The Last to Die (16 page)

"I want you, too," Jaz-zy ad-mit-ted. "Sin-ce that first night. You'll ne-ver know how dif-fi-cult it was for me not to… well, not to use you. And if I'm ho-nest abo-ut it, I've be-en pro-tec-ting myself, too.

I've be-en hurt and di-sap-po-in-ted so many ti-mes. I've be-li-eved pro-mi-se af-ter pro-mi-se. But no mo-re! I li-ke you, Ca-leb McCord. I li-ke you a lot But I'm not re-ady to ma-ke a com-mit-ment to an-yo-ne. What I want-what I ne-ed-is for us to just ta-ke things one day… one night… at a ti-me. Get to know each ot-her. See if we re-al-ly work well to-get-her. Don't push each ot-her. Just let things hap-pen na-tu-ral-ly, on the-ir own. If it works, we'll ta-ke, the next step. If it do-esn't, we'll part fri-ends, with no hard fe-elings. No one hurt."

He stu-di-ed her as if he we-re trying to ga-uge her ho-nesty. "It wo-uld se-em that we want the
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sa-me thing."

"Yeah, it wo-uld se-em so."

Caleb sco-oted clo-ser. Jaz-zy held her bre-ath. She'd be-en wan-ting anot-her one of his de-vas-ta-ting kis-ses. He slid his hand be-hind her neck and gras-ped gently, then pul-led her for-ward, just eno-ugh to brush his lips aga-inst hers. Her bre-ath ca-ught in her thro-at. She wan-ted mo-re. So much mo-re.

He pla-yed with her lips, fe-at-her-light kis-ses at first. Then he used his ton-gue to pa-int a mo-ist oval over her mo-uth. She suc-ked in her bre-ath. His fin-gers re-ac-hed up and spla-yed apart, for-king thro-ugh her short ha-ir to cup her he-ad. She sig-hed. And then he kis-sed her, re-al-ly kis-sed her, cur-ling her to-es and ma-king her he-art po-und fas-ter.

This guy is a mas-ter at the art of kis-sing
, she tho-ught, and then ce-ased to think co-he-rently.

When her bre-asts we-re tight and ac-hing, her fe-mi-ni-nity clen-c-hing and un-c-len-c-hing in pre-pa-ra-ti-on, and he'd com-p-le-tely ta-ken her bre-ath away, he en-ded the kiss and lif-ted his he-ad. She ope-ned her eyes and sta-red in-to his whis-key-gold eyes. Puz-zled that he'd stop-ped just as they we-re get-ting war-med up, she ope-ned her mo-uth to ask him what was go-ing on.

He la-id his in-dex fin-ger ac-ross her lips. 'This was our first da-te. You don't go to bed with a guy on a first da-te, re-mem-ber?"

"Mm-hmm, I re-mem-ber." Why the hell had she ever told him that? Even if it was the truth, so-me-how that ru-le just didn't apply to Ca-leb. He was dif-fe-rent-not only dif-fe-rent from Jamie, but dif-fe-rent from every ot-her man she'd ever known. Well, may-be he was a lit-tle li-ke Jacob, who was one of the best men in the world. But the-re we-re no se-xu-al sparks bet-we-en her and Jacob. And the-re we-re eno-ugh sparks bet-we-en her and Ca-leb to set off a ma-j-or ex-p-lo-si-on.

"I'll cle-an up the-se dis-hes, then I'll le-ave." When Ca-leb sto-od, he did not-hing to try to hi-de the fact that he had a mag-ni-fi-cent erec-ti-on.

"You're le-aving?" Just li-ke that, he was go-ing away when they we-re both aro-used and ne-eding re-li-ef in the worst way?

"I'll be back," he told her as he gat-he-red up the-ir dirty dis-hes. "You ne-ed so-me rest and so do I.

It's"-he glan-ced at the clock on the end tab-le-"t-h-ree-fif-te-en. How abo-ut I co-me by this af-ter-no-on aro-und two-thirty? It's Sun-day. My only day off. Let Tif-fany ta-ke over at Jas-mi-ne's.

We'll dri-ve over to Ga-din-burg, me-an-der aro-und thro-ugh all the lit-tle shops, and then eat sup-per at one of the ni-ce res-ta-urants."

