The Last To Die

by Beverly Barton

  COLD-BLOODED KILLER

  The Con­g­re­ga­ti­onal Church was pac­ked to ca­pa­city, the san­c­tu­ary and the ves­ti­bu­le. A crowd had gat­he­red out­si­de on the front steps and down the si­de­walk. She knew that the­se pe­op­le we­ren't he­re to show the­ir res­pects to Jamie. Not many pe­op­le had li­ked Jamie. Qu­ite a few had des­pi­sed him. And se­ve­ral had ha­ted him, as she had. The hu­ge out­po­uring of sympathy was for Big Jim and Miss Re­ba.

  The she­riff and the chi­ef of po­li­ce we­re he­re, re­min­ding ever­yo­ne that Jamie had be­en mur­de­red. Tor­tu­red I and tor­men­ted. Ma­de to suf­fer. Pu­nis­hed for his sins. She'd se­en to that. She'd ma­de su­re he wo­uld ne­ver hurt her, her child, or any ot­her wo­man-not ever aga­in. Jaz­zy Tal­bot was con­s­pi­cu­o­usly ab­sent. Go­od. She'd ha­ted to think that wor­t­h­less slut wo­uld da­re show her fa­ce.

  As she wat­c­hed whi­le ot­hers pa­ra­ded by Jamie's clo­sed cas­ket, she had to fight the ur­ge to smi­le-even la­ugh. She had des­t­ro­yed his pretty fa­ce and si­len­ced his lying mo­uth. And now Jaz­zy was suf­fe­ring.

  But not ne­arly as much as she wo­uld suf­fer. The wo­man had to die. De­ser­ved to die. Wo­uld die. But not yet.

  When this all ca­me to an end and ever­y­t­hing was as it i sho­uld be, Jaz­zy wo­uld be…

  Books by Beverly Barton:

  AFTER DARK

  EVERY MOVE SHE MAKES

  WHAT SHE DOESN'T KNOW

  THE FIFTH VICTIM

  THE LAST TO DIE

  Published by Zebra Books

  The Last to Die

  Beverly Barton

  CONTENTS

  Pro­lo­gue

  Chap­ter 1

  Chap­ter 2

  Chap­ter 3

  Chap­ter 4

  Chap­ter 5

  Chap­ter 6

  Chap­ter 7

  Chap­ter 8

  Chap­ter 9

  Chap­ter 10

  Chap­ter 11

  Chap­ter 12

  Chap­ter 13

  Chap­ter 14

  Chap­ter 15

  Chap­ter 16

  Chap­ter 17

  Chap­ter 18

  Chap­ter 19

  Chap­ter 20

  Chap­ter 21

  Chap­ter 22

  Chap­ter 23

  Chap­ter 24

  Chap­ter 25

  Chap­ter 26

  Chap­ter 27

  Chap­ter 28

  Chap­ter 29

  Chap­ter 30

  Epi­lo­gue

  AS GO­OD AS DE­AD.

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBUSHING CORP

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  ZEBRA BO­OKS are pub­lis­hed by Ken­sin­g­ton Pub­lis­hing Corp. 850 Third Ave­nue New York, NY Cop­y­right © 2004 by Be­verly Be­aver All rights re­ser­ved. No part of this bo­ok may be rep­ro­du­ced in any form or by any me­ans wit­ho­ut the pri­or writ­ten con­sent of the Pub­lis­her, ex­cep­ting bri­ef qu­otes used in re­vi­ews.

  If you pur­c­ha­sed this bo­ok wit­ho­ut a co­ver, you sho­uld be awa­re mat this bo­ok is sto­len pro­perty. It was re­por­ted as "unsold and des­t­ro­yed" to the Pub­lis­her and ne­it­her the Aut­hor nor the Pub­lis­her has re­ce­ived any pay­ment for this "strip­ped bo­ok."

