Season of the Wolf by Summers Robin

Author:Summers, Robin [Summers, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Gay
ISBN: 9781626390430
Google: MpfwnQEACAAJ
Amazon: B00J1V0T4Q
Goodreads: 18342360
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2014-03-08T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Devon stood, giving Jordan space. She watched as Jordan rolled both shoulders, and then rotated her left arm experimentally.

“Hey, that’s really good,” Jordan said, standing. “Were you a massage therapist in a past life or something?”

Devon shrugged. “One of them.” She saw understanding reach Jordan’s face.

“You know, it would really help if you could tell us where you’ve been since leaving Illinois,” Jordan said cautiously. “Who you’ve been. Henry’s working on tracking Billy’s movements. If we know where you’ve been—”

“Then you might find where he’s been, too,” Devon finished Jordan’s thought. She nodded in confirmation.

Devon was once again caught between the urge to tell Jordan everything and the instinct to run. She wanted so desperately to tell her the truth, but she feared Jordan would reject her if she knew, would walk away from her and never look back. She feared it more now than she had even twenty-four hours ago, because now she knew the loss would be so much greater than any she had experienced before. Devon wasn’t sure she could survive Jordan turning away from her. She should walk away now, before it was too late.

She sank slowly into a chair, trapped within her indecision. A heartbeat later, Jordan sat down, too, scooting her chair in close. Their knees touched, and she reached for Devon’s hand.

“I think the reason you’ve run so many times is that you were afraid Billy had found you,” she said gently. “And I think you were right. I think, at least once or twice, Billy was only a few steps behind you.”

Devon nodded slowly, so Jordan pressed on.

“If we can track his movements over the years, discover where he’s been and perhaps even what he’s done, it might give us some insight into how to find him. At the very least, it will ensure that when we do catch him, we can put him away forever.”

“You think he’s killed others,” Devon said, more statement than question.

“Yes,” Jordan answered. “And I think you do, too.”

Jordan’s simple statement, made without judgment, opened a door inside Devon that she had kept closed for ten years. The question was not whether she had the courage to walk through it—she wasn’t ready for that yet—but whether she was brave enough to push it open a little farther. She felt the safety and strength of Jordan’s hand holding her own.

“Do you have something I can write with?” Devon asked. Jordan brought back a notepad and pen.

“When I left DeKalb, I had no idea where I was going,” Devon said as she began to write. “I took one bus and then another, begging strangers for money to buy my next bus ticket and a little food. I finally ended up in Colorado, and I became Emily Pressman.”

Devon kept writing as she spoke. The names of who she had been were burned into her memory, like old friends she had lost touch with along the way but never forgotten. She wrote them down, along with cities, dates, addresses, occupations, and even people with whom she had associated—people Billy might have targeted.

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