"I see you've plan-ned our se-cond da-te." She ro-se from the so-fa and fol-lo-wed him in-to the kit-c-hen. He put the dis-hes in-to the so-apy wa-ter whe-re he'd cle-aned the co-oking uten-sils ear-li-er. 'Just le-ave them. I'll do them in the mor-ning."

He nod-ded and tur-ned to go, but she bloc-ked his path.

Caleb grin-ned at her. "What?"

"You're a ni-ce man, Ca-leb McCord."

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He la-ug-hed. 'You think so, do you? Just go-es to show how much you don't know abo-ut me."

She step-ped asi-de, al-lo-wing him to ma-ke his way to her front do-or. She fol-lo-wed be-hind him. "Okay, so may-be ni-ce was die wrong word. You're a go-od man."

When he glan-ced over his sho-ul-der and frow-ned moc-kingly, she ma-de one fi-nal cor-rec-ti-on to her ori-gi-nal sta-te-ment. "You’re a man with a go-od he-art."

He win-ked at her, then wal-ked out and down the ex-te-ri-or sta-irs that led to the si-de-walk.

Jaz-zy step-ped out on-to the nar-row sto-op at the top of the sta-irs and wat-c-hed him walk to-ward his car. As so-on as he got in and dro-ve off, she clo-sed and loc-ked the do-or, then dan-ced back in-to the li-ving ro-om. She hug-ged her-self and sig-hed.

She had a se-cond da-te with Ca-leb to-mor-row. An ho-nest-to-go-od-ness da-te.

Feeling an un-fa-mi-li-ar sen-se of hap-pi-ness, Jaz-zy hum-med softly to her-self as she he-aded for her bed-ro-om. To-night she wo-uld dre-am of Ca-leb. And may-be to-mor-row-no, la-ter to-day-that dre-am might co-me true.

Andrea Wil-lis co-uldn't sle-ep. She had tos-sed and tur-ned for ho-urs, but she had too much on her mind to re-lax. Be-si-des, Ce-cil was sno-ring li-ke a fre-ight tra-in. So li-ke a man to be ab-le to sle-ep so-undly when his da-ug-h-ter was on the ver-ge of ma-king the big-gest mis-ta-ke of her li-fe. It wasn't that his con-cern didn't run as de-ep as hers. It did. Af-ter all, he lo-ved La-ura in a way An-d-rea had ne-ver be-en ab-le to, so-me-how ab-le to over-lo-ok all her ina-de-qu-aci-es.

When she had first sug-ges-ted psychi-at-ric help for La-ura when she was twel-ve, Ce-cil had be-en li-vid, ac-cu-sing her of wan-ting to find fa-ult with La-ura, of lo-ving her less than she did She-ri-dan.

But it was be-ca-use she did lo-ve La-ura that she'd wan-ted help for the child. Fi-nal-ly she'd be-en ab-le to bring Ce-cil aro-und to her way of thin-king, but only af-ter that ter-rib-le in-ci-dent with the Ro-berts boy. He cla-imed she had tri-ed to run over him with her car-her six-te-enth bir-t-h-day pre-sent. La-ura had be-en unab-le to re-mem-ber what hap-pe-ned that night.

After slip-ping in-to her ho-use sho-es and sa-tin ro-be, An-d-rea crept out of the gu-est ro-om and down the hall to the ro-om the-ir da-ug-h-ters we-re sha-ring this we-ekend. When she re-ac-hed the clo-sed do-or, she pa-used for a few mo-ments, con-si-de-ring whet-her she sho-uld dis-turb them at this ho-ur of the mor-ning. Yes, she de-fi-ni-tely sho-uldn't wa-it to talk to La-ura. And if she wo-ke She-ri-dan in the pro-cess, so be it. May-be She-ri-dan co-uld help her talk sen-se to La-ura.

Andrea tap-ped on the do-or. No res-pon-se. She tap-ped aga-in. Still not-hing. She didn't da-re knock any lo-uder for fe-ar of wa-king Ce-cil, who was only a co-up-le of do-ors down. The Up-ton fa-mily's qu-ar-ters we-re in the ot-her wing of the ho-use, so no chan-ce of bot-he-ring them. She tri-ed the han-d-le and fo-und the do-or un-loc-ked. She ope-ned the do-or and wal-ked in-to the dark ro-om.

