The Fifth Victim Part 11

"Ms. Talbot, why are you-?"

"Genny has a way of seeing the best in people. That's one of her gifts. She sees the best in you, Dallas Sloan. I'd hate to think you might disappoint her."

"Look, I don't know what she told you about me, but-"

"She told me that you were very kind to her this morning after she came out of...after her vision. She's always totally wiped out afterward and needs someone nearby. I'm glad she wasn't there alone."

Dallas glanced down and studied the tips of his damp shoes. Apparently those closest to Genny actually believed she had visions, that she possessed some sort of sixth-sense ability. He supposed it was easier to fool the people who loved you.

Before Dallas could think of a reply, Jazzy walked over to where Genny sat and spoke quietly to her. Genny lifted her gaze and looked right at Dallas. Her mouth widened into a broad smile. She threw up her hand and waved at him. Royce Pierpont pivoted slowly, only enough to glance over his shoulder at Dallas. A set of crystal blue eyes raked over Dallas with curiosity. And jealousy? Genny said something to Pierpont, leaned over to kiss his cheek, then picked up a box sitting on the table and walked toward Dallas.

He met her halfway and took the box from her. "The sheriff was worried about you," he said.

"I'm sorry if Jacob was concerned," Genny replied. "I got delayed by-"

"By your boyfriend? Or should I say one of your boyfriends?"

Genny looked at him in bewilderment, then sighed. "I see Jazzy's been talking to you."

Dallas grunted. "Where's your coat?"

"Oh, my, I forgot and left it-"

Pierpont walked up behind Genny and draped her coat around her shoulders. He allowed his hands to linger on her just a tad longer than Dallas liked, but Dallas forced himself not to stare at the man's possessive touch.

"You don't want to forget this," Pierpont said. "Can't have you getting chilled."

"Thank you, Royce." Genny offered him another brilliant smile.

Looking directly at Dallas, the man held out his hand. "I'm Royce Pierpont, one of Genny's gentlemen callers."

Was this guy kidding? Gentlemen callers? No one had used that archaic term in at least four generations.

"Special Agent Sloan." Dallas shook hands with Pierpont. The guy's handshake was soft and mild. And cordial. No machismo show of strength. Apparently he didn't see Dallas as a rival.

"Genny says you're going to be working with Jacob on these murder cases," Pierpont said. "I had no idea the FBI would be interested in a couple of deaths here in Cherokee County."

"The FBI is interested in illegal activities everywhere. And we always do what we can to help local law enforcement agencies."

"I see."

Dallas reached out, grabbed Genny's arm, and asked, "Ready to go?"

She nodded. "Enjoy your dinner," she said to Pierpont, then glanced at Jazzy. "I'll call you later, if the phones are working."

"If they're not working, she won't be staying alone tonight." The minute Dallas had thought the words, they'd flown out of his mouth.

Pierpont frowned. Jazzy smiled. Genny's soft, pink lips formed a silent gasp of surprise.

At seven-thirty Dallas Sloan left Jacob's office with Genny. The three had shared the delicious vegetable soup and hardy roast beef sandwiches prepared by Gertie. And they'd topped off the meal with bowls of the absolutely best blackberry cobbler in the world, made from Miss Ludie's recipe, with the wild blackberries that grew in the Tennessee hills.

Although she'd known that Dallas and not Jacob would see her home tonight, she felt an amazing sense of antic.i.p.ation as he pulled his new rental car up behind her Trailblazer in the partially icy driveway at the side of her house. Exactly what did she expect to happen? She didn't really know. But something was transpiring between her and the FBI agent who had entered her life less than twenty-four hours ago. Something unusual. Something extraordinary. If asked, he would probably deny it, but he would simply be lying to himself. He could postpone the inevitable, delay it for a while; but in the end there would be no denying the truth.

By the time she unlocked her door and got out, Dallas had exited the car and stood at her side. "I'll go in with you and check things out before I leave. If your phones aren't working, I'm taking you back into town."

"I'll be perfectly safe right here," she insisted.

He grabbed her arm and gently tugged her into motion. Together they made their way carefully over the patchy blanket of snow-covered ice still coating the ground.

When he headed her toward the front of the house, she balked. "Let's go in at the back. There aren't any slick steps to climb if we go in that way."

"All right."

After swinging open the screen door to the back porch, she headed straight for the kitchen door. Holding the decorative silver chain laden with keys, she inserted the key into the lock of the door and turned it. She opened the door and Dallas followed her into the kitchen. Genny flipped a switch and the room filled with light. Drudwyn rose from his bed in the corner and came charging toward them. Kneeling, Genny grabbed Drudwyn around the neck and hugged him.

