The Last To Die

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The Last To Die Page 9

by Beverly Barton


  "Where?"

  "Not he­re in Che­ro­kee Po­in­te, if that's what you're thin­king. I was fo­und in Se­vi­er­vil­le." No ne­ed to tell him exactly whe­re. Sha­ring the in­for­ma­ti­on that she'd be­en pla­ced in a Dum­p­s­ter, dis­po­sed of li­ke un­wan­ted rub­bish, wasn't so­met­hing she'd wil­lingly tell an­yo­ne, le­ast of all She­riff Jacob But­ler.

  "So why le­ave town wit­ho­ut tal­king to Jaz­zy aga­in?"

  "Because af­ter me­eting her bri­efly, I re­ali­zed I'd ma­de a mis­ta­ke co­ming he­re. We're ob­vi­o­usly not sis­ters. And if we're co­usins or so­met­hing, it re­al­ly do­esn't mat­ter. I me­an, she and I ha­ve not­hing in com­mon, so the­re's no re­ason we'd want to be­co­me bet­ter ac­qu­a­in­ted."

  "You're a fir­st-class, blue-blo­od snob. "Jacob gla­red at her with tho­se hypno­tic gre­en eyes. 'You think you're too go­od for the li­kes of Jaz­zy Tal­bot, don't you? Well, lady, the way I see it, it's de­fi­ni­tely the ot­her way aro­und- she's twi­ce the wo­man you are. The­re's not a sel­fish, cru­el, or un­kind bo­ne in her body. You're as dif­fe­rent as night and day. And you're right, the­re's no way on earth the two of you co­uld be sis­ters. So it's a go­od ti­ling for Jaz­zy's sa­ke that you don't ha­ve the guts to stick aro­und and find out for su­re."

  Reve grab­bed the han­d­le and ope­ned the do­or. But­ler clut­c­hed her arm.

  "Where the hell do you think you're go­ing?" he as­ked.

  "I've chan­ged my mind." She'd had a knee-jerk re­ac­ti­on to But­ler's go­ading. This man didn't know her, co­uldn't ha­ve pos­sibly re­ali­zed that by da­ring her to stay and une­arth the truth abo­ut her re­la­ti­on­s­hip with Jaz­zy, he had hit her we­ak spot. She'd be­en sus­cep­tib­le to da­res ever sin­ce she'd be­en a kid. Tell her she co­uldn't do so­met­hing, and she'd do it or die trying. "I'm not le­aving Che­ro­kee Po­in­te. At le­ast not to­day. I'm go­ing to check in­to the ne­arest ho­tel and-"

  "Motels and ca­bins," But­ler sa­id.

  "What?"

  "Close the damn do­or be­fo­re you get the in­te­ri­or of my truck so­aked. I'll dri­ve you over to Che­ro­kee Ca­bin Ren­tals and drop you off. We don't ha­ve a ho­tel an­y­w­he­re in Che­ro­kee Co­unty, just mo­tels and ca­bins for rent"

  Reve clo­sed the do­or. The right si­de of her body was drip­ping wet from the blo­wing ra­in. "Yes, a ca­bin will be fi­ne, thank you. So­met­hing clo­se to town so I can walk whe­re­ver I ne­ed to go. And she­riff, on­ce you drop me off, let's ma­ke a po­int of ne­ver se­e­ing each ot­her aga­in."

  "Suits me fi­ne," he sa­id. "Only prob­lem is that this is a small town, and we're bo­und to run in­to each ot­her if you stay he­re for a whi­le."

  "Then let's try to avo­id each ot­her, and if by chan­ce we see each ot­her, let's pre­tend we didn't."

  "For on­ce, Ms. Sor­rell, you and I are in to­tal ag­re­ement."

  Sally sat on the front porch of her small ho­me up in the mo­un­ta­ins. Pe­ter and Pa­ul, her blo­od­ho­unds, slept pe­ace­ful­ly out in the yard, the af­ter­no­on sun­s­hi­ne war­ming the­ir big red bo­di­es. She spit a spray of brown ju­ice off the si­de of the porch. Lu­die had as­ked her a hun­d­red qu­es­ti­ons af­ter the­ir talk with Re­ve Sor­rell. So­me she co­uldn't an­s­wer be­ca­use she didn't know. She didn't know me­re had be­en anot­her baby. How co­uld she ha­ve known?

