The Last To Die

by Beverly Barton

  No, that's not right. Think, damn it, think. You've al­re­ady hil­led Jamie. Yo­ur baby is sa­fe. He can't hurt her. You ma­de him pay.

  But what abo­ut him? What abo­ut him?

  Who? an in­ner vo­ice as­ked.

  "You know who!" she cri­ed. "Yes, of co­ur­se. I'll kill him first. And then I'll kill Jaz­zy. It's her fa­ult. It's all her fa­ult. If it hadn't be­en for her, he wo­uldn't ha­ve left me.

  She wo­uldn't let him go. It's her fa­ult that he was so me­an to me,t­hat he didn’t lo­ve me.

  Was that her na­me-Jaz­zy? It do­esn't so­und right. That's what he cal­led her.

  Of co­ur­se it's her. Jas­mi­ne Tal­bot. He lo­ved her. Ne­ver me. Ne­ver me.

  She wo­uld kill him first. And an­yo­ne el­se who got in her way. And then she wo­uld kill that hor­rib­le wo­man who had ta­ken ever­y­t­hing away from her. Kill them to­get­her. Do it at the sa­me ti­me. Let him he­ar her scre­am. Ma­ke her watch him die.

  Jazzy hadn't pres­sed Ca­leb to tell her why he'd di­sap­pe­ared yes­ter­day mor­ning, why he'd run away from Che­ro­kee Po­in­te-from her. They'd ma­de lo­ve at his ca­bin af­ter Genny left.Wild, crazy, ani­ma­lis­tic mon­key-fuc­king. And it had be­en go­od. Hell, it had be­en gre­at. But it had be­en dif­fe­rent than when they'd ma­de lo­ve the night be­fo­re, when Ca­leb had be­en both pas­si­ona­te and ten­der. The­re had be­en no ten­der­ness in the­ir lo­ve­ma­king yes­ter­day af­ter­no­on. She had felt that he'd be­en trying to brand her as his pro­perty, to con­su­me her com­p­le­tely, to pro­ve so­met­hing eit­her to him­self or to her. May­be to both of them. And she knew that Jamie was the re­ason.

  She had he­ard the do­ubt and fe­ar in Ca­leb's vo­ice when he'd as­ked, "How do you fe­el abo­ut Jamie Up­ton? And I want the truth."

  Damn! Wo­uld she ne­ver be to­tal­ly free of Jamie? He­re she was ac­cu­sed of Jamie's mur­der-des­pi­te sus­pi­ci­on fal­ling on La­ura Wil­lis now, the DA hadn't drop­ped the char­ges aga­inst her-and when she'd fi­nal­ly fo­und a man she tho­ught she co­uld lo­ve, Jamie's ghost sto­od bet­we­en them.

  How co­uld she con­vin­ce Ca­leb that he had no re­ason to be je­alo­us of Jamie? How co­uld she pro­ve to him that he was the only man she wan­ted?

  After they'd spent the af­ter­no­on in bed to­get­her yes­ter­day, Ca­leb had dri­ven her in­to town and she'd show ered and chan­ged clot­hes be­fo­re co­ming to work he­re at Jas­mi­ne's. She had tho­ught things we­re okay bet­we­en them, that wha­te­ver had be­en wrong with Ca­leb, they had wor­ked it out in bed. But last night when she'd tho­ught he wo­uld go ho­me with her af­ter they left Jaz­zy's Jo­int, he'd sur­p­ri­sed her and sa­id go­od night at the do­or.

  "I ne­ed so­me ti­me to think," he'd told her. "I've al­re­ady cal­led Sally and she's on her way. I'll wa­it in the car un­til she gets he­re.

  "Caleb, what's wrong?"

  He'd kis­sed her, but hadn't an­s­we­red her qu­es­ti­on be­fo­re he wal­ked away, down the sta­irs and to his car. She'd wan­ted to go af­ter him, to de­mand so­me an­s­wers. In­s­te­ad she'd go­ne in­si­de her apar­t­ment and had her­self a go­od cry.

