On top of all that, Billy thought he was killing for God. His mission wasn’t just about killing Devon; it was about killing, period. Best case scenario, he was a brutal, deliberate serial killer with delusions of a mission from God and an unresolved need to warp his daughter to mirror his narcissistic sense of self.
The things this beautiful, broken soul had been put through. Had survived. And when she found Billy—and Jordan would find him—she would kill him. There would be no trial, no plea agreement, no defense attorney convincing a judge or jury that Billy was crazy.
Billy was crazy, no doubt about it. But Jordan refused to allow that to be his excuse.
Jordan believed in the rule of law, believed in the legal system and, God help her, even in the right of every person to be represented by counsel. People deserved to get a fair trial, no matter what they’d done.
But Billy was not a person. He was a rabid animal. A monster. And the only thing he deserved was to be put down.
If that made her a murderer, she couldn’t care less. Let the ACLU come after her. Let her be prosecuted. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except freeing Devon from this psycho’s grasp. From being hunted. She was tired of waiting. It was time to kill the wolf. But that meant she had to set a trap.
A plan began to take shape in her mind. They needed to draw him out. Lure him in. Unfortunately, traps required bait, and the only bait Billy was interested in was Devon.
Jordan ran her fingers through her shorn hair. Could she do this? Put Devon at risk? It wasn’t fair. She should just take Devon and run, leave Billy and everything else far behind. They could build a new life together somewhere, just the two of them. She could keep Devon safe. She could love her.
But Billy would find them. Somehow, someday, he would track them down and destroy anything they’d built. He would burn it to the ground, razing entire city blocks if he had to. His destruction knew no bounds, his cunning, no end.
And what of Henry? And her mother? Billy would find them and kill them, too, just out of spite. To cause maximum pain. She couldn’t take them with her. She couldn’t protect them all.
God. Help me. Please.
She rested her chin in her palm and watched Devon sleep. She had been utterly, bodily exhausted when she had finally finished crying. Years worth of pent-up tears, of agony and regret, would do that to a person.
She heard Devon’s words in her head, begging Jordan to arrest her, pleading with Jordan to condemn her, demanding that Jordan hate her. But Jordan could not hate her. Or condemn her. And she certainly wasn’t about to arrest her. Devon had done nothing wrong. She had done nothing but try to keep her mother, keep herself, safe.
Devon was a victim, just like all of Billy’s victims. She had helped bury that body under duress, stayed silent under threat of harm to herself and to her mother. She had been abused, mentally and physically. And she had seen firsthand what Billy was capable of.
No jury on earth would convict Devon, even if there was a prosecutor stupid enough to bring charges.
Jordan’s heart swelled. She was falling in love with Devon James. There was no doubt about it now. And she would do whatever it took to protect her, or die trying.
The phone at her hip vibrated. Not wanting to disturb Devon’s much-needed slumber, she silently called for Max, grabbed her coat, and went outside.
“Tell me you’re having a better day than I am,” she said, half in jest, half in despair.
“I wish I could,” Henry said, sounding despondent.
“What’s wrong?”
Henry told her about Billy coming to the station. The line cut out on and off, but she got the gist. All the air fled from her lungs. They’d had him, and he’d gotten away. He’d been there, and—
“Does he know where we are?” Jordan asked, panicked.
“No, no,” Henry said. “He didn’t get anything.”
“What about bugs. Are you—”
“Checked and cleared. He got nothing, I swear.” A pause. “I’m sorry, Jordan.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m so, so—”
“Henry? You still there?”
“I’m here.”
Damn phones. Jordan kicked at the browning grass. Max sat a few steps away, watching her talk to Henry.
“You couldn’t have known,” she said and meant it. “It’s not your fault.” She could hear Henry digesting the words. “Really,” she added.
It was enough. “Okay.”
Billy was no longer stable. He was growing bolder, more reckless, which meant he was devolving. He was more likely to make a mistake, but he was also infinitely more dangerous. They needed to take advantage before it was too late.
“I think we can use this,” she said.
She could practically hear Henry smiling over the phone. “Exactly what…was thinking.”
She needed more time to think. To plan. And she needed to tell him Devon’s story. She started to speak but thought better of it. This was not a conversation to be had over the phone, especially one cutting in and out.
“We need to do this face to face,” she said.
“How?”
“Technology is a wonderful thing, my friend. I can get it set up on my end. I’ll e-mail Lawson the details. Eleven o’clock.”
They disconnected. By tomorrow, the storm would be coming in and the phones would be shot to hell. But Jordan knew one way to get uninterrupted service. She didn’t like the idea of leaving Devon alone, but it was safer.
Jordan bent down and Max trotted over.
“You’re going to be in charge tomorrow, buddy. And Devon’s not going to like it one bit.” She stroked Max’s neck. “If he comes anywhere near her, you rip out his fucking throat.”
Max seemed to understand. He growled.
Chapter Twenty-four
Devon lay awake, unable to sleep any longer. Jordan’s arm was wrapped securely around her, and Devon thought there couldn’t be a safer or better place in the entire world. Max lay curled up on the rug at the foot of the bed, not seeming to mind having his sleeping spot taken away. There just wasn’t room for the three of them.