  Hell, Sally old girl, you don't know for su­re that this Sor­rell wo­man is Jaz­zy's sis­ter. Co­uld be just a co­in­ci­den­ce that they lo­ok so much ali­ke. Ye­ah, su­re, and God didn't ma­ke lit­tle gre­en ap­ples. She chuc­k­led ner­vo­usly. Of co­ur­se, af­ter all this ti­me what dif­fe­ren­ce did it ma­ke? Jaz­zy was a grown wo­man; she'd so­on be thirty ye­ars old. Co­uldn't no­body ta­ke that gal away from her. They we­re bo­und to­get­her by lo­ve, by ye­ars of be­ing the only fa­mily they each had. The­re wasn't not­hing she wo­uldn't do for her Jas­mi­ne, the child of her he­art, if not of her body. She'd die to pro­tect Jaz­zy. She'd even kill to pro­tect her.

  But if Jaz­zy ever le­ar­ned the truth, what wo­uld she think? How wo­uld she re­act? Well, sin­ce you don't know the truth-the who­le truth-then it's un­li­kely Jaz­zy or an­y­body eke ever will, eit­her. The truth didn't mat­ter. Wha­te­ver the who­le truth was, it sho­uld stay bu­ri­ed in the past, along with all the li­es Sally had told so no­body wo­uld try to ta­ke Jaz­zy away from her.

  But what abo­ut Re­ve Sor­rell? She ain't the type to let sle­eping dogs lie, Sally tho­ught. No­pe, that gal se­emed li­ke the type who just might stir up tro­ub­le, in her own very cul­tu­red, hig­h­fa­lu­tin way. What if she's de­ter­mi­ned to find out why she and Jaz­zy lo­ok so much ali­ke? What if she starts as­king qu­es­ti­ons, dig­ging in­to the past? What if she puts do­ubts in­to Jaz­zy's he­ad?

  What you gon­na do then, Sally, ole girl? What you gon­na do then?

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  Jazzy saw them as they en­te­red the res­ta­urant. Jamie, his fi­an­c­ée, and an ol­der co­up­le she as­su­med we­re the bri­de-to-be's pa­rents-Mr. and Mrs. Wil­lis, the we­althy hor­se bre­eders from Ken­tucky. For a split se­cond, Jaz­zy fro­ze to the spot. She glan­ced aro­und, se­ar­c­hing for a wa­it­ress who co­uld ta­ke over her hos­tess du­ti­es im­me­di­ately, but no one was clo­se eno­ugh to sum­mon be­fo­re the party of fo­ur ap­pro­ac­hed her. She had wan­ted to ma­ke her es­ca­pe, but fo­und it was too la­te.

  "Good eve­ning," the slen­der, dis­tin­gu­is­hed gen­de­man with sil­very gray ha­ir and ne­atly trim­med be­ard sa­id. "We'd li­ke yo­ur best tab­le for fo­ur, ple­ase. I te­lep­ho­ned ear­li­er and was told re­ser­va­ti­ons we­ren't ne­ces­sary."

  Doing her best to avo­id ma­king eye con­tact with Jamie, Jaz­zy rep­li­ed, "That's right. We don't ta­ke re­ser­va­ti­ons he­re at Jas­mi­ne's." She co­uld fe­el Jamie's he­ated sta­re, knew he was wat­c­hing her, and won­de­red if La­ura no­ti­ced. Ha­zar­ding a qu­ick si­de­long glan­ce at Jamie's fi­an­c­ée, she fo­und her­self lo­oking di­recdy in­to the wo­man's spe­cu­la­ti­ve blue eyes. The­ir ga­zes col­li­ded, and Jaz­zy un­der­s­to­od that this pretty, de­li­ca­te girl was si­lently ple­ading with her. Jaz­zy co­uld al­most he­ar La­ura sa­ying, "Ple­ase let him go. If you don't want him and I do."

  With her no­se ti­ded up­ward, per­fec­ting a ha­ughty ex­p­res­si­on, Mrs. Wil­lis in­s­pec­ted her sur­ro­un­dings. This is a rat­her qu­a­int lit­tle pla­ce. I do ho­pe we can find so­met­hing pa­la­tab­le on the me­nu." She ske­we­red Jaz­zy with a sharp gla­re. "Ever­y­t­hing isn't fri­ed, is it? I de­test fri­ed fo­od. Per­haps we sho­uld spe­ak to the ow­ner abo­ut ha­ving the chef pre­pa­re so­met­hing that isn't fri­ed."

