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The Last To Die

Page 41

by Beverly Barton


  After rip­ping open Jaz­zy's blo­use, he tri­ed his le­vel best to re­mem­ber his first aid tra­ining as he exa­mi­ned the entry wo­und, then he se­ar­c­hed but didn't! find an exit wo­und. That me­ant the bul­let was still in­si­de her.

  * * *

  The light hurt her eyes. Turn it off. I'm trying to sle­ep. But no one res­pon­ded. Jaz­zy's eye­lids flut­te­red.

  "Wake up, be­a­uti­ful. You've be­en as­le­ep way too long."

  She re­cog­ni­zed that vo­ice. "Ca­leb?"

  He squ­e­ezed her hand. "Ye­ah, ho­ney, it's me."

  When she ope­ned her eyes, she ba­rely re­cog­ni­zed him. "You lo­ok li­ke hell," she told him.

  He grin­ned. "Gu­ess I do lo­ok pretty ro­ugh. I ha­ven't sha­ved in a co­up­le of days and I've be­en ta­king a who­re bath in the men's ro­om down the hall."

  "Why…" She glan­ced aro­und and re­ali­zed she was in the hos­pi­tal. Pa­le gre­en walls, whi­te she­ets, and a strong me­di­ci­nal smell we­re su­re signs, not to men­ti­on the nur­ses she saw at the the­ir sta­ti­on just out­si­de her do­or. "Am I in ICU?"

  "You're in SI­CU. Sur­gi­cal In­ten­si­ve Ca­re." He le­aned over and kis­sed her fo­re­he­ad. "Do you re­mem­ber what hap­pe­ned?"

  Did she re­mem­ber? Flas­hes of a wo­man hol­ding a doll. Frag­ments of me­mory abo­ut so­me­one sho­oting her. Then it all ca­me back, one hor­ri­fic in­ci­dent at a ti­me. "That crazy bitch tri­ed to kill me. And La­ura and Ce­cil Wil­lis, to­ol"

  "Calm down, ho­ney. She's de­ad. Mar­go Ken­ley, who­se re­al na­me was Mar­ga­ret Ben­dey, is de­ad. She won't ever hurt an­yo­ne aga­in."

  How… who?" Jaz­zy wan­ted to know de­ta­ils.

  "Laura Wil­lis is all right, physi­cal­ly. She's in the psychi­at­ric unit of the hos­pi­tal he­re."

  "And Mr. Wil­lis?"

  Caleb re­ma­ined si­lent for a mi­nu­te, then he­aved a de­ep sigh. "I'm af­ra­id he didn't ma­ke it. The doc­tors sa­id he suf­fe­red a mas­si­ve he­art at­tack."

  "That po­or man."

  Caleb nod­ded. "It se­ems Mar­go was on­ce Ce­cil's wi­fe and was La­ura's bi­olo­gi­cal mot­her. She was in­sa­ne, of co­ur­se. Spent most of her li­fe in a men­tal in­s­ti­tu­ti­on.''

  "Poor La­ura. Oh, God-Jamie."

  "Yeah, Mar­go pro­bably kil­led him be­ca­use she tho­ugt she was pro­tec­ting La­ura." So­me­one cle­ared the­ir thro­at. "Is she awa­ke?" Genny as­ked from the do­or­way.

  Caleb glan­ced over his sho­ul­der. "Ye­ah, our girl's awa­ke. Co­me on in."

  "I've got Dal­las and Jacob and Sally and Lu­die pu he­re with me," Genny sa­id.

  "All of you, co­me on in he­re."J­az­zy tri­ed to lift he he­ad, but fo­und she didn't ha­ve the strength. Not yet.

  Within a mi­nu­te, her bed was sur­ro­un­ded and one of the SI­CU nur­ses ca­me in and scol­ded them for bre­aking the ru­les. Two vi­si­tors at a ti­me. Jacob wal­ked the lady out, re­min­ding her that he was the she­riff. Jaz­zy co­uld he­ar the RN in­for­ming Jacob that his aut­ho­rity didn't ex­tend to her do­ma­in.

  "You're damn lucky Ca­leb fo­und you when he did," Sally told her. "He shot that crazy wo­man right in the he­ad. One shot."

  "Sally!" Genny scol­ded.

  "Hell, gal, our Jaz­zy ain't no hot­ho­use flo­wer who ne­eds to be shi­el­ded from the truth. She's got a right to know who sa­ved her li­fe."

