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Overview
Cherokee Pointe, Tennessee, has seen murder before, but nothing like the gruesome death of Jamie Upton, heir to the Upton fortune. The authorities believe the killer was someone Jamie knew…someone hiding a sadistic streak behind a friendly façade. Could that someone be his former lover, Jazzy Talbot?
Jazzy has always been Cherokee Point’s favorite target for gossip. But now the girl from the wrong side of the tracks is being targeted for something much worse. Along with being suspected of murder, someone is stalking her like prey.
As the killer continues to strike, Jazzy has no one to turn to except an enigmatic drifter named Caleb McCord. As she plunges into Cherokee Pointe’s long-buried secrets, Jazzy gets dangerously close to a killer determined to make her the last to die.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780786041077 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Kensington |
| Publication date: | 04/24/2018 |
| Series: | Cherokee Pointe Trilogy Series , #2 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 416 |
| Sales rank: | 104,173 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Date of Birth:
December 23, 1946Date of Death:
April 21, 2011Place of Birth:
Tuscumbia, ALPlace of Death:
Tuscumbia, ALRead an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The man writhed in agony, his naked torso helplessly bound, his legs spread-eagled. Tight rope manacled his ankles to either side of the heavy spikes in the wooden floor. She removed the thick cotton rag used to gag him effectively and mute his tortured cries. Self-satisfied and excited, she stood over him, the bloody knife clutched tightly in her steady hand. The dim glow of the lone lamp burning in the room cast shadows across her face, revealing nothing about her except a few flyaway tendrils of burnished red hair. As she lowered the knife, the man's eyes widened in terror. He knew what she was going to do. He struggled futilely against his captivity. Sweat dotted his forehead, his upper lip, and dripped along the side of his face. When she placed the knife between his thighs, red with blood from where she'd tormented him, she laughed.
"'Whatsoever ye sow, that shall ye reap.'"
He mumbled pleadingly as he shivered, his head thrashing side to side, panic seizing him completely. Fear consumed him.
"You will never hurt anyone ever again," she told him. "I will punish you for your many sins and rid the world of your evil." She brought the knife back, reached under him and lifted his scrotum, then, with one swift, deadly slice, castrated her victim. "I am your angel of death, whoremonger!"
Genny Madoc screamed. When she shot straight up in bed, her fiancé, Dallas Sloan, came up beside her a split second later. He wrapped his arms around her and held her as she trembled.
"What happened?" he asked, then brushed his lips along her temple. "Was it a nightmare or a vision?"
She gave herself over completely to his comforting care, having come to depend on him with total trust these past few months. "Both. A nightmare vision."
"You haven't been bothered with visions since ..." He let his words trail off. She suspected that he, as she, preferred not to dwell on the events of this past January, when she'd come very close to being a maniacal serial killer's fifth victim here in Cherokee County.
Although it was early April in the mountains, the nighttime and early morning temperatures remained in the high thirties and low forties. Genny shivered as a cold chill racked her body. Dallas lifted the heavy quilt from the foot of their bed and wrapped it around her, then pulled her back down into the bed beside him. She cuddled against him and sighed heavily.
"Want to tell me about it?" he asked.
"I'd rather forget it ... but I can't. I believe the vision was a forewarning. I saw a man being murdered."
"Did you recognize either the victim or the killer?" Dallas asked.
"Yes and no, but ..." She pulled away from him and rolled out of bed.
Dallas leaned over, just enough to loosen the covers from his upper body. Genny looked at him, at this man she loved more than life itself, and wished more fervently than she ever had before that she wasn't cursed with the gift of sight. Loving her, living with her, marrying her come June, Dallas had to deal with her special talents as only the mate of a true psychic would have to do.
Genny discarded the heavy quilt, dropping it to the floor as she slipped into her robe and house shoes, her movements slow and unsteady. She turned to Dallas. "I won't be able to sleep. I think I'll fix myself some coffee and go outside to watch the sunrise. You stay here and go back to sleep."