  "I'm the ow­ner." Jaz­zy fo­cu­sed on Mrs. Wil­lis. "Let me as­su­re you that we ha­ve a wi­de va­ri­ety on our me­nu, in­c­lu­ding bro­iled, bo­iled, ba­ked, and gril­led items."

  "Well, that's a re­li­ef, isn't it, my de­ar?" Mr. Wil­lis sur­ve­yed Jaz­zy from he­ad to toe and smi­led con­des­cen­dingly. "So you're Jas­mi­ne." He pa­used for ef­fect. "The prop­ri­et­ress."

  Jazzy snap­ped her fin­gers at Tif­fany who had just ser­ved a ne­arby tab­le. The wa­it­ress rus­hed right over.

  "Please gi­ve the­se cus­to­mers a ni­ce tab­le"-she lo­oked right at Mr. Wil­lis-"or a bo­oth if they pre­fer."

  "We pre­fer a tab­le," Mrs. Wil­lis sa­id.

  Jazzy nod­ded.

  Tiffany pic­ked up fo­ur me­nus. "Ple­ase, fol­low me."

  "And the­ir din­ner is on the ho­use," Jaz­zy sa­id.

  That wi­ped the self-sa­tis­fi­ed ex­p­res­si­ons off both Mr. and Mrs. Wil­lis's fa­ces.

  "That's very ge­ne­ro­us of you, Ms. Tal­bot, bu
t-" Mr. Wil­lis sa­id.

  Jazzy of­fe­red the Wil­li­ses a bro­ad smi­le. "Yo­ur fu­tu­re son-in-law and I are old fri­ends, so ple­ase con­si­der this a wed­ding gift. "Jaz­zy glan­ced at La­ura, who lo­oked rat­her flus­hed. She tri­ed to con­vey, wit­ho­ut words, her re­as­su­ran­ce that she was no thre­at to La­ura. Po­or stu­pid girl. She knew only too well what it was li­ke to lo­ve Jamie Upton, to be so crazy abo­ut the guy that not­hing el­se mat­te­red.

  "That's mighty ni­ce of you," Jamie sa­id.

  "Yes, thank you," La­ura ad­ded, her vo­ice a whis­pery trem­b­le.

  "Enjoy yo­ur din­ner." Jaz­zy tur­ned aro­und and he­aded for her of­fi­ce. She wal­ked slowly, swa­ying her hips just a lit­tle, eno­ugh to ma­ke her mo­ve­ments both sexy and self-con­fi­dent. Damn Mr. and Mrs. Wil­lis. And damn Jamie, too.

  As she pas­sed by se­ve­ral tab­les, the cus­to­mers glan­ced her way, so­me sta­ring at her boldly, ot­hers do­ing it mo­re subtly. Erin Mer­cer, an ar­tist who li­ved in a ca­bin out­si­de town and ca­me to Jas­mi­ne's for din­ner se­ve­ral eve­nings each we­ek, pur­po­se­ful­ly avo­ided lo­oking Jaz­zy's way. Jaz­zy ca­ught a glim­p­se of the at­trac­ti­ve ol­der lady as she pas­sed her tab­le. She didn't know the wo­man well, but what she did know, she li­ked, des­pi­te the ru­mors she'd he­ard abo­ut Erin and Big Jim Up­ton. Of co­ur­se, the­ir af­fa­ir was no­ne of her bu­si­ness, but for the li­fe of her she co­uldn't fi­gu­re out why Erin wo­uld want the man, con­si­de­ring he was old eno­ugh to be her fat­her. But then aga­in may­be Erin won­de­red why Jaz­zy had was­ted so much of her li­fe gi­ving Jamie nu­me­ro­us se­cond chan­ces.

  At the tab­le ne­arest the do­ors le­ading in­to the kit­c­hen and down the hall to her of­fi­ce, anot­her lo­ne wo­man sat eating her din­ner, to­tal­ly ig­no­ring Jaz­zy. She didn't know the wo­man's na­me, but she'd se­en her in the res­ta­urant se­ve­ral ti­mes over the past few we­eks, and she was al­ways alo­ne. Anot­her to­urist enj­oying her­self in the mo­un­ta­ins, Jaz­zy as­su­med. Af­ter all, it was sprin­g­ti­me and to­urist se­ason had al­re­ady be­gun. A ke­en ob­ser­ver of hu­man na­tu­re, Jaz­zy got so­me odd vi­bes from this wo­man. She sen­sed the small, blon­de lady was very sad.

  Probably a re­cent wi­dow or lo­nely di­vor­cee, Jaz­zy de­ci­ded.

