Her arms twined their way around Jordan’s neck, no longer held by Jordan’s hands. Jordan pulled her closer, crushing their bodies together, wrapping her strong arms around Devon. Their mouths met over and again, nipping, sucking, tongues slipping over and around.
Heat and wet. Inferno and storm.
Jordan moved against her, walked her back until she was pressed between the counter and Jordan’s body. Trapped, though Devon had no thought of escape.
Jordan held her tightly, one hand slipping to the swell of her backside while the other wound its way up into her hair. Devon had never felt so wanted and so safe.
She heard Jordan groan gutturally and desperately wanted to hear her make that sound again. She tugged at Jordan’s neck, crushing their bodies together, their breasts, their stomachs, their thighs. She couldn’t get close enough.
She began to rock involuntarily, a slow roll of her hips against Jordan’s. She felt Jordan’s leg slip between hers, giving her something to grind against. Oh God.
And there was that groan again, reverberating through Devon’s body like a string being plucked, the hum of it shaking her to her core. It jarred her back to consciousness.
She couldn’t do this. Not without Jordan knowing the truth.
Willing all her strength, Devon broke their kiss. Jordan blinked slowly, hair sexily tousled, lips temptingly swollen. Devon nearly began their kiss anew. The rakish grin on Jordan’s face was not helping matters.
Slowly, painfully, she extricated herself from between the counter and Jordan’s arms, putting some space between their overheated bodies. Her heart still pounded, the sound beating time in her ears. She had never, ever, been kissed like that. And she feared she never would be again.
“I have to tell you something,” Devon said unsteadily.
Jordan looked at her in disbelief. “Now?”
“Now,” Devon confirmed. “Before I lose my nerve.”
Jordan read the shift in Devon, seeming to understand that whatever Devon was about to say, it was bigger than what was happening between them. “Okay,” she said, holding out her hand. “But we are going to talk about this”—gesturing between them—“later, right?”
“If you want,” Devon said, unable to commit to a conversation she knew Jordan might not want later.
“Oh, I want,” Jordan said cheekily. It made Devon smile.
Jordan led her to the sofa and sat beside her, giving Devon space without distance. Devon tucked her knees to her chest, something she hadn’t done since she was a little girl.
Devon searched for the words but didn’t know where to begin. A Bible verse, one of the few she knew, popped into her head. “And I only am escaped alone to tell thee.”
“Book of Job?” Jordan asked, surprising Devon. She nodded. If she had the opportunity to still know Jordan years from now, the woman would never cease to surprise her.
Max, who had been lying dejectedly in front of the fire since Jordan had forced him away from the pie, took up a new spot at the floor next to Devon. She took strength from his presence at her side.
“I haven’t told you everything. About Billy. About me.”
Jordan’s expression remained the same. Open. Concerned. Understanding. “I know.”
Devon smiled weakly. “I know you know. But you don’t know.”
Jordan eased back slightly. “You can tell me anything.”
Devon prayed that was true.
“I told you Billy used to go on these fishing trips when I was younger. I always wanted to go, but my mom wouldn’t let me.” Jordan nodded. “That was mostly true, but it wasn’t the whole truth.”
Devon searched Jordan’s face for some change, some hint of betrayal, but it wasn’t there.
It would come soon enough.
“On my thirteenth birthday, Billy announced he was taking me on his next fishing trip. I was so excited. My mom seemed surprised, and maybe even a little concerned, but that didn’t matter to me. All that mattered was Billy was finally letting me go with him. Things had been tense around the house for a while, and I always thought it was my fault, that I’d done things to make Billy mad. So when he said he wanted to take me along, I just knew everything was going to be okay. Mom helped me pack a bag, and we were off. We drove for hours, north into Wisconsin. Billy wouldn’t tell me where we were going, only that it was one of his favorite fishing spots. It was already getting dark by the time we got there. Billy checked us into a little motel, some dive off the interstate. He said if this trip went well and I liked it, we’d camp out under the stars the next time. I thought we would just go to sleep, but after we dropped off our bags, Billy said we should walk down to the bar up the street, get a bite to eat. I’d never been in a bar before, but Billy said it was okay, so off we went.”
