The Fifth Victim

by Beverly Barton

  “I’ll call Teri. We don’t need to waste any time. But when you talk to Chet and ask him for assistance, tell him that I’ve got a friend doing me a favor at the Bureau, just so we don’t work at cross purposes. And don’t mention Teri’s name.”

  “If our killer is the same man as the one who committed the crimes in Mobile, how long do you think we have before he strikes again?” Jacob asked. “He’s already killed two women only twenty-four hours apart.”

  “He has no specific time frame. Some of the murders were committed twenty-four hours apart, others three weeks apart. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it. But there’s one thing all the murders have in common, timewise.”

  Jacob narrowed his gaze. “And that would be?”

  “They’ve all occurred early in the morning, probably at dawn.”

  “The more I learn about this serial killer of yours, the freakier the whole scenario becomes. If our man is the same as yours, then we’re dealing with a very sick mind.” Jacob cursed softly under his breath. “Hell, what am I saying? Even if they’re two different guys, our killer is a real sicko. He’s gutted two innocent women.”

  “And if he’s my killer, and I’m sure he is, he’s already on the hunt for his third victim.”

  Genny put the kettle on so that when Jazzy arrived, they could have chamomile tea. Something soothing. Jazzy was deeply troubled and needed a calm, caring friend—a shoulder to lean on. Genny seldom wished ill to any of God’s creatures, not even bottom-feeders like Jamie Upton. But if she possessed the power to intervene in people’s lives, she would remove Jamie from Jazzy’s life. Permanently. Oh, no, she wouldn’t have him die, but she would have him leave Cherokee County and never return.

  After removing the container of chamomile from the cupboard, Genny measured the correct amount and placed it in the teapot on the counter. Granny had cultivated the Roman chamomile plant with double flowers because it possessed the strongest healing properties.

  The sound of a car entering the driveway alerted Genny to the arrival of a guest. By the time she made her way to the front door, Jazzy was on the porch. Genny flung open the door and held out her arms. Jazzy rushed into Genny’s embrace.

  “I’ve been going nuts ever since it happened.” Jazzy lifted her head from Genny’s shoulder. “You don’t know how close I came to killing that son of a bitch.”

  Genny grasped Jazzy’s hand and led her into the house. After closing the door, she escorted Jazzy into the kitchen.

  “Come with me,” she told her friend. “I’ll pour us up some tea and we’ll talk.”

  Jazzy followed like an obedient child. And anyone who knew Jazzy knew she wasn’t the type to be obedient or submissive. But she trusted Genny as she trusted no one else on earth, and Genny felt the same way about her. True friends.

  While Jazzy sat at the kitchen table, Genny prepared their tea, then handed Jazzy a cup and sat across from her.

  “Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

  Jazzy sighed loudly. “I’ve told you that he’s been pestering me, just as I knew he would.” Jazzy searched Genny’s face, apparently seeking some sign of understanding. “I’m finished with him. I can’t keep doing this to myself over and over again. I want him out of my life permanently. But”—Jazzy took a deep breath—“I don’t want him dead. I swear I don’t.”

  “Drink your tea, then tell me exactly what happened last night.”

  Jazzy lifted the cup to her lips and sipped the hot liquid. She shivered. “I hate this stuff.”

  “It’s good for you,” Genny told her. “Drink up.”

  Jazzy took several more sips. “He’d been drinking. He threatened to make a ruckus if I didn’t let him in. Stupid me, I thought I could handle him, talk sense to him.”

  “You should have called Jacob.”

  “I threatened to, but all he did was accuse me of screwing Jacob.”

  “Jacob wouldn’t have cared what he said. He’d have put him in jail overnight. You know Jacob isn’t afraid of Big Jim Upton.”

  “He—he would have raped me.”

  Genny opened her mouth in a silent gasp.

  Jazzy spoke slowly, softly. So softly that a couple of times, Genny could barely hear her. But she didn’t interrupt as Jazzy told her about her unnerving experience with Jamie.