  Once she ma­de it to her of­fi­ce, she clo­sed the do­or and let out a sigh of re­li­ef. Was Jamie out of his mind co­ming he­re to­night? Or had di­ning at Jas­mi­ne's be­en so­me­one el­se's idea? Mr. and Mrs. Wil­lis's idea, per­haps. Su­rely not La­ura's. She sus­pec­ted Jamie's fi­an­c­ée wasn't the type to se­ek con­f­ron­ta­ti­on, ot­her­wi­se she wo­uld ha­ve al­re­ady pa­id Jaz­zy a vi­sit. So­me­one had a pur­po­se for to­night's din­ner, for brin­ging La­ura and Jaz­zy fa­ce-to-fa­ce.

  Going to the por­tab­le bar in the cor­ner, Jaz­zy ope­ned the bot­tle of Jack Da­ni­els and po­ured eno­ugh for a co­up­le of go­od belts, then to­ok a swig. The whis­key bur­ned a path from thro­at to belly, set­tling in­si­de her li­ke a hot brick. Wit­hin se­conds the warmth spre­ad thro­ugh her who­le body. She car­ri­ed the glass over to her desk, pla­ced it on top of a stack of bills, and pul­led out her swi­vel cha­ir. Af­ter sit­ting down, she le­aned back her he­ad and clo­sed her eyes.

  Don't stay he­re, she told her­self. Tif­fany co­uld han­d­le things. She sho­uld just slip out the back way and go on over to Jaz­zy's Jo­int. The lo­ud mu­sic and rowdy crowd the­re might ta­ke her mind off ever­y­t­hing she didn't want to think abo­ut-li­ke Jamie and La­ura's up­co­ming wed­ding, li­ke won­de­ring who the hell Re­ve Sor­rell was. But over at Jaz­zy's Jo­int she'd be con­f­ron­ted with anot­her prob­lem-Ca­leb McCord. The man had be­en in town only a few months. He'd thrown Jamie out of Jaz­zy's Jo­int one night back in Janu­ary when Jamie had tri­ed to man­han­d­le her. He had im­p­res­sed her, the cli­en­te­le, and her bar­ten­der, Lacy Fal­lon. Her re­gu­lar bo­un­cer hadn't shown up that night, so­met­hing he had be­gun ma­king a ha­bit of do­ing. So she'd fi­red the un­re­li­ab­le guy and hi­red Ca­leb to ta­ke over the job. And he was very go­od at it, be­ca­use he was not only strong as a bull, he pos­ses­sed a kil­ler sta­re that co­uld stop most guys de­ad in the­ir tracks. He wasn't as physi­cal­ly in­ti­mi­da­ting as Jacob But­ler, who­se six-fi­ve, two-eighty body put the fe­ar of God in­to just abo­ut every man who cros­sed his path, but Ca­leb had that sa­me earthy mac­ho po­wer that prac­ti­cal­ly oozed from his po­res.

  The prob­lem wasn't with Ca­leb's abi­lity to do his job. No, the prob­lem was that from the mo­ment they met, the­re had be­en a se­xu­al che­mistry bet­we­en the two of them. She'd be lying to her­self if she de­ni­ed be­ing tem­p­ted. Her fe­mi­ni­ne in­s­tincts told her that he'd be a go­od lo­ver. Pro­bably a gre­at lo­ver. But des­pi­te her not al­to­get­her un­war­ran­ted bad-girl re­pu­ta­ti­on, Jaz­zy didn't fall in­to the sack with every Tom, Dick, and Harry that ca­me along. The­re had be­en a lot fe­wer men in her bed than most pe­op­le tho­ught. Ac­tu­al­ly, folks wo­uld be sur­p­ri­sed to le­arn she re­al­ly hadn't had all that many lo­vers.

  It wo­uld be far too easy to gi­ve in to her de­si­re for Ca­leb. The guy wan­ted her. He'd ma­de that per­fectly cle­ar. And it was ob­vi­o­us that he was je­alo­us of Jamie, which he sho­uldn't be. First of all, he had no cla­im on her, so he had no right to be je­alo­us of any ot­her man in her li­fe. In the se­cond pla­ce, Jamie was her past. She didn't lo­ve him. Okay, so he was a part of her past that kept han­ging on, wo­uldn't let go, con­ti­nu­ed to com­p­li­ca­te ever­y­t­hing for her. And, yes, she did still lo­ve him. But not the way she used to. She wasn't crazy in lo­ve with Jamie an­y­mo­re, but she co­uldn't deny that a part of her wo­uld al­ways ca­re abo­ut him. Hell, she knew he was a lo­use and con­si­de­red her­self well rid of that wild in­fa­tu­ati­on, but may­be a wo­man ne­ver qu­ite got over her first lo­ve. Her first lo­ver.

