Devon laid her hand on Jordan’s thigh, as if seeking strength.
“He and Billy’s mom were both murdered when Billy was in his twenties. The cops tied the murders to a power struggle within the Klan and disbanded the chapter. But here’s the interesting thing—Billy’s parents both had their throats cut, and wheat pennies were found pressed into their hands.”
Devon sucked in a ragged breath. Billy had murdered his own parents. It was unimaginable, and yet it made perfect sense.
“The West Virginia cops didn’t know what to make of the coins, figured it was just some weird KKK thing,” Lawson said.
Jordan covered Devon’s hand where it lay on her thigh, trying to ease the weight of Devon’s family history as it settled on her shoulders. It was a terrible burden to carry, but Jordan was determined to lighten the load any way she could. And the best way to do that was to end this, once and for all.
“Billy is not your typical serial killer,” Jordan explained. “He’s not seeking notoriety or fame. In fact, he’s gone out of his way to avoid it. He faked his own death so he’d be freer to move, he adapts his MO to fit his needs, and he utilizes a signature that can be easily misinterpreted or overlooked. He believes God has chosen him for greatness, and so he has a significant ego, but because his mission feeds his ego, it isn’t easily challenged. Normally we could focus on attacking his success as a killer, but that won’t work here. There is one thing that will, though.”
“Devon,” Henry said.
“Yes,” Jordan said. “Billy is obsessed with Devon. Her very existence undermines his elevated status in God’s eyes and mocks his mission to kill. He must end her life in order for his own to have meaning. He made a mistake by letting her get away, and all these years she has taunted him by continually slipping out of his grasp. He has to correct his mistake, and he’ll do anything to achieve that goal.”
“So how do we use that?” Henry asked.
“We need to go public,” Jordan said, “tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Lawson questioned. “How?”
“We leak it to the press that we’re focusing on one suspect in the diner murders, and that we have a key witness. We give them Devon’s name, and that the suspect may be linked to other murders around the country. We also leak the attack at my house.”
That seemed to startle Henry, but he said nothing.
“When the story breaks, the bureau will have to hold a press conference to deal with the fallout.” It had happened before. Details would get out about an investigation, the press would demand answers, the brass would be embarrassed, and then they’d be forced to hold a press conference to clean it up.
“We put the captain up there to make a statement and take questions. The press will have a field day with the serial killer angle, and the inability of the PBP to properly protect the witness, and the captain will have to respond. He’ll say the FBI is taking over, that Devon has been uncooperative, and that the FBI is taking her into custody. We’ll need Agent Coleman up there for confirmation.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Henry said.
“We plant a question with one of the reporters—Why hasn’t Devon already been turned over to the FBI, given the PBP’s incompetence?—and the captain will get defensive, saying something about Devon not being a prisoner and having until now resisted working with the FBI.”
She hated talking about Devon this way, like she was an impediment to the investigation, but Devon’s reluctance and fear would help sell the story to the reporters and, more importantly, to Billy.
She glanced at Devon, who was staring straight ahead. Jordan squeezed her hand. You still with me? Devon gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
“We put Henry up there, too, but don’t let him speak. He’ll be acknowledged as the lead detective, but it will be clear he’s not happy about turning over his star witness or the case. He needs to look surly.”
“I can be surly,” Henry said.
The mental image almost made Jordan laugh. She had never in her life seen Henry look surly. It would be a stretch for him for sure, but she knew he would pull it off.
“You will help seal the deal. If you’re pissed about turning Devon over, then it would make sense you’d insist upon conducting the transfer personally. And Billy will follow you.”
“What if Billy sees through it all?” Lawson asked. “There are a lot of contingencies in this plan.”
They had reached the part Jordan hated. “He won’t. Because Devon will be at the police station, and Billy will see Henry putting her in the car.” Devon was the ultimate bait, and Jordan knew that no matter what Billy might suspect, the sight of Devon would override all rational thought. He’d hunted her too long, had her slip from his grasp one too many times. “We’ll do it here. I can give the FBI the layout. Let them take point on the takedown.”
