They tore at each other’s clothes and within minutes Jacob had tossed her flat on her back in the middle of his bed. He made a hasty detour into the bathroom for his stash of condoms, then removed his briefs and tossed them aside on his way back to the bed. Standing over her, he slid a condom into place.
Wriggling seductively on the bed, Misty said, “Come on, big boy, give me what I want.”
“I thought you said you were going to do all the dirty work.”
She held open her arms to him. “Come down here and I’ll show you what I’ll do.”
He covered her body with his, sliding his erect penis over her belly before settling between her legs. When he lowered his head and licked first one pebble-hard nipple and then the other, she bit his shoulder. He barely felt the pain.
“Let’s change places,” Misty suggested. “I’m in the mood for a good, hard ride.”
Before the words were barely out of her mouth, he flipped her up and over him. She straddled his hips. He reached up to tease her nipples.
“I always get my cookies off when I’m on top.”
She lifted herself up enough to reach between them and circle his erection. While he lay beneath, his body taut with need, she guided him up and inside her. She slid down over him like a slick, hot glove covering a hand.
She rode him, slowly at first, building the tension, but soon she increased the pace as she lowered her breasts to his lips. He could feel his climax approaching, knew it was only a matter of seconds before he exploded. Wildly, panting like mad, Misty pumped him harder and faster. She screamed when she came, but Jacob was able to silence her with a kiss just as his orgasm ripped him apart.
That slut Misty Harte was in the sheriff’s apartment fucking his brains out right now. He knew her type so well. But was she really any different from all other women? Most were good for only one thing. Except for the few who possessed a special essence. But those special women were rare and when found were far more precious to him than anything else in the world.
He stood in the corridor outside Jacob Butler’s apartment, wondering if Misty would spend the night or leave before dawn. He’d go back downstairs and wait in Misty’s car. The damn fool bitch hadn’t bothered to lock her doors.
If she left the sheriff’s bed before morning, then it would be a sign that she was destined to become the third victim.
Chapter 10
The early morning sunshine brightening the blue sky overhead was deceptive. The temperature hovered only a few degrees above freezing, just enough to continue the thaw that had begun yesterday. Dallas hesitated before getting out of his rental car. His hand settled over the cell phone attached to his belt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such an overwhelming urge to call a woman. But he was not going to telephone Genny Madoc, no matter how much he wanted to. He had repeatedly pointed out to himself that she didn’t need him to act as her protector. Her cousin, the sheriff, played the role of big brother quite well. She also had friends like Jazzy Talbot. And a couple of boyfriends.
Yeah, Sloan, don’t forget the boyfriends.
Dallas’s stomach rumbled, reminding him he was hungry. He got out of the car, locked the door and made his way down the street to Jasmine’s. When he’d checked in with Cherokee Cabin Rentals last night, the clerk had told him the best place in town for a hot, home-style breakfast was Jasmine’s.
The minute he entered the restaurant, he smelled the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon. The proprietress was nowhere to be seen. But that didn’t surprise Dallas. He’d pegged Jazzy for a late sleeper.
A young waitress with frizzy brown hair and a welcoming smile came up to him. “Smoking or nonsmoking?” she asked.
“Nonsmoking,” he replied as he removed his overcoat and slung it over his arm.
“Follow me, please.”
As she led the way to a back booth, Dallas caught a glimpse of Sheriff Butler sitting alone, a large stack of half-eaten pancakes in front of him.
Butler nodded, then spoke. “Join me?”
“Sure.” Dallas accepted a menu from the waitress. He tossed his coat onto the far side of the seat and slid into the booth, placing himself directly across from the sheriff.
“Coffee?” the waitress asked.
“Black,” he told her. “And a large glass of orange juice.”
“Be right back.” Whistling to herself, the young woman hurried off.
Dallas wanted to ask Butler if he’d checked on Genny this morning, but managed to stop himself from mentioning the sheriff’s cousin.
