Although it was a cold night and remnants of ice and snow still lingered in various spots, he barely felt the frigid night air. He was strong…and growing stronger with each new sacrifice. It was only a matter of time until he became invincible.
He took the vinyl boots from the trunk and slipped them over his shoes. Next he pulled on a pair of thick gloves. The shoes he wore were Italian leather and he had no intention of ruining them in the night dampness that coated the earth or in any muddy slush lingering after the snow melted.
Making his way slowly but surely, he crossed the open field. When he reached the barn, he opened the rickety wooden doors. As they parted to reveal the murky interior, their hinges creaked and moaned. But who would hear the mournful wail? He shined the flashlight right and left, back and front. The vast space was mostly empty, except for a set of weathered wooden sawhorses that he’d found in the loft the first time he’d explored the old barn. He placed the box containing his sword on a rotting wooden trough. Shining the flashlight down at the ground, he found it moist beneath his feet. He shined the light upward and noted that part of the ceiling was missing and the rest looked as if it might come tumbling down at any time.
He moved first one sawhorse, then the other into place directly in front of the two large doors, then retrieved the half-inch piece of plywood that he’d left here yesterday. Laying the plywood atop the two sawhorses, he created a perfectly functional altar.
After checking his watch and noting that it was nearly four o’clock, he trudged back to the car to retrieve the most necessary item for this morning’s ceremony—the sacrifice.
Jacob wasn’t a religious man, but he’d been doing his share of praying tonight. Everything that could be done was being done, but it might not be enough. City, county, and state law enforcement officers were spread out over the mountain, which covered countless miles and endless acres. All the local members of the search party tried to remember every old barn in the area. Jacob knew it could take a couple of days to check out all the barns in Cherokee County. Genny and Jacob agreed that the barn where the killer had taken Misty was empty, probably abandoned, yet they also knew they could be wrong. Genny would be the first to admit that her visions weren’t always one hundred percent accurate, that she was not infallible.
Their group now consisted of not only Genny, Dallas, and himself, but Sally and her hounds, Peter and Paul, as well as half a dozen lawmen—Bobby Joe and Tim Willingham, two of his deputies; three Cherokee Pointe policemen; and one highway patrolman. During the past few hours, they had found and searched three barns east of Genny’s house. Two were unused and empty; one belonged to a retired farmer who stored his old tractor inside.
They kept in radio contact with the other groups—five in all—and so far they’d come up empty-handed. As they pulled off the road alongside the fence that skirted the old Wells farm and the two other vehicles parked behind his truck, Jacob checked his watch. Four-fifty. Time was running out. It would be dawn in less than two hours. If they didn’t find Misty soon, it would be too late.
He tried not to think about Misty as his lover, tried not to remember that she was Bobby Joe’s sister, but the fact that she meant something to both of them wouldn’t leave his mind. Twenty-four hours ago they’d had sex. Rollicking, raunchy, good-time sex. He didn’t love Misty, and sometimes she got on his last nerve. But she was a good ole gal who’d never hurt a living soul. The very thought that some maniac planned to slit her wide open and drink her blood enraged Jacob. But he didn’t have time to waste on emotions.
Jacob got out and met the other team members who gathered around near the hood of his truck. Sally Talbot opened the back door and dragged herself out of the backseat, then whistled for Peter and Paul. Both hundred-pound dogs bounded from the truck bed and came straight to their mistress. After grabbing hold of their leashes, she scanned the area with her aged but still sharp eyes. She puckered her lips, spit, and wiped her mouth. Dallas emerged from the cab, then lifted Genny out and onto her feet. He kept his arm securely around her waist and when, after she’d taken a few steps, she faltered, he swung her up into his arms.
Jacob turned to Genny. “Are you picking up on anything?”
With her arm around Dallas Sloan’s neck, she stared out into the darkness, at the shadowy outline of the old barn. “There’s someone inside.”
“God Almighty,” Bobby Joe cried out. “Is it Misty? Have we found her?”