Jordan wanted to kill Billy, to put a bullet in his brain and watch the life bleed out of him, but she set aside her desire because this plan was the only way to assure Devon’s safety—even though it put Devon in harm’s way. Her only perverse comfort was that Pennsylvania had the death penalty, as did the feds. Jordan opposed the death penalty—there were still too many innocent people being put to death in America. Despite her faith in the legal system, Jordan believed the death penalty needed to be abolished until they could find a way to ensure that only the guilty were put on death row. Billy was the exception to Jordan’s rule. He deserved to die, and Jordan would be sure to be sitting in the front row when they gave him the needle.
“It’s a solid plan,” Henry said. He met Devon’s eyes. “How do you feel about this?”
Devon squared her shoulders, determination evident. “I want this over. I’ll do whatever I have to do.”
“You’re a brave woman,” Henry said.
Devon shook off the compliment.
“It’s true,” Jordan said, tipping up Devon’s chin. “You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever known.”
Jordan searched Devon’s depths for acceptance. Devon nuzzled Jordan’s hand.
She was overcome by the need to take Devon home, to hold her and kiss her and love her and never let her go. Instead, she brushed her thumb across Devon’s lips, a kiss by proxy.
“We’ll get this done,” Henry vowed. Jordan wished she could do more, but it would be up to Henry and Lawson to lay the trap.
Chapter Twenty-six
The weather had worsened considerably during the two hours they spent at Mel’s, the fine granules of snow replaced by thick flakes, heavy and wet. Devon watched them assault the windshield as they drove back up the mountain to the cabin. The windshield wipers could barely keep up, and Jordan was driving much more slowly than on the way down.
“I think we’re heading back just in time,” Jordan said lightly. Devon stared ahead, lost in her thoughts. “Hey? You okay?” Jordan asked. Devon heard her concern.
“I’m fine.” She sounded as unconvinced as she felt. Jordan said nothing, but Devon could feel the tension between them. Jordan most likely assumed she was scared, and she was, though not for the reasons she was sure Jordan was thinking.
She wasn’t afraid of being used as bait. She actually welcomed it, the chance to take the offensive, to put herself on the line just as Jordan and Henry and Lawson were. Just as Mrs. Brindle had, even unknowingly. She hadn’t realized it before, but she had longed for the opportunity to finally do something other than run. Other than hide from Billy. Hide from herself.
She needed to play a role in her own salvation, needed it almost as much as she needed Jordan. And that was what scared her.
Not her need, but the potential for loss.
She had a feeling. More than fear. More than apprehension.
Something was going to go wrong. She knew it with sick, unshakeable certainty. And it terrified her.
She could not bear the thought of Jordan being hurt. Being killed. She knew it would break her. It was selfish. It was self-absorbed. But it was true. Losing Jordan would
destroy her.
She could feel Jordan glancing at her, trying to read her, trying to understand, but she couldn’t speak. She was paralyzed, buried beneath the crippling dread of the inevitability of what was to come. Of what would be taken.
Billy would win, and not because he drew a knife across her throat. He would win by murdering Jordan and, with her, Devon’s soul.
Jordan reached out to her, and the world swam back into focus. They were back at the cabin. Jordan turned to her, but Devon was already getting out of the car. She stumbled inside, past a startled Max, and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door. She fell to her knees and her stomach convulsed. She retched violently, but nothing came up. She waited, her insides heaving, but still there was nothing.
“Are you all right?” Jordan asked through the closed door.
“I’m fine,” Devon said, trying to sound stronger than she felt.
She heard Jordan shuffling just beyond the door and could imagine the debate being waged over whether she should leave Devon be or come in. She prayed Jordan would leave.
A few minutes later, her prayers were answered by Jordan’s retreating footsteps. She heard the front door open and close. She breathed a little easier.
