The Last to Die (8 page)

He to-ok se-ve-ral ten-ta-ti-ve steps in her di-rec-ti-on, then pa-used as if un-cer-ta-in he had a right to ap-pro-ach her.
Act hum-b-le
, he told him-self.
Pre-tend to be torn apart in-si-de with the fe-ar
you might lo-se her.

"Laura, I ma-de a mis-ta-ke in le-aving our en-ga-ge-ment party be-fo-re it en-ded. I didn't re-ali-ze at the ti-me how it wo-uld lo-ok to you, yo-ur pa-rents, and our gu-ests." Jamie to-ok anot-her co-up-le of steps to-ward her. "Chalk it up to my eager-ness to do so-met-hing I sho-uld ha-ve do-ne a long ti-me ago."

She lo-oked at him aga-in, this ti-me for se-ve-ral se-conds, be-fo-re glan-cing down at the flo-or.

"What-what are you tal-king abo-ut? What sho-uld you ha-ve do-ne a long ti-me ago?"

"Ended things with Jaz-zy."

Laura's he-ad snap-ped up, her ga-ze fo-cu-sed di-rectly on his fa-ce. He'd known that sta-te-ment abo-ut Jaz-zy wo-uld ga-in him her full at-ten-ti-on.

"I don't un-der-s-tand," La-ura sa-id.

He mo-ved clo-ser, brin-ging him-self wit-hin to-uc-hing dis-tan-ce of his eager-to-be-li-eve-him fi-an-c-ée. "Last night at our en-ga-ge-ment party, with our fa-mily and fri-ends he-re to ce-leb-ra-te with us, I re-ali-zed just how im-por-tant this mar-ri-age is to me… how im-por-tant you are to me. I
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want our mar-ri-age to work. I-I lo-ve you, La-ura."

Tears gat-he-red in her eyes as she sta-red at him, dis-be-li-ef bat-tling with ho-pe in her ex-p-res-si-on. "You went to Jaz-zy and you spent the night with her."

"Yes, I went to Jaz-zy." He re-ac-hed out for La-ura. She pul-led back, ret-re-ating from his to-uch.

"I went to her to tell her that it's over bet-we-en us. Now and fo-re-ver. I told her that I lo-ve you. She un-der-s-to-od. We tal-ked for a co-up-le of ho-urs-just tal-ked-then I left."

"If that's true, then whe-re we-re you all night?"

"I dro-ve aro-und for a whi-le, thin-king, pon-de-ring my many mis-ta-kes, ma-king plans for my-our fu-tu-re. Be-fo-re I knew it, I fo-und myself over in Knox Co-unty, ne-arly in dow-n-town Knox-vil-le. I tho-ught abo-ut cal-ling you, but hell, su-gar, it was the wee ho-urs of the mor-ning. So I pul-led off at a rest stop and got a few ho-urs sle-ep be-fo-re I he-aded back ho-me."

"I want to be-li-eve you."

Jamie ze-ro-ed in on her, le-aving her no ro-om for es-ca-pe. Kno-wing she wo-uldn't put up much of a fight, he pul-led her in-to his arms and sa-id, "Be-li-eve this, La-ura. I lo-ve you. Only you." When he lo-we-red his he-ad to kiss her, she tur-ned away from him. He gras-ped her chin and ma-ne-uve-red her fa-ce aro-und so that he co-uld ta-ke her lips. On-ce he kis-sed her, she suc-cum-bed wit-ho-ut even so much as a whim-per. God, she was so easy. Dumb lit-tle cunt.

When he fi-nal-ly en-ded the kiss, she lo-oked up at him with lo-ve and trust in her eyes. "Oh, Jamie, I lo-ve you so much."

"I know you do. And I lo-ve you even mo-re. We're go-ing to be the hap-pi-est yo-ung co-up-le in the sta-te of Ten-nes-see co-me three we-eks from Sa-tur-day." He lif-ted her in-to his arms and swung her aro-und the ro-om. "Hell, ma-ke that the hap-pi-est co-up-le in the who-le Uni-ted Sta-tes of Ame-ri-ca."

