The Last to Die (36 page)

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With trem-b-ling fin-gers, she yan-ked at his shirt un-til she ma-na-ged to pull it off him. Af-ter tos-sing it on the flo-or, she star-ted wor-king on un-buc-k-ling his belt, which she did in no ti-me flat.

When she un-zip-ped his je-ans, he grab-bed her hands and la-id them flat on his na-ked chest.

"You're get-ting ahe-ad of me." He fi-nis-hed un-do-ing her blo-use, then re-mo-ved it and tos-sed it on the flo-or atop his shirt.

Taking off the-ir sho-es, they to-re at each ot-her's clot-hing, all the whi-le lo-oking and to-uc-hing and pa-using long eno-ugh to grab qu-ick, wild kis-ses. When Ca-leb wo-re only his bri-efs and she her pan-ti-es, he ca-res-sed her bre-asts, lif-ting them, flic-king his thumbs over, her sen-si-ti-ve nip-ples.

Se-xu-al ex-ci-te-ment cla-wed at her in-si-des, zin-ging along every ner-ve. When he lo-we-red his he-ad and suc-ked one bre-ast and then the ot-her, she whim-pe-red with ple-asu-re. He lif-ted her hips un-til she was ab-le to wrap her legs aro-und him. Then he car-ri-ed" her to-ward the desk whi-le she kis-sed, nip-ped, and lic-ked his sho-ul-der. Af-ter pla-cing her on the ed-ge of the desk, he pul-led her pan-ti-es down her hips, over her legs, and off. She gas-ped when he slip-ped his hand bet-we-en her thighs and sho-ved them apart. His fin-gers dan-ced thro-ugh her pu-bic ha-ir and on-to her fe-mi-ni-ne lips. When he in-ser-ted two fin-gers in-si-de her, she lif-ted her hips to ac-com-mo-da-te him.

"You're drip-ping wet, swe-et-he-art."

He mas-sa-ged her re-pe-atedly un-til she be-gan un-du-la-ting aga-inst his hand. His bri-efs di-sap-pe-ared with one swift yank. She threw her arms aro-und his neck as she spre-ad her legs far-t-her apart and wel-co-med him in-to her body. He ac-cep-ted the in-vi-ta-ti-on wit-ho-ut he-si-ta-ti-on, gras-ping her butt to po-si-ti-on her be-fo-re ram-ming in-to her full for-ce. Clin-ging to him, wrap-ping her legs aro-und: his hips, she mat-c-hed him thrust for thrust, as hungry for him as he was her.

So go-od, she tho-ught. So go-od. Wil-der, hot-ter, bet-ter than any sex she'd ever had be-fo-re-be-ca-use she wan-ted him mo-re than she'd ever wan-ted an-yo-ne.

As the-ir pas-si-on bu-ilt, they went at each ot-her sa-va-gely, des-pe-ra-te ne-ed con-t-rol-ling the-ir ac-ti-ons. He mur-mu-red cru-de, grap-hic phra-ses as he scre-wed her. The mo-re he tal-ked to her, the mo-re ex-ci-ted she got. She wan-ted this in-c-re-dib-le lo-ving to go on and on, but knew she was on the ver-ge of an or-gasm that co-uldn't be. stop-ped, co-uldn't even be slo-wed down. He was so big and hard and every lun-ge hit all the right spots, brin-ging her clo-ser and clo-ser to ful-fil-lment.

And when it was so go-od she didn't think she co-uld stand it, it got bet-ter. Her cli-max hit her li-ke a ti-dal wa-ve. She gas-ped, then bit down on his sho-ul-der to ke-ep from scre-aming with ple-asu-re.

Her re-le-ase trig-ge-red his. He ham-me-red in-to her un-til he ca-me. Whi-le he trem-b-led, he kept mo-ving in-si-de her un-til he squ-e-ezed every oun-ce of ple-asu-re from his cli-max.

They clung to each ot-her, the-ir he-arts be-ating lo-udly, the-ir bre-at-hing fast. He clas-ped her neck ten-derly and ca-res-sed her che-ek with his thumb whi-le he lo-oked in-to her eyes.

"It was even bet-ter than I tho-ught it wo-uld be," he told her.

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?"

While he held her clo-se, she wrap-ped her arms aro-und him and la-id her he-ad on his sho-ul-der.