  All Ken­sin­g­ton tit­les, im­p­rints, and dis­t­ri­bu­ted li­nes are ava­ilab­le at spe­ci­al qu­an­tity dis­co­unts for bulk pur­c­ha­ses for sa­les pro­mo­ti­ons, pre­mi­ums, fund-ra­ising, edu­ca­ti­onal or in­s­ti­tu­ti­onal use.

  Special bo­ok ex­cerpts or cus­to­mi­zed prin­tings can al­so be cre­ated to fit spe­ci­fic ne­eds. For de­ta­ils, wri­te or pho­ne the of­fi­ce of the Ken­sin­g­ton Spe­ci­al Sa­les Ma­na­ger: Ken­sin­g­ton Pub­lis­hing Corp., 850 Third Ave­nue, New York, NY 10022. Attn: Spe­ci­al Sa­les De­par­t­ment, Pho­ne: 1-800-221-2647.

  Zebra and the Z lo­go Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Prin­ting: Janu­ary 2004 10 98765432 Prin­ted in the Uni­ted Sta­tes of Ame­ri­ca In me­mory of a very "Spe­ci­al lady, an avid re­ader and a fel­low Tus­cum­bi­an who ne­ver mis­sed one of my autog­rap­hings.

  * * *

  In memory of a very "Special lady, an avid reader and a

  fellow Tuscumbian who never missed one of my

  autographings,

  JAN WHITTLE

  and

  In memory of my dear cousin

  LOUISE GIBBS THORNE,

  a fellow writer whose weekly column appeared in

  The Colbert County Reporter

  for many years.

  A very special thank you to my wonderful editor

  JOHN SCOGNAMIGLIO

  And several dear friends who understand

  the life of a writer

  and help keep me sane,

  LINDA L, WENDY, and PAULA

  * * *

  Prologue

  He po­un­ded on her do­or and sho­uted her na­me. Go away, she wan­ted to scre­am. Le­ave me the hell alo­ne. But she knew he wo­uldn't go. Not un­less so­me­one ca­me and drag­ged him away.

  Maybe she sho­uld call Jacob and tell him that Jamie was ha­ras­sing her aga­in. As the co­unty she­riff, he co­uld hold Jamie in ja­il over­night Or she co­uld pho­ne Ca­leb and ask for his help in get­ting rid of an un­wan­ted mid­night vi­si­tor. Ca­leb had got­ten plenty of prac­ti­ce la­tely as the bo­un­cer at Jaz­zy's Jo­int. He'd thrown Jamie out of the pla­ce se­ve­ral ti­mes re­cently.

  But for so­me re­ason, she just co­uldn't bring her­self to pick up the te­lep­ho­ne. It wasn't that she wan­ted to see Jamie. Not to­night of all nights. But she'd be­en ex­pec­ting him, had known so­mew­he­re de­ep down in­si­de her that he wo­uld pay her a vi­sit af­ter his en­ga­ge­ment party en­ded.

  "Jazzy… lo­ver, ple­ase, let me in."

  His vo­ice was slightly slur­red, no do­ubt the re­sult of nu­me­ro­us glas­ses of cham­pag­ne, and not the twenty8 dol­lars-a-bot­tle stuff eit­her. Pro­bably Mo­et's, Dom Pe­rig­non or Ta­it­tin­ger Com­tes des Cham­pag­nes. Or pos­sibly Ro­ede­rer Cris­tal or Pom­mery Cu­vee Lo­u­ise. So­met­hing that cost no less than eighty bucks a bot­tle. In hos­ting the big bash ce­leb­ra­ting the­ir only gran­d­c­hild's up­co­ming nup­ti­als, Big Jim and Re­ba Up­ton had spa­red no ex­pen­se. Ever­y­body in Che­ro­kee Po­in­te had be­en tal­king of not­hing el­se. The Up­tons had hi­red a ca­te­ring ser­vi­ce out of Knox­vil­le for the en­ga­ge­ment party and the re­he­ar­sal din­ner, the sa­me ser­vi­ce the bri­de's pa­rents had cho­sen to ca­ter the wed­ding re­cep­ti­on next month.

