The Fifth Victim Part 17

Caleb laced Jazzy's arm through his and led her toward the front entrance to the bar. "What I said to him is between me and him. Besides, it isn't something fit for a lady's ears."

Jazzy felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. n.o.body had ever called her a lady. And only a few had ever treated her like one.

"Come on inside and let me buy you a drink," she said. "And, call me Jazzy. I think we are going to be friends after all."

Chapter 13.

Genny sensed that Dallas wanted to stay longer, even if that need went against his better judgment. He'd gotten up to leave a couple of times, but kept lingering. He didn't understand why, of course, but she did. Everything in life happened for a reason. And despite any evidence otherwise, she knew there was a rhyme and reason to events, even those that seemed inexplicable. She had been waiting a lifetime for him, perhaps more than one lifetime. Waiting for the man destined to be her mate. Naturally, she'd known from the beginning that Brian MacKinnon wasn't the man for her; and even though she'd been drawn to Royce Pierpont, she'd never felt "the connection."

Granny Butler had told her once, long ago, she had known the moment she met Papa Butler that he was the one. She'd known because of the strong spiritual connection. Granny had tried to explain it to Genny, but until Genny had sensed Dallas Sloan's presence-even before he appeared on her doorstep-she'd had no idea how powerful the connection would be. And as Dallas and she spent more time together, the bond between them strengthened. He felt it, but dismissed it as mere physical attraction. He didn't believe in anything beyond the five senses, so it would take a while for him to come to terms with what was happening to him.

"You're awfully quiet," Dallas said. "Have I put you to sleep? I've been talking nonstop." He shrugged. "It's not like me to talk so much. But there's something about you that makes me want to tell you everything."

"I've been told that I'm a good listener."

"You must be. I've never talked so much in my entire life."

"It's been good for you to tell me about your family, about your two sisters. I love the way your mother chose her children's names. Savannah, Alexandria, and Dallas."

"She and Dad moved around quite a bit in the early years of their marriage. Wherever they lived when one of us was born, that's what she named that particular kid."

"Thank goodness you weren't born in New Orleans or Los Angeles or Salt Lake City."

"Yeah, and I'd hate to be the one named Savannah." Dallas chuckled. "Things were pretty good for us growing up. Until Mom died. After that, Dad was never quite the same. And unfortunately, his second marriage hasn't been a happy one."

Genny reached out and laid her hand on his. Instantly he stiffened. "Don't be afraid of me," she said.

He eyed her skeptically. "What are you talking about? Why would I be afraid of-"

She leaned closer to him on the sofa and placed her index finger over his lips to silence his denial. "I would never hurt you. Don't you know that?"

He grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face. "It's not you that I'm afraid of. It's myself. And you're the one who could wind up getting hurt. My track record with women isn't all that good."

"Are you trying to tell me that you've left a string of broken hearts behind you?"

Dallas let go of her wrist and took her hand in his. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm the wrong man for you, even for a brief affair. You and I aren't on the same page, so to speak. h.e.l.l, we aren't even in the same book. I'm a cynical b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I've spent twelve years with the Bureau and seen the world's underbelly, and it's not a pretty sight. I've had a couple of short-lived, semi-serious relationships, but for the most part, I'm a loner." He released her hand and eased backward, putting some distance between them.

"I'm a loner, too," she said. "I've had several romantic relationships, but none of them progressed to the serious stage. And although I tend to be an optimist, I've seen the dark side of life, too. In my visions."

"Dammit, Genny, that's another thing." Dallas shot to his feet. Standing over her, he focused on her face. "You have dreams and nightmares, and you call them visions. It's your subconscious or simply your imagination. Nothing more. Somebody did a number on you, convincing you that you possess some sort of psychic talents. I guess that grandmother of yours put the hoodoo on the people around these parts and-"

"Granny had powerful abilities," Genny told him. "She didn't put the hoodoo on anybody."