“There’s something I’d like to know,” Dallas said.
“Such as?” Jacob sliced the pancakes with his fork, then speared a chunk and brought it to his mouth.
“Have you made a list of suspects?”
Jacob chewed and swallowed, then lifted his mug and glanced at Dallas over the rim. He grunted. After taking a swig of coffee, he replied, “We don’t have any suspects. Not yet.”
“Sure you do. Just figure out who’s new in town—say, in the past six months.”
“We have tourists in and out of here all the time.”
“This guy will be someone who has moved here. He’s been getting to know the area and the people…and perhaps deciding on his victims, choosing the women he wants for whatever his perverse reasons are.”
“You’re basing this theory on what? Why the six-month time frame?”
“Because the fifth murder in Mobile last year was seven and a half months ago. After he killed my niece, he murdered one other woman ten days later.”
The waitress returned and placed a mug of steaming coffee and a tall glass of frosty orange juice in front of Dallas. “Have you decided what you’d like?” she asked.
“Bacon, scrambled eggs, and biscuits,” he told her. “I figure they’re on the menu. Right?” He held out the closed menu to her.
She took the menu from him. “Right. I’ll go place your order.” When she smiled at him again, he noted her name tag read Tiffany.
As soon as Tiffany left them alone again, Butler finished off his pancakes and shoved his empty plate aside. “You’re assuming the man who killed Susie Richards and Cindy Todd is the same one who murdered five women in Mobile last year. That’s a major assumption. You have no proof to actually connect the murders.”
“If I had any substantial proof, you would know we’re dealing with a serial killer,” Dallas said. “Right now, all I have are a few facts that link several series of five murders, each in various parts of the country over the past eight years. But I’m telling you that my gut instincts tell me it’s the same guy.”
“I realize you’ve probably got some damn good instincts,” Butler said. “But—”
“I told you yesterday that he kills in groups of five. You’re going to wind up with three more victims if we can’t figure out who this nutcase is and stop him dead in his tracks.”
“Okay, let’s say I buy your theory. Where do we start? Have you figured out why there are five victims and not four or six?”
Dallas shook his head. “The only thing I know for sure is that he sexually assaults each woman and when he sacrifices the first four, he drinks some of their blood. But the fifth victim is different in one distinct way—he removes her heart. My guess is he eats it.”
“He eats the fifth victim’s heart?”
The waitress returned carrying a coffeepot and quickly refilled both men’s mugs. “Did I hear you right? Did this killer eat Cindy’s heart?”
“Forget you heard that,” Butler said. “Agent Sloan wasn’t talking about Susie or Cindy. He was telling me about another case in another city.”
Tiffany let out a long sigh. “Thank goodness. It’s bad enough we’ve got a killer on the loose. If he was eating his victim’s hearts…” She shuddered, then scurried off when she saw a new customer enter the restaurant.
Butler’s keen gaze fixed on the restaurant entrance where a broad-shouldered guy, about six feet tall, waited for
Tiffany. The man removed his expensive overcoat and handed it to the waitress, which clued Dallas to the fact that the man was probably used to servants being at his beck and call. All the other customers had either hung their coats on the rack just inside the front door or had taken their coats with them to their tables and booths. Dallas speculated on the new customer’s occupation. Lawyer maybe. Wealthy. No doubt about it. He wore his graying brown hair conservatively short; and he walked with an air of command.
Dallas glanced at Butler and noted the way his slanted eyes narrowed to slits and his facial expression darkened. The sheriff didn’t like Mr. I’m-Somebody-Important.
Tiffany led the man to the smoking section on the other side of the restaurant. She fluttered around him, practically bowing before she rushed off, his coat over her arm.
“Who’s that guy?” Dallas asked.
“Brian MacKinnon,” Butler replied.
Jazzy’s voice echoed inside Dallas’s head. He’s rich and powerful and Jacob dislikes him. But Genny believes he’s redeemable.
“Why do you dislike him?”