“I-I don’t know. I can’t be sure.” Genny’s voice quivered.
Jacob looked right at Dallas. “Put her back in the truck and stay here with her.”
Dallas nodded.
“We’re going in,” Jacob said. “Sally, you wait here. Keep Peter and Paul quiet for the time being. The rest of you spread out. I want the barn surrounded. I’ll go in alone. Does everyone understand?” When no one contradicted him, he added, “And whatever the hell y’all do, be careful.”
Jacob had lost track of how many rescue missions he’d been a part of during his years as a SEAL. He might lack training as a sheriff, but he was an expert when it came to going in after a hostage.
As he drew close to the barn, he motioned his team into place. He leaned his back against the north wall and listened. Silence. While the others secured the perimeter, Jacob circled the barn, and he found the doors at the back of the barn missing. Silently, he crept inside. With his weapon drawn and his flashlight in his hand, he kept his back to the wall. He switched on the flashlight and searched the interior, moving the beam slowly as he checked things out.
When the beam of light hit a bundle on the ground, Jacob moved in. Cautiously. The bundle grunted and rolled over. When the light hit the man’s face, his eyelids flew open and he yelped as if in pain. Jacob didn’t recognize the man, but he could tell from his ragged clothes, matted hair, and dirty face that he was probably a bum, a drifter who had sought shelter for the night.
“I ain’t done nothing wrong,” the man hollered as he rose to his feet and put his hands over his head. “Don’t shoot, mister. I’m harmless. I swear.”
“Keep your hands over your head,” Jacob instructed.
“Yes sir.” The man placed both hands on top of his head.
“Come on in,” Jacob called to the others. “It’s not Misty. It’s just a drifter.” Jacob focused on the trembling man. “What’s your name?”
“Curry Hovater.”
“Where are you from, Curry?”
“I move around a lot. I’ve lived in Kingsport and Bristol and Johnson City.”
“Have you been here alone all night?”
“Yes sir, I sure have. Just me and the mice.”
“Willingham,” Jacob called to his deputy. “Take Mr. Hovater with you. And when we go back into town, get him some breakfast from Jasmine’s and then put him on the next bus out of town.”
While the others stood around watching Jacob, waiting for his orders, he turned his back on them and shut his eyes for just a minute. He wanted to pound his fists against the walls and tear this ramshackle barn to pieces. Hell! He had thought maybe they’d find Misty alive in this old barn.
He turned toward the men and barked out a command: “Let’s get moving. We’ve still got a lot of territory to cover.”
As they made their way around a sharp curve in the winding mountain road, every nerve in Genny’s body came to full alert, but she couldn’t manage to open her eyes. She had spent endless hours concentrating on finding Misty, using every ounce of her strength to keep her senses alert and active. This was the first time in her life she had forced herself to remain connected for so many hours to the forces that powered her sixth sense. The darkness kept trying to suck her in, but she fought tirelessly to keep herself safe.
Great evil lurked nearby. She sensed its presence. Cruel and malevolent. Close. So close.
“Stop the truck!” Genny cried as she opened her eyes and lifted her head from Dallas’s shoulder.
Jacob skidded to an abrupt halt in the middle o
f the road. Bobby Joe came within inches of ramming into the back end of the truck as he slammed on his brakes.
“What’s wrong? Are you all right?” Dallas clamped his hand down on her shoulder.
“Are you sensing something?” Jacob asked.
“He’s somewhere close by.”
“Misty and the killer?” Dallas asked.
Genny nodded.
Jacob glanced through the windshield at the surrounding area. “This is the opposite end of the county from where I grew up, and I’m not as familiar with it so I don’t know if there might be an abandoned barn around here or not. Genny, can you tell us if they’re still inside a barn?”
Genny’s breath caught in her throat when she noticed a faint glow in the eastern horizon. Dawn was fast approaching. “I don’t know. I can’t see.” Genny grasped Jacob’s arm. “Find them. Find them now or it will be too late.”