Devon took one last glance at Jordan and then shifted her gaze to the sofa, knowing the next time she looked at Jordan’s face, it would be full of contempt.
“There was this woman, young, pretty. She sat next to us at the bar. She seemed nice enough, said she was just passing through. I was so tired and just wanted to go to bed, but Billy insisted we stay and keep the woman company. Her name was Sheryl. Eventually, Sheryl paid her tab and got up to leave—said she had a few more hours of driving to go that night. Billy said it was time for us to go, too. There wasn’t anyone else left in the bar except for the bartender, the cook, and us. Billy insisted we walk Sheryl to her car, since it was so late. She agreed. He put gloves on as we were walking. I remember thinking it was odd because it wasn’t that cold out. When we got to her car, Sheryl turned to thank us. That’s when Billy pulled out his knife.”
Devon shuddered at the memory but forced herself to keep talking. She closed her eyes, unable to bear having them open for the next part. Unable to bear the chance of seeing Jordan turn against her.
“He held the knife to her throat and pulled a bandana out of his back pocket and told me to put it in her mouth and tie it behind her head. I was so scared. I just stood there, holding this bandana, crying. He told me to get it together, but I kept on crying. He backhanded me. I fell to the ground. I couldn’t get up, couldn’t make my body move. He yanked the bandana out of my hand and told me he’d do it himself. Once he’d gagged her he shoved her into the front seat of her car. He slid in next to her and told me to get in the back. I still couldn’t move. Then he looked me in the eye—the same look he’d given his buddies at that poker game. I got in.”
Devon hugged her knees in tighter, warding off the cold chill of memory. She felt like throwing up. She felt thirteen again.
“We drove off into the woods. There was this run-down shack deep in the trees. He dragged Sheryl out of the car and into the shack, and told me to follow. The only thing inside was this old, rotten bed, with handcuffs hanging from the four corners. He chained her up and told her that no one was around for miles, so no one would hear her if she screamed. He said that if she behaved herself, then it would all be over soon. Then he took me back to the motel.”
Tears pricked at her eyes but she closed them tighter, keeping the tears locked behind her eyelids. She would not let them fall until she was done. She would have plenty to cry about then.
“Back at the motel, he told me how disappointed he was in me. That I’d failed a rite of passage, one he’d passed when he was thirteen. He hadn’t cried. He hadn’t said no. God demanded, and I would obey. I couldn’t stop crying. He grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back, told me I needed to get my act together. It hurt so much. Then he locked me in the bathroom for the rest of the night. I heard him go out for a while, but then he was back. I was so scared, I didn’t make a sound. At the crack of dawn, we went back to the woods. I was afraid of what would happen to Sheryl, but I was more afraid of Billy. I should have tried to run, to call for help, to do something. But I didn’t. I just got in our car. Sheryl’s car was gone.”
Devon began rocking herself. She felt Max sit up beside her, nudge her arm with his nose, but she ignored him. Sh
e didn’t deserve comfort. She didn’t deserve anything except scorn, and disgust, and hatred.
“He unlocked Sheryl’s handcuffs and brought her outside. He pushed his knife into my hand and said in order to earn my place by his side, I had to offer up a sacrifice to the Lord. I had to hunt her down and deliver her to God. Then he told her to run. She did. But I just stood there. Everything started spinning. The last thing I remember is Sheryl running into the trees and Billy chasing after her. I blacked out. When I woke up, Billy had dragged Sheryl and me out beyond the shack. He was sitting on a rock, staring at me, a shovel in his hand. He didn’t say anything, just watched me. It reminded me of an eagle, cocking its head back and forth, studying its prey. Sheryl was lying there staring up at me. Her throat was cut.”
Devon rocked harder now, and the tears leaked out no matter how hard she shut her eyes against them. She began to hyperventilate but reined her breathing in just enough to finish the story.