  “And that’s when I threatened to blow his balls off. He knew I meant it.” Tears gathered in Jazzy’s luminous green eyes. “But it’s not over. He won’t let it be. He’ll come back again…and I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

  Genny reached across the table and took Jazzy’s hands into hers. “Come stay with me until he leaves town.”

  “I can’t do that. I have three businesses in town.” A tentative smile played at the edges of Jazzy’s lips. “Besides, I won’t give that bastard the satisfaction of thinking he has me running scared.”

  “We’ll call Jacob and ask him to have a little talk with Jamie.”

  “Jacob has his hands full right now with those murder cases.”

  “He can make time for a two-minute talk with Jamie.”

  “Two minutes, huh?” Jazzy’s lips widened into a full smile. “Yeah, you’re right. Jacob could put the fear of God into just about anybody in two minutes.”

  “Stay and have supper with me and Drudwyn, then I’ll call Jacob.” When Jazzy hesitated, Genny said, “I promise I won’t make you drink any more chamomile tea.”

  Jazzy laughed. “I’ll stay, but you don’t have to call Jacob. I’ll go by and see him when I drive back into town.” Jazzy glanced down at the tablecloth and began straightening invisible wrinkles in the material. “Genny…I…would you…”

  Genny looked her friend directly in the eyes. “What do you want?”

  “You know.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Jazzy nodded. “In all these years, I’ve never asked you to do it for me, but…Is it wrong of me to want to know?”

  “Wanting to know the future is neither right nor wrong, but sometimes it’s…dangerous.”

  “I need to know about Jamie. That’s all. Nothing else.”

  “You know it doesn’t work that way. Once I look into your future, I can’t control what I see.”

  Jazzy grasped Genny’s hands. “Just do it, will you? Please.”

  Genny pulled away and stood. “Let’s go into Granny’s room. It’s quiet and dark in there. And the candles are already set up.”

  Jazzy followed Genny upstairs and into Melva Mae Butler’s room, which lay in darkness, the curtains closed, the unmistakable scent of roses in the air. Granny had always smelled of roses because she used rose-scented powder. An antique four-poster dominated the fourteen-foot-square area. Genny went about the room and lit the white candles that were strategically placed throughout, then she sat in one of two chairs by a small, antique table. Jazzy took a deep breath and sat in the other chair. She laid her hands palms up on top of the table.

  Genny closed her eyes and repeated the name “Jasmine” several times. With her eyes still shut, she reached out, ran her open palms over Jazzy’s and let them remain there.

  Silence. The whispering moan of the winter wind. Steady breathing. Two hearts beating.

  Genny did “readings” for only a few people, those she knew truly believed in her abilities. She never took money, never asked for anything in return. Usually people came to her for a reading only when everything else had failed. Most people feared the future; few were brave enough—or foolish enough—to actually want to know what lay ahead for them.

  The readings weren’t like the visions. She had no control over the visions, and they were devastatingly real, almost like watching through the lens of a video camera. But that camera was held in someone else’s hands. When she did a reading, she didn’t get clear pictures. Or at least not often. She got feelings, sensed things, sometimes heard a voice inside her head whispering to her.

  “Sadness. Terrible sadness. A death. Not yours, but someone you know, someone�
��” Genny gasped. “A man is going to die.”

  “Is it Jamie? Do I kill him?” Jazzy’s voice quivered with apprehension.

  Genny squeezed Jazzy’s hands, then opened her palms and rested them atop Jazzy’s once again. “I don’t know who he is. But you are not responsible for his death. He will die soon. In a few months. His death harms you in some way.” Genny shivered.

  “In what way? How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is that all you see?”

  Genny didn’t respond. She simply sat very still, very quiet, and waited. If there was more to be told, it would come to her. She saw the shadow of a man, his image blurred. Genny felt a gentleness in him, a tender love toward Jazzy. And that’s when she knew.

  “Thank you, God,” Genny whispered.

  “What? What?”

