Beg to Die

by Beverly Barton

  “You’re enjoying this too damn much. Whatever it is, it must be good.” Jacob eased his feet off his desk, shoved back his chair and stood. “Don’t tell me. McCord turned out to be a dirty cop.” Dallas shook his head. “He screwed up and got kicked off the force?” Dallas shook his head again. “Whatever this other information is, it has nothing to do with him being a policeman, does it?”

  “Bingo!” Dallas walked over to the coffeemaker on the corner table, picked up a clean mug, and poured himself a cup. “Just to set the record straight, McCord was a topnotch cop.”

  “Just spit it out, will you?”

  “Teri had no idea that just by checking simple things like McCord’s birth records, his school records, and so on, that she’d blow McCord’s cover here in Cherokee County,” Dallas said. “You know what McCord’s name is?”

  “It’s not Caleb McCord?”

  “Yeah, but it’s his middle name you might find interesting.” Dallas paused for effect, then said, “The name on his birth certificate is Caleb Upton McCord. His father is listed as deceased. A guy named Franky Joe McCord.”

  “And the mother’s name?”

  “Melanie Upton McCord. Does that ring a bell? Is she related to Big Jim Upton?”

  “Melanie Upton was Big Jim’s daughter,” Jacob said. “My God, that means—”

  “Caleb McCord is Jamie’s first cousin.”

  “And the sole heir to the Upton fortune now that Jamie is dead.”

  Caleb placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa. When he turned to tell Jazzy that supper was served, he realized she was fast asleep. Worn to a frazzle. She lay there cuddled in the fetal position as if protecting herself. Let me protect you, he wanted to say. Let me take care of you.

  There had been other women in his life, but not that many. He’d always been the type who preferred quality over quantity. And he’d never actually been in love. In lust several times, but never in love. And maybe he wasn’t in love with Jazzy. He was smart enough to know that desperately wanting a woman and loving one wasn’t the same thing. But damn it all, from the night they met at Jazzy’s Joint—the first time he rescued her from Jamie—he’d realized that Jasmine Talbot was different from all the other women he’d known. It had been a gut-level reaction. A recognition. And despite the fact that she’d still been partly hung up on Jamie, Jazzy had felt it, too. He knew she had. The sexual tension between them had been electric. If he had just pushed a little harder that night when he walked her to her door, she’d have invited him in. He’d gone over that night a thousand times, and every time he mentally kicked himself for being such a damn gentleman. If only he had taken her to bed and fucked her like crazy, things would be different now. They’d be a couple, and she might not be the prime suspect in Jamie’s murder.

  Hell, maybe it was just his ego—or maybe it was part of that recognition thing between Jazzy and him—but he believed that once they made love, she would be his. Heart and soul. And that’s what he wanted. Other men had possessed her body. And yeah, he sure as hell wanted that. But he wanted more. Only Jamie Upton had possessed her heart—ever since she was sixteen. He wanted her to love him like that, with all her heart. But what he wanted most, what he figured no other man had ever had, was a connection that went a lot deeper. Soul deep.

  Just looking at her made his body hard and his mind soft as mush. She was gorgeous. Classic features like an old movie star, like that sexy redheaded bombshell from the forties—Rita Hayworth. He knew she dyed her hair that shocking shade of bright red, but he figured that she was a real redhead, just a more subdued shade. And subdued was never a word anyone would associate with Jazzy. God, how that name suited her. She was sultry and sexy and seductive. And her sexuality and beauty was right out there, right in your face. During the three months he’d known her, he’d figured out that she wasn’t the hot-to-trot little number most people thought she was. Unless she’d slept with Jamie—and he tended to believe her when she said she hadn’t—there hadn’t been a man in her bed since Caleb had known her. He suspected that her reputation as a tramp was grossly exaggerated.