She didn’t know how to tell Jordan this, to explain. She needed to warn her, to call this whole thing off, to tell Jordan to forget it and her and Billy and just let her go.
But she knew her too well. Jordan would never let her go. Jordan would not walk away from her. Jordan would follow her to the ends of the earth, to the depths of hell and back again, to save her from Billy. From herself.
Devon rose on shaky legs, gathering the courage to face her unflinching, relentless defender.
She took another moment to brace herself, to prepare for the fierce determination she knew she would be met with, and then opened the bathroom door.
Jordan was waiting for her in the center of the living room, waiting for Devon to come to her of her own volition, in her own time. Of course she was.
“I took Max out,” Jordan said lamely, giving Devon a few extra moments to gather her thoughts. Max looked up at her from his bowl, happily chowing down on his kibble.
“A little early for his dinner,” Devon commented absently. It seemed like a safe place to start.
Jordan shrugged. “I didn’t want us to be interrupted.” She fell silent then. Waiting. Always waiting. Devon thought Jordan would wait for her forever.
Devon stepped closer, just out of Jordan’s reach. “I’m sorry.”
Jordan’s hands flexed at her sides, as if she was struggling to keep from reaching out. “You’re scared. I get that. If you don’t want—”
Devon stepped closer still, settling two fingers over Jordan’s lips. “That’s not it.”
Jordan said nothing. She kissed Devon’s fingers, a move of comfort which only enflamed. Devon felt her blood come alive at the simple act. She fought to control it, needing to tell Jordan. Needing to convey the depths of her feelings. Of her fear.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” Jordan said with certainty, warm breath teasing Devon’s fingertips. She shivered. She was quickly losing the battle for control.
“I couldn’t bear losing you,” Devon said urgently, tears forming now, unbidden.
“You won’t,” Jordan declared again, her hand tangling in Devon’s hair. “It’s going to be okay. I prom—”
Devon replaced her fingers with her lips, kissing away the vow she feared Jordan would be unable to keep. Billy was too strong, too cruel, and the universe took too much delight in torment.
Her tears fell freely as they kissed, loosed by the immensity of her swirling emotions. She was caught between love and loss, exhilaration and panic. Touch and taste and want and need and devastation and hope collided, overwhelming her. She could not fight it anymore. She did not want to fight it.
“I promise,” Jordan said between hot kisses, the vow now made. This time, Devon didn’t stop her. She pushed into Jordan’s body, reveling in her strength, her certainty. She took Jordan’s resilience, subsuming it into herself, unable to steal what was so freely given. It would be okay because it had to be. Because she deserved it to be. Because they both did.
Devon lost herself in Jordan. Her hands against Devon’s face, her tongue plundering Devon’s mouth. She felt herself being backed down the hallway toward the bedroom, her feet moving automatically to follow Jordan’s lead. The backs of her legs bumped into the bed, but—good God—Jordan was lifting her sweater now, warm fingers raking her sides. Her nipples puckered from the cold room and Jordan’s touch in equal measure, Jordan’s hands smoothing over newly bared skin, making her shudder and shake.
“I’ve got you.”
Jordan fused their lips together, her palms licking fire across Devon’s belly and breasts, grasping and pressing. Devon reached for Jordan’s shirt, desperate to be skin to skin. Jordan shucked it over her head and reached for Devon again, bringing their bodies into blissful, scorching contact.
Jordan roamed across Devon’s flesh, first with her hands, then with her mouth. She kissed Devon’s neck, her chest, nipping and sucking her way down to Devon’s breasts. Her mouth latched onto Devon’s nipple through thin cotton and Devon cried out. Not content with even this flimsy barrier between them, Jordan yanked the still-clasped bra down to Devon’s waist and brought her lips to Devon’s naked breast.
White heat exploded behind Devon’s eyes as Jordan sucked first one sensitive tip, then the other. She laced her fingers behind Jordan’s neck, clinging desperately, barely able to remain upright at the onslaught of Jordan’s mouth.