“He made me bury her. Dig the hole and cover her with dirt. When we were done, he told me if I ever told anyone, he would do the same thing to my mom and to me. Mom was asleep when we got home. He put me into bed. He set a single wheat penny on the dresser, and I finally understood what it meant. What it had always meant. The next day, he told Mom I’d gotten sick on the boat, fallen and hit my head. That explained the bruise on my face and why we were back early. For days, when my mom wasn’t looking, he’d just stare at me, like he was trying to figure out if I was going to tell. Once, he slid his finger across his throat. Like I could ever forget. I never told, and I managed to avoid going with him again for two years. Then one day he said he was taking me camping. My mom said no. And he killed her. And I started running.”
Her tears fell freely now, her terrible truth revealed, at last. She had helped Billy commit murder. She had done nothing to stop him. Her mother, and who knew how many others, had died because she hadn’t been strong enough to stand up to him.
Jordan hadn’t made a sound since Devon had begun her confession. She could still feel her there on the sofa, watching her. With every fiber of her being Devon feared what she would read on Jordan’s face. The revulsion. The loathing. The unmitigated disgust. Devon couldn’t bear it, but she knew she had to face it. She owed Jordan that much.
And so Devon opened her eyes and blinked away her tears. But what she saw was nothing she could have ever expected, or even hoped for. Jordan was crying, gazing at her with such compassion that Devon was sure it had to be a mistake. She was sure this was the ultimate cosmic joke, for her to see this woman looking at her this way, only to have it ripped away, replaced by the abhorrence she so rightly deserved.
When it didn’t happen, when seconds turned to minutes and Jordan just kept looking at her with tenderness and understanding, Devon crumbled.
“You need to arrest me,” she said. “Take me to jail, lock me away forever.”
“No,” Jordan said evenly.
“Yes!” Devon cried, rising to her knees. “I didn’t stop him. I helped him kill Sheryl. I buried her. It’s all my fault.”
“No,” Jordan said again in the same voice as before.
“Damn it, what in the hell is wrong with you?” She fell into Jordan, beating her fists against Jordan’s chest. “I killed my mother. I killed them all.”
Devon cried and pounded Jordan’s chest, exhausting herself within minutes. She felt Jordan’s arms around her, pulling her closer, giving her sanctuary from herself. Her weeping subsided into hiccupping sobs, her tears soaking Jordan’s shirt.
She buried her face in the crook of Jordan’s neck, her body wrapped within sheltering arms. Jordan’s lips went to Devon’s ear, and she began to whisper, “You were only a child. You didn’t have a choice. It’s not your fault.”
Over and over, Jordan said the words, for endless minutes like a mantra, or maybe a prayer. Devon felt the words sing in her ears and sink into her skin, filling up the dark place that had held this misery for so long. And as she cried herself out, and as Jordan held her, she found herself starting to believe.
*
Henry yanked open the door, the captain hot on his heels.
“What in the hell is going on?” the captain yelled.
At least five people were in handcuffs, and another was spread-eagled over a desk, being frisked.
Lawson holstered his weapon. “Property dispute, if you can believe that,” he said. “But one of them had a knife.”
The captain went to sort things out.
Lawson pulled Henry to the side. “Hey, I got this guy over here, says he might have seen Billy the night before the murders.”
“What?”
“Well, he didn’t use Billy’s name, but he described someone who matches the description Jordan gave us. But…”
“But, what?”
“Something’s not right about this guy.” Lawson glanced over his shoulder back toward his desk. “Shit, he’s gone.”
Henry took off for the front door, practically knocking two cops over as he ran. He skidded to a stop on the sidewalk out front, frantically scanning the area. Nothing. Lawson came up behind him.
“Damn it, I shouldn’t have walked away.”
Henry was panting heavily. He wasn’t made for running anymore. “S’okay.” He caught his breath. “Let’s go back inside, and you can fill me in.”
If Lawson noticed how out of shape Henry was, he didn’t mention it, for which Henry was grateful. He felt embarrassed enough.
Back inside, Lawson filled him in on his conversation with Mr. Collins. “I don’t know, Henry. He seemed too interested, you know? In Ms. James. In witness protection.”
A sick feeling rose up from Henry’s gut. “What did Mr. Collins look like?”
“Maybe six feet, brown hair, beginning of a beard, about one eighty…” Lawson faltered. “Son of a bitch.”