  Caleb lifted the afghan higher, enough to cover her to her shoulders. Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead. Leaving her to rest, he walked quietly over to the portable phone, picked it up, and carried it into the kitchen. He figured he’d try finding out what he could about Reve Sorrell on his own, and if his Memphis contact didn’t come through for him, he’d go to Dallas Sloan. Although he liked Sloan and Butler well enough, he didn’t know them any better than they knew him. He figured he could trust them where Jazzy was concerned, but he had a few secrets he’d rather keep hidden for the time being. If he got too chummy with them, they just might ask him too many personal questions.

  Knowing Lieutenant Joe Donovan’s cell number by heart, Caleb quickly punched the touch-tone keys and waited while the phone rang.

  “Donovan here.”

  “Hey Joe, how are things in the River City?”

  “Who the—McCord, is that you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where the hell are you, man? You just up and disappeared after you got out of the hospital.”

  “I’m in a picturesque little mountain town called Cherokee Pointe, Tennessee.”

  “Getting some R and R? Doing a little fishing?”

  “Working as a bouncer in a juke joint.”

  Donovan laughed. “You’re kidding me.”

  “The owner is a friend.”

  “A new friend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A lady friend?” Donovan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “You old dog, you.”

  “Think what you will,” Caleb told him. “But I haven’t called you to discuss my love life or lack thereof. I need a favor.”

  “Name it and it’s yours.”

  “I want some information on a lady.”

  “Your lady?”

  “No, not my lady. On a very rich, very stuck-up gal named Reve Sorrell.”

  “Sorrell…Sorrell. For some reason it rings a bell.”

  “How much do you think you can find out about her before morning?”

  “Why the rush?”

  “Because I figure the lady will be leaving town soon, probably tomorrow sometime, and I need that info fast.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Hey, McCord…you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m all right.”

  “Glad to hear it. Some of us were…concerned, when you just up and left without a word.”

  “Call me as soon as you get anything on Reve Sorrel, okay?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Jasmine Talbot had been arrested. The district attorney would present his case to a grand jury and then Jazzy would be turned over for trial. And she’d be found guilty. What a delicious thought: Jazzy suffering, paying for her sins. If there was any true justice, she would be sentenced to death. But if the charge was second degree murder, then imprisonment would be Jazzy’s only punishment. If that happened, she knew what she had to do. But she wouldn’t kill Jazzy, not until after she had suffered a great deal more. Not until after the trial. The way she had things planned, Jazzy would be the last to die.

  Now that Jamie was dead and her plans for Jazzy were falling into place, she needed to do what she had originally come to Cherokee Pointe to do—take care of her baby and exact revenge on the others who had wronged her and her child.

  It wasn’t her fault that she had been separated from her baby. It was their fault. She would never have willingly let them take her away. How could anyone be so cruel as to separate a mother and child? But he hadn’t cared—not about her and not about their little girl. If he had loved their daughter the way he said he did, he wouldn’t have taken her away from a mother who loved her.

  Tears moistened her cheeks. Was she crying? She didn’t cry. Not anymore. There was no reason to cry. Everything was all right. Jamie was dead. J
azzy would be punished severely before she died. The others would pay for their sins. And her sweet baby was safe.

  “You’re safe, precious darling.” She hurried across the room to where the baby lay sleeping in the middle of the bed. Beautiful baby girl. Safe. Safe with the mother who loved her. “You want Mommy to hold you and rock you and sing to you, don’t you? That’s what I want, too.”

  She lifted the child into her arms and kissed her sweet, pink cheeks as she carried her to the rocking chair. She sat down and began to rock and hum, the same lullaby she had sung to her other baby.

  No, no, there was no other baby. Only this one. Only my little girl.

  She stopped rocking and looked down at the child in her arms. “It’s all right. Mommy’s just a little confused. I thought you were my only baby girl, but…but she’s my little girl, too. I killed Jamie to protect her. No, that’s not right. I killed Jamie to protect you.”

  Sighing contentedly, she hugged her child to her breast as she began rocking and humming again.