"I'll bet you need to go out, don't you, boy?"

She watched while he galloped past Dallas and out onto the porch. He shoved open the screen door and disappeared into the darkness.

"The electricity is back on," Genny said. "I'll try the phone."

"Yeah, you do that."

As she lifted the phone from the base mounted on the wall, Dallas waited, his gaze fixed on her. The moment she put the receiver to her ear, she heard a dial tone.

"The phone's working."

"Good." He stood near the door, still bundled in his overcoat, scarf, and leather gloves.

"Would you like to stay for a while?" she asked as she removed her gloves, hat, and coat and tossed them onto a kitchen chair. "I can fix decaf coffee or tea."

"I should probably head on back." His gaze kept shifting from her face to various angles of the room, as if being alone with her made him uncomfortable. "I need to check in at the rental place and then find my cabin before it gets too late."

"Jazzy said one of the cabins close to town was available, so you shouldn't have any problem finding it." Genny finger-combed her waist-length hair, knowing it must be a mess after being trapped under her knit hat.

"Your friend Jazzy is quite the entrepreneur, isn't she? She owns a restaurant, a bar, and rental cabins."

"She's a partner with a couple of other people in Cherokee Cabin Rentals," Genny explained. "But you're right-Jazzy is a remarkable lady."

"She said something similar about you."

"Did she?"

"She and your cousin Jacob actually believe you possess some sort of special powers, don't they?"

Genny heard the skepticism in his voice. He had told her he was a logical man who didn't believe in anything he couldn't experience with his five senses. Did that mean he thought himself incapable of real love? Love wasn't always logical. And although physical love could be experienced through the senses of taste, touch, sight, hearing, and smell, a spiritual love-one that bonded two souls for eternity-could not.

"You don't believe," she said. But you will. Someday soon, you will.

"If it was anyone other than you, I'd call you a phony, but...Undoubtedly you've somehow convinced yourself that your dreams-your nightmares-are visions. Maybe it's because of your grandmother's influence. If she thought she was a witch-"

"She didn't think she was a witch," Genny said. "Some people called her a witch woman because of her powers. Granny had the sight, that's all."

"Do you know how preposterous that sounds? In this day and age, sane people don't believe in hocus-pocus. But there are thousands who want to believe in magic, want to believe there are easy solutions to their problems. There are so many d.a.m.n charlatans out there preying on emotionally vulnerable people. You wouldn't believe the phonies I've run into in my job."

"And what about the psychics who aren't phonies?"

"There is no such animal."

Dallas's statement was more than a proclamation. It was a protective shield, guarding him from her. Perhaps he didn't know it; but she did.

"I see." She saw beyond the surface, deep inside this big, lonely man with the wounded heart and tormented soul.

She turned and busied herself preparing decaf coffee while Dallas stood near the door. After a few silent moments, he slipped off his gloves and stuck them in his overcoat pocket, then he removed his coat and laid it across the back of a wooden kitchen chair.

"Anything I can do to help?" he asked.

"Just listen for Drudwyn when he scratches at the back door."

"Sure."

Genny removed two Blue Willow cups and saucers from an upper cabinet and placed them on the table. She remembered that Dallas took his coffee black, as did she, so there was no need to provide cream and sugar. The silence between them lingered. The coffee brewed. The clock in the hall struck eight-fifteen.

"Would you tell me about your niece?" Genny asked, sensing that Dallas had never truly shared his grief with anyone. He wasn't the type of man to open a vein and emotionally bleed all over the place.

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything you'd like to tell me." Genny lifted the gla.s.s pot from the coffeemaker, walked over to the table, and filled both cups to the brim, then returned the pot to the warmer.

Dallas pulled out her chair and seated her before he sat across from her and lifted the decorative cup to his lips. He took a sip. "Brooke was fifteen. Her birthday was a few weeks after.... She was a beautiful girl. Blond, blue-eyed. The all-American type. And she was smart and sweet and..." He took another sip of coffee, then held his cup between both hands.

"And you loved her dearly," Genny said.

Dallas glared at Genny, fighting his need to admit how deeply affected he'd been by Brooke's death. He set his cup on the saucer and looked down at the table. "She was my sister's first child. We all adored her. She was a great kid."

Genny reached across the table and laid her hand over his. He tensed immediately, as if he found her touch unbearable. She grasped his hand and squeezed. Their gazes clashed, and he quickly looked away, then withdrew his hand.

"I should get going." He scooted back his chair and stood. "Be sure to lock up when I leave. And please be extra careful."