  She hadn't se­en him all day to­day. If he ne­eded ti­me, she'd gi­ve him ti­me. Her days of run­ning af­ter a man, beg­ging for his lo­ve, we­re long go­ne. She'd ma­de a fo­ol of her­self over Jamie Up­ton when they we­re te­ena­gers. On­ce he re­ali­zed how much she lo­ved him, he'd wal­ked all over her. But she wo­uld ne­ver let anot­her man do that to her. Not even Ca­leb. If he didn't want her, if he'd de­ci­ded he co­uldn't han­d­le his stu­pid je­alo­usy of a man she didn't lo­ve an­y­mo­re, then so be it The pho­ne on Jaz­zy's desk rang. Wit­ho­ut thin­king she lif­ted the re­ce­iver, then tho­ught, What if it's Ca­leb?

  ''Jasmine's," she sa­id. ''This is Jaz­zy Tal­bot. How may I help you?"

  ''You're a bad wo­man. You de­ser­ve to die." The vo­ice over the pho­ne so­un­ded stran­ge. Muf­fled.

  "Who is this?"

  ''Someone who is go­ing to ma­ke su­re you pay for yo­ur sins."

  ''Look, who­ever the hell you are, get a li­fe, will you? And don't bot­her me aga­in."

  Jazzy slam­med down the re­ce­iver. When she saw her hand trem­b­ling, she bal­led it in­to a firm fist and po­un­ded her fist on the des­k­top. Pa­in ra­di­ated from her hand to her wrist and tin­g­led up to her el­bow.

  It's just so­me nut­ca­se, she told her­self. The­re's no ne­ed to get all torn up abo­ut a silly pho­ne call. But it wasn't silly. It was thre­ate­ning. The per­son had sa­id that he-or she-' was go­ing to ma­ke Jaz­zy pay for her sins.

  She jer­ked the pho­ne in­to her still un­s­te­ady hand, then pun­c­hed in the num­bers hur­ri­edly. As she wa­ited for him to an­s­wer, she ma­de her­self bre­at­he in and out slowly, ho­ping to calm her ner­ves.

  "Sheriff But­ler," Jacob sa­id when he an­s­we­red his pho­ne.

  ''Jacob, it's Jaz­zy. I-er-I just got a crank call. At le­ast I think it was a crank."

  "Okay. Tell me abo­ut it." '’The vo­ice so­un­ded muf­fled, may­be dis­gu­ised.I don't know."

  "Man or wo­man?"

  "I co­uldn't tell."

  "What did this per­son say?"

  "He sa­id-or may­be it was a wo­man-that I was bad, that I de­ser­ved to die and that he-or she-was go­ing to ma­ke su­re I was pu­nis­hed for my sins."

  Jacob was si­lent for what se­emed li­ke fo­re­ver, then he sa­id, "I want to put a tap on yo­ur pho­nes."

  "Why? What go­od wo­uld that do? He didn't talk mo­re than a mi­nu­te, if that."

  "If this per­son calls aga­in, you can try to ke­ep him on the pho­ne long eno­ugh for a tra­ce."

  "You don't think it was a crank call, do you?"

  "Could ha­ve be­en," Jacob sa­id. "But it just might ha­ve be­en Jamie's mur­de­rer."

  "Oh, my God!" Jaz­zy's mind wrap­ped it­self aro­und the tho­ught that Jamie's kil­ler had cal­led to thre­aten her. 'Then it was a wo­man. And she sa­id… she'd ma­ke me pay for my sins."

  "Where's Ca­leb?’’Jacob as­ked.

  "Caleb? Over at Jaz­zy's Jo­int." 'Whe­re are you?"

  "At Jas­mi­ne's, in my of­fi­ce."

  "Go over to Jaz­zy's Jo­int and tell Ca­leb abo­ut the pho­ne call. Do it now. And ma­ke su­re he ke­eps watch over you. I don't want you alo­ne from he­re on out. Not even alo­ne in eit­her of yo­ur of­fi­ces."

  "You think it re­al­ly was her and that she-"

  "Let's not ta­ke any chan­ces. Okay?"

  Jazzy nod­ded, then re­ali­zed she hadn't spo­ken. 'Ye­ah, okay."