  “There is a man—not Jamie and not Jacob—who will make you happy. He will be good to you.”

  “Will I be free of Jamie once and for all?”

  Genny hesitated. “Yes. Yes, you will be free of him.” The darkness consumed her momentarily. A black, swirling reality that threatened to pull her in and trap her. Genny understood and backed away from its power. Evil, not good. She opened her eyes. Her body went limp.

  Jazzy jumped up. “Are you all right?”

  Genny nodded. “I’ll be fine. I just need to rest for a few moments.”

  “Thank you so much.” Jazzy hugged Genny. “All I needed to know is that I don’t kill Jamie, but that I’ll be free of him. Finding out there will be a good man in my future who’ll treat me right was a bonus.”

  Two hours later, just as Jazzy cleared away the supper dishes, Drudwyn’s ears perked up and he growled.

  “It’s all right, boy.” Genny reached down to where he sat beside her and scratched his head. “I hear it, too. Someone just drove up.”

  “Were you expecting anybody?” Jazzy asked. Genny shook her head. “No, not really.” “What does that mean?”

  “It means I wasn’t expecting anyone, but I was sort of hoping that…well, that Dallas Sloan might—”

  The loud pounding at the front door stopped Genny midsentence.

  “Whoever it is wants your immediate attention,” Jazzy said. “You sit still and rest. I’ll see who it is.”

  Sessions such as the one she’d shared with Jazzy taxed her energy, but she usually recovered quickly, unlike when she experienced the visions over which she had no control. At least with the readings she could back away at any point.

  Genny rose from the chair, and with Drudwyn at her side, walked out of the kitchen. When she entered the hallway, she heard voices.

  “Come right on in. I think Genny was expecting you,” Jazzy said. “I was just leaving. I need to get back into town and tend to business.”

  “Don’t rush off on my account,” Dallas said. “I came by to ask for Genny’s help.”

  “What sort of help? You haven’t come for a reading, have you? Because if that’s why you’re here—”

  “Hush up!” Genny called out. “You’re saying too much.”

  She had to make Jazzy stop talking. Dallas Sloan didn’t believe in psychics, didn’t think people possessed a real sixth sense. She didn’t want to scare him off before he got to know her. He needed a chance to fully connect with her, to trust her, before he would be able to believe in her.

  Dallas and Jazzy turned around and stared at Genny.

  “I’m sure Dallas didn’t come here for that. He’s not interested in anything vaguely connected to sixth-sense abilities.” Genny rushed down the hallway, but the quick movement made her dizzy. She staggered, then reached out and placed her hand on the wall to steady herself.

  “Are you all right?” Jazzy asked.

  Dallas bolted past Jazzy, straight to Genny. His big hands came down on her shoulders. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re going to faint.”

  She gazed up into his blue, blue eyes and smiled. “I was dizzy there for a moment. I’m fine now.”

  “You haven’t had another one of those visions, have you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. He eased his hands across her shoulders, down her arms, and to her wrists, then released her.

  Jazzy cleared her throat. “I’m going to get my coat and head out.”

  “Promise me you’ll talk to Jacob,” Genny reminded her.

  “I promise.”

  Genny turned to Dallas. “Would you care for something to eat? I have plenty left over from supper.”

  “No, thanks. I’ve eaten already. At Jasmine’s.”

  “Best place in town,” Jazzy called out, then closed the front door behind her.

  Genny laughed. Dallas smiled.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “I need your help.”

  “In what way can I help you?”

  “You can help me find a serial killer before he kills again.”

  Chapter 12

  What the hell was he doing here? Dallas asked himself as he removed his hands from Genny’s slender shoulders and backed away from her. He’d tried his best to talk himself out of coming here, but, heaven help him, he’d been drawn back to this woman in a way that made absolutely no sense to him. For all he knew, she was a total crackpot. Dammit, you idiot, she believes she’s psychic. The woman has visions. And her friends and relatives actually believe she possesses these weird powers. But he knew better. She was a fraud—she had to be—just like all the other phonies who professed to be blessed with unusual talents like ESP.