  You ne­ed to gi­ve yo­ur­self a chan­ce to find so­me­one bet­ter. If you we­ren 't so af­ra­id of get­ting hurt, you might ac­tu­al­ly fall in lo­ve aga­in. And it co­uld be go­od. May­be bet­ter than an­y­t­hing she'd ever known. Didn't she de­ser­ve to lo­ve and be lo­ved with ho­nesty de­vo­ti­on, and com­mit­ment?

  A soft knock on the do­or bro­ught her qu­ickly from her mu­sings. "Yes?"

  The do­or eased open par­t­way and La­ura Wil­lis pe­eped in­to the of­fi­ce. "Ms. Tal­bot, may I spe­ak to you?"

  "Phone call for you," Lacy Fal­lon sho­uted to Ca­leb as she held up the pho­ne lo­ca­ted be­hind the bar.

  He wasn't ac­cus­to­med to get­ting calls at work. The few pe­op­le he knew in Che­ro­kee Po­in­te eit­her drop­ped by to see him in per­son or te­lep­ho­ned him at ho­me, if you co­uld ac­tu­al­ly call his small ren­tal ca­bin ho­me. The pla­ce ca­me fully fur­nis­hed, and he'd do­ne not­hing to per­so­na­li­ze it. He was a man who tra­ve­led light. All the ex­t­ra bag­ga­ge he car­ri­ed was pu­rely emo­ti­onal, and he did his le­vel best to ne­ver ex­po­se his vul­ne­ra­bi­li­ti­es. He was a man wit­ho­ut ti­es, free to pick up and le­ave an­y­ti­me he cho­se to.

  "Who is it?" Ca­leb as­ked the bar­ten­der.

  "Chief Slo­an," Lacy rep­li­ed.

  "Dallas Slo­an?"

  Now why wo­uld the re­cently hi­red chi­ef of po­li­ce want to talk to him? He knew Dal­las on a per­so­nal ba­sis only be­ca­use the for­mer FBI agent was now en­ga­ged to Jaz­zy's best fri­end, Genny Ma­doc. But he and Dal­las we­ren't bud­di­es, no mo­re than he and Jacob But­ler we­re. He li­ked and res­pec­ted both men, but he'd gi­ven them a wi­de berth. He'd had his fill of law­men back in Mem­p­his. Hell, he'd had his fill of just abo­ut ever­y­t­hing, in­c­lu�
�ding his job on the Mem­p­his po­li­ce for­ce. But that had be­en anot­her ti­me, anot­her pla­ce, anot­her li­fe. When he'd co­me to Che­ro­kee Po­in­te back in January, he'd co­me he­re se­ar­c­hing for so­me an­s­wers abo­ut his past-abo­ut his mot­her's past. He'd had no in­ten­ti­on of sta­ying on­ce he'd got­ten tho­se an­s­wers. But tho­se plans had al­te­red on­ce he met Jas­mi­ne Tal­bot The lady had got­ten un­der his skin the mo­ment they met.

  Hell, ad­mit it, McCord, you wan­ted to fuck her when you first la­id eyes on her. Jaz­zy had hot and wild writ­ten all over her. And he wan­ted to be the man she ga­ve all that hot wil­d­ness to-in and out of bed. That very first night when Jamie Up­ton had tri­ed to man­han­d­le her, Ca­leb had ta­ken gre­at ple­asu­re in thro­wing the guy out of Jaz­zy's Jo­int. He'd ha­ted se­e­ing the fe­ar in Jaz­zy's eyes. But he'd ha­ted even mo­re re­ali­zing she and Up­ton sha­red a lot of his­tory. The lady bro­ught out every pos­ses­si­ve, pro­tec­ti­ve in­s­tinct he had.

  So he'd hung aro­und, ac­cep­ted a job as the bo­un­cer at Jaz­zy's Jo­int, and de­ci­ded to ta­ke his ti­me une­ar­t­hing the truth abo­ut his mot­her's past he­re in Che­ro­kee Co­un­ty-and all be­ca­use he had a han­ke­ring for a wo­man who pro­bably wo­uld ne­ver get over her te­ena­ge crush on Jamie Up­ton.

 

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