The Last to Die (2 page)

not her bed. Not ever aga-in
.

"You aren't go-ing to get to me," she told him. "Re-mem-ber, I've he-ard it all be-fo-re. I'm the girl you ho-ned yo-ur per-su-asi-on skills on."

"You may not be-li-eve me, Jaz-zy, but…" He ca-me up be-hind her, but didn't to-uch her, just sto-od very clo-se, his bre-ath warm on her neck. "In my own sel-fish way, I do lo-ve you. I al-ways ha-ve. And I al-ways will."

Odd how a part of her wan-ted to be-li-eve him, may-be even ne-eded to be-li-eve him. When she tur-ned to him, he re-ac-hed out and ca-res-sed her che-ek. She suc-ked in her bre-ath.

"Please, Jaz-zy." He lo-oked at her with tho-se sexy ha-zel eyes, his ex-p-res-si-on one of in-ten-se lon-ging. "Baby… ple-ase."

She didn't pro-test when he pul-led her clo-se. Gently. And kis-sed her. Ten-derly. All the old fe-elings re-sur-fa-ced and for a mo-ment-just a mo-ment-she wan-ted him in the sa-me old way. He al-lo-wed her to end the kiss. Then he sto-od the-re sta-ring at her, wa-iting for her jud-g-ment call.

"I can of-fer you cof-fee and con-ver-sa-ti-on for an ho-ur," she told him. That's it. Ta-ke it or le-ave it." ‘’I’ll ta-ke it." A sly, se-duc-ti-ve grin cur-ved the cor-ners of his lips as he tur-ned and wal-ked over to the so-fa, then sat and cros-sed one leg over the ot-her knee.

You're a fo-ol, Jaz-zy told her-self as she rus-hed in-to the kit-c-hen and pre-pa-red the cof-fe-ema-ker. Be-ing ni-ce to Jamie wasn't the an-s-wer. But God in he-aven, old ha-bits di-ed hard.

Tonight she wo-uld say go-od-bye to Jamie. This ti-me wo-uld be the last ti-me. And if he ever ca-me to her aga-in, she knew what she'd ha-ve to do. She'd ha-ve no cho-ice, not if she wan-ted to sa-ve her-self.

The man had to die! It wasn't that she wan-ted to kill him or an-yo-ne el-se, but he had left her no ot-her cho-ice. Not only wo-uld he ha-ve to die, but she fe-ared ot-hers wo-uld ha-ve to for-fe-it the-ir li-ves, al-so, if they in-ter-fe-red. Of co-ur-se, it wasn't en-ti-rely his fa-ult; af-ter all, he was only hu-man, a me-re man, with all the we-ak-nes-ses in-he-rent to his sex. But he was the worst of his kind, spi-ne-less and we-ak. He ga-ve in to his ba-ser in-s-tincts wit-ho-ut re-gard to how his ac-ti-ons might harm ot-hers. He re-ve-led in the dep-ra-vity that pla-gu-ed most men and many wo-men.

Her hand set-tled over her belly. In or-der to pro-tect her-self-and her baby-she ne-eded to plan a stra-tegy that wo-uld put sus-pi-ci-on on so-me-one el-se. But not just an-yo-ne. She wan-ted that wo-man to pay with her li-fe, and what bet-ter jus-ti-ce than to ha-ve her exe-cu-ted for mur-de-ring her lo-ver? Af-ter all, the who-le town knew she'd thre-ate-ned to kill him.

She sto-od in the sha-dows, wa-iting and wat-c-hing, kno-wing whe-re he was and what he was do-ing. He was with that wo-man, ma-king lo-ve to her. How co-uld he do this? He had sworn his lo-ve was true. Li-es. All li-es! They we-re for-ni-ca-tors. Sin-ners. Evil to the co-re. Both of them de-ser-ved to die. To be pu-nis-hed.

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She sho-uldn't act has-tily, in the he-at of the mo-ment. That was the way mis-ta-kes we-re ma-de.

She had ma-de mis-ta-kes in the past, but not this ti-me. She had trus-ted when she sho-uldn't ha-ve, but ne-ver aga-in. She ne-eded to be calm and in con-t-rol when she en-ded the son of a bitch's li-fe. The-re was no ne-ed for her to kill him to-night. As long as she eli-mi-na-ted him be-fo-re his wed-ding day, ever-y-t-hing wo-uld be all right.