Once again the entire entourage gathered at Jacob’s truck, but this time Genny insisted on going with them. Dallas supported her with his arm around her waist.
“Anybody know of an old barn around here anywhere?” Jacob asked.
No one responded for a couple of minutes, then finally Jess Whitaker, a Cherokee Pointe police officer said, “If I remember right, from when my brothers and I used to go hunting on this side of the county, there was a really old barn that was falling apart twenty years ago somewhere around here. I can’t remember where exactly.”
“Okay. Sally, it’s time to let Peter and Paul see if they can pick up Misty’s scent.”
Sally pulled Misty’s blouse out of the sack Jacob had given her earlier. She let the bloodhounds get a good sniff, then released them.
“We’ll follow the dogs,” Jacob said. “The rest of you spread out and start searching for that damn barn.”
Genny tried to keep up, but she simply couldn’t. When she halted, totally exhausted, she turned to Dallas.
“Y’all go on without us,” Dallas called to Jacob and Sally, who were already a good piece ahead of them, following Peter and Paul. “I’ll take care of Genny.”
“The dogs picked up Misty’s scent, didn’t they?” she asked.
“Yeah, I think they might have.”
She glanced toward the east. The first tentative glimmer of daylight colored the dark sky. “Oh, Dallas. It’s already dawn.” She slumped against him, needing his comfort, seeking his strength.
Off in the distance she heard Sally’s hounds howling. Mournful cries that sent cold chills up her spine. And then the sound of car and truck doors slamming and loud voices—numerous voices—echoed through the open fields. As if coming from out of nowhere a band of men appeared, marching up the road, their lanterns and flashlights illuminating the area like fireflies on a warm summer night.
Genny realized that these men had emerged from their parked vehicles and were headed toward her. In the dawn light and at a distance, she couldn’t make out any faces. “What’s going on? Who are all those people?”
“Hell if I know, but none of them are in uniform.”
As the group of boisterous men approached, Genny immediately recognized the one leading the pack—Jerry Lee Todd. He was shouting loud enough to be heard in the next county.
“There they are!” Jerry Lee broke into a run, coming straight toward Genny and Dallas. “We’re at the right place. Jacob’s gotta be around here somewhere.”
“Hell!” Dallas murmured a few choice curses under his breath. “Looks like a lynch mob to me. Who’s the idiot leading them?”
“That idiot is our beloved mayor, Jerry Lee Todd. His wife was Cindy Todd, the second victim.”
“Then he’s not thinking straight,” Dallas said. “He’s probably half out of his mind. And one thing’s for sure—he doesn’t have the slightest idea that what he’s doing could jeopardize Jacob’s chances of capturing the killer.”
Before Genny could respond, Jerry Lee reached them, and his army of vigilante citizens halted only a few feet behind him.
Jerry Lee glanced from Genny to Dallas. “When I heard about Misty, I formed a group of locals to help in the search. Is Jacob here? Have y’all found Misty?”
“How did y’all get past the roadblocks?” Dallas asked.
“I’m the mayor of Cherokee Pointe,” Jerry Lee said as if that was explanation enough.
“Get these men quiet,” Dallas said. “If you’re in charge of this pack of yapping morons, then take control of them. Jacob and his men are handling the situation and don’t need your assistance.” When Jerry Lee stared at Dallas, eyes wide and mouth agape, Dallas added in a deadly calm voice, “Do it now.”
“Hey, fellows, quiet down,” Jerry Lee called to the others, then turned back to Dallas. “Well, have they or have they not found Misty?”
Although so weak she could barely walk, Genny took several steps toward Jerry Lee, then reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “You shouldn’t be here. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’ve got a right to help track down Cindy’s killer. I’ve got every right—”
Genny squeezed Jerry Lee’s arm. “Let Jacob and the other lawmen handle this.”
Jerry Lee jerked away from Genny. “Where’s Jacob?”
Dallas gripped Jerry Lee’s shoulder. “Jacob and the men with him are doing their job.”