Reve wan-ted not-hing mo-re than to es-ca-pe Che-ro-kee Po-in-te as fast as she co-uld. She'd be-en a fo-ol for co-ming he-re, for se-eking out Jas-mi-ne Tal-bot in the ho-pes the wo-man might pro-ve to be her bi-olo-gi-cal sis-ter. Even tho-ugh she didn't qu-ite be-li-eve Sally Tal-bot's sta-unch de-ni-al that Sally's yo-un-ger sis-ter had gi-ven birth to mo-re than one child, Re-ve co-uldn't ac-cept the fact that she and a wo-man such as Jaz-zy Tal-bot might be blo-od re-la-ted. The wo-man was trash.

And from what she'd gat-he-red on very bri-ef ac-qu-a-in-tan-ce, Jaz-zy was a who-re. Even if by so-me we-ird trick of fa-te she and Jaz-zy we-re re-la-ted, Re-ve didn't want to pur-sue the truth. She didn't want to be the wo-man's sis-ter. Hell, she didn't want them even to be co-usins. And she cer-ta-inly didn't want the li-kes of Sally Tal-bot to be her aunt!

As she zo-omed her Jag along the hig-h-way le-ading out of town, she con-si-de-red the can of worms she might ha-ve ope-ned with her vi-sit. Why had she told them her na-me? If any of them wan-ted to find her, it wo-uld be very easy. Ever-yo-ne who was an-yo-ne in Chat-ta-no-oga, in all of Ha-mil-ton Co-unty, knew who Re-ve Sor-rell was. She was the he-ir to Sor-rell for-tu-ne! Pe-op-le li-ke Jaz-zy Tal-bot and her aunt Sally we-re the type to want mo-ney from a long-lost re-la-ti-ve.

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And what abo-ut Ca-leb McCord? She'd ta-ken an in-s-tant li-king to him, but she didn't kid her-self abo-ut what sort of man he was. From the lo-oks of him, he was a di-amond in the ro-ugh, a po-or boy from the wrong si-de of the tracks. A wo-man li-ke Jaz-zy wo-uld know how to han-d-le that kind of man, but Re-ve fi-gu-red she wo-uld be out of her depths. She li-ked her gen-t-le-men fri-ends to be her so-ci-al, in-tel-lec-tu-al, and fi-nan-ci-al equ-al. It didn't ta-ke a ge-ni-us to fi-gu-re out Ca-leb McCord didn't fit that bill, at le-ast on two co-unts.

Would Ca-leb's cu-ri-osity abo-ut why Re-ve Sor-rell and Jaz-zy Tal-bot lo-oked eno-ugh ali-ke to be twins tran-s-la-te in-to ac-ti-on? Wo-uld she ha-ve to pay him off so he wo-uld let the mat-ter drop?

And on-ce they dis-co-ve-red how rich she was, what wo-uld it cost her to ma-ke Jaz-zy and Sally Tal-bot di-sap-pe-ar from her li-fe?

Cursing her-self for al-lo-wing her de-si-re to know the truth abo-ut her "do-ub-le" to cre-ate a po-ten-ti-al-ly em-bar-ras-sing si-tu-ati-on for her, Re-ve didn't re-ali-ze how fast she was dri-ving un-til she whiz-zed past a big black pic-kup truck go-ing in the op-po-si-te di-rec-ti-on. Sud-denly she he-ard a si-ren. Damn! Glan-cing in her re-ar-vi-ew mir-ror she saw the blue flas-hing light atop the truck, which had tur-ned aro-und in the mid-dle of the ro-ad. Oh, gre-at. Just gre-at. Who was this guy? A po-li-ce-man? A she-rif-fs de-puty?

Slow down and pull off to the si-de of the ro-ad
, she told her-self.
Pay off this ove-re-ager
law-man and be on yo-ur way.

Before she co-uld fol-low thro-ugh with her plans to be a co-ope-ra-ti-ve ci-ti-zen, an enor-mo-us ani-mal das-hed ac-ross the ro-ad in front of her. Go-od God! A full-grown buck with an im-p-res-si-ve rack that wo-uld ga-in the de-er the ad-mi-ra-ti-on of any hun-ter. She swer-ved, trying to ke-ep from hit-ting the mag-ni-fi-cent ani-mal, and in the pro-cess wo-und up run-ning her Jag in-to the ditch. And not just a shal-low ditch on the si-de of the ro-ad. No, it was a de-ep ditch, on the si-de of the mo-un-ta-in. Luc-kily she ma-na-ged to bring the car to a full stop only se-conds be-fo-re it wo-uld ha-ve hit he-ad-on in-to a mas-si-ve oak tree. When she skid-ded to a halt, even her se-at belt didn't pre-vent her from bo-un-cing. Than-k-ful-ly, the air bag didn't dep-loy.