Totally naked, Dallas emerged from the bed in all his masculine glory, a morning erection jutting out between his thighs. "You're so weak you can barely walk. You aren't going anywhere without me." He grabbed his discarded jeans and shirt off a nearby chair. "I'll fix coffee. Then if you want to go outside, I'll go with you."
"I'm just a little weak. The vision drained some of my strength, but it was a brief vision and I'm not exhausted. Really I'm not."
Not bothering to put on his socks, he stuffed his feet into his shoes, put his arm around her shoulders and guided her out of the bedroom. "You need to talk about it. If it was a premonition of someone's death, then maybe there's something we can do to prevent it from happening."
Genny loved the way he said "we" so naturally, without giving it any thought. Almost instantly, from the first night they met, they had become one spirit.
Fifteen minutes later, Dallas and Genny, coffee mugs in hand, stood on the front porch of her old Tennessee farmhouse and watched the sunrise. Dallas's strong arms encompassed her as he stood behind her, his big body warming her. Pale and pink, like the tips of a hundred torches barely beginning to brighten the horizon, the first glimmer of morning sunlight lit the Eastern sky.
"No matter how many times I see this, it never ceases to take my breath away," she told him.
"I know exactly what you mean." One of his big hands clamped down on her shoulder.
When she glanced back and up at him, he wasn't looking at the sunrise, but at her. And she knew that she, not nature's beauty, was what captivated him.
Genny glanced up at the sky, leaned her body back, closer into Dallas, and lifted the strong, dark brew to her lips. The Colombian Supreme had a rich, mellow flavor, and she, like Dallas, took her coffee black.
"The man was Jamie Upton," Genny said, her voice not much more than a whisper, as if she thought by not saying his name too loudly, it might somehow protect him.
"You saw someone kill Jamie Upton?" Dallas nuzzled the side of her neck with his nose. "I'm not surprised. I figure it's only a matter of time before he pisses off the wrong woman."
"Please don't say that."
Dallas took a swig of coffee, then set his mug on the windowsill behind him. When Genny took several steps toward the edge of the porch, he followed and wrapped his arms around her again. "Tell me what's frightened you so. There has to be more to your vision than simply seeing Jamie killed."
"Isn't that enough?"
"Depends."
"On what?" she asked.
"On how he was murdered and on who killed him."
"I don't know who she was, but —"
"So I was right, huh? I figured it was a woman. After all, it would be only poetic justice if some woman chops off his balls."
Genny gasped. Dallas clutched her shoulders and whirled her around to face him.
"Is that what happened?"
Feeling suddenly cold and knowing the color had drained from her face, Genny nodded. "And — and there was something about the woman."
"I thought you said you didn't recognize her."
"I didn't see her face, but I saw a few strands of her hair."
"So?" Dallas stared at her quizzically.
"Her hair was red."
"Red? Good God, honey, you don't think it was Jazzy, do you?" When she couldn't bring herself to respond, Dallas grunted. "You think you saw Jazzy murder Jamie, don't you?"
"No, of course not. Jazzy isn't capable of murder."
"That's where you're wrong. Every human being is capable of killing, given the right provocation. But if Jazzy was going to kill Jamie, she'd already have done it. Long ago."
Genny took a deep breath, then exhaled as she nodded agreement. "I don't think the woman who killed Jamie in my vision was Jazzy, but my instincts warn me that somehow Jamie's death will bring great trouble to her."
"So should we forewarn Jamie?"
Genny shook her head. "No. He'd never believe me. He'd only laugh at me. But I'm going to tell Jazzy. She needs to stay as far away from Jamie as she possibly can."
"That might be a problem, considering how he hounds her all the time."
"I think she needs to take out a restraining order against him." Genny looked directly at Dallas. "Now that you're the chief of police, you can handle that for her, can't you?"
"Yeah, sure, but Jamie being Jamie, I doubt a restraining order will keep him away from her."