She wo-uld not kill him qu-ickly. A qu-ick de-ath was too go-od for him. He ne-eded to die slowly, pa-in-ful-ly, tor-tu-red and tor-men-ted. The tho-ught of lis-te-ning to his ago-ni-zing scre-ams ex-ci-ted her. Her mind fil-led with vi-vidly gru-eso-me im-p-res-si-ons of his last ho-urs on earth.

"Everything I do, I do for you, my swe-et baby. I won't let an-yo-ne hurt you. They think we aren't go-od eno-ugh for them. They think they can swe-ep us out the do-or and pre-tend we don't exist. But I won't let that hap-pen. You don't ha-ve an-y-t-hing to worry abo-ut. Not now. Not ever. Mot-her's he-re… Mot-her's he-re."

Chapter 1

The man writ-hed in agony, his na-ked tor-so hel-p-les-sly bo-und, his legs spre-ad-eag-led.

Tight ro-pe ma-nac-led his an-k-les to eit-her si-de of the he-avy spi-kes in the wo-oden flo-or. She
re-mo-ved the thick cot-ton rag used to gag him ef-fec-ti-vely and mu-te his tor-tu-red cri-es.

Self-sa-tis-fi-ed and ex-ci-ted, she sto-od over him, the blo-ody kni-fe clut-c-hed tightly in her
ste-ady hand. The dim glow of the lo-ne lamp bur-ning in the ro-om cast sha-dows ac-ross her
fa-ce, re-ve-aling not-hing abo-ut her ex-cept a few flya-way ten-d-rils of bur-nis-hed red ha-ir. As
she lo-we-red the kni-fe, the man's eyes wi-de-ned in ter-ror. He knew what she was go-ing to do.

He strug-gled fu-ti-lely aga-inst his cap-ti-vity. Swe-at dot-ted his fo-re-he-ad, his up-per lip, and
drip-ped along the si-de of his fa-ce. When she pla-ced the kni-fe bet-we-en his thighs, red -with
blo-od from whe-re she'd tor-men-ted him, she la-ug-hed.

" 'What-so-ever ye sow, that shall ye re-ap.'"

He mum-b-led ple-adingly as he shi-ve-red, his he-ad thras-hing si-de to si-de, pa-nic se-izing him com-p-le-tely. Fe-ar con-su-med him.

"You will ne-ver hurt an-yo-ne ever aga-in," she told him. "I will pu-nish you for yo-ur many sins and rid the world of yo-ur evil." She bro-ught the kni-fe back, re-ac-hed un-der him and lifted his scro-tum, then, with one swift, de-adly sli-ce, cas-t-ra-ted her vic-tim. ‘’I am yo-ur an-gel of de-ath, who-re-mon-ger!"

Genny Ma-doc scre-amed. When she shot stra-ight up in bed, her fi-ancé, Dal-las Slo-an, ca-me up be-si-de her a split se-cond la-ter. He wrap-ped his arms aro-und her and held her as she trem-b-led.

"What hap-pe-ned?" he as-ked, then brus-hed his lips along her tem-p-le. "Was it a nig-h-t-ma-re or a vi-si-on?"

She ga-ve her-self over com-p-le-tely to his com-for-ting ca-re, ha-ving co-me to de-pend on him with to-tal trust the-se past few months. "Both. A nig-h-t-ma-re vi-si-on."

"You ha-ven't be-en bot-he-red with vi-si-ons sin-ce…" He let his words tra-il off. She sus-pec-ted
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that he, as she, pre-fer-red not to dwell on the events of this past Janu-ary, when she'd co-me very clo-se to be-ing a ma-ni-acal se-ri-al kil-ler's fifth vic-tim he-re in Che-ro-kee Co-unty.

Although it was early Ap-ril in the mo-un-ta-ins, the nig-h-t-ti-me and early mor-ning tem-pe-ra-tu-res re-ma-ined in the high thir-ti-es and low for-ti-es. Genny shi-ve-red as a cold chill rac-ked her body. Dal-las lif-ted the he-avy qu-ilt from the fo-ot of the-ir bed and wrap-ped it aro-und her, then pul-led her back down in-to the bed be-si-de him. She cud-dled aga-inst him and sig-hed he-avily.