"Would you just listen to yourself? You honest-to-G.o.d think you're psychic! Do you have any idea how crazy that is?"

Why was it that when the man destined for her and her alone finally came into her life, he had to be such a stubborn jacka.s.s? "I am psychic. I do have visions. I can see into the future. I often know things before they happen. And I'm not crazy. I'm gifted. Or I'm cursed. Take your pick. There are times when I'd give anything to be normal. To be just like everyone else."

Dallas reached down, grabbed her by the shoulders, and yanked her to her feet. "I can't buy into that garbage. Believing s.h.i.t like that goes against my basic nature." After releasing her abruptly, he turned and paced the floor; then he stopped dead still and settled his gaze on her again. "I'll admit that you're unlike any woman I've ever met. There's something special about you, but...Let's just forget it, okay? I was a fool to come here tonight and a bigger fool for thinking..."

Halting midsentence, he gave her a hard look, then walked out of the room. Genny took a deep breath. Give him time, she told herself. He's fighting his feelings because he doesn't understand them.

He doesn't understand me!

When Genny followed Dallas, she found him in the foyer, putting on his overcoat. As she approached him, he kept his back to her and reached for the doork.n.o.b.

"Don't leave this way," she said.

She sensed him tense and knew he was running from her, trying to get away while he still could. What he didn't comprehend was the fact that he could never escape from her. Not now that they had actually met. Their lives would forever be intertwined.

"I didn't count on this...this thing between us," he admitted. "I don't want it, don't have time for it."

"You can run, but you can't escape."

He snapped his head around and glared at her. "I can sure as h.e.l.l try."

When he opened the door and walked out of her house, slamming the door behind him, Genny stood in the foyer for several minutes and listened to the sound of his car as he drove away. She pulled the edges of her cardigan sweater together over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and crisscrossed her arms at her waist, hugging herself.

All her life she had been different from other people, unlike the girls she knew. Some saw her as a freak; others envied her because of her unique talents. Many of the towns-people either accepted her or ignored her, a lot of them referring to her as the old witch woman's successor. She supposed that's exactly what she was. As long as her grandmother had lived, Granny had shielded her as best she could. And only Granny had truly understood what it meant to possess abilities few others had. But, then, those talents seemed to be hereditary, pa.s.sed down from grandmothers to granddaughters, similar to the way certain genes pa.s.sed on to her from her parents had given her black hair and brown eyes.

Genny sighed as she woke Drudwyn from his nap and herded him toward the back door. Before following him outside, she slipped on her heavy coat, hat, and gloves. The night sky glimmered with starlight, twinkling beacons from millions of miles away. The temperature had already dropped below freezing, but the wind was calm, making it feel less cold. While Drudwyn went about his business, Genny checked the greenhouses.

A barn owl flew overhead and lit in a nearby tree, then began an eerily mournful hooting chant. On the edge of the woods a pair of gray wolves watched, their eyes like amber crystals.

Once Genny had completed her nightly check and made her way toward the back porch, a sudden feeling of unrest came over her. She paused, breathed deeply, and waited. Her eyelids closed of their own accord. No, not now. Not here. She tried to make her feet cooperate, tried to walk, but she stood frozen to the spot as dark shadows crept into her mind. Wide awake, standing in the middle of the backyard, Genny gave herself over to the darkness, and the vision consumed her. And as with all the visions she'd experienced in the past, she had no control over this one.

The woman in Genny's vision lay quietly, her eyes wide with fear. When he touched her, she cringed, but she couldn't cry out or make any protest. She was gagged. Gagged and bound. He lifted her off the bed and carried her toward a door. Genny couldn't see the room, couldn't identify the woman or the man.

"Soon, my little lamb, very soon," he whispered in the woman's ear.

Genny did not recognize the voice, which wasn't really audible. The words seemed to be echoing inside her head as if she heard them through a filter. She dropped to her knees, but the vision didn't end, the images simply faded and then reformed at another time and place.