  Jazzy lif­ted her hand and dis­co­ve­red just how dif­fi­cult that sim­p­le task was for her. Ca­leb le­aned over her. She ca­res­sed his scruffy fa­ce. "Is that right? Are you my whi­te knight?" 'You bet he is," Lu­die ad­ded her opi­ni­on.

  "We're so gra­te­ful that you're all right" Genny's ga­ze went to Jaz­zy's si­de, the si­de ban­da­ged be­ne­ath her hos­pi­tal gown.

  Jazzy lo­oked at Ca­leb and saw te­ars in his gol­den eyes. "I gu­ess I am lucky to be ali­ve."

  "Got that damn right," Sally ag­re­ed.

  Jazzy kept sta­ring at Ca­leb, de­eply to­uc­hed by his te­ars, kno­wing how un­li­kely it was that a man such as he cri­ed easily or of­ten. 'Thank you for sa­ving me," she sa­id qu­i­etly, then ad­ded, Tm so glad you ca­me in­to my li­fe."

  Caleb cle­ared his thro­at, then swal­lo­wed. ''The­re's so­medhng I want you to know," he told her. "So­met­hing I want yo­ur fa­mily and fri­ends to he­ar. It's so­met­hing I pro­mi­sed myself I'd tell you, if you… if you li­ved. Ac­tu­al­ly, I swo­re to God that if he kept you ali­ve, I'd tell you exactly how I fe­el. As a mat­ter of fact, I tri­ed ma­king all kinds of bar­ga­ins with the Lord if he'd just let you li­ve."

  ''This so­unds se­ri­o­us." Sally grin­ned. "Ma­king an oath to the Al­mighty and all."

  "Jazzy, I lo­ve you," Ca­leb sa­id qu­ickly and wit­ho­ut he­si­ta­ti­on. "And if you'll gi­ve me a se­cond chan­ce, I'll pro­ve to you just how much."

  A hush fell over the ro­om, as if ever­yo­ne was hol­ding the­ir bre­ath. She lo­oked from one per­son to anot­her and was met with smi­les. They all knew that Ca­leb McCord just might turn out to be the best thing that had ever hap­pe­ned to her.

  Jazzy swal­lo­wed te­ars of hap­pi­ness, gra­te­ful to be ali­ve and lo­ved by so many pe­op­le.

  She smi­led at Ca­leb. "I think may­be you and I both ne­ed a se­cond chan­ce."

  He kis­sed her then. Warm and ten­der, with a hint of pas­si­on. 'Thank you," he whis­pe­red aga­inst her lips.

  * * *

  Epilogue

  Of co­ur­se the day was per­fect. Genny and Dal­las de­ser­ved not­hing less than true per­fec­ti­on on the most spe­ci­al day of the­ir li­ves. Sun­s­hi­ne in abun­dan­ce. Blue sky over­he­ad. Gre­en grass be­ne­ath the­ir fe­et. Wild flo­wers blo­oming pro­fu­sely. Birds chir­ping. Fid­dlers pla­ying alon­g­si­de flu­tists. The me­lo­di­es an­ci­ent. Cel­tic. Che­ro­kee. So­me­ti­mes a sub­t­le blen­ding, just as the bri­de her­self was a mix­tu­re of the two nob­le pe­op­le.

  Genny had ne­ver be­en mo­re be­a­uti­ful than she was this spring af­ter­no­on in June when she ex­c­han­ged vows with the man she lo­ved. Of co­ur­se the gro­om was han­d­so­me. In his sim­p­le black su­it and gray-st­ri­ped tie, his at­ti­re com­p­li­men­ted his new wi­fe's una­dor­ned an­ti­que whi­te she­ath of she­er or­gandy over an aged silk un­der­lay. Genny's granny, Mel­va Mae Nel­son, had wed her true lo­ve, Jacob But­ler-the pre­sent day Jacob's gran­d­fat­her-in the dress Genny wo­re to­day. Her long shiny black ha­ir hung lo­osely to her wa­ist, un­fet­te­red by jewelry or a he­ad­pi­ece and ve­il, the spar­k­ling di­amond on her fin­ger, now ma­ted to the sim­p­le gold wed­ding band, her only em­bel­lis­h­ment.