  Jazzy woke with a start, a scream frozen on her lips. She’d been dreaming. Crazy, mixed up things. Jamie’s bloody hands reaching out for her, strangling her. Don’t panic, she told herself. It was only your subconscious mind telling you that Jamie is reaching out from the grave to destroy your life. As if he hadn’t done enough while he was alive!

  Only a lamp in the corner of the living room gave off any light. A forty-watt bulb. She lifted her head and glanced around at the dimly lit area. Caleb sat in the chair across from her, his head bent, his breathing soft and even. He was asleep.

  What time is it?

  She threw off the afghan and swung her legs around so that her feet touched the floor. That’s when she noticed the tray on the coffee table. Caleb had fixed her a sandwich and a cup of tea. Lifting her left wrist, she checked her watch. Eleven-eighteen. Jazzy’s Joint would be closing soon and the rumble of jukebox music would fade away, as would the muffled sound of talk and laughter. One of the drawbacks of having an apartment over a bar was the noise at night. But since she was usually at Jazzy’s Joint until it closed, the noise had never bothered her.

  Jazzy’s stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Wonder what kind of sandwich Caleb fixed? She leaned over and reached toward the tray. When she picked up the sandwich and discovered it was bologna and cheese on wheat bread, she smiled. He’d remembered her favorite.

  She studied him as he slept, and everything female in her reacted to all that was so very male in him. For months now she had fought her attraction to Caleb, giving herself a hundred and one reasons not to have an affair with him.

  Why did I fight so hard to resist him? Damn it, why didn’t I just give in to what I wanted? Because you knew it would be more than sex with Caleb and you were afraid to love another man. Fucking is one thing, but loving is another.

  Jazzy bit into the sandwich. Delicious. God, she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. As she savored every bite, she groaned with satisfaction.

  “If you react that way to eating a sandwich, I’m wondering how you react to real pleasure,” Caleb said.

  Jazzy gasped, then laughed and licked her lips. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was until somebody started moaning and groaning.”

  “You should have gone on home,” she told him. “You didn’t have to stay.”

  He yawned and stretched, then looked point blank at her. “Yeah, I did.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you stayed. I really don’t want to be alone.”

  “We’re going to make sure you’re never alone,” Caleb said.

  “We?”

  “Genny, Sally, Ludie, and I. Whenever I can’t be with you, one of them will be.”

  “Who decided I needed a full-time babysitter?” Jazzy gobbled up half the sandwich, then wiped her hands on the napkin beside the teacup.

  “It was a unanimous decision. Even Jacob and Dallas voted in the affirmative.”

  Jazzy stood up and walked around the coffee table that separated the sofa from the chair where Caleb sat. She stood over him for a minute, then leaned down and placed her hands on his shoulders. “So does this mean you’re spending the night?”

  Caleb removed her hands from his shoulders, pushed her back, and stood. “Consider me your personal bodyguard.”

  Standing so close to him, she could feel his heat. And could almost hear the beat of his heart. Although she was five-eight, she had to look up at him because he was a good six inches taller. She draped her arms around his neck and gazed into his whiskey-golden eyes.

  “Just who are you, Caleb McCord, and where have you been all my life?”

  “Don’t you know, sweetheart? I’m your prince charming, and I’ve been waiting for you to wake up from an evil spell so I could come riding in on my white horse and take you to live happily ever after with me in my castle.”

  Jazzy laughed. And God, it felt so good to laugh. She kissed him. Just a happy-to-be-alive kiss. A prelude to something more. He didn’t take advantage, didn’t press for anything else. Inside that rough and rugged exterior beat the heart of a true gentleman.

  “I can sleep on the sofa,” she told him. “Why don’t you take the bed?”

  “No, way. No white knight worth a damn would let a true princess sleep on the sofa.”

  “Is that the way you see me…as a princess?” Her heart fluttered wildly, as if it had never heard a compliment before tonight.