  When she hung up, she sat the­re for a co­up­le of mi­nu­tes and let the re­ali­za­ti­on sink in. If her cal­ler was Jamie's kil­ler…

  She had to tell Ca­leb. Jacob had told her to ma­ke su­re Ca­leb kept watch over her. But with the ten­si­on bet­we­en Ca­leb and her right now, co­uld she go to him? Did she ha­ve the right to ex­pect him to stand by her si­de?

  No ti­me li­ke the pre­sent to find out, she told her­self.

  Caleb felt her pre­sen­ce the mi­nu­te she en­te­red the bar. God knew it wasn't that he co­uld smell her per­fu­me in this smoky jun­g­le. Too much smo­ke, li­qu­or, and hu­man swe­at to ever dis­tin­gu­ish one dis­tinct odor, he co­uldn't see her from whe­re he was stan­ding, but mo­re than one set of ma­le eyes fo­cu­sed in a par­ti­cu­lar di­rec­ti­on-st­ra­ight at the most gor­ge­o­us wo­man in the world. Jaz­zy Tal­bot. His Jaz­zy.

  Yeah, that was rig­ht-his Jaz­zy. Damn Jamie Up­ton to hell. Ca­leb chuc­k­led to him­self. That was just abo­ut whe­re Jamie was right now-bur­ning in hell. Or may­be be­ca­use he'd suf­fe­red thro­ugh tor­ment be­fo­re he di­ed, the go­od Lord had ta­ken pity on him. Who knew? Who ca­red? He su­re di
dn't. But one thing he did know, one thing that did mat­ter to him was not al­lo­wing Jamie's ghost to co­me bet­we­en Jaz­zy and him. He'd ne­ver be­en the kind of guy who ga­ve up when he wan­ted so­met­hing bad eno­ugh. And he had ne­ver wan­ted an­y­t­hing mo­re than he wan­ted Jaz­zy's lo­ve.

  When he tur­ned aro­und, the­ir ga­zes met ac­ross the ro­om and he felt as if he'd be­en hit in the he­ad with sled­ge­ham­mer. If this wasn't lo­ve-ho­nest-to-go­od­ness, fo­re­ver-af­ter lo­ve-he su­re as hell didn't know what el­se it co­uld be. He held her ga­ze, si­lently bec­ko­ning her to him. She to­ok se­ve­ral ten­ta­ti­ve steps, then pa­used. Was she wa­iting to see if he'd me­et her hal­f­way? Kno­wing Jaz­zy as he did, he fi­gu­red that's why she'd stop­ped. Okay, no prob­lem. He'd do his part. Ca­leb wal­ked to­ward her, then wa­ited when abo­ut ten fe­et se­pa­ra­ted them.

  She smi­led and, he­aven help him, he wan­ted to run to her, grab her and… to­night he wo­uldn't say go­od­b­ye at her do­or the way he'd do­ne last night. He'd ne­eded ti­me to think, ti­me to cle­ar his he­ad. And be­ing ne­ar Jaz­zy ma­de that im­pos­sib­le. All he had to do was lo­ok at her and he wan­ted her.

  Be ho­nest, McCord, a part of you wan­ted to pu­nish her for da­ring to whis­per anot­her man's na­me in her sle­ep. Ye­ah, okay, so that was part of it. But who had he re­al­ly pu­nis­hed? Jaz­zy, may­be. But he'd pu­nis­hed him­self, too. The­re was no pla­ce on earth he wan­ted to be ex­cept with her.

  She mo­ved to­ward him slowly. He he­aded in her di­rec­ti­on, one easy, un­hur­ri­ed step at a ti­me. They ca­me to­get­her in the mid­dle of the bar, bet­we­en the dan­ce flo­or and the tab­les scat­te­red thro­ug­ho­ut the ro­om. From the juke­box, Wil­lie Nel­son and Julio Ig­le­si­as cro­oned abo­ut all the girls they'd lo­ved be­fo­re. Be­er bot­tles and frosty glas­ses clin­ked. Po­ol balls clan­ged to­get­her. The din of hus­hed vo­ices blen­ded with rowdy la­ug­h­ter.

