Bobby Singer made himself wait until he'd picked up dinner, checked into the motel, and cracked open a cold beer before he dialed the phone. He couldn't stop himself from tensing as the phone rang. What if she didn't pick up? Hours away from Bobby's room, Ellen Harvelle stoked the fire. Summer was scarcely over, too early to need a fire, but it had seemed right to light one, with the others all away from the house. She hefted the fire poker in her hand before she put it away, aware of its weight, the fact that it was made of iron. A potential weapon, one of several within her reach, but the house felt safe in spite of its air of anticipation. When the phone rang she hurried to pick it up. "Bobby. Good to hear your voice. I take it Caleb skipped town once he knew you were on to him?" He pushed aside the relief he felt, impatient with emotions he didn't want to face. It made his tone sharp when he replied, "That's jus...
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