They sta-yed li-ke that for qu-ite a whi-le. Na-ked. The-ir bo-di-es damp with swe-at and smel-ling strongly of sex.

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Finally he sa-id, " Let's get dres-sed. Then I'll walk you ho-me."

"Will you stay the night?" she as-ked.

"I'll stay as long as you'll let me stay."

Everything was red. Bright red. Li-ke a wa-tery crim-son ve-il co-lo-ring the who-le world. Then sud-denly black clo-uds swir-led aro-und the scar-let li-qu-id.

Genny had be-en in the kit-c-hen, pre-pa-ring her-self a cup of bed-ti-me her-bal tea when the vi-si-on hit her. At the very first in-k-ling of what was to co-me, she sat down At the tab-le and bra-ced her-self. She had no con-t-rol over her vi-si-ons. They ca-me to her awa-ke and as-le-ep. Day and night. She hadn't cal-led for Dal-las be-ca-use she knew that both he and her dog Drudwyn wo-uld sen-se her ne-ed for them and they wo-uld co-me to her.

As the dar-k-ness en-ve-lo-ped most of the red, Genny saw the starry sky over-he-ad. So-me-one was lo-oking up at the night sky. But who? As if vi-ewing a cam-cor-der re-cor-ding an event, she wat-c-hed whi-le tall, eerie black tre-es ca-me in-to vi-ew. Wo-ods. Who-ever this per-son was, they we-re in the wo-ods. And pro-bably so-mew-he-re ne-arby in the-se very mo-un-ta-ins. Then a ca-bin ca-me in-to vi-ew. A dri-ve-way. An old truck. Ever-y-t-hing was dark-black and red and va-ri-o-us sha-des of gray. So-me-one lay in the bed of the truck. A man. He was red.

Oh, God! Genny gas-ped and be-gan trem-b-ling. The man was de-ad, his eyes sta-ring sig-h-t-less up at the night sky. His thro-at had be-en slit. He was na-ked. Genny scre-amed when she saw that the man's ge-ni-tals had be-en re-mo-ved.

"Genny? Genny?" She he-ard Dal-las's vo-ice as if he was far away and not right be-si-de her as she knew he was. "Damn it, Genny, snap out of it."

Although she felt strong arms hol-ding her, she co-uldn't stop scre-aming. But she didn't know if she was ac-tu-al-ly scre-aming or if the so-und was only in-si-de her he-ad.

He's de-ad
, she told her-self.
You can't help him. Don't stay he-re. Le-ave this pla-ce. Le-ave now
be-fo-re the evil sucks you in.

"Come on, Genny, don't do this. Get out of the-re now, whi-le you still can." Dal-las sho-ok her. "I know you t can do it."

The wo-man was the-re, too. Not in the truck. Be-si-de it. Keys in her hand. She was go-ing to dri-ve the truck away, dis-po-se of it and the body of the man she had just kil-led.

"Genny!"

I can't co-me back right now
, she tri-ed to tell Dal-las te-le-pat-hi-cal-ly. Al-t-ho-ugh they we-re still wor-king on stren-g-t-he-ning the-ir te-le-pat-hic link to each ot-her and hadn't qu-ite per-fec-ted it, al-re-ady he was ab-le to con-nect with her ne-arly half the ti-me.
I see the wo-man. She's kil-led
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aga-in.

"Be ca-re-ful," Dal-las told her, and she wasn't su-re whet-her he'd spo-ken the words or simply tho-ught them.

The wo-man was no mo-re than a sha-dow. Not tall. Not short. Just a dark sil-ho-u-et-te. Genny tri-ed to fo-cus on the fi-gu-re as she ope-ned the truck do-or, hop-ped up in-si-de, and sat be-hind the ste-ering whe-el. Genny co-uldn't see her fa-ce, only the out-li-ne of he-ad and sho-ul-ders. Who are you? Who are you?

Blackness ho-ve-red all aro-und the wo-man, shro-uding her in evil. No, the evil wasn't sur-ro-un-ding her, Genny re-ali-zed, it was co-ming from her. So much an-ger and ha-te. And an in-sa-ti-ab-le thirst for re-ven-ge. But this kill hadn't be-en for re-ven-ge; it had be-en out of ne-ces-sity.