  While Jamie con­ti­nu­ed ban­ging on the do­or and ple­ading with her to talk to him, Jaz­zy cur­led up tightly on the so­fa and pla­ced her hands over her ears. Jamie had be­en en­ga­ged twi­ce be­fo­re and hadn't fol­lo­wed thro­ugh with wed­ding plans eit­her ti­me. But it lo­oked as if his en­ga­ge­ment to La­ura Wil­lis might ac­tu­al­ly end in mar­ri­age. If for one mi­nu­te she be­li­eved Jamie's mar­rying anot­her wo­man wo­uld put an end to his ob­ses­si­on with her, she'd be the first in li­ne to of­fer them con­g­ra­tu­la­ti­ons.

  Sure, the­re had be­en a ti­me when she'd dre­amed of be­co­ming Jamie's wi­fe, but that had be­en ye­ars ago, when she'd be­en yo­ung and fo­olish. That stu­pid dre­am had di­ed a slow, pa­in­ful de­ath as ma­tu­rity had gi­ven her a firm grip on re­ality. No way wo­uld Jamie's rich and so­ci­al­ly pro­mi­nent fa­mily ever ac­cept her; they still saw her as not­hing but a whi­te trash tramp who'd got­ten preg­nant at six­te­en.

 
; Did she still ca­re abo­ut Jamie? Ye­ah, so­mew­he­re in her he­art rem­nants of that pas­si­ona­te first lo­ve still exis­ted. Only a few ye­ars ago, she had still be­en as ob­ses­sed with Jamie as he was with her. For the past ten ye­ars he had flo­ated in and out of her li­fe, just as he had flo­ated in and out of town. But this ti­me, when he'd re tur­ned a few months ago with a new fi­an­c­ée in tow, Jaz­zy had tur­ned him away when he'd co­me to her. And one night, when he hadn't ta­ken no for an an­s­wer, she had thre­ate­ned his li­fe. Or, to be mo­re pre­ci­se, she'd thre­ate­ned his man­ho­od. And what truly frig­h­te­ned her was the re­ali­za­ti­on that she wo­uld ha­ve shot him- shot his balls off-if he'd co­me af­ter her aga­in.

  'Jazzy… don't be me­an. Ple­ase, doll baby, let me co­me in. Just one last ti­me. Don't you know how much I lo­ve you?"

  No, damn you, no! You don't lo­ve me! You ne­ver did. You’re not ca­pab­le of lo­ving an­yo­ne ex­cept yo­ur­self.

  While she sat on the so­fa, hug­ging her­self, wis­hing she co­uld block out the so­und of Jamie's ple­ading, me­mo­ri­es was­hed over her, flo­oding her sen­ses. The first ti­me Jamie had kis­sed her. The juni­or/se­ni­or prom, when she'd gi­ven him her vir­gi­nity and had known she wo­uld lo­ve Jamie fo­re­ver. The day he'd cri­ed when he told her he co­uldn't marry her even tho­ugh she was car­rying his child. The night he had re­tur­ned to Che­ro­kee Po­in­te af­ter his first ye­ar of col­le­ge. They'd ma­de lo­ve re­pe­atedly for for­ty-eight ho­urs, le­aving bed only when ne­ces­sary. The first re­turn vi­sit, ye­ars ago, when he'd bro­ught ho­me his first fi­an­c­ée-and Jaz­zy had wel­co­med him in­to her arms, in­to her bed, not ca­ring abo­ut his bri­de to be.

  How many ti­mes had she for­gi­ven Jamie? How many ti­mes had she gi­ven him just one mo­re chan­ce? Ti­me had run out for them. She knew it, even if he didn't. She'd turn thirty so­on; she had was­ted eno­ugh of her li­fe wa­iting for Jamie Up­ton to gi­ve her what she wan­ted, what she'd al­ways wan­ted from him. Mar­ri­age.

  'Jazzy.. -Jaz­zy… baby, ple­ase, talk to me. Even if I marry La­ura, it do­esn't me­an we can't still be to­get­her."