"Laura," she cal-led as she tip-to-ed to-ward the bed whe-re her el-der da-ug-h-ter slept. "La-ura, wa-ke up, de-ar."

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No an-s-wer.

When she re-ac-hed the bed, she re-ali-zed why no one had res-pon-ded. The bed was empty. She glan-ced at the ot-her twin bed. It, too, was empty. An-d-rea tur-ned on a bed-si-de lamp and se-ar-c-hed the bed-ro-om and adj-o-ining bath. Whe-re we-re her da-ug-h-ters?
Don't pa-nic,
she told her-self.
The-re is a per-fectly go-od ex-p-la-na-ti-on for why ne-it-her of them are he-re.

Wasn't it pos-sib-le, even pro-bab-le, that La-ura was in Jamie's ro-om, in his bed? Yes, of co-ur-se, whe-re el-se wo-uld she be? And She-ri-dan? God only knew whe-re that wild yo-ung thing was. She was pro-bably in so-me man's bed, too. So-me fel-low she'd met in town, so-me stran-ger. An-d-rea shi-ve-red. She-ri-dan had the mo-rals of an al-ley cat, but she co-uld hardly con-demn her. Af-ter all, she'd had an ad-ven-tu-ro-us stre-ak when she'd be-en that age. An-d-rea left the ro-om and ma-de her way back to her own bed-ro-om. Ce-cil was still sno-ring. She went in-to the bat-h-ro-om, clo-sed the do-or, and tur-ned on the light. Af-ter rum-ma-ging thro-ugh her cos-me-tic bag, she fo-und her pres-c-rip-ti-on of sle-eping pills. She ave-ra-ged ta-king the me-di-ci-ne a co-up-le of ti-mes a we-ek la-tely. Not exactly ad-dic-ted, but she was on the ver-ge of be-co-ming de-pen-dent on them. She pop-ped the pill in-to her mo-uth, dow-ned it with a small cup of wa-ter, then went back to bed. In abo-ut an ho-ur, the me-di-ca-ti-on wo-uld ta-ke ef-fect and she wo-uld rest. Only when she slept co-uld she stop wor-rying abo-ut La-ura.

Jim Up-ton ma-de his way down the bac-k-s-ta-irs at fi-ve o'clock. He had slept fa-irly well the first part of the night, but when he awo-ke aro-und fo-ur, he'd star-ted thin-king abo-ut Erin. Abo-ut how much he wis-hed he was in bed with her. Abo-ut how much he lo-ved her. Abo-ut how des-pe-ra-tely he wis-hed he co-uld ask Re-ba for a di-vor-ce. But how did you ask a de-cent, ca-ring wo-man who'd be-en yo-ur wi-fe for over fifty ye-ars to gi-ve you a di-vor-ce? Re-ba had tur-ned a blind eye to his in-dis-c-re-ti-ons over the ye-ars, and God knew the-re had be-en qu-ite a few. But he hadn't be-en in lo-ve be-fo-re-not sin-ce he'd be-en a gre-en boy and madly in lo-ve with Mel-va Mae Nel-son, who had bro-ken his he-art when she'd mar-ri-ed anot-her man. He'd ta-ken his pa-rents' ad-vi-ce and mar-ri-ed a su-itab-le yo-ung wo-man from a go-od fa-mily, and al-t-ho-ugh they'd sha-red a re-aso-nably go-od li-fe, Jim had ne-ver be-en truly happy. Not un-til this past ye-ar when a wo-man twen-ty-fi-ve ye-ars his juni-or had co-me in-to his li-fe.

What the hell a gor-ge-o-us wo-man li-ke Erin Mer-cer saw in him he'd ne-ver know. She didn't ne-ed his mo-ney, be-ca-use she was rich in her own right. She had bro-ught joy and ex-ci-te-ment and sex back in-to his li-fe. She had be-co-me ever-y-t-hing to him, and he knew he co-uldn't go on this way, li-ving a lie with Re-ba, when he wan-ted a li-fe with Erin. At his age, he might not ha-ve mo-re than a few go-od ye-ars left, and he wan-ted to spend that ti-me with a wo-man who ma-de him fe-el li-ke a man.

When Jim en-te-red his study, he left the over-he-ad lights off and felt his way ac-ross the dark ro-om un-til he re-ac-hed his desk. He flip-ped on the ban-ker's lamp and lif-ted the te-lep-ho-ne re-ce-iver.