Genny shud-de-red. She wo-uld kill aga-in. And so-on.

Suddenly and very cle-arly, Genny saw the back of the wo-man's he-ad. She gas-ped. Short red ha-ir. Jaz-zy's co-lor and style. Wit-ho-ut a do-ubt this was the sa-me wo-man who had bru-tal-ly mur-de-red Jamie. And for wha-te-ver war-ped re-ason she was still trying to pass her-self off as Jaz-zy.

Genny fo-ught her way out of the dar-k-ness and back in-to the light. She ope-ned her eyes bri-efly and saw Dal-las's fa-ce as he knelt be-si-de the kit-c-hen cha-ir in which she sat. He cup-ped her fa-ce with his big hands.

"Are you all right?" he as-ked.

Jazzy." Genny's vo-ice so-un-ded we-ak, even to her own ears. The-se vi-si-ons dra-ined her of her strength, of-ten we-ake-ning her for ho-urs.

''What abo-ut Jaz-zy?"

''Call her." Drudwyn whim-pe-red as he nuz-zled Genny's knee with his no-se. She lif-ted her hand, which felt as if it we-ig-hed a ton, and ma-na-ged to stro-ke his furry he-ad.

''I'm all right, boy'', she told him. She and Drudwyn had be-en com-mu-ni-ca-ting wit-ho-ut words sin-ce the mi-xed-bre-ed ani-mal had be-en a puppy, si-red by one of the mo-un-ta-in's few red wol-ves.

"You want me to call her now?" Dal-las as-ked. "At this ti-me of night? It's ne-arly mid-night."

"She… she ne-eds an ali-bi."

"Damn!" Dal-las pul-led Genny in-to his arms and pres-sed her he-ad down on his sho-ul-der. "What did you see?"

"She's kil-led aga-in… the wo-man who mur-de-red Jamie."

Their bo-di-es mo-ved in per-fect rhythm, a ma-ting dan-ce as old as ti-me. A man and a wo-man in
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the thro-es of a pas-si-on so po-wer-ful that they we-re ob-li-vi-o-us to ever-y-t-hing el-se. The she-ets tan-g-led abo-ut the-ir arms and legs as they tos-sed and tur-ned, ro-ta-ting po-si-ti-ons aga-in and aga-in. They had ma-de lo-ve twi-ce al-re-ady, on-ce dow-n-s-ta-irs in her of-fi-ce and on-ce he-re in this bed, which they had ne-arly des-t-ro-yed. The bed-s-p-re-ad hung hap-ha-zardly half-on, half-off the bed, and the han-d-ma-de qu-ilt lay crum-p-led on the flo-or. One pil-low hung pre-ca-ri-o-usly on the ed-ge at the fo-ot of the bed and the ot-her res-ted ver-ti-cal-ly alon-g-si-de the he-ad of the bed.

They had ex-p-lo-red each ot-her's bo-di-es tho-ro-ug-h-ly-To-uc-hing. Tas-ting. Ple-asu-ring.

Enj-oying. He had known it wo-uld be go-od with Jaz-zy. The best sex he'd ever had.! Be-ca-use for them it was mo-re than just two bo-di-es ex-pe-ri-en-cing physi-cal gra-ti-fi-ca-ti-on. So-met-hing in-si-de him-"1 so-met-hing pri-me-val-had re-cog-ni-zed her as his ma-te the first ti-me he la-id eyes on her.

His ot-her lo-vers didn't mat-ter; ne-it-her did hers. Not even Jamie, and she had lo-ved Jamie.

The-re was a rig-h-t-ness to them that ca-me on-ce in a li-fe-ti-me. That's what mat-te-red-that so-ul-de-ep con-nec-ti-on. It co-uld be li-ke this only with Jaz-zy. And he had to be-li-eve that she felt the sa-me. Ot-her-wi-se no-ne of this ma-de sen-se.

Caleb flip-ped her over on her back and to-ok the do-mi-nant po-si-ti-on. He lif-ted him-self off her just eno-ugh so that he co-uld lo-ok at her-that be-a-uti-ful, flaw-less fa-ce; that silky smo-oth skin; tho-se lar-ge, lus-ci-o-us bre-asts. His sex, bu-ri-ed in-si-de her, throb-bed. She lif-ted her hands to ca-ress his chest. The mo-ment she to-uc-hed him, he pul-led back, then thrust in-to her de-ep and hard.