“Oh God,” she breathed as Jordan plucked a nipple with her teeth. She felt Jordan smile into her breast, enjoying the effect she was having on Devon’s senses. Devon wanted to turn the tables, to make Jordan feel even half of what she was feeling, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything but hang on for dear life and give herself over to exquisite sensation.
Jordan released her breast and returned to Devon’s mouth, a welcome invader set upon conquest. She felt Jordan’s hands at her waist, felt her zipper being lowered one agonizing tooth at a time. A hand slid down into her jeans, into her panties. There was no teasing, no uncertainty, only firm fingers slipping into wetness, at last.
“Oh God,” Devon voiced again, panting. Her knees buckled, but Jordan was there to catch her. She guided Devon down upon the bed, fingers stroking now, skating over her swollen flesh. Devon surged upward, her hips rising, following. She whimpered when Jordan withdrew but was soothed by soft lips against her cheek.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jordan whispered. She slid off the bed, taking Devon’s jeans and panties with her. “I just want to feel you.”
Devon lay helplessly entranced as she watched Jordan peel off her remaining clothes. She climbed back onto the bed, straddling Devon, then reached around and unfastened the bra still trapped around Devon’s waist, removing the final barrier between them. A needful sigh escaped her as their nude bodies at last made contact. Jordan’s fingers found Devon again, gliding over her, into her. She writhed beneath Jordan, her breath falling in heaving gasps.
Jordan entered her over and over, fingers flexing, surging, pulling. Devon moaned into Jordan’s mouth, Jordan’s tongue matching the cadence of her thrusts. Jordan drove into her, pushing her higher and higher. A thumb brushed her swollen, aching tip, jolting her senses. She was flying now, soaring up into a cloudless sky, unencumbered by gravity or fate or time.
Jordan slipped to her ear, whispering words Devon barely heard but which her heart understood instantly. “I love you.”
Devon’s body exploded into a million supernovae, the infinity of light and the absence of sound, shooting stars hurtling toward sweet oblivion.
*
Night had dressed the day in its cloak, shielding it against the raging storm. Jordan listened to the wind howl beyond the window. It could not penetrate here, within the sanctuary of this r
oom. Devon was wrapped tightly around her, her skin warm against Jordan’s back, her arm snug around Jordan’s waist. Jordan found she liked being held by Devon. It made her feel loved.
They had made love throughout the afternoon and evening, stopping only for Jordan to let Max out sometime before nightfall. She returned to their bed—for she couldn’t now think of it any other way—and they began again. Jordan felt a blush staining her cheeks as she thought about the countless times—and ways—they’d made love. Devon’s head buried between Jordan’s thighs. Devon riding her hand, breasts swaying in the moonlight as she came undone. On their knees, pushing into each other, watching each other come.
Jordan felt herself stir at the memory. She could scarcely believe she wanted Devon again so much, so soon. She was an insatiable thing, wanton and craving, needful and greedy. She turned in Devon’s arms, intent upon making her desire known. But one look at Devon’s angelic face, so serene, so unguarded, and Jordan couldn’t bear to wake her. Her love grew effulgent, lighting the darkest corners of Jordan’s soul.
She had told Devon she loved her. She wasn’t sure if the words had been heard, but she couldn’t wait to tell her again. It didn’t matter if Devon wasn’t ready to say them, too. There would be time enough for that. Jordan would make sure of it.
She brushed golden hair back behind Devon’s ear and kissed her forehead softly. Devon stirred but did not wake, burying her face in Jordan’s neck. Jordan’s eyelids felt heavy, and though she wanted nothing more than to watch Devon sleep for hours, she fell into a deep slumber full of wondrous dreams.
*
Henry flicked on the entryway light, not bothering to turn on any others. He had lived in this house long enough to know his way around in the dark. He slipped off his jacket and hung it on the hook on the inside of the closet door, not bothering with a hanger or even opening the door all the way. He was too tired for such civility.
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