  “Actually, Jasmine Talbot, you’re not a princess.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand as his gaze locked with hers. “You’re a queen.”

  Tears misted her eyes. “Damn you, McCord. You’re not real. You know that, don’t you? You’re too good to be true.”

  “Yeah, that’s what all the ladies say.”

  With tears glistening in her eyes, she laughed again, and when Caleb put his arm around her waist and led her to her bedroom, she knew he wouldn’t come in and stay. He was simply walking her to her door. He would sleep on the sofa. Like the true prince charming he was.

  Chapter 19

  When Caleb pulled his ’57 Thunderbird, which he had personally restored a few years ago, onto the asphalt drive, he saw her putting her bag in the trunk of a dark blue classic Mercedes.

  No doubt when she’d found herself ordered not to leave town, she’d sent someone from Chattanooga with another car. Odd how that at a distance she could easily pass for Jazzy, especially if her hair was shorter and a brighter red. At the same time, Reve Sorrell resembled Jazzy less from far away because she was probably a couple of inches taller—about five-ten, he’d say—and outweighed Jazzy by a good twenty pounds. He parked the car and got out. She ignored him completely as she headed back toward the rental cabin.

  “Ms. Sorrell,” he called to her.

  She paused, but didn’t turn around.

  He’d made it here just in time. Another ten minutes and she’d have been on the highway headed back to Chattanooga. Of course, if he’d found her gone, he would have followed her—down Interstate 75, all the way home, all the way back to that big fancy house she owned on Lookout Mountain.

  “We need to talk,” he told her.

  She glanced over her shoulder and pinned him with a don’t-bother-me glare. “What could we possibly have to talk about, Mr. McCord?”

  “Your sister.”

  “I’m an only child. I don’t have a sister.” She walked toward the cabin.

  “You were adopted,” Caleb said. “When you were an infant.”

  Her body tensed for a millisecond, barely long enough for him even to notice the pause in her quick steps.

  “Spencer and Lesley Sorrell adopted a baby girl who had been thrown in a Dumpster and left for dead in Sevierville twenty-nine years ago. The birthday they gave you is only a few days different from Jasmine Talbot’s birthday. Do you really believe it’s nothing more than a coincidence that you two look enough alike to be twins?”

  “We are not twins!” Reve hal
ted and turned to face him. “I don’t know how you found out such personal things about me, but I am not that Jazzy person’s sister. I couldn’t be.”

  “I think you are.”

  “Then you think wrong.”

  “When Jamie Upton told you about Jazzy, you were curious enough to hire a private detective to check her out. And once he provided you with information and pictures, you must have thought there was a chance you two were related or you wouldn’t have come to Cherokee Pointe to see her, to check her out in person.”

  “I made a mistake,” Reve said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to lock up before I leave.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry?”

  “I have been delayed here for several days against my will by that barbarian sheriff of yours because I bear a vague resemblance to a woman who murdered her lover and because I don’t have an eyewitness to my whereabouts when the man was killed.” Reve’s cinnamon brown eyes flashed with anger. He’d seen that same expression on Jazzy’s face countless times and couldn’t help but wonder if, beneath those green contacts Jazzy wore, her eyes were as fiery dark as Reve’s.

  “Jazzy didn’t kill Jamie,” Caleb said. “She was with me part of the time that morning. She’s been framed, and she needs a really good lawyer.”

  “What she does or doesn’t need has absolutely nothing to do with me.”

  “Jazzy’s blood type is AB negative.” He paused to allow that bit of information to sink in, then said, “The same as yours.”

  She shrugged, but he caught a look of surprise she wasn’t able to disguise. “So?”

  “So that’s a very rare blood type.”

  “It’s just another coincidence.”

  “Jazzy’s right handed and you’re left handed. That’s a trait many identical twins have.”

  “Go away, Mr. McCord. Nothing you say will persuade me to stay and become better acquainted with that woman.”

  “Is that why you think I’m here?”

  “Isn’t it?”