"Want to tell me abo-ut it?" he as-ked.

"I'd rat-her for-get it… but I can't. I be-li-eve the vi-si-on was a fo-re-war-ning. I saw a man be-ing mur-de-red."

"Did you re-cog-ni-ze eit-her the vic-tim or the kil-ler?" Dal-las as-ked.

"Yes and no, but…" She pul-led away from him and rol-led out of bed.

Dallas le-aned over, just eno-ugh to lo-osen the co-vers from his up-per body. Genny lo-oked at him, at this man she lo-ved mo-re than li-fe it-self, and wis-hed mo-re fer-vently than she ever had be-fo-re that she wasn't cur-sed with the gift of sight. Lo-ving her, li-ving with her, mar-rying her co-me June, Dal-las had to de-al with her spe-ci-al ta-lents as only the ma-te of a true psychic wo-uld ha-ve to do.

Genny dis-car-ded the he-avy qu-ilt, drop-ping it to the flo-or as she slip-ped in-to her ro-be and ho-use sho-es, her mo-ve-ments slow and un-s-te-ady. She tur-ned to Dal-las. "I won't be ab-le to sle-ep. I think I'll fix myself so-me cof-fee and go out-si-de to watch the sun-ri-se. You stay he-re and go back to sle-ep."

Totally na-ked, Dal-las emer-ged from the bed in all his mas-cu-li-ne glory, a mor-ning erec-ti-on jut-ting out bet-we-en his thighs. "You're so we-ak you can ba-rely walk. You aren't go-ing an-y-w-he-re wit-ho-ut me." He grab-bed his dis-car-ded je-ans and shirt off a ne-arby cha-ir. "I'll fix cof-fee. Then if you want to go out-si-de, I'll go with you."

"I'm just a lit-tle we-ak. The vi-si-on dra-ined so-me of my strength, but it was a bri-ef vi-si-on and I'm not ex-ha-us-ted. Re-al-ly I'm not."

Not bot-he-ring to put on his socks, he stuf-fed his fe-et in-to his sho-es, put his arm aro-und her sho-ul-ders and gu-ided her out of the bed-ro-om. "You ne-ed to talk abo-ut it. If it was a pre-mo-ni-ti-on of so-me-one's de-ath, then may-be the-re's so-met-hing we can do to pre-vent it from hap-pe-ning."

Genny lo-ved the way he sa-id "we" so na-tu-ral-ly, wit-ho-ut gi-ving it any tho-ught. Al-most in-s-tantly, from the first night they met, they had be-co-me one spi-rit.

Fifteen mi-nu-tes la-ter, Dal-las and Genny, cof-fee mugs in hand, sto-od on the front porch of her old Ten-nes-see far-m-ho-use and wat-c-hed the sun-ri-se. Dal-las's strong arms en-com-pas-sed her as he sto-od be-hind her, his big body war-ming her. Pa-le and pink, li-ke the tips of a hun-d-red tor-c-hes ba-rely be-gin-ning to brig-h-ten the ho-ri-zon, the first glim-mer of mor-ning sun-light lit the Eas-tern sky.

"No mat-ter how many ti-mes I see this, it ne-ver ce-ases to ta-ke my bre-ath away," she told him.

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"I know exactly what you me-an." One of his big hands clam-ped down on her sho-ul-der.

When she glan-ced back and up at him, he wasn't lo-oking at the sun-ri-se, but at her. And she knew that she, not na-tu-re's be-a-uty, was what cap-ti-va-ted him.

Genny glan-ced up at the sky, le-aned her body back, clo-ser in-to Dal-las, and lif-ted the strong, dark brew to her lips. The Co-lom-bi-an Sup-re-me had a rich, mel-low fla-vor, and she, li-ke Dal-las, to-ok her cof-fee black.

'The man was Jamie Up-ton," Genny sa-id, her vo-ice not much mo-re than a whis-per, as if she tho-ught by not sa-ying his na-me too lo-udly, it might so-me-how pro-tect him.

"You saw so-me-one kill Jamie Up-ton?" Dal-las nuz-zled the si-de of her neck with his no-se. "I'm not sur-p-ri-sed. I fi-gu-re it's only a mat-ter of ti-me be-fo-re he pis-ses off the wrong wo-man."