Gas-ping, she grab-bed his sho-ul-ders and res-pon-ded to his fran-tic, po-un-ding lun-ges. He ca-me first this ti-me, the sen-sa-ti-on ma-king his ears ring and he-ad ex-p-lo-de as he jet-ted in-to her. Whi-le he cli-ma-xed, she mo-ved wildly be-ne-ath him. Wit-hin half a mi-nu-te she had an or-gasm that went on and on and on, the af-te-ref-fects lin-ge-ring. Just as he slid off her and on-to his si-de, the te-lep-ho-ne rang.

Who the hell
? he won-de-red. It had to be well past mid-night. They'd left Jaz-zy's Jo-int a lit-tle af-ter ten. He'd no-ted the ti-me right as they we-re le-aving to co-me up-s-ta-irs.

Jazzy gro-aned.

"Want me to get it?" he as-ked. Mm-hmm." She snug-gled aga-inst him as he re-ac-hed over her to the bed-si-de tab-le.

Caleb grab-bed the re-ce-iver. "Ye-ah?"

Silence. Then a man's vo-ice sa-id, "McCord, is that you?"

"Who wants to know?"

Jazzy lif-ted her he-ad and lo-oked in-qu-iringly at Ca-leb.

'' Dal-las Slo-an," the vo-ice on the pho-ne sa-id.

Sloan wo-uldn't be cal-ling at this ti-me of night un-less so-met-hing was wrong. "What's up?" Ca-leb as-ked, al1 y awa-re that he didn't want to he-ar wha-te-ver it was.

Not to-night. Not when ever-y-t-hing was so right bet-we-en Jaz-zy and him.

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"Genny had anot-her vi-si-on," Dal-las sa-id. "Anot-her man has be-en kil-led, his ge-ni-tals whac-ked off. Genny's cer-ta-in that it's the sa-me per-son who kil-led Jamie.''

A hun-d-red tho-ughts fo-ught for do-mi-nan-ce in Ca-leb' mind. How wo-uld this af-fect Jaz-zy?

Wo-uld she be bla-med for the mur-der? Or wo-uld this re-mo-ve sus-pi-ci-on from her?

"Has it al-re-ady hap-pe-ned?" Ca-leb as-ked.

"Genny's not su-re, but she thinks, yes, it's al-re-ady a fa-it ac-com-p-li. She wan-ted me to get in to-uch with Jaz-zy first be-fo-re I call Jacob and we start se-ar-c-hing for the body. Genny says that Jaz-zy ne-eds an ali-bi. Genny saw the wo-man's ha-ir aga-in. Sa-me co-lor and style as Jaz-zy's."

"Holy shit! Not aga-in." Ca-leb tig-h-te-ned his hold aro-und Jaz-zy's slen-der wa-ist. "Well, she's got one. We've be-en to-get-her sin-ce ni-ne o'clock and be-fo-re that do-zens of cus-to-mers saw her at Jaz-zy's Jo-int."

"Stay with her," Dal-las sa-id. "Don't le-ave her un-til we know for su-re the de-ed's be-en do-ne."

"Call us as so-on as you know so-met-hing, will you, Slo-an?"

"Will do."

The mi-nu-te Ca-leb hung up the pho-ne, Jaz-zy ro-se up and over him, her fa-ce only in-c-hes from his. ''That was Dal-las? Why did he call? Is Genny all right?"

When Ca-leb sat up in bed, he bro-ught Jaz-zy up with him in-to a sit-ting po-si-ti-on, then dra-ped his arm aro-und her na-ked sho-ul-ders. "Genny had one of her vi-si-ons. She saw anot-her man mur-de-red-his pri-va-tes cut off the way Jamie's we-re. She's su-re it's the sa-me wo-man be-ca-use she had short red ha-ir, just li-ke yo-urs."

Jazzy to-ok a de-ep bre-ath. "I ha-ve an ali-bi this ti-me. I ha-ven't be-en alo-ne all eve-ning."

"If not-hing el-se, this mur-der sho-uld gi-ve the dis-t-rict at-tor-ney se-cond tho-ughts."