  Caleb and Jaz­zy sta­yed fo­cu­sed on each ot­her, not bre­aking eye con­tact for even a mil­li­se­cond. She smi­led at him aga­in. He grin­ned at her.

  "Want to dan­ce?" he as­ked, des­pe­ra­tely ne­eding to ta­ke her in­to his arms.

  She nod­ded.

  He held out his hand. When she pla­ced her hand in his, he wal­ked her ac­ross the bar to the dan­ce flo­or and eased her in­to his arms. They mo­ved to the mu­sic, a co­up­le of in­c­hes se­pa­ra­ting the­ir bo­di­es.

  "I Mis­sed you last night," she sa­id.

  "Yeah, I Mis­sed you, too."

  "Do we ne­ed to talk abo­ut it?" she as­ked.

  "Probably." He pul­led her clo­ser, alig­ning her body to his. "But not to­night."

  "No, not to­night."

  She se­emed to melt in­to him, all soft fe­mi­ni­nity and wo­manly he­at He brus­hed his chin aga­inst her tem­p­le and tho­ught he'd lo­se it when she sig­hed. This was whe­re she be­lon­ged, in his arms. They we­re right for each ot­her, and he fi­gu­red she knew that fact as well as he did.

  One song en­ded and anot­her be­gan, this one a lo­ud, bawdy me­lody not me­ant for slow dan­cing. Ca­leb kept his arm aro­und her and whis­pe­red in her ear. "Want to sit this one out?"

  She nod­ded. He re­le­ased his hold on her, but she didn't mo­ve away. She sta­yed clo­se, her sho­ul­der brus­hing his arm. "How abo­ut la­ter to­night, af­ter this pla­ce clo­ses, we dan­ce on up­s­ta­irs to my pla­ce?"

  He wan­ted to to­uch her aga­in, but fi­gu­red they'd al­re­ady bro­ught eno­ugh at­ten­ti­on to them­sel­ves wit­ho­ut him do­ing mo­re to pro­ve what a fo­ol he was over Jaz­zy. 'The­re's not­hing I'd li­ke bet­ter."

  Her bro­ad smi­le sa­id it all. Ever­y­t­hing was go­ing to be all right. Wha­te­ver lin­ge­ring prob­lems Jamie's me­mory might ca­use, they'd de­al with them. To­get­her.

  Caleb slip­ped his arm aro­und her wa­ist and led her to­ward the bar whe­re Lacy sto­od smi­ling as she wat­c­hed them ap­pro­ach. "How abo­ut a Co­ke?" he as­ked.

  "With le­mon,"Jazzy sa­id.

  ''Two Co­kes," Ca­leb told Lacy. "One with le­mon. One stra­ight."

  "Coming right up." Sud­denly Lacy lo­oked be­yond them to so­me­one or so­met­hing on the far si­de of the ro­om. "Well, I'm be dam­ned. I ne­ver tho­ught I'd see the li­kes of him in he­re."

  "Who are-" Jaz­zy tur­ned aro­und to see who Lacy was tal­king abo­ut. "Big Jim Up­ton in Jaz­zy's Jo­int. If that man's he­re to ca­use tro­ub­le, I'll-"

  "Let me han­d­le it," Ca­leb sa­id, his gut tel­ling him that Big Jim was he­re to see him.

  "I can fight this par­ti­cu­lar bat­tle myself," Jaz­zy told him as she mar­c­hed away from the bar.

  Caleb grab­bed her sho­ul­der. "Wa­it up, ho­ney. I don't think he's he­re to see you."

  "Who el­se wo­uld he be he­re to see?"

  "Me."

  Jazzy eyed him cu­ri­o­usly. "You? Why wo­uld-"

  "Evening," Jim Up­ton sa­id as he ca­me up to Ca­leb and Jaz­zy.

  Jazzy glo­we­red at Jamie's gran­d­fat­her. "What do you want?"

  "I want to spe­ak to Ca­leb," Jim sa­id.

  Jazzy lo­oked at Jim, then at Ca­leb. "What's go­ing on he­re?"