  Jazzy jo­ined the gro­up of un­wed wo­men as Genny pre­pa­red to toss her bo­uqu­et of pa­le pink wild ro­ses. Jaz­zy's li­fe had chan­ged un­be­li­evably in the past six we­eks sin­ce she'd ne­arly di­ed at the hands of a mad­wo­man. Not­hing wo­uld ever be the sa­me aga­in. Her vi­ews on li­fe in ge­ne­ral had al­te­red. She was stron­ger, wi­ser, far mo­re ca­uti­o­us. And she was hap­pi­er than she'd ever be­en, mostly due to her re­la­ti­on­s­hip with Ca­leb McCord. She hadn't told him she lo­ved him. Not yet. It wasn't that what she felt for him wasn't lo­ve, but af­ter what she'd go­ne thro­ugh with Jamie, she wasn't re­ady to com­mit her who­le he­art to an­yo­ne. Not un­til she was su­re. Not only of the man, but of her­self.

  She trus­ted Ca­leb and be­li­eved he lo­ved her. But she co­uldn't for­get that he was now the Up­ton he­ir or that Miss Re­ba, des­pi­te Big Jim so­undly de­fen­ding Jaz­zy to his wi­fe, still di­sap­pro­ved of her. Ca­leb hadn't mo­ved in­to the Up­ton man­si­on, but ever­y­body knew who he was now. She'd told him that he co­uldn't put off the ine­vi­tab­le for much lon­ger and he h
adn't di­sag­re­ed with her. He still li­ved in the ren­tal ca­bin and still wor­ked as the bo­un­cer at Jaz­zy's Jo­int. But even he ad­mit­ted that he was con­si­de­ring Big Jim's of­fer to co­me in­to the fa­mily bu­si­ness em­pi­re.

  Jazzy sup­po­sed she didn't qu­ite trust Ca­leb to cho­ose her, to put her first, if it ca­me to a cho­ice bet­we­en her and what his gran­d­mot­her wan­ted. And so­me­day so­on, it wo­uld co­me to that. He un­der­s­to­od that she wo­uld want mar­ri­age and chil­d­ren. And Miss Re­ba wo­uld op­po­se the­ir uni­on. They hadn't dis­cus­sed mar­ri­age. Not yet. But they wo­uld. She'd be­en the one who'd sug­ges­ted they ta­ke the­ir re­la­ti­on­s­hip slow and easy and gi­ve them­sel­ves plenty of ti­me to be su­re. Re­luc­tandy, Ca­leb had ag­re­ed.

  Maybe dhngs wo­uld work out for them. It was what she wan­ted, what he pro­fes­sed he wan­ted, too. But she ne­eded ti­me. She was ba­rely on the mend af­ter her long hos­pi­tal re­cu­pe­ra­ti­on. And the­re was anot­her re­la­ti­on­s­hip she had to work out fir­st-the re­la­ti­on­s­hip with Re­ve Sor­rell.

  Reve had cal­led her whi­le she'd be­en in the hos­pi­tal. And in the we­eks sin­ce her re­le­ase, they had tal­ked on the pho­ne se­ve­ral ti­mes. Jaz­zy had qu­es­ti­oned Aunt Sally abo­ut her birth and her aunt had told her the sa­me old story aga­in and aga­in. No twins. No se­cond child. Cor­ri­ne Tal­bot ga­ve birth to one baby girl. Jaz­zy had no sis­ter. No twin. But a part of Jaz­zy do­ub­ted her aunt. Her gut fe­elings told her that Re­ve was her sis­ter-her twin.

  Before she co­uld mo­ve for­ward with her li­fe and ma­ke a com­mit­ment to Ca­leb, she had to find out the truth. And from so­me things Re­ve had sa­id re­cendy, Jaz­zy was pretty su­re she felt the sa­me way. If Aunt Sally wo­uldn't help her une­arth the truth, then she'd ha­ve toj find anot­her way to dis­co­ver who she re­al­ly was. Ca­leb had prot­hi­sed her that he'd do ever­y­t­hing he co­uld to help her. For the first ti­me in her li­fe, she had a strong, re­li­ab­le man at her si­de.