Henry’s gut twisted.
“Lieutenant Wayne?” One of the uniforms approached and held out a piece of paper. “This came in for you over the fax.”
Henry stared at the paper. He handed it to Lawson. “This look like him?”
“Holy shit,” Lawson muttered, sinking down into his chair. “Twenty years older, a little bigger, hair a little darker—yeah, that’s him.”
It was Billy’s photo from Roscoe. Coleman had come through again, only this time, ten minutes too late.
“Was he alone at your desk?” Henry asked suddenly.
“It was only for a—”
“Check your desk,” Henry said, scanning his own. “See if anything’s missing, anything’s even a hair out of place.”
Neither man touched anything. Henry saw nothing out of the ordinary. Neither did Lawson.
“Get MCU up here. I want these desks and chairs dusted for prints, and I want this room swept for bugs,” Henry said. Lawson picked up the phone on a neighboring desk. “Michaels! Get over here!”
The cop who had brought Henry the fax jogged over. “What do you need, sir?”
“Go pull the surveillance tapes for the last thirty minutes,” Henry barked. “Get them down to the techs.”
“What are they looking for?”
Henry turned to Lawson, who answered. “White guy. Late forties to early fifties. Pens cap and jacket. He was sitting at my desk less than ten minutes ago.”
“I’m on it,” Michaels said and ran off.
Once Lawson was off the phone, Henry led him over to the far side of the room. They watched in silence as the MCU techs dusted Lawson and Henry’s desks and searched for listening devices. They pulled dozens of prints but found no bugs.
Henry flopped down into a chair. They’d had him. They’d had him right here and had let him get away.
“I am so sorry,” Lawson said, head in his hands. “So sorry.”
Henry was angry, but he didn’t blame Lawson. Not really. How in the hell could he—could they—have known Billy would walk right into their police station. In all his years of police work, he had never heard of somet
hing like that happening. It was brazen. It was reckless. It was—
“Desperate.”
“What?” Lawson asked, dropping his hands. Henry looked at him, a smile tickling the corners of his mouth. “Desperate. He had to have been pretty damn desperate to come here.”
Henry started to laugh. Lawson looked at him like he was losing his mind. Maybe he was.
“He came here looking for information. He doesn’t have the damnedest clue where Devon and Jordan are. Which means they’re safe, for now.”
Lawson was starting to get it. “And if Billy’s desperate enough to come here—”
“Then he’s getting reckless enough to make a mistake.” And Henry would have to be ready for him.
Chapter Twenty-three
Jordan sat by the window, watching Devon sleep. She had held Devon for what felt like hours but could never be long enough, telling her over and over it wasn’t her fault. Trying to make her understand. Pleading with her to believe.
My God. My God.
Everything clicked into place. This was the missing piece, the reason Billy was so obsessed with Devon. He’d planned to make her his protégée, to have her continue his work, his legacy, like someone—probably his own father—had done when he was thirteen. And she’d rejected him. Billy’s ego couldn’t take that kind of blow. He would hunt her until the end of time, for her continued existence was a repudiation of everything he was.
More than that, Billy wasn’t just murdering people as a means to an end on his quest to kill Devon. He was a serial killer in the truest sense, complete with his own killing ground. If he’d been killing since he was thirteen…Jordan could barely comprehend it. Organized serial killers liked to kill within their comfort zone but were cautious enough to know better than to kill in the area where they lived. Jordan figured Billy had searched for and found his spot in Wisconsin not long after the family had settled in Illinois. He likely had a spot somewhere in or near West Virginia as well.
But Billy had been on the move since his “death,” hunting his daughter. He might have set up another killing ground somewhere, one that he could return to from time to time, but Jordan doubted it. Billy had proven himself adaptable, had evolved over the years into something different. Something more cunning, more terrifying. Cross-country serial killers were rare and nearly impossible to catch. Billy’s path was tied to Devon’s, his MO flexible, his signature subtle, and Jordan would stake money that Billy did not have a particular type of victim other than people who wouldn’t easily be missed, which would have made it nearly impossible for law enforcement to see a pattern over the years.
Season of the Wolf Page 18