  A cold, de­adly calm set­tled over her he­art. She sto­od, squ­ared her sho­ul­ders and wal­ked to the do­or. Her hand ho­ve­red over the knob. You’re the only one who can end this thing on­ce and for all, she told her­self. Do what you ha­ve to do to free yo­ur­self from Jamie.

  Simultaneously Jaz­zy un­loc­ked the de­ad­bolt and tur­ned the knob. When she eased open the do­or, Jamie to­ok full ad­van­ta­ge and sho­ved his way in­to her apar­t­ment. Be­fo­re she co­uld say a word, he grab­bed her and kis­sed her. Im­pa­ti­ently. Bru­tal­ly. His ton­gue thrust in­si­de her mo­uth. For a split se­cond, she sa­vo­red his sa­va­ge pos­ses­si­on. Then com­mon sen­se to­ok char­ge. She bro­ke away from him, her bre­at­hing rag­ged. He re­ac­hed out for her, but she si­des­tep­ped his grasp.

  "I ne­ed you, Jaz­zy. I'm ac­hing, I want you so bad."

  "What we on­ce had is over," she told him. "It's be­en over for a long ti­me. I've ac­cep­ted that fact. It's ti­me you did."

  "I don't lo­ve her. I'm mar­rying her be­ca­use Big Ma­ma is gi­ving me no ot­her cho­ice. She ex­pects me to marry La­ura."

  Jazzy la­ug­hed, mir­t­h­less chuc­k­les. "And God for­bid you ever go aga­inst what Big Ma­ma wants."

  "I'm sorry." His sho­ul­ders slum­ped. "I know I'm a spi­ne­less bas­tard. But if I don't ke­ep Big Ma­ma happy, I co­uld lo­se ever­y­t­hing. Big Daddy's do­ne told me this is my last chan­ce. If I screw things up with La­ura, he'll wri­te me out of his will."

  Jazzy al­most felt sorry for him. Al­most. "You know I'll ne­ver be yo­ur mis­t­ress. I draw the li­ne at fo­oling aro­und with a mar­ri­ed man."

  Lifting his ga­ze from whe­re he'd be­en sta­ring at the flo­or, he lo­oked di­rectly at her. "Wo­uld you let me stay to­night? Just for a lit­tle whi­le. A co­up­le of ho­urs." He held up his arms in an "I sur­ren­der" ges­tu­re. "Just let me hold you. I swe­ar, I won't do an­y­t­hing you don't want me to do. I ne­ed you, Jaz­zy. One last ti­me. Ple­ase, lo­ver. Ple­ase."

  Against her bet­ter jud­g­ment, she nod­ded. "You can stay an ho­ur. That's all." When he ope­ned his arms to her, she sho­ok her he­ad. "Sit down on the so­fa. I'll fix us so­me cof­fee. I think you co­uld use so­me. You sho­uld so­ber up be­fo­re you he­ad ho­me and try to ex­p­la­in to yo­ur fi­an­c­ée whe­re you've be­en."

  "Hey, ho­ney, if you're plan­ning on get­ting yo­ur gun whi­le the cof­fee is bre­wing, the­re's no ne­ed. Be­li­eve it or not, I want us to be fri­ends. I'd pre­fer lo­vers, but I'll set­tle for fri­ends. I just can't ima­gi­ne my li­fe wit­ho­ut you in it."

  Oh, hell. Why had he sa­id that? Don't go soft. Not now. You've he­ard Jamie's li­ne of bull be­fo­re. You know the guy can swe­et talk his way out of any jam-or in­to any wo­man's bed. But not her bed. Not ever aga­in.

  "You aren't go­ing to get to me," she told him. "Re­mem­ber, I've he­ard it all be­fo­re. I'm the girl you ho­ned yo­ur per­su­asi­on skills on."

  "You may not be­li­eve me, Jaz­zy, but…" He ca­me up be­hind her, but didn't to­uch her, just sto­od very clo­se, his bre­ath warm on her neck. "In my own sel­fish way, I do lo­ve you. I al­ways ha­ve. And I al­ways will."