  All the bri­des­ma­ids flut­te­red and gig­gled as they lif­ted the­ir arms and re­ac­hed for the bo­uqu­et that sa­iled to­ward them. May­be it was be­ca­use she sto­od a co­up­le c&, in­c­hes tal­ler than the ot­hers, or may­be be­ca­use Genny aimed di­rectly at her, Jaz­zy wasn't su­re, but the bo­uqu­et; of wild ro­ses lan­ded in her up­lif­ted hands. She clut­c­hed; the frag­rant no­se­gay to her bo­som and la­ug­hed. Wo­uld; she be the next Che­ro­kee Co­unty bri­de? Wo­uld she and: Ca­leb truly find the­ir hap­pily ever af­ter? With bubbly; hap­pi­ness war­ming her he­art, Jaz­zy glan­ced aro­und the crowd and her ga­ze con­nec­ted to Ca­leb's, who sto­od alo­ne, away from the crowd.

  Barefoot, as we­re Genny and her ot­her at­ten­dants, Jaz­zy ran ac­ross the fi­eld at the back of Genny's ho­use whe­re the out­tlo­or ce­re­mony had ta­ken pla­ce. She ra­ced stra­ight in­to Ca­leb McCord's open arms. Li­fe was go­od. And the fu­tu­re lo­oked bright.

  * * *

  Dear Re­ader,

  Now that you've fi­nis­hed re­ading the se­cond bo­ok in my Che­ro­kee Po­in­te tri­logy, I ho­pe you're cu­ri­o­us abo­ut what's co­ming up next. In Sep­tem­ber 2004, the third and fi­nal in­s­tal­lment of this se­ri­es will be re­le­ased. You can ex­pect to see mo­re of Genny and Dal­las, as well as Jaz­zy and Ca­leb. Pic­king up whe­re left off, AS GO­OD AS DE­AD re­in­t­ro­du­ces Jaz­zy's lo­ok-ali­ke, Re­ve Sor­rell. Are the­se two wo­men re­al­ly twin sis­ters who we­re se­pa­ra­ted at birth? If so, why was the in­fant Re­ve thrown in­to a Dum­p­s­ter and left for de­ad? Wo­uld a mot­her re­al­ly ke­ep one child and dis­po­se of anot­her so he­ar­t­les­sly? And do the re­cent mur­ders in Che­ro­kee Co­unty ha­ve an­y­t­hing to do with the mystery sur­ro­un­ding Re­ve and Jaz­zy? The up­co­ming third bo­ok in the tri­logy will put She­riff Jacob But­ler in the fo­ref­ront and pit him in a de­adly ga­me aga­inst a bril­li­ant kil­ler. Al­so, lo­ok for sparks to fly bet­we­en Jacob and a cer­ta­in lady he in­ten­sely dis­li­kes. For a hint of what's to co­me, check out the pro­lo­gue for AS GO­OD AS DE­AD in the back of this bo­ok.

  In 2004, I ha­ve se­ven new bo­oks ten­ta­ti­vely sche­du­led, two from Zeb­ra and fi­ve from Sil­ho­u­et­te. For tho­se of you who ha­ve be­en fol­lo­wing my "The Pro­tec­tors" se­ri­es, you'll be ple­ased to know that fo­ur of my fi­ve Sil­ho­u­et­te no­vels this ye­ar will be part of this on-go­ing se­ri­es. Co­ming in Feb­ru­ary, lo­ok for my next The Pro­tec­tors" bo­ok from Sil­ho­u­et­te In­ti­ma­te Mo­ments, DOW­N­RIGHT DAN­GE­RO­US. The bo­ok picks up whe­re the June '03 sin­g­le ti­de, GRA­CE UN­DER FI­RE, left off and has Ra­fe Dev­lin and El­sa Le­one as the pro­ta­go­nists. Using her po­si­ti­on as the ma­na­ger of WJMM ra­dio and TV sta­ti­ons in May­s­vil­le, Mis­sis­sip­pi, El­sa fo­unds the May­s­vil­le Go­od Sa­ma­ri­tans, an or­ga­ni­za­ti­on of con­cer­ned ci­ti­zens de­ter­mi­ned to cle­an up the se­edy area of the town whe­re cri­me go­es un­c­hec­ked. But so­me­one wants to stop the MGS and ze­ro­es in on El­sa. Af­ter an at­tempt is ma­de on El­sa's li­fe, her boss hi­res Dun­dee agent, Ra­fe Dev­lin, to pro­tect her.

