Turn the Page -Sequel to More Than a Feeling

Chapter 15

Ruthie pulled back the curtain and peered through the window for the tenth time since Sam and Dean had left. The sun had sunk behind the hills well over an hour ago. She watched the street for a few moments, hoping to spot the Impala's headlights, but they didn't come. Her phone lay on the end table by the sofa, but she forced herself to leave it alone. Dean, especially, didn't like it when she called while they were hunting. The wrong timing could get them killed, he'd told her. So, she tried to hunt online for their next potential case, tried to watch TV, tried to tidy up the motel room. It was impossible to concentrate on anything when all she could think about was what might be happening to them.

She switched off the TV, picked up the final few pieces of dirty clothes she'd left on the floor, and stuffed them into her bag. She'd take all their stuff to the laundromat tomorrow.

Oh, wait. She wasn't allowed to leave the room. Well, maybe Sam would be her chaperone. She doubted Dean would volunteer for the job.

She sank onto the sofa. Something had changed in him, in the way he saw her. She'd seen it in his eyes just a few hours ago, when she'd advocated hunting the witch rather than the werewolf. She'd seen it the day before, when he questioned her about going off on her own. He had known she wasn't being honest with him. Now, in about twenty-four hours, he'd gone from nearly kissing her to keeping her at arms' length.

Ruthie inwardly berated herself—her new favorite pastime. Why did she have to pull such a stupid stunt? Why couldn't she just tell him the truth? It wouldn't have been that humiliating to swear to stay in the bunker forever if he would just promise not to send her away.

Okay, it would have been humiliating. But what did she have to lose? Only her pride. And what was that, compared with losing them?

What was taking them so long, anyway? She drummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa, eyeing her phone on the end table. After a few more seconds of drumming fingers and bouncing knees, she snatched it up and found the number she wanted.

"Agent Griffin," came the friendly drawl. "What can I do you for?"

"Hi, Officer Dixon. I was just calling to follow up on that suspect, wondering if you had any updates."

"No, ma'am; I wish I did. But like I said, you'll be the first person I notify if we hear or see anything."

"Okay. I appreciate it. Agents Plant and Page are out right now following up on the lead you sent me. Have you heard from either of them tonight?"

There was a long pause.

"Ma'am? I'm not sure I follow."

Now Ruthie paused. What was confusing about what she'd said? Maybe her phone had cut out. "I just said that my colleagues are checking out the lead you texted me on our suspect, and I wondered if you'd heard from them."

"Now, what lead is this, Agent Griffin? You say I texted it to you?"

Ruthie dug her fingernails into her palm. Maybe Dean was right about small town cops being mostly incompetent hicks. She tried to keep her voice cordial. "Yes, Officer. The lead you sent about a woman matching our suspect's description walking along the road out west of town. Carrying a bag from the Bluebird?"

"This is the first I'm hearing of it, ma'am. You sure you're not confusing me with somebody else in the department?" He gave a good-natured chuckle. "Maybe I didn't leave the impression I'd hoped."

Ruthie frowned at the voice on the other end of the line. It had only been a couple of hours. How could he have completely forgotten? She opened her mouth to say that she hadn't given her number to any other officer, when a pair of bright lights swept behind the curtains, and a rumbling engine halted just outside.