“What?” Jacob Butler stared straight at Dallas.
“Jazzy told me yesterday afternoon that the guy’s got a thing for Genny and that you don’t like him.”
Butler harrumphed. “Let’s just say that Mr. MacKinnon and I don’t see eye to eye on several things.”
“Including his relationship with Genny?”
Butler studied Dallas closely. “I think he’s obsessed with her. That bothers me.”
“What does Genny think?”
“Maybe you should ask Genny.” Butler lifted his coffee mug.
Before Dallas could comment, Tiffany brought his breakfast, laid his bill on the table, and hurried to take Brian MacKinnon his first cup of coffee.
Butler stood. He lifted his brown leather jacket from the seat, slipped into it, then picked up his Stetson and placed it on his head. “When you finish up here, come on over to the office and we’ll compile a list of all the men who have moved into Cherokee County in the past six or seven months.” Removing his wallet from his pocket, Butler took out three dollars and laid them on the table for a tip, then picked up his bill.
“Yeah, okay.” With a smart sheriff like Butler in charge, maybe they had a chance to catch the killer. Dallas had Butler pegged as one of the good guys—someone he could trust.
Before Butler reached the cashier, who did double duty as one of the waitresses, he paused and called out to Dallas. “I checked on Genny this morning. She’s fine. And she said to tell you hello.”
Dallas tried not to react. He nodded to acknowledge he’d heard Butler, who glanced across the restaurant at Brian MacKinnon, then looked away, paid his bill, and headed out the door. Dallas’s gaze made contact with MacKinnon’s. Instantly he felt the hatred seething inside the man. Had Butler made the comment about Genny to rile MacKinnon? If he had, his ploy had worked.
When Tiffany came to his table to refill his mug, Dallas asked, “Exactly who is Mr. MacKinnon?”
“Brian MacKinnon is the owner of the Cherokee Pointe Herald and our local TV station, WMMK,” she said. “And his daddy is Mr. Farlan MacKinnon, one of the richest men in these parts. They live in that big old Victorian mansion over on Bethel Street.”
“I see. Thanks.” Dallas finished his breakfast, left Tiffany a nice tip, paid his bill, and avoided making eye contact with MacKinnon as he left the restaurant.
He didn’t know Brian MacKinnon from Adam, but if Sheriff Butler thought the guy was obsessed with Genny, that alone was reason for Dallas to dislike him. Obsession was a dangerous thing. He should know. He’d come damn close to becoming obsessed with finding Brooke’s killer. Only by sheer will, coupled with his years of training and experience as a federal agent, had he been able to stop himself from crossing the line between ruthless determination and obsession. If MacKinnon wanted Genny and he had crossed the line from wanting her to being obsessed with having her, then he could become dangerous.
He had waited in her Vega all night and had given up hope that she would leave the sheriff’s place before dawn; but just when he’d started to leave, she came sneaking down the stairs. The morning sun had been rising in the eastern sky. Too late to sacrifice her today. He had experienced several moments of indecision. Should he let her go or should he take her? He never chose his first four victims. He allowed Fate to make those choices. It had seemed to him that Fate had placed Misty Harte directly into his hands; and he wasn’t a man to go against Fate. He’d learned at an early age the importance of the unexpected and the unexplainable, and the power of the cosmic forces that ruled the universe.
After tying and gagging Misty and depositing her in the basement, he had disposed of her little yellow car, parking it behind an abandoned service station less than half a mile from town. It had been an easy walk back into Cherokee Pointe; and not one single soul had seen him, because he’d been very careful. He was always careful.
The basement was the perfect place to keep her. No one ever came down here. He could keep her for several days, if he wanted to prolong his enjoyment. He had found from past experience that when he kept a woman for more than a few hours, it was best to drug her heavily. Sedated, they didn’t put up a fight. He didn’t want any telltale scratches on his arms or face.