The woman lay on a slab of wood balanced by two wooden sawhorses. A makeshift altar. A glove-covered hand held an impressive, ornately decorated sword. Daybreak fought the darkness within a large empty s.p.a.ce. Genny heard two distinctive heartbeats. The man removed the gag from the woman's mouth. Her terrifying scream rent the deadly quiet.

Suddenly, all Genny could see was the woman. Her mouth. Her blond hair. Her tear-filled blue eyes.

Genny cried out. The owl swooped low and lit on a nearby tree branch. Drudwyn bounded toward her. The two wolves crept out of the woods, moving slowly in her direction.

Genny knew who the killer's next victim would be. She had seen her face. Clearly.

At dawn, Misty Harte would die.

Jacob glanced up from his desk and looked through the open doorway when Tewanda Hardy entered. She removed her hat and jacket and headed straight for his office.

"Any problems?" Jacob asked.

She shook her head. "All quiet on the western front."

"Any sign of Misty?"

"None," Tewanda replied. "No one has seen her today. Looks like you're the last person who saw her."

Jacob didn't like having to share information about his personal life with other people, certainly not with any of his deputies. Even if Misty wasn't Bobby Joe's sister, ordinarily he wouldn't have mentioned Misty spending the night with him. He wasn't the type to brag about his s.e.xual exploits. But with Misty apparently missing and Bobby Joe half out of his mind with worry, Jacob hadn't had much choice but to tell the deputies searching for Misty that she'd been alive and well when she'd left his apartment early this morning.

"Has Bobby Joe been in touch with all her friends?" Tewanda asked, and Jacob heard the unspoken accusation that Misty had so many male friends it might take a week to question them all.

"The ones he thinks she might have contacted. But he's come up with nothing. It's as if Misty vanished without a trace."

"You don't think...well, I mean, what with a killer on the loose and all-"

"I haven't been thinking of much else," Jacob admitted.

"No point in our jumping to conclusions. As flighty as Misty is, there's no telling where she might be. She could have just up and decided to take off somewhere and she'll call Bobby Joe tomorrow. She's done it before."

"Yeah, that's possible."

The phone on Jacob's desk rang. Tewanda jumped. Jacob tensed. He lifted the receiver and identified himself.

"This here's Jimmy Lewey, out on Pike's Gap. You remember me, don't you? Your old man and mine were hunting buddies. Anyhow, I heard you'ens been looking for Misty Harte."

"That's right. Do you know anything about Misty?"

Tewanda's eyes opened wide, her gaze questioning Jacob. When she started to speak, Jacob held up his index finger as a signal for her to wait.

"Ain't got no idea where she is, but I can tell you where her car is."

"What kind of car?" Jacob asked.

"Yellow Vega."

"Where is it?"

"Parked out back of the old filling station on Pike's Gap. I still own the building even though I ain't been in business for years. But I got me a sixty-five Mustang inside the garage there that I been working on. I go over a couple of nights a week, usually pretty late. Like tonight."

"Look, Jimmy, don't bother anything. Leave everything just like it is."

"You're thinking that killer's got hold of Misty, ain't you?"

"I'm not thinking anything in particular," Jacob said. "So don't go around telling folks that the sheriff thinks Misty is the third victim."

"Sure thing. I'll keep my trap shut."

"Wait around out there, will you? We're heading out that way right now," Jacob said.

He hung up the receiver and turned to Tewanda. "Misty's car is parked behind Jimmy Lewey's old service station out on Pike's Gap. Make a couple of calls. I want a wrecker out there to bring the car in and I need a search warrant issued ASAP. Call Judge Tubbs at home. And apologize for waking him."

"I'll contact Bobby Joe, too, and let him know."

"Yeah, you do that. And call Chief Watson."

"And tell him what?"

