The Awakening

“I may have beaten you to the punch this time,” Jonathan Devlin allowed. “But you come here often enough that I imagine you think of this as your place.” He gave a little wave as if to encompass our surroundings.

I stared back at him, trying not to show my nerves. “How would you know how often I come here? Or that I come here at all, for that matter.”

“There is very little I don’t know about you, Miss Gray.”

Apprehension quickened my breath. “That sounds ominous.”

“Yet you’re still here.” The light slanting down through the leaves caught him in such a way as to magnify the lines and creases in his face and the slight sag of his jowls. Despite his military posture and fitness, I detected a slight quake in his voice, a chink in his armor that he undoubtedly abhorred. A man such as he would cling to his vigor until his dying breath.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, his dark gaze taking my measure.

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