and turned to Jordan, picking up where she’d left off. “How are your ribs?”

  Jordan looked like she might brush Devon off, but instead she lifted the side of her shirt. Devon stepped closer, reaching out to trace the tender flesh. The bruising had settled into a deep purple, but the edges had started to recede, turning a sickly yellow. Jordan inhaled sharply at the touch, and Devon snatched back her hand. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s not…” Jordan floundered. “You didn’t hurt me. You never could.”

  Devon digested the words. They filled her with a sudden warmth, even though she knew Jordan was so very wrong. “Have you been icing it?”

  “Every night,” Jordan said.

  “And what about your head?”

  “Bump’s nearly gone. See?” Jordan said, tilting her head down for Devon to take a closer look.

  Devon stepped closer, gently parting Jordan’s hair and feeling the area with her fingertips. Jordan was right. The swelling had subsided considerably.

  “And what about this?” Devon asked, her fingers finding Jordan’s cheek. The bruising there was not as bad as Devon had feared it would become. She caressed Jordan’s cheek with infinite care, unable to stop herself. Jordan nuzzled her face into Devon’s palm. She thought she heard Jordan moan, but it didn’t sound like pain.

  “It’s fine,” Jordan said huskily. She searched Devon’s face. “Better now.”

  Devon found herself caught in Jordan’s orbit. Gravity drew her closer, and she found herself unable—and unwilling—to escape. She focused on Jordan’s lips, so full, so inviting. She knew she should stop, should pull back before she did something she would regret, but Jordan wasn’t pulling away, either, and Devon couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to taste those lips, just once.

  And yet, even though they were now just inches apart, so close she could feel Jordan’s breath, Devon found the strength to pull away. Her fingers trailed down Jordan’s face and she took a step back. Jordan looked at her, dazed.

  “I’m going to draw you a bath,” Devon said, her voice deep and uneven. She tried to settle her heart. “I saw some Epsom salt in the bathroom.” She didn’t wait for a response, fleeing the room.

  She couldn’t deal with her feelings, the almost-kiss, so she focused on Jordan’s bath. She ran the water, pouring a generous helping of the salt into the claw-foot tub. It didn’t take long to fill the tub with steaming water. Devon imagined Jordan in the tub, soaking out a hard day’s work fixing up the cabin—a thought which did nothing to steady her racing pulse.

  Devon shut off the water and took a few moments to compose herself. This was about Jordan, not her libido. But oh, how she wanted to kiss her.

  She found Jordan still standing where she’d left her in the kitchen, still looking shell-shocked. “Your bath awaits, milady,” Devon said lightly. She threw in a curtsy for good measure, trying desperately to move them past what had almost
happened. She hoped Jordan would follow her lead.

  “Why, thank you, fair maiden,” Jordan finally said, bowing. Devon relaxed slightly. Jordan passed her in the hallway, nodding ever so slightly as she passed, as if to say that she understood. That it was okay. That Devon hadn’t ruined anything.

  When the bathroom door closed, Devon sank against the wall. Max trotted over and sat next to her, and they both contemplated the now-closed door.

  “What am I going to do, Max?” she whispered. Max turned, studying her. Then he licked her cheek. “Oh, you think I should have kissed her, huh?” Devon said, ruffling his fur. “I’m not sure that would help anything.”

  Max cocked his head to one side.

  “I don’t even know if she feels anything for me.”

  The shepherd chuffed.

  “You think she does?”

  Max chuffed again.

  Devon leaned her head back against the wall. She was having a conversation with a dog. A very intelligent dog, but a dog nonetheless. She was finally losing it. As if he had heard her inner thoughts, Max pawed at Devon’s leg, demanding her attention.

  “What?”

  He licked her cheek again, reaffirming his earlier point. Devon stroked his head. “I’m scared, Max. I’ve done terrible things, things I haven’t told her. I know I have to tell her, but I’m going to lose her when I do.”

  Max climbed into Devon’s lap, covering her legs with his body. They stayed that way for a long time, long enough for Jordan to finish her bath. The sight of her, emerging from the bathroom freshly scrubbed, hair glistening, a towel barely covering her from breast to upper thigh, nearly did Devon in.

  “Good bath?” she choked out, failing miserably to hide her desire.

  “Great bath,” Jordan said, grinning. She stretched, making the towel slip dangerously low across her breasts.

  Devon stared, transfixed.

  “Should I go put some clothes on?” Jordan asked.

  Devon tore her gaze from Jordan’s chest. Jordan’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

  Is she flirting with me? Devon felt suddenly lighter, despite the weight of Max still across her lap. Two can play at this game.

  “That depends,” she said, rising. Max amiably scrambled off her lap. She leaned one shoulder against the wall, crossing her arms confidently. She raked her eyes down and back up Jordan’s body. “You need any help?”

  Jordan’s mouth parted and she swallowed thickly. “Um, that’s okay,” she croaked, “I think I’ve got it.” She quickly retreated into the bedroom and shut the door.

  “Well, would you look at that,” Devon said to Max. He looked at her approvingly. “Maybe there’s hope for us yet.”

  *

  Jordan dressed slowly, pondering how the tables had turned so quickly. She had been flustered by what had almost happened in the kitchen, though not because she hadn’t wanted the kiss to happen.

  Dear God, how she wanted to kiss that woman.

  But Jordan knew, as she had known the night before, that the time wasn’t right. She didn’t want to take advantage of Devon, and they had bigger things to deal with than her raging hormones.