"I want some of his people on the job. I need all the help I can get. Tell the chief what we need to do is coordinate our efforts. It's time we form a task force to find this killer."

"You do think the killer's got Misty, don't you?"

"I think it's a d.a.m.n good possibility."

The room was lit solely by candlelight, golden, glistening illumination that cast gloomy shadows and doomed every corner to darkness. A low, repet.i.tive hum droned in his head as he listened to the chants reminiscent of the ones he'd heard so often as a child. Wherever he went, he sought people such as these, the children of the night who pet.i.tioned the spirit world for magical powers. Tonight was an auspicious time because, as all good witches knew, when the moon is in its crescent period, any and all things can be accomplished. But to have every aspect in perfect alignment, the experiments must be made by true believers, faithful, and diligent concerning the task at hand.

Wearing hooded dark robes, members of the cult formed a circle around the pentagram drawn on the concrete floor. He pulled his hood up over his head and took his place in the circle. Even though he knew where the greatest power came from, old habits died hard. Besides, he needed all the strength he could acquire, from whatever source, before the ultimate fifth victim gave him what he had longed to possess all his life.

The high priestess of this little band of occultists conducted the ceremony, her eyes glazed as if in a trance while her body swayed to some inaudible music that she and she alone could hear.

"I conjure thee, Emperor Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, Divine Master of Rebel Spirits," the priestess commanded. "Leave thine abode and come hither. I have great need of thee. Come, great lord, and communicate with thy lowly servant."

He could feel the sweet, sick blackness swirling all around him, caressing him, licking at his skin like a tongue of fire, whispering to him that all he desired would soon be his. He closed his eyes and joined the others in a murmured chant that would aid the high priestess with her summoning spell.

"I beseech thee to appear before me, Beelzebub, without harm to me and those here gathered to worship thee."

All the times his mother had beseeched the Devil to appear, he'd never seen the Master. Not once. But he had felt his presence on many occasions, especially when his mother had made sacrifices. The mesmerizing smell of fresh blood always excited him, even as a child. His mother and the cult which she led had been true craftsmen, knowing the ancient ways and practicing black magic as occultists had done for thousands of years. This little group here in Cherokee Pointe were rank amateurs in comparison.

"If thy presence be not possible, then I ask for thee to pluck a messenger from the bottomless abyss and send it in thy stead. Choose a demon and allow him to appear before us in human form and through him we will glorify thee."

A hushed stillness filled the room. They waited. The candles flickered.

"Bring forth the sacrifice," the high priestess shouted.

A robed figure came forward, a bound goat in his arms, and laid the animal on a shiny metal altar.

His heartbeat accelerated, his body tightened with arousal. Excitement zinged through his veins.

"We make this offering to you, Divine Lucifer, Lord Abaddon. Come to us and imbue us with thy power."

His mouth watered, thirsting for the taste of the animal's blood as he closely watched the knife that performed the sacrificial deed. Once he had garnered all the strength he could from this ceremony and these Devil worshipers, he would return to his little victim, sleeping in his bas.e.m.e.nt, waiting for him. At daybreak he could drink his fill of her life's blood. In only a few more hours, he would be one step closer to his ultimate goal.

Jazzy stood with Caleb McCord on the second-story stoop outside her apartment and smiled seductively at the stranger who had rescued her from Jamie. She couldn't remember ever being so immediately attracted to a man. Only common sense stopped her from making an utter fool of herself by inviting him to come in for a nightcap. She was pretty sure that if she invited Caleb in, he would wind up staying the night. G.o.d knew she wasn't ready for an affair, especially not with someone she'd just met. But offering the man a job at Jazzy's Joint was another matter entirely.

"If you're planning on staying in town for a while, I can give you a job," she said.

"What sort of job?" He leaned closer to her, his tall, lean frame blocking out everything else from her view.

"I'm going to fire my bouncer, if he ever shows up. I had planned to run an ad in the paper, but if you're interested-"