Jordan once again had planned to sleep on the couch. But Devon refused to give in. She’d thumbed the shadows beneath Jordan’s eyes, telling her that, as gorgeous as she was, two nights without real sleep were starting to show. When that hadn’t worked, Devon had played her only real card: she didn’t want to be alone. To that, Jordan had acquiesced.
She studied Jordan’s face, tracing her features, memorizing every curve, every line. She still had a hard time accepting that Jordan had not pushed her away. She still wasn’t sure she didn’t deserve to be cast aside. But Jordan had been relentless. From the moment she had started pounding Jordan’s chest right up until she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep, Jordan had refused to allow Devon’s demons to get the better of her. Each time she felt her guilt rising up, Jordan had been at her side, with gentle touches or soothing words.
You were only a child. You didn’t have a choice. It’s not your fault.
She had slept on the couch for two hours, long enough for day to give way into evening and for Jordan to make dinner and talk to Henry. Billy had been at the police station. She could barely wrap her mind around it. Jordan had told her over dinner, had held her hand to help keep the tremors that overtook her at the news at bay.
After dinner, they had sat on the couch, a fire crackling in the fireplace. They had discussed Billy and what his going to the station might mean, and Jordan told her she planned to head down the mountain to use Mel’s broadband to videoconference with Henry.
Her initial reaction to that news had been less than ladylike. She’d actually snorted. Jordan had known better than to laugh and had soothed her with a kiss.
Jordan shifted in her sleep, her arm tightening around Devon’s back, pulling her closer. She snuggled in, taking solace in Jordan’s warmth. She smiled to herself, recalling the almost comical events leading to them actually gett
ing into bed. Jordan had taken Max out for one last walk and Devon had made her way to the bedroom. She’d turned down the sheets on the far side of the bed and then stopped, waiting. She wanted Jordan in her bed, wanted it in more ways than one, but when the moment was nearly upon her, her stomach was twisted in knots.
She knew she was being foolish. They were both adults. They could share a bed without…
Not that she didn’t want to make love to Jordan. She did want that. She wanted that very much. But everything was so new, still so jumbled in her mind. She just needed a little time.
She’d felt Jordan in the doorway, looked up to find her there, and nearly burst out laughing. Jordan was looking at the bed like it was covered in mousetraps.
Oh, thank God.
Jordan’s nervousness soothed her, giving her strength, erasing her apprehension. She rounded the bed and held out her hand, which Jordan took instantly.
“So it wasn’t just me, then?” Jordan asked, grinning.
“Nope.”
Everything was different after that. They’d changed into their sleepwear—Jordan in the bathroom, Devon in the bedroom—and slid into bed easily, without disquiet, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jordan had been asleep within minutes, and Devon took comfort in her rhythmic respiration. But as comfortable as she was, as right as it felt to be lying here in Jordan’s arms, Devon found sleep elusive.
The day had been a tornado of emotions, spinning her around, twisting her inside out and back again. She had reached the heights of passion and the depths of despair in a single afternoon. At the center of it all had been Jordan, comforting her, loving her, making her feel things that only hours ago she had thought she had no right to feel. She could only pray this feeling wouldn’t be taken away from her.
*
Billy paced his motel room, clenching and unclenching his fists. He couldn’t afford any more mistakes, and trashing his room, while satisfying, would definitely be a mistake.
He had gone to the police station seeking answers, and he had found only suspicion. Suspicion and failure.
He was not used to failing. He was not used to taking such risks, risks that found no reward, like footsteps without purchase in the sand.
And yet he had beaten them, hadn’t he? He had been there, right there, within their grasp, and he had escaped. He had beaten them at their own game, shown them how foolish they were, and how powerful was the will of the Lord.
They grope in the dark without light, and he maketh them to stagger like a drunken man.
Job 12:25 made him feel a little better, as it spoke of just how blind the police could be with God on his side. They had nothing. They knew nothing.
But he had still failed. He was confident the surveillance cameras had not gotten a good image. He was too smart for that, the cap pulled low—but not too low—on his head, his face angled away from the cameras just enough to block their view without anyone knowing he was doing it.
Billy was no rookie.
But Detective Lawson had seen his face. He had counted on not arousing suspicion, counted on the cops being charmed by his manner, lulled by his story, seduced by their own eagerness to solve their case. That’s what cops did. They wanted the easy answer. It was how Billy had stayed dead all these years, how he had evaded detection, despite Maddie’s attempts years ago to convince the police he was alive and killing.
But Lawson had been skeptical and Billy had pushed too hard, his own eagerness getting the better of him. The answers had been there, right there, within his reach. And now, he had nothing. He had no idea what to do next.
“Lord, please. I need a sign. I have looked, but I do not see. Forgive my weakness, my failings. I am at your mercy, Lord. I need your guidance.”
But there was only silence. The radiator hummed in the corner of the room, mocking Billy with its ambivalence.