“There’s a deserted old barn around here somewhere,” a voice called out. “I’ll bet that’s where Misty is. And wherever she is, that’s where we’ll find our killer!”
Recognizing the voice, Genny snapped her gaze around to seek out the speaker. Jamie Upton, looking rakishly handsome in his designer jeans, expensive leather coat, and Italian loafers, made his way through the rumbling posse.
“I say we follow the sound of those howling dogs,” Jamie said. He eyed Genny. “Those are Sally’s bloodhounds, aren’t they?”
“What all of you need to do is go home and let the law handle this,” Dallas said.
“And who are you?” Jamie inquired.
Dallas glared at Jamie.
Another familiar voice rang out loud and clear. “He’s FBI Special Agent Dallas Sloan,” Royce Pierpont said.
Genny’s gaze connected with Royce’s. He smiled at her. She couldn’t understand what Jamie Upton was doing with this group, but seeing Royce with them surprised her even more. Apparently Royce had been dragged from bed to join in, because despite his impeccable attire—from cashmere overcoat to a pair of Italian loafers similar to Jamie’s—his hair was mussed and he needed a shave.
Genny supposed Jerry Lee must have contacted every man in Cherokee Pointe and probably implied that anyone who didn’t join his little search party would have his masculinity called into question.
“If you’re a Fed, why aren’t you with Jacob and the others?” Jerry Lee asked Dallas.
“Because I know Sheriff Butler and his men can handle this job without any interference from me…or from anyone else.”
Genny’s gaze traveled over the entire group of men, one man at a time. There wasn’t a face in the crowd of about twenty-five that she didn’t recognize. Farmers, mechanics, and truck drivers. Mail carriers, sanitation workers, and teachers. Dillon Carson; Reverend Stowe; Dr. MacNair; and even Brian MacKinnon.
Had the entire male population of Cherokee County simultaneously gone crazy? The local citizens were in a panic now that they knew a third victim had been kidnapped; and God only knew how this pack would react if Misty was found dead.
Genny caught a glimpse of Brian just as he moved away from the others, took his cell phone out of his pocket, and began talking rapidly. She suspected what he was doing. Calling in a story to his newspaper. And probably sending for a news crew from WMMK.
Jacob knew time had run out, but he tried not to think about it; tried to hang on to the possibility that they weren’t too late to save Misty. As they reached the barn, the sun peeked over the mountain crest. Surrounded by brilliant pink and purple offshoots spreading across the eastern horizon like floating liquid,
the upper curve of the fiery ball banished the darkness. Jacob’s gut knotted painfully as he approached the crumbling structure that had once been a barn. The others spread out around the site, circling the weathered wooden bones of the building. Sally’s dogs had found what they’d been sent to find. Howling their success, they stood alongside their prey. The double barn doors hung open, like a mouth frozen in a dying scream. With his gun drawn, Jacob moved closer to the entrance. What he saw stopped him immediately. He shut his eyes for an instant, praying that he hadn’t seen what he thought he had.
He opened his eyes. Misty Harte’s naked body lay sprawled out on top of a makeshift altar that was nothing more than a couple of sawhorses topped with a piece of plywood. Even from ten feet away, he could see the blood and gore. Hell, he could smell the blood. Fresh blood.
God damn it! Bile rose to his throat. He took several tentative steps forward, then paused. Think straight, he told himself. There’s nothing you can do for Misty now. The killer might still be here. Don’t forget your training just because the woman lying there ripped apart from breasts to pubic bone is someone you screwed only hours before she was abducted.
After making a clean sweep inside the dilapidated structure and finding no one else there, Jacob called his men. When Bobby Joe approached the open barn doors, Jacob grabbed his arm to stop him.
“You don’t want to see,” Jacob said.
“Yes, I do. I gotta see.” Bobby Joe pulled free and rushed into the barn.
Tim Willingham came over to Jacob. “Is it Misty?”
The Fifth Victim Page 19