Genny stood, then followed him to the back door and onto the porch. Drudwyn bounded out of the woods. The pale moonlight reflected off the white snow and illuminated the yard.

"Dallas?"

He paused, glanced over his shoulder, and looked right at her. "Yeah?"

"Good luck finding what you're looking for."

"I want this killer caught and stopped," Dallas said. "I don't want any more families to have to go through the h.e.l.l we went through when we lost Brooke."

Genny sensed that what Dallas really wanted was to kill Brooke's murderer with his bare hands, to strangle the life out of him, slowly, cruelly. She shuddered at the thought of Dallas's big, strong hands committing murder.

But was retribution really murder?

Genny nodded. "Drive carefully."

"I will," he replied. "Now take Drudwyn and go back inside and lock the door before I leave."

She did as he asked, then rushed through the house to the windows in the living room where she had a sideways view of the drive. She stood there and watched Dallas back out onto the road, not moving until his rental car disappeared into the darkness.

Jazzy stepped into the bubbling water in the Jacuzzi tub in her bathroom. As she eased her naked body beneath the warm water, she sighed aloud. Today had been a long day, as had yesterday. Two murders in twenty-four hours. The whole town was tense and nervous, not knowing what was going on and wondering if or when another victim would be chosen. Last night's winter storm had left many county residents without power or telephone service-just what people didn't need to happen with a murderer on the loose. Business at Jasmine's and Jazzy's Joint had been down these past two nights. Even though there wasn't much tourist trade during the winter, she could usually count on a healthy local clientele to keep both establishments financially in the black.

She supposed she thought about, worried about, and concentrated too much on money. But she'd grown up without any money. Poor as church mice was the way Aunt Sally had described them. Being poor never seemed to bother Sally Talbot, but Jazzy was different. From an early age, she'd yearned for all the things money could buy. As a teenager, she'd wanted the nice house, the fancy car, the pretty clothes. But more than all the material things money could buy, she had longed for the respect it seemed to bring with it. G.o.d, how she'd envied the MacKinnons and the Uptons. She supposed that was the reason she'd been attracted to Jamie in the first place. Not so much because he was handsome and charming, but because he was rich. She had thought marrying Jamie and becoming an Upton could make all her dreams come true.

She'd given her virginity to Jamie when she was sixteen. He had professed his undying love, so she'd been certain that when she told him she was pregnant with his child, he would marry her.

Jazzy lifted the loofah sponge and ran it over each arm and then each leg. At twenty-nine she still possessed a flawless body, unmarred by childbirth.

A deep sadness clutched at her heart, but she forced it away, refusing to relive that painful part of her life.

You'd better remember, she told herself. Only by learning from your mistakes will you be able to protect yourself. She had forgiven Jamie time and again, had fooled herself into believing that he could change and become the man she needed. But each time, in the end, she and she alone paid the price of her foolishness.

Jamie had come into her life and gone away so many times during the past ten years that she couldn't keep track. His current fiancee was the third and would, no doubt, go the way of his previous conquests. Once they discovered what Jamie was all about, they fled home to Mommy and Daddy and the protection of their wealthy families. And whenever Jamie came back to Cherokee County, with or without a woman in tow, he always sought out Jazzy. She supposed that in his own way he was as addicted to her as she was to him. They were in each other's blood, like some insidious poison.

But this time she wouldn't give in to him. The only way she could survive was to find a way to rid herself of the slow-acting poison that would eventually kill her. She didn't think she could live through loving Jamie again, knowing it was only a matter of time before he broke her heart.

Jazzy soaked in the tub until the water became barely lukewarm, then she rose, got out, and dried herself. Just as she wrapped her quilted satin robe around her, she heard the doorbell ring. Who the h.e.l.l? But she knew. Before she made her way through her bedroom and into the living room of her apartment above Jasmine's, she knew who waited for her on the other side of the door.

Standing at the door, she took a deep breath, then asked, "Who is it?"

"Let me in, lover," Jamie said, his voice slightly slurred.

He'd been drinking. One of his many vices.

"Go away," she told him.

He pounded on the door. "I'm not leaving."

"If you don't go, I'll call Jacob."

Jamie snorted. "What is it with you and Butler? You like f.u.c.king that big, ugly Indian?"

"d.a.m.n you, Jamie. Leave me alone."

He continued pounding on the door and began saying her name repeatedly. "Jazzy...Jazzy...Jazzy..."

She unlocked and then opened the door, her heart beating ninety-to-nothing. He stood there, one arm braced on the doorjamb as he swayed forward and grinned.

"I've missed you, lover," Jamie said. "I've missed you something awful."