  But then Devon had touched her. First, it was Devon’s hand against the small of her back. Then, it was Devon’s fingers trailing fire along her abdomen. By the time Devon had touched her cheek, she was powerless to resist. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from seeking more contact, from turning into the warm touch of Devon’s hand. She had watched the change in Devon’s eyes as they found Jordan’s lips, felt the hitch in Devon’s breath as she leaned in closer. If Devon had kissed her, Jordan would have let her. Not just let her. She would have kissed her back.

  But Devon had not kissed her, had instead pulled away, leaving Jordan breathless and wanting. Then she had run and Jordan had let her, even though all she wanted to do was pull Devon close and kiss the hell out of her.

  When Devon tried to dispel the awkwardness between them, Jordan had followed her lead. But though the bath did wonders for her aching body, it did nothing to soothe her aching heart.

  She absolutely ached for Devon James, that much was clear to her now. And perhaps, just maybe, Devon felt the same. The thought both delighted and terrified her.

  We can’t do this. Not now. Not yet.

  It was scary, what she felt for Devon. But it was also exhilarating. She had not felt this way about anyone in a long time, not even about Caroline, maybe not ever about anyone. And if Devon felt the same? She didn’t know for certain, but she understood now that it was a risk she was willing—that she needed—to take.

  If she was going to take on the wolf, then she might as well take on the whole pack. All her guilt, all her doubt, all her fear. And the biggest fear of all was that she was unworthy of love.

  But she had seen something in Devon’s face when they were standing so close that looked a little bit like the possibility of love. And if Devon could love her…well. Devon was the most amazing person she had ever known.

  Jordan was filled with a hope she had never known, along with a renewed determination to protect the woman who held her heart. And when all this was over, she would find the courage to go after what she wanted. And what she wanted was Devon.

  She’d had no intention of flirting after her bath, but when she saw the effect her half-naked body was having on Devon, she couldn’t help herself. She’d flirted.

  Boy, had that backfired on her. That woman was a world-class flirt.

  Jordan smiled to herself. When this was over, there would be payback. Oh yes, she would see to it that Devon was deliciously, wickedly paid back.

  She dressed and went in search of Devon. She found her outside playing with Max.

  “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself,” she said, grinning despite her disapproval.

  “I’m not by myself, I’m with Max,” Devon said, laughing as Max jumped for the stick in her hand. Devon launched the makeshift toy off near the tree line, the shepherd giving merry chase.

  Jordan watched them for a few minutes, Devon laughing, Max’s tail wagging furiously, and found herself content. It was not a feeling to which she was accustomed, but one she thought she could definitely get used to.

  She pulled out her cell and dialed Henry’s disposable cell.

  “Hey, partner,” Henry said, picking up immediately.

  “Hey.”

  “How are things?”

  “All’s quiet here,” Jordan said. “How about you?”

  “Finally got the case files from Roscoe.”

  Jordan’s heart quickened. “Well?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to read them yet. Literally just pulled them off the fax when you called.”

  “What in the hell are you talking to me for, then?”

  Henry laughed. “Because you called me.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, get to it and call me back.”

  “What? Jordan…breaking…”

  Jordan moved farther out from the house. “Better?”

  “I seriously hate these phones,” Henry growled.

  Jordan looked up toward the sky. A blanket of gray had replaced yesterday’s puffy white clouds and brilliant blue. “It’s only going to get worse.”

  “Seriously. What if I can’t get ahold of you?”

  “If you can’t get through, call Mel’s,” she said, and gave him the number. “She can get a message to me.”

  “She tell you anything else?” Watching Devon with Max out in the grass, running around like she didn’t have a care in the world, Jordan wanted to believe there was nothing left to tell. But her heart suddenly felt as heavy as the leaden sky, and she knew what it meant.

  “No. Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay,” Henry said. “Now stop bothering me and let me get some police work done.”

  “See ya, partner.”

  She disconnected the call, pushing aside the gloom that had invaded her soul, and went to join Devon and Max.

  *

  Henr
y and Lawson took turns reading through each of the three files. The first was Billy’s personnel file from the Roscoe sheriff’s department. It seemed incomplete to Henry. For one thing, there was no photo of Billy, which he had been counting on.

  Assholes probably couldn’t be bothered to send it.

  The second and third were better, the report from the house fire and the autopsies of the two bodies found in the ruins. For whatever Coleman had done to get these reports, he was grateful.

  Henry waited as Lawson finished reviewing the files. Lawson closed the final jacket, frustration evident.

  “Well?” Henry asked, wanting to see if Lawson had picked up on what he’d seen. The rookie did not disappoint.

  “The female vic seems a match for Marie Montgomery, but that most definitely wasn’t Billy’s body in that house. You’d have to be blind to miss it.”

  Henry nodded for Lawson to continue.

  “Personnel file has Billy at six foot, same as Jordan said. But the autopsy has the male vic at five nine. He didn’t magically shrink three inches in the fire.”

  “Go on.”

  “Then there’s the fracture at the base of the skull. Devon hit him in the side of the head, so there might have been a fracture there. But where’d the fracture in the back come from?”

  Henry nodded again.

  “And finally, there’s the time of death. The medical examiner put TOD at two weeks prior to the fire, at least. How in the hell could Roscoe have missed that?”

  “They didn’t want to see it,” Henry said. “It’s easy to miss things you don’t want to find.”

  “Bastards.”

  Henry wholeheartedly agreed. “Both bodies were found in the basement, along with half the house. The explosion from the propane tanks really did a number.”

  “Yeah, but look at this.” Lawson opened the fire investigation report and flipped through the pages. “The fire burned hotter in some places, and they found traces of accelerant in nearly all the rooms, but especially in the basement.”