  Genny stood there, her black eyes staring at him, as if penetrating far beyond what the normal human eye could see. Dallas glanced away from her and cleared his throat.

  “It’s all right,” she told him.

  “What are you talking about?” She hasn’t read your mind, he told himself. She simply made an assumption and guessed right.

  “You can be as skeptical as you’d like, and it doesn’t change anything.”

  “It’s no secret that I don’t believe in your hocus-pocus stuff.” Dallas shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “Look, it was probably a mistake my coming here. I just thought that maybe…” Reaching up with his right hand, he raked his fingers through his thick blond hair, grumbled incoherently under his breath, then said, “Hell, I don’t know why I’m here.”

  “Yes, you do. You told me yourself. You want my help to find the serial killer who murdered your niece.”

  “I know what I said, but I don’t see how you can help me. Not really. Just chalk this visit up to a guy having the hots for you.”

  “Do you have the hots for me, Special Agent Sloan?”

  His gaze collided with hers. She was smiling.

  Dallas grinned. “You don’t seem surprised. Don’t tell me you saw, in your crystal ball, my coming here tonight and acting like a fool.”

  Genny’s smile wavered slightly. “I don’t use a crystal ball.”

  “What is it about you, lady? We have absolutely nothing in common. My life is a holy mess. I have only one goal and that’s to find Brooke’s killer. So unless I’m just in bad need of getting laid, there’s no reason for my being here tonight.”

  Genny’s smile disappeared. “Are you in bad need of getting laid?”

  Had he actually said that to her? Damn! Shrugging, Dallas grunted. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. It’s just that you need to know I’m not the kind of guy who makes commitments, who gets involved. I’m not a man you can count on for the long haul.”

  “Are you warning me off?”

  “Do you always ask so many questions?”

  “Yes, when the answers are important.”

  “We’d mix like oil and water, you know.”

  Say good night and leave, he told himself. You aren’t getting any pussy from Genny Madoc. She’s not the one-night-stand type. You knew that before you showed up on her doorstep.

  “Oil and water, huh?” She took a tentative step toward him. “I was thinking more along the lines of a
stick of dynamite and a lit match.”

  Dallas drew in a deep breath as images flashed through his mind of Genny lying beneath him, her long, black hair spread out over a white pillow and her slender limbs wrapped around him.

  “Lady, you know how to hurt a guy.”

  She took another step toward him. He didn’t move, although his brain warned him to run. If she came any closer, he’d probably grab her and yank her into his arms.

  She halted. “How about some apple pie and coffee?”

  “Huh?” Her hospitable offer took him as much by surprise as the subject change.

  “Don’t go,” she told him. “And it doesn’t take a sixth sense to figure out that you’re on the verge of running from me. Stay, have some pie and coffee, and we’ll talk. About the serial killer. About Brooke. About whatever you need to talk about. I have a feeling you need someone to listen to you, to talk things over with, to care about what you care about, far more than you need to get laid.”

  She was right. He did need someone to talk to, someone to listen. Teri had been a real friend during the past eight months, and he’d relied on her to be his sounding board after Brooke’s murder. But he’d soon realized he was taking advantage of the feelings she still had for him. He’d backed off. She deserved better. He’d wanted her to have her chance with Linc, and as long as she thought he needed her, she wouldn’t move on. He’d allowed her to help him with his unofficial investigation and to drag Linc into the mix because he was desperate for help. But he’d quickly severed the emotional bond Teri had tried to rebuild between them.

  Now here was Genny offering to be a shoulder to cry on, and he was damn tempted to accept her offer.

  “I appreciate your offering to be my confidante. And you’re right about my needing somebody to listen and to care. But you’re sadly mistaken if you think a little hand-holding will satisfy me more than our fucking would.”

  Genny gasped. “Are you deliberately trying to scare me off?”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but it isn’t working.” She motioned for him to follow her. “Come on into the living room while I get the coffee and pie.”