Jax found her.
She had expected this — had expected, with the lodestone's specific sensitivity to his frequency, that he would come to her. Not that she would go to him. The other four she had gone to in some sense — not calculated, not managed, but she had been the one moving toward them, the lodestone's pull carrying her in the right direction at the right moment. With Jax she had the specific sense that the direction ran both ways with equal force. That he would come at the same moment she arrived.
She was in the kitchen.
He came in at nine in the evening.
He'd been in the sitting room with Thomas for the better part of two hours — she'd felt it, the quality of the conversation, Jax's specific warmth directed at the older man with the limp, the specific gift he had for making people