"Then maybe I should speak to Caleb McCord."
"McCord? The bouncer at Jazzy's Joint?"
"Yes, that Caleb McCord."
"Am I missing something? Why would you tell —"
"That's right, I didn't tell you, did I?"
"Tell me what?"
"Caleb is in love with Jazzy."
"He is?"
"Yes, he is. He just doesn't know it yet."
Dallas chuckled. Genny turned her attention back to the morning sky as she sipped her coffee and allowed her fiancé to pull her down in his lap as he sat in one of the four rocking chairs on the front porch.
Laura Willis rested on the window seat in the guest bedroom she shared with her younger sister, Sheridan, at the Upton estate outside Cherokee Pointe. She'd been living here since Jamie brought her to meet his grandparents three months ago. Until her sister and parents had arrived two days ago for her engagement party, she had shared Jamie's bed many nights. The nights he stayed at home. His grandmother, Miss Reba, assured her that Jamie wasn't with other women on those nights he stayed out until dawn, but she knew better. Her Jamie was a ladies' man. And there was one lady — and she used the term loosely — Jamie found irresistible. Jazzy Talbot.
Maybe she was a fool to believe that once she and Jamie were married he'd be faithful to her. But he had solemnly vowed to her that once they said their "I dos," he would be true to her. Perhaps she had to believe he'd keep his word because she loved him so much.
And he loved her. She knew he did. He could be tender and considerate and loving, as well as wildly passionate. She was lucky that he intended to marry her. He'd been engaged twice before, but this time would be different. In three weeks they would say their vows and she would become Mrs. James Upton III. And if Jazzy Talbot didn't stay away from her husband, she'd ... what would she do? She'd kill her, that's what she'd do. No, no, Laura, you don't mean that. You could never kill another human being. Not even Jazzy.
The eastern sky brightened as dawn colored the horizon with muted pastels. Laura could see the front drive from her window as well as the expansive front lawn. Quiet, empty, nothing more than the spring breeze stirring at this time of day.
You're with her, aren't you, Jamie? You spent the night with her. Touching her, kissing her, making love to her the same way you do me. No, no, no! It's not the same. He loves me. He only wants to fuck her.
Tears gathered in Laura's eyes. She swallowed hard and willed the tears away. It wasn't too late to call off the wedding. But what good would that do? Jamie had already broken her heart. And she knew that without him, she'd die. He was everything to her. Her whole world. The only way she'd ever be free of him was if she died. Or if they both died.
"Where do you suppose that fiancé of yours went?" Sheridan asked as she approached the window seat.
Not realizing her sister was even awake, let alone out of bed, Laura gasped. "I'm sorry if I woke you. I couldn't sleep."
"I wouldn't be able to sleep either if my fiancé had left our engagement party before it ended and stayed out all night." Sheridan sat down beside Laura and glanced out the window. "You do know what people were saying, don't you?"
"I do not want to hear gossip!"
Laura wished her sister would leave her alone, but she knew Sheridan would needle her until she'd drawn blood. Figuratively drawn blood, of course. Sheridan had a knack for it, especially where Laura was concerned. Her sister seemed to derive some perverse pleasure from pointing out all of Laura's shortcomings.
"You know, I wondered how you'd caught yourself such a prize," Sheridan said. "Someone like Jamie. Someone in our social circle, very rich, handsome, charming. But I'm beginning to understand. Your fiancé has a major character flaw, doesn't he?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Please, God, make her leave me alone. I don't want to despise my own sister, but sometimes ...
Sheridan laughed. Laura hated the sound. She'd hated that mocking laughter since they'd been children and Sheridan had pointed out to Laura that "Mommy loves me best." Maybe Mother did love Sheridan best. God knew sometimes it seemed that way. But Laura knew she was her father's favorite, something Sheridan punished her for, even though it wasn't her fault.
"I suppose it's only fair that both you and your fiancé aren't quite perfect."