He fell to his knees, clasping his hands together, eyelids slamming shut. “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee,” Billy prayed, “and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned.”
Billy pressed his clutched hands to his forehead, willing God to hear him. “Neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”
He repeated the last line over and over, faster and faster, rocking back and forth on his knees until the words and the world whirred by him at a million miles an hour, hurtling him through time and space and destiny unfolding, until all was light and heat and the absence of sound.
God. Please.
A door opened. A path revealed itself.
He heard a distant scratching, and he was flying again, ripped from the light back into darkness. He opened his eyes and heard the sound again.
He opened the room’s only window and an orange tabby leapt up onto the ledge from the fire escape. It stared at him, its head tipped to the side.
“Mrow.”
Billy picked the cat up by the scruff of the neck, examining it. It hung limply from his hand, permitting his inspection. He walked over to the bed and folded the cat into his arms, beginning to stroke its fur. It purred like a freight train.
“Awfully cold out there,” Billy murmured. “You’re probably hungry.”
He set the cat down on the bed and walked over to the small table in the corner of the room. The cat watched him fish a can of tuna from a plastic bag but stayed on the bed, even once Billy had cracked back the lid. He set the open container on the floor in the center of the room, waiting. The cat did not move.
“Well, come on now,” he cooed. “You must like tuna. All cats like tuna.”
The cat hopped down from the bed and stalked over to the can. It sniffed twice and then dove in, seeming to enjoy the feast. But halfway through, the cat stopped. It looked up at Billy, and then over toward the closet.
“What is it? You smell a rat?”
The tabby looked up at him again and then scampered over to the cracked closet door. It nudged the door open a little farther, just enough for it to slip inside. It made no sound.
Puzzled, Billy walked over to the closet and opened the door fully. There sat the cat, squarely in the middle of the closet floor, looking up at him expectantly.
“Mrow.”
What an odd cat.
“Don’t you want your dinner?”
The cat came out of the closet and nudged the door closed with its head. When it was open only a crack again, it slipped back inside.
Billy opened the door once more to find the cat in exactly the same spot as before.
“Mrow.”
At last, Billy understood. He had done this before.
“Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice: have mercy also upon me, and answer me,” he quoted reverently.
The Lord had shown him the way. He knew what he must do.
Chapter Twenty-five
Jordan’s unconscious mind began the torturous climb toward wakefulness. Light crested over her body, warming her skin. Not light. Flame. Enveloping her, folding over and under her. Within her. From within. From without. Scorching. Thick. Powerful.
She tried to blink away the fog, but the exquisite sensations washing over her body clouded her brain, a barrier between her and full awareness. She could not think. Only feel. A soft, firm weight on her chest. On her thigh. Sultry, languid breath on her neck. Her head turned, lips seeking the source of the whisper against her skin.
They found what they were searching for.
Full. Silken. Moist.
She moaned.
The first touch of her tongue against Devon’s was a live wire zapping her body, and she was instantly, gloriously awake.
Awake, and kissing Devon.
Awake, and full of wonder.
Devon met Jordan’s moan and opened her mouth farther, welcoming her in. Devon’s lithe body slid against hers, moving more fully over her, and Jordan grasped her hips, pulling her the rest of the way. Devon’s thighs squeezed Jordan’s hips, rocking slowly, ev
er so slowly.
It was hell.
It was heaven.
Jordan’s eyelids fluttered open. Devon’s sky blue eyes, now dark as the ocean, watched her. Devon flicked out her tongue, catching Jordan’s lip with its tip.
Jordan groaned and dove back in. She caressed Devon’s thighs, so soft, so smooth. Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of Devon’s nightshirt, traced the edge of Devon’s panties. Devon’s hand slipped into Jordan’s hair, tugging, demanding. Their tongues clashed, dueling for dominance, for surrender. Wanton. Hungry.
Jordan’s hands found Devon’s ass. She cupped the supple flesh, pulling Devon ever more tightly against her body. The thin cotton barrier of Devon’s underwear was maddening, and she had to fight to keep herself from ripping the panties away. She skimmed her hands up Devon’s back beneath her shirt, delighting in the way the taut muscles moved under silken skin. Then her hands slipped down, down, down beneath Devon’s panties. She squeezed her flesh, rubbing and circling, fingers pressing and clutching. Devon released a moan from deep in the back of her throat into Jordan’s mouth before thrusting her tongue deeply inside.
There was something niggling in the back of Jordan’s mind, some vague invader telling her to slow down, that this wasn’t the time—something about time and needing to…but oh, Devon was moving again, kissing her, sucking on her bottom lip, and Jordan was so wet. So, so wet.
She flipped Devon over onto her back, pinning her beneath her weight, sliding her thigh between Devon’s legs, pressing, thrusting. They moved as one, skimming and surging, skin grown slick from the heat between them. Jordan’s shorts had ridden up to bare her upper thighs, her tank top bunched to just below her breasts. She wanted to feel Devon’s skin against her stomach, needed to feel their passion-slick bodies gliding over each other with nothing between them.
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