  Odd how a part of her wan­ted to be­li­eve him, may­be even ne­eded to be­li­eve him. When she tur­ned to him, he re­ac­hed out and ca­res­sed her che­ek. She suc­ked in her bre­ath.

  "Please, Jaz­zy." He lo­oked at her with tho­se sexy ha­zel eyes, his ex­p­res­si­on one of in­ten­se lon­ging. "Baby… ple­ase."

  She didn't pro­test when he pul­led her clo­se. Gently. And kis­sed her. Ten­derly. All the old fe­elings re­sur­fa­ced and for a mo­ment-just a mo­ment-she wan­ted him in the sa­me old way. He al­lo­wed her to end the kiss. Then he sto­od the­re sta­ring at her, wa­iting for her jud­g­ment call.

  "I can of­fer you cof­fee and con­ver­sa­ti­on for an ho­ur," she told him. That's it. Ta­ke it or le­ave it." ‘’I’ll ta­ke it." A sly, se­duc­ti­ve grin cur­ved the cor­ners of his lips as he tur­ned and wal­ked over to the so­fa, then sat and cros­sed one leg over the ot­her knee.

  You're a fo­ol, Jaz­zy told her­self as she rus­hed in­to the kit­c­hen and pre­pa­red the cof­fe­ema­ker. Be­ing ni­ce to Jamie wasn't the an­s­wer. But God in he­aven, old ha­bits di­ed hard.

  Tonight she wo­uld say go­od-bye to Jamie. This ti­me wo­uld be the last ti­me. And if he ever ca­me to her aga­in, she knew what she'd ha­ve to do. She'd ha­ve no cho­ice, not if she wan­ted to sa­ve her­self.

  The man had to die! It wasn't that she wan­ted to kill him or an­yo­ne el­se, but he had left her no ot­her cho­ice. Not only wo­uld he ha­ve to die, but she fe­ared ot­hers wo­uld ha­ve to for­fe­it the­ir li­ves, al­so, if they in­ter­fe­red. Of co­ur­se, it wasn't en­ti­rely his fa­ult; af­ter all, he was only hu­man, a me­re man, with all the we­ak­nes­ses in­he­rent to his sex. But he was the worst of his kind, spi­ne­less and we­ak. He ga­ve in to his ba­ser in­s­tincts wit­ho­ut re­gard to how his ac­ti­ons might harm ot­hers. He re­ve­led in the dep­ra­vity that pla­gu­ed most men and many wo­men.

  Her hand set­tled over her belly. In or­der to pro­tect her­self-and her baby-she ne­eded to plan a stra­tegy that wo­uld put sus­pi­ci­on on so­me­one el­se. But not just an­yo­ne. She wan­ted that wo­man to pay with her li­fe, and what bet­ter jus­ti­ce than to ha­ve her exe­cu­ted for mur­de­ring her lo­ver? Af­ter all, the who­le town knew she'd thre­ate­ned to kill him.

  She sto­od in the sha­dows, wa­iting and wat­c­hing, kno­wing whe­re he was and what he was do­ing. He was with that wo­man, ma­king lo­ve to her. How co­uld he do this? He had sworn h
is lo­ve was true. Li­es. All li­es! They we­re for­ni­ca­tors. Sin­ners. Evil to the co­re. Both of them de­ser­ved to die. To be pu­nis­hed.

  She sho­uldn't act has­tily, in the he­at of the mo­ment. That was the way mis­ta­kes we­re ma­de. She had ma­de mis­ta­kes in the past, but not this ti­me. She had trus­ted when she sho­uldn't ha­ve, but ne­ver aga­in. She ne­eded to be calm and in con­t­rol when she en­ded the son of a bitch's li­fe. The­re was no ne­ed for her to kill him to­night. As long as she eli­mi­na­ted him be­fo­re his wed­ding day, ever­y­t­hing wo­uld be all right.