With her he-art be-ating wildly, her ner-ves scre-aming, and a sud-den he-adac-he po-un-ding in her tem-p-les, Re-ve tri-ed to un-do her se-at belt. Her ner-vo-us fin-gers co-uldn't ma-na-ge the sim-p-le task. What was the mat-ter with her? She wasn't hurt. Didn't ha-ve a scratch on her. Wha-te-ver da-ma-ge had be-en do-ne to the Jag co-uld be re-pa-ired, and if not, she'd simply buy her-self a new car and use one of the fi-ve ot-hers she ow-ned in the me-an-ti-me.

Why she was sha-king li-ke a le-af?

Shock. She was in shock. That had to be it.

A lo-ud rap-ping on the dri-ver's si-de win-dow ga-ined her im-me-di-ate at-ten-ti-on. When she lo-oked thro-ugh the win-dow, she gas-ped when she saw the fa-ce of a dark-skin-ned sa-va-ge, with black ha-ir down to his sho-ul-ders, and a set of slan-ted gre-en eyes pe-ering at her. May-be she'd hit her he-ad and didn't re-mem-ber. Su-rely she was hal-lu-ci-na-ting. This man co-uldn't be re-al.

Suddenly the dri-ver's si-de do-or ope-ned and the hal-lu-ci-na-ti-on spo-ke to her. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

Reve gul-ped as she ca-me fa-ce-to-fa-ce with the most bru-tal-ly mas-cu-li-ne man she'd ever se-en
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in her en-ti-re li-fe. A big, fi-er-ce war-ri-or, with an angry lo-ok in his moss gre-en eyes, re-ac-hed out and be-gan run-ning his hu-ge hands over her he-ad, neck, sho-ul-ders, and arms.

"What the hell do you think you're do-ing?" she cri-ed. "Get yo-ur hands off me."

He ce-ased his in-s-pec-ti-on and wit-h-d-rew his hands. "I was trying to check you for inj-uri-es, sin-ce you didn't res-pond. If you're all right, let me help you get out and up the hill to my truck. I'll call a wrec-ker and-"

"Who are you?" She sta-red at the guy, no-ting that al-t-ho-ugh he spo-ke with aut-ho-rity, he wasn't we-aring any type of uni-form. For all she knew he was a se-ri-al ra-pist who just hap-pe-ned to be in pos-ses-si-on of a flas-hing blue po-li-ce light.

"Sheriff But-ler," he told her.

"You're the she-riff?" In-s-pec-ting him fur-t-her, she re-ali-zed he was Na-ti-ve Ame-ri-can, at le-ast part Na-ti-ve Ame-ri-can. Of co-ur-se half-bre-eds and qu-ar-ter bre-eds pro-bably we-ren't all that un-com-mon in this area, which wasn't that far from the Che-ro-kee re-ser-va-ti-on just over the sta-te li-ne.

"I no-ti-ced you ha-ve a Ha-mil-ton Co-unty tag," he sa-id. ‘'You vi-si-ting so-me-body he-re or you just pas-sing thro-ugh?"

"Just pas-sing thro-ugh," she rep-li-ed.

He re-ac-hed over and un-did her se-at belt. "Think you can ma-na-ge to get out, or sho-uld I help-"

"I can get out wit-ho-ut any help, thank you very much."

After grab-bing her pur-se off the ot-her buc-ket se-at, she sho-ved the she-riff asi-de and ma-na-ged to exit the Jag, but the mi-nu-te her high he-els hit the soft, une-ven gro-und, she lost her ba-lan-ce. He grab-bed her aro-und the wa-ist, the ac-ti-on unin-ten-ti-onal-ly brin-ging her body up aga-inst his rock-hard chest. She gas-ped, then lo-oked up at him as her he-ar-t-be-at drum-med lo-udly in her ears. The-ir ga-zes loc-ked in-s-tantly.

"Well, I'll be dam-ned," he sa-id as he sta-red at her, his mo-uth slightly par-ted.

'Take a pic-tu-re, She-riff, it'll last lon-ger."

"Sorry." He apo-lo-gi-zed, but con-ti-nu-ed sta-ring at her. "You re-mind me of a fri-end of mi-ne.