Laura forced herself to confront her sister. Their gazes met forcefully — and this time Laura didn't blink, didn't back down as she so often did. "I've never claimed to be perfect —"
"Good thing ... considering."
"Considering what? That I'm crazy?"
"You said it, I didn't."
"I'm not crazy. I'm not! I'm high-strung and nervous. I'm more emotionally sensitive than the average person. That's all. Daddy said that I'm all right. Even the doctors said I'm okay." Why did Sheridan have to keep reminding her about her past mental and emotional problems?
"Does Jamie know?" Sheridan asked. "Is he aware that his little bride-to-be could easily go completely berserk at any given moment?"
"What a cruel thing to say to me."
"Maybe someone told him about you and he's run away before —"
"He's gone to her!" Laura cried out. "That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? You wanted me to admit that he left our engagement party to go to her."
"Then you do know all about her, don't you?"
"Yes, I know all about Jasmine Talbot."
Sheridan smirked, the expression hardening her cute cheerleader brunette beauty. Her big brown eyes twinkled with delight. "If Jamie was my fiancé, he wouldn't have to go to an old girlfriend for what he needed. I'd give it to him. I'd keep him so satisfied that he'd never even look at another woman." Sheridan paused, smiled wickedly, and licked her lips. "Why he chose you instead of me, I'll never know. Maybe he thought you were a virgin." Sheridan chuckled softly. "Of course, he knows from firsthand experience that I'm not."
The meaning of her sister's taunt hit Laura full force. Before she realized what she was doing, she slapped Sheridan, who simply continued smiling as she rubbed her red cheek. Laura jumped up and ran toward the door, tears clouding her vision.
"Where are you going?" Sheridan called after her.
Laura paused after she opened the bedroom door. "Anywhere away from you."
"Why don't you drive into town? You might find Jamie still in bed with his old lover. Or have you already been to town? Is that where you disappeared to last night after the party ended?"
Laura walked out into the hall and headed toward the stairs. Maybe she could find sanctuary in Big Jim's study. Surely Sheridan had tormented her enough and wouldn't follow her. As she descended the spiral staircase, her sister's last question played itself over in her head. Or have you already been to town? Is that where you disappeared to last night after the party ended?
What was Sheridan talking about? Laura had no memory of going anywhere after her engagement party ended. Why would she have driven into town alone? She wouldn't have, would she? Don't think about it. Just because you have no memory of the time between when you said good night to your parents and when you came to your room two hours later doesn't mean you went to Cherokee Pointe to search for Jamie.
But what if she had followed him to Jazzy's apartment? What if during those two missing hours she'd done something stupid? Something terrible? She'd been so hurt and angry when she realized Jamie had deserted her on their special night and embarrassed that most of the people attending the engagement party suspected he'd left her to go to Jazzy.
Just because years ago she lost several hours and had no memory of where she'd gone or what she'd done didn't mean it had happened again. Just because she had done something bad that time didn't mean she had this time. She wasn't crazy!
But what if I am? a frightened little voice inside her asked.
Jazzy hadn't slept a wink after Jamie finally left. He'd stayed two hours — an hour longer than she'd told him he could stay. And he'd tried his level best to convince her to let him spend the night in her bed. And truth be told, she'd been tempted. Maybe with Jamie, she always would be.
But a person could overcome temptation. Although being tempted posed a problem, it was giving in to that temptation that wreaked havoc in her life. She supposed she was addicted to Jamie, the way another person might be addicted to tobacco or booze or drugs. You knew it was bad for you, knew it could kill you, but you still craved it.
Although each time she turned Jamie away, it became just a little easier the next time, she knew in her soul that only death — his or hers — would ever free her completely. At this point in her life, she hated Jamie more than she'd ever loved him. And the perverse, sinister part of her wished him dead — but only in those darkest, most frightening moments when her instincts for survival overcame her common decency.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Last to Die"
by .
Copyright © 2004 Beverly Beaver.
Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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