Using the towel he had taken with him on his second trip to visit his captive, he wiped his penis, then pulled up his briefs and pants. He glanced down at the naked woman tied to the cot and smiled when he saw his semen glistening on her belly.
He would shower, shave, and dress a little later, before beginning his day. Around noon he’d have to come back down here and give Misty another injection. Although she was gagged and securely tied, he didn’t want to take any chances. Over the years, while he’d been seeking his ultimate goal, not one law enforcement agency in any state had even come close to catching him. He had outsmarted them all. And he’d do it again. Jacob Butler was an intelligent man, but he was nothing more than an inexperienced sheriff in a backwoods Tennessee county. He’d have no better luck than the others had in discovering the killer of five local women.
But what about the FBI agent? What the hell was he doing in Cherokee Pointe? The Bureau didn’t get involved in cases like this unless the locals requested assistance. And even then Bureau involvement was restricted to providing investigative resources. Had Butler called in the Feds?
He would have to be very careful. No mistakes. He couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong. After all these years of searching, he had finally found her. The one who could give him what he desired most in this world.
Dropped off at Genny’s house by the MacKinnons’ chauffeur, Wallace had arrived at Cherokee Nurseries a little late. It had taken Genny a good ten minutes to assure Wallace she wasn’t upset with him. Sweet Wallace. If everyone were as kind and gentle as he, the world would be a far better place. The old man had been a part of her life as far back as she could remember, having worked for Granny Butler since his youth. He was extraordinarily fond of Genny, as she was of him. She thought of Wallace as family. Over the years she’d had occasion to meet the other members of the MacKinnon family, although their social circles seldom mixed. Mr. Farlan was a nice enough man, if you liked the old-fashioned, ruler- of-all-I-survey type. Miss Veda was never friendly, but neither was she rude. The few times Genny had actually been in the grande dame’s presence, she had sensed a terrible sadness in the woman. Genny suspected that Veda MacKinnon had never been truly happy a day in her life.
And then there was Brian, the only son, the heir apparent. He was much older than Genny, and their paths had seldom crossed until a few years ago. When Wallace had broken a leg and been hospitalized, Farlan had sent Brian to handle the situation. And that’s where she’d actually met Brian for the first time. Although they’d never met before, she’d always known who he was—and that he had a reputation for being a heartless bastard.
For some reason, Brian had become smitten with h
er, and she had to admit that at first she’d been flattered by his attention. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been pursued before. She had. But never with such dogged determination. Even the rumors about her being a witch like her grandmother hadn’t scared Brian away.
She certainly didn’t love him, and there were times she didn’t like him. But she sensed how desperately he needed her. Even Wallace had commented on what a good influence she was on his nephew. So how could she turn Brian away completely? But she had never lied to him—had never given him any false hopes.
“I want us to be friends,” she’d told him as he’d held her hand.
He’d brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. “I want that, too. I want us to become good friends. I’m a patient man, Genevieve. I can wait for you as long as it takes.”
Genny shook her head, dislodging thoughts of Brian. Lately he had begun to unnerve her with his relentless attention, but Jacob had spoken to him and that seemed to have cooled his ardor. At least temporarily. She suspected that Jacob, in his own strong, unemotional way, had threatened Brian. Jacob was not a man for subtleties.
“What’s the matter, Genny?” Wallace asked as he carried their lunchtime dishes from the table and placed them in the sink.
Genny glanced at him and smiled. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About Jacob.”
“I like Jacob. He’s a good man.”
Genny lifted her hand and laid it on Wallace’s shoulder. “He has a very difficult job, you know. With two murders to solve and no suspects.”
“Why would anybody hurt those women?” Wallace asked guilelessly.
Genny squeezed his shoulder. “I don’t know. But I do know that there is great evil involved in those deaths.”
“Couldn’t you have one of your visions and see who the killer is?”
Genny sighed. “I wish it was that simple.” She rinsed off the dishes and began placing them in the dishwasher. “I have no control over my visions.”
The Fifth Victim Page 13