  "Look, ho­ney, I ne­ed to talk to Mr. Up­ton alo­ne, if you don't mind?"

  "Well, what if I do mind?" She fi­xed her ga­ze on Big Jim. "So who's go­ing to tell me why you're re­al­ly he­re? Why do you want to talk to Ca­leb?"

  "Personal bu­si­ness," Jim told her.

  She lo­oked at Ca­leb. Tell me now or tell me la­ter, but if we've got a snow­ball's chan­ce in hell of ma­king it, we can't ke­ep any sec­rets from each ot­her."

  "I know, ho­ney. And I swe­ar, I'll tell you ever­y­t­hing. La­ter."

  "Okay." Jaz­zy nod­ded and star­ted to walk away.

  "Are you and Jaz­zy a co­up­le now?" Big Jim as­ked.

  "Yes," Ca­leb rep­li­ed. "We are."

  "Then why ha­ven't you told her that you're my gran­d­son?"

  * * *

  Chapter 27

  Jazzy whir­led aro­und, her eyes hu­ge with as­to­nis­h­ment. "What the hell did you say?" She gla­red at Big Jim Up­ton.

  Caleb rus­hed to her, grab­bed her arm and sa­id, "Let's not do this he­re." He scan­ned the ro­om hur­ri­edly. "This is pri­va­te bu­si­ness. Per­so­nal."

  She sta­red at Ca­leb. "Did you he­ar what he sa­id?"

  Damn, why hadn't he al­re­ady told Jaz­zy? Why did she ha­ve to find out this way?

  "Yeah, ho­ney, I he­ard what he sa­id, but be­fo­re ever­y­body he­re at Jaz­zy's Jo­int starts won­de­ring what the hell's go­ing on-"

  Jazzy lo­oked back at Jim. "You ha­ve so­me ner­ve co­ming in he­re, in my bar, and spo­uting off such stu­pid non­sen­se. I know you've be­en un­der a lot of stress sin­ce Jamie di­ed and Miss Re­ba had a he­art at­tack. But you don't ha­ve the right to go sho­oting off yo­ur mo­uth with so­me wild no­ti­on you've con­coc­ted abo­ut Ca­leb."

  "I apo­lo­gi­ze," Jim sa­id, his ga­ze fi­xed on Ca­leb. "Lo­ok, son, I didn't me­an to ca­use a prob­lem for you with.. • are you two re­al­ly to­get­her? I me­an is she… im­por­tant to you?"

  Jazzy ten­sed. Her eyes flas­hed gre­en fi­re. Ca­leb tig­h­te­ned his hold on her arm. "May we use yo­ur of­fi­ce?"

  "What?" She sta­red at him, a dum­b­fo­un­ded ex­p­res­si­on on her fa­ce.

  "Let's go to yo­ur of­fi­ce-you, me, and Mr. Up­ton," Ca­leb sa­id. "So we can fi­nish this con­ver­sa­ti­on wit­ho­ut an audi­en­ce."

  "By all me­ans. "Jaz­zy got right up in Jim's fa­ce. "Fol­low me, Mr. Up­ton." She em­p­ha­si­zed the Mr. when she spo­ke.

  When Jaz­zy sas­ha­yed off to­ward the back of the bu­il­ding, Ca­leb mo­ti­oned for Big Jim to fol­l
ow her, which he did. Wit­hin a co­up­le of mi­nu­tes, the three of them we­re co­co­oned in Jaz­zy's small, clut­te­red of­fi­ce. Ca­leb clo­sed the do­or, then glan­ced from his gran­d­fat­her to the wo­man he lo­ved. She was go­ing to be mad as an old wet hen when he told her the truth. God damn it, why had he kept her in the dark abo­ut why he'd ac­tu­al­ly co­me to Che­ro­kee Po­in­te in the first pla­ce?

  "Start an­y­w­he­re," Jaz­zy sa­id as she sat down on the si­de of her desk and cros­sed her arms over her chest. "Start with Big Jim's crazy sta­te­ment. Or start with who the hell you re­al­ly are. Or even start with tel­ling me you ha­ven't be­en lying to me for months now."