He di-aled her num-ber and wa-ited. The pho-ne rang and rang and rang. Then the an-s-we-ring mac-hi-ne pic-ked up.

"Erin, ple-ase an-s-wer the pho-ne, swe-et-he-art," Jim sa-id. 'We ne-ed to talk." He had co-me to a de-ci-si-on that wo-uld gre-atly af-fect both the-ir li-ves. He wa-ited, but she didn't an-s-wer.

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He hung up, then di-aled aga-in and fo-und him-self re-pe-ating the pro-ce-du-re. He left a se-cond mes-sa-ge.

Why won't she an-s-wer? May-be she's sick. May-be so-met-hing's wrong. Or may-be she isn 't
at ho-me. But if she's not the-re, whe-re is she? Co-uld she be with anot-her man? Damn! Don't
think li-ke that. She's not with anot-her man. Erin lo-ves you. Only you
.

Jim all but ran back up-s-ta-irs and in-to his ro-om. He and Re-ba hadn't sha-red a ro-om in ye-ars, so he didn't ha-ve to worry abo-ut dis-tur-bing her as he re-mo-ved his ro-be and pa-j-amas and dres-sed hur-ri-edly. It had ta-ken him months to co-me to this de-ci-si-on, and he co-uldn't wa-it anot-her mi-nu-te to tell Erin that he was go-ing to ask Re-ba for a di-vor-ce. Mo-re than an-y-t-hing, he wan-ted to marry Erin.

Twenty mi-nu-tes la-ter, he pul-led up out-si-de Erin's ca-bin. The porch light was on, but the ho-use was dark. Then he no-ti-ced that her car wasn't par-ked at the si-de of the ca-bin. She wasn’t he-re.

Whe-re the hell was she? He co-uld try her cell pho-ne, but sin-ce she sel-dom kept the damn thing on, he do-ub-ted he co-uld re-ach her that way.

Should he stay and wa-it on her or just go ho-me and try cal-ling her la-ter?
Go ho-me, you old fo-ol.

Go ho-me to yo-ur wi-fe and wa-it for yo-ur mis-t-ress to ex-p-la-in why she was out all night.

Cur-sing lo-udly, Jim stom-ped ac-ross the yard and got back in his car.

Blood. Blo-od ever-y-w-he-re. Bright red. Fresh. It co-ated the wo-oden flo-or and drip-ped
in-to the cracks. His body had be-en mu-ti-la-ted, sli-ced and di-ced and bur-ned. His eyes rol-led
back in his he-ad as he wept in agony. His thro-at was ho-ar-se from scre-aming and beg-ging.

She bran-dis-hed the hot po-ker over him. And then when he ope-ned his mo-uth to ple-ad, she
ram-med the fi-ery me-tal stick in-to his mo-uth. As in-des-c-ri-bab-le pa-in si-len-ced him, he
pas-sed out.

Genny scre-amed and scre-amed and scre-amed.

"Wake up, ho-ney," Dal-las ple-aded with her as he held her se-cu-rely in his arms.

Although he'd se-en this hap-pen to her be-fo-re-too many ti-mes to su-it him-he didn't think he'd ever get used to it. When they first met, he'd be-en a skep-tic, the big-gest skep-tic of all ti-me. But Genny had ma-de a be-li-ever out of him. He fi-gu-red it was fa-te's way of get-ting a go-od la-ugh at his ex-pen-se. What co-uld be mo-re iro-nic than to ha-ve a guy who be-li-eved in not-hing be-yond his fi-ve sen-ses to fall he-ad over he-els in lo-ve with a ge-nu-ine psychic?

Genny's eye-lids flut-te-red as Dal-las rub-bed her back ten-derly and kis-sed her tem-p-le. "That's it, Genny, co-me back to me. Co-me out of the dark fog. You're sa-fe. I won't ever let an-y-t-hing bad hap-pen to you."

She mo-aned de-eply. Her eyes ope-ned, then clo-sed, then ope-ned aga-in. She ga-zed at Dal-las.

He co-uld tell her mind was fuzzy, that a part of her con-s-ci-o-us-ness hadn't re-tur-ned from the ot-her world she'd vi-si-ted, from the mysti-cal pla-ce that mo-re than on-ce had thre-ate-ned to trap her and
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