The two of you co-uld be-" 'Twins," Re-ve fi-nis-hed his sen-ten-ce for him.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Just a wild gu-ess." She pul-led away from him and tri-ed to walk up the ste-ep em-ban-k-ment, but three-inch he-els we-ren't ma-de for mo-un-ta-in clim-bing.

Sheriff But-ler ca-me up be-si-de her, put his arm aro-und her wa-ist, and all but ha-uled her up the hill. How to-tal-ly de-mo-ra-li-zing, she tho-ught. Up un-til this mo-ment in ti-me, she'd ne-ver had so much as a par-king tic-ket. And he-re she was be-ing drag-ged away from the sce-ne of an auto ac-ci-dent she had ca-used by her rec-k-less dri-ving. Well, not rec-k-less, just spe-edy.

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When they re-ac-hed, the si-de of the ro-ad, the she-riff re-le-ased her in-s-tandy, as if he had no mo-re de-si-re to to-uch her than she had for him to ha-ve his hands on her. The-re was so-met-hing un-ner-ving abo-ut the man, so-met-hing abo-ut him that sent off war-ning sig-nals in her bra-in. And what dis-tur-bed her the most was that her re-ac-ti-on to him-to his to-uch-wasn't re-vul-si-on. No, it was so-met-hing el-se. So-met-hing she co-uldn't na-me.

"We'll get a wrec-ker out he-re to bring yo-ur car up and ta-ke it to the ga-ra-ge," he told her.

"You're lucky. It wo-uld ha-ve be-en a damn sha-me if yo-ur bad dri-ving had to-ta-led yo-ur lit-tle XKR. I gu-ess that fancy sports car must ha-ve set you back at le-ast eighty grand."

She didn't li-ke his to-ne, didn't li-ke his con-des-cen-ding at-ti-tu-de. Hell, she didn't li-ke him! He was too bossy, too big, too mas-cu-li-ne. "No big de-al," she rep-li-ed. "The only ti-ling that mat-ters is that no one was inj-ured, not even the de-er." 'Ye-ah, you're lucky, all right." He sur-ve-yed every inch of her, stud-ying her clo-sely as if he was me-mo-ri-zing her fa-ce and body. "Spe-eding the way you we-re do-ing of-ten le-ads to se-ri-o-us ac-ci-dents. So-me-ti-mes fa-tal."

"I wasn't dri-ving that fast."

"My gu-ess is you we-re do-ing over se-ven-ty-fi-ve in a fif-ty-fi-ve spe-ed zo-ne."

"You gu-ess my car cost eighty grand. You gu-ess I was do-ing over se-ven-ty-fi-ve." Re-ve cros-sed her arms over her chest and gla-red at the she-riff, gi-ving him her best I'm-im-por-tant-and-you're-not ex-p-res-si-on. "Do you know an-y-t-hing for cer-ta-in, She-riff, or do you just go thro-ugh li-fe ma-king une-du-ca-ted gu-es-ses?"

His ga-ze nar-ro-wed as he fo-cu-sed on her. She shi-ve-red. That stern, di-sap-pro-ving gla-re rat-tled her ner-ves.

"Get in the truck," he told her as he he-aded to-ward his ve-hic-le. "I'm ta-king you to my of-fi-ce whe-re I'll get all the in-for-ma-ti-on I ne-ed. Then, if I de-ci-de not to ar-rest you-"

"Arrest me!" Re-ve stor-med aro-und the ho-od of the truck, fol-lo-wing him un-til she co-uld grab his arm. "Now, you lis-ten he-re to me, you big co-untry hick Coc-hi-se wan-na-be, I'm not ac-cus-to-med to be-ing tre-ated this way. I can easily con-tact the go-ver-nor and-"

He tur-ned aro-und, grab-bed her by the sho-ul-ders sternly but gently, and sa-id, "Get yo-ur butt in the truck. Now. And if you want to call the go-ver-nor when we get to my of-fi-ce, then you call him.

Hell, call the pre-si-dent for all I ca-re. The way I see it, you must ha-ve a screw lo-ose to over-re-act to ever-y-t-hing that's hap-pe-ned the way you ha-ve."

"Are you im-p-l-ying that I'm men-tal-ly in-com-pe-tent?"

"Lady, I'm not im-p-l-ying an-y-t-hing. Now, get in the truck be-fo-re I pick you up and put you in it."