  Look for my very first 'The Pro­tec­tors" DE­SI­RES in Ap­ril and June. Both sto­ri­es ha­ve re­uni­ted lo­vers as the pro­ta­go­nists and de­al with a pa­rent's worst nig­h­t­ma­re- child ab­duc­ti­on. Lo­ok for the re­turn of FBI agent, Dan­te Mo­ran, from GRA­CE UN­DER FI­RE, who'll show up in both of the­se DE­SI­RES. When Mo­ran le­aves the FBI, his first ca­se as a Dun­dee agent turns out to be much mo­re than he bar­ga­ined for in my No­vem­ber '04 no­vel. I'll be ta­king part in the la­unch of Har­le­qu­in's new ma­in­s­t­re­am ro­man­ce li­ne, HQN, with Mo­ran's The Pro­tec­tors" bo­ok ten­ta­ti­vely ti­ded WORTH DYING FOR I'm ex­ci­ted abo­ut the op­por­tu­nity to mo­ve my Dun­dee agents from se­ri­es ro­man­ce in­to ma­in­s­t­re­am ro­man­ce fic­ti­on.

  In May, my con­t­ri­bu­ti­on to the "Fa­mily Sec­rets" con­ti­nu­ity se­ri­es, CHECK MA­TE, Bo­ok #12, will be on the stands. This bo­ok wraps up all the lo­ose ends of the se­ri­es and gi­ves re­aders the long-awa­ited Jake In­g­ram story. I truly tre­asu­re each of my re­aders and enj­oy he­aring from you. You can wri­te to me in ca­re of Ken­sin­g­ton Bo­oks. And ple­ase check out my Web si­te at www.be­ver­ly-bar­ton.com, sign my gu­est bo­ok, and sign up for my monthly e-ma­il new­s­let­ter.

  Warmest re­gards,

  Please turn the pa­ge for an ex­ci­ting sne­ak pe­ek of 's

  * * *

  AS GOOD AS DEAD.

  Coming in Sep­tem­ber 2004 from Zeb­ra Bo­oks!

  Chapter 1

  Reve Sor­rell clo­sed the lid on her su­it­ca­se, lif­ted it off the fo­ot of her bed and set it on the flo­or. She'd be­en up for over an ho­ur, af­ter wa­king at three, unab­le to sle­ep. Her de­ci­si­on to re­turn to Che­ro­kee Po­in­te had be­en ma­de af­ter a gre­at de­al of de­li­be­ra­ti­on. She'd spent months unab­le to put Jaz­zy Tal­bot out of her mind. Back in the spring she'd dri­ven up to the mo­un­ta­ins to se­ek out the wo­man Jamie Up­ton had told her was her spit­ting ima­ge, a wo­man who lo­oked eno­ugh li­ke her to be her twin. She'd met Jamie at a party he­re in Chat­ta­no­oga, back be­fo­re Chris­t­mas last ye­ar. He'd be­en a char­ming jerk, the type of man she usu­al­ly avo­ided. But he had pi­qu­ed her cu­ri­osity when he'd men­ti­oned that his te­ena­ge swe­et­he­art, a bar and res­ta­urant ow­ner in Che­ro­kee Po­in­te, wo­uld easily pass for Re­ve's twin.

  If she hadn't be­en an aban­do­ned child, adop­ted in in­fancy by we­althy so­ci­ali­tes, Spen­cer and Les­ley Sor­rell, she'd ha­ve pas­sed off Jamie's com­ments wit­ho­ut a se­cond tho­ught. But sin­ce she knew not­hing of her birth pa­rents, she
won­de­red if it was pos­sib­le that this Jasmine Talbot Jamie had men­ti­oned co­uld be her sis­ter. So she'd dis­re­gar­ded what her com­mon sen­se had told her-not to go dig­ging aro­und in the past-and had go­ne to Che­ro­kee Po­in­te. Her first en­co­un­ter with Jaz­zy had be­en less than ple­asant. She'd fo­und the wo­man to be rat­her cru­de and vul­gar. They had dis­li­ked each ot­her on sight. And Re­ve wo­uld ha­ve re­tur­ned ho­me that very day, if she hadn't be­en in­vol­ved in a mi­nor car ac­ci­dent.

  As if wrec­king her Jag hadn't be­en bad eno­ugh, fol­lo­wing the ac­ci­dent, the lo­cal she­riff had tre­ated her ab­y­s­mal­ly. She­riff Jacob But­ler was an old fri­end of Jaz­zy's and to­ok of­fen­se at an of­f­hand com­ment Re­ve had ma­de abo­ut the wo­man. It had se­emed to Re­ve as if half the men in town we­re Jaz­zy's fri­ends, a fact Re­ve had le­ar­ned both fir­s­t­hand and from lo­cal gos­sip.

 

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