"Please don't say that."

Dallas to-ok a swig of cof-fee, then set his mug on the win-dow-sill be-hind him. When Genny to-ok se-ve-ral steps to-ward the ed-ge of the porch, he fol-lo-wed and wrap-ped his arms aro-und her aga-in. '’Tell me what's frig-h-te-ned you so. The-re has to be mo-re to yo-ur vi-si-on than simply se-e-ing Jamie kil-led."

"Isn't that eno-ugh?"

"Depends."

"On what?" she as-ked.

"On how he was mur-de-red and on who kil-led him."

"I don't know who she was, but-"

"So I was right, huh? I fi-gu-red it was a wo-man. Af-ter all, it wo-uld be only po-etic jus-ti-ce if so-me wo-man chops off his balls."

Genny gas-ped. Dal-las clut-c-hed her sho-ul-ders and whir-led her aro-und to fa-ce him.

"Is that what hap-pe-ned?"

Feeling sud-denly cold and kno-wing the co-lor had dra-ined from her fa-ce, Genny nod-ded.

"And-and the-re was so-met-hing abo-ut the wo-man."

"I tho-ught you sa-id you didn't re-cog-ni-ze her."

"I didn't see her fa-ce, but I saw a few strands of her ha-ir."

"So?" Dal-las sta-red at her qu-iz-zi-cal-ly.

"Her ha-ir was red."

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"Red? Go-od God, ho-ney, you don't think it was Jaz-zy, do you?" When she co-uldn't bring her-self to res-pond, Dal-las grun-ted. "You think you saw Jaz-zy mur-der Jamie, don't you?"

"No, of co-ur-se not. Jaz-zy isn't ca-pab-le of mur-der."

"That's whe-re you're wrong. Every hu-man be-ing is ca-pab-le of kil-ling, gi-ven the right pro-vo-ca-ti-on. But if Jaz-zy was go-ing to kill Jamie, she'd al-re-ady ha-ve do-ne it. Long ago."

Genny to-ok a de-ep bre-ath, then ex-ha-led as she nod-ded ag-re-ement. "I don't think the wo-man who kil-led Jamie in my vi-si-on was Jaz-zy, but my in-s-tincts warn me that so-me-how Jamie's de-ath will bring gre-at tro-ub-le to her."

"So sho-uld we fo-re-warn Jamie?"

Genny sho-ok her he-ad. "No. He'd ne-ver be-li-eve me. He'd only la-ugh at me. But I'm go-ing to tell Jaz-zy. She ne-eds to stay as far away from Jamie as she pos-sibly can."

"That might be a prob-lem, con-si-de-ring how he ho-unds her all the ti-me."

"I think she ne-eds to ta-ke out a res-t-ra-ining or-der aga-inst him." Genny lo-oked di-rectly at Dal-las. "Now that you're the chi-ef of po-li-ce, you can han-d-le that for her, can't you?"

"Yeah, su-re, but Jamie be-ing Jamie, I do-ubt a res-t-ra-ining or-der will ke-ep him away from her."

'Then may-be I sho-uld spe-ak to Ca-leb McCord."

"McCord? The bo-un-cer at Jaz-zy's Jo-int?"

"Yes, that Ca-leb McCord."

"Am I mis-sing so-met-hing? Why wo-uld you tell-" 'That's right, I didn't tell you, did I?"

"Tell me what?"

"Caleb is in lo-ve with Jaz-zy."

"He is?"

"Yes, he is. He just do-esn't know it yet."

Dallas chuc-k-led. Genny tur-ned her at-ten-ti-on back to the mor-ning sky as she sip-ped her cof-fee and al-lo-wed her fi-ancé to pull her down in his lap as he sat in one of the fo-ur roc-king cha-irs on the front porch.

La-ura Wil-lis res-ted on the win-dow se-at in the gu-est bed-ro-om she sha-red with her yo-un-ger sis-ter, She-ri-dan, at the Up-ton es-ta-te out-si-de Che-ro-kee Po-in-te. She'd be-en li-ving he-re sin-ce Jamie bro-ught her to me-et his gran-d-pa-rents three months ago. Un-til her sis-ter and pa-rents had ar-ri-ved two days ago for her en-ga-ge-ment party, she had sha-red Jamie's bed many nights. The
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