The Fifth Victim

by Beverly Barton

  While Dallas introduced Genny to his family, Tiffany came over with a silver tray laden with champagne flutes. Jazzy removed two glasses and handed one each to the happy couple.

  A violinist strolled down the hall from Jazzy’s office, already playing a romantic melody.

  “Ain’t life grand?” Jazzy hugged Genny. “I don’t know anyone who deserves to be happy more than you do.”

  Genny hugged Jazzy fiercely. “Your time will come. I promise.”

  Jazzy pulled away. “There are presents, you know. Lots of presents. But don’t think this takes the place of a bridal shower. And I’ve got the bachelorette party all planned.”

  Dallas slipped his arm around Genny’s waist. “Come on, a qua da li i. Let’s mix and mingle. Now that I’ve been offered Roddy Watson’s old job, I should get better acquainted with my constituents.”

  “Calling me your wife is a bit premature since we’re not making it legal until June.” Suddenly comprehending what he’d said about the position as chief of police, Genny gasped. “Oh, Dallas, you didn’t tell me. When did—”

  “I got the phone call today, while you were taking a nap. I wanted to wait until our dinner tonight to tell you.”

  “Congratulations, Chief Sloan!” Jazzy laid her hand on Dallas’s back.

  “What’s this?” Jacob asked as he joined the threesome.

  “Dallas has been offered Roddy Watson’s old job,” Jazzy said. “Imagine that.”

  “Let’s keep that news to ourselves for now,” Dallas said. “Tonight is all about Genny accepting my proposal and making me the happiest man in the world.”

  “How the mighty have fallen.” Jacob chuckled.

  “You just wait,” Dallas told him. “Your time is coming. One of these days some sexy little thing is going to come along and you won’t know what hit you. Not until after she has you on your knees begging her to put you out of your misery.”

  “Not going to happen,” Jacob assured him.

  Jazzy sashayed over to Jacob and slipped her arm through his. “Since you’re going to be the best man and I’m going to be the maid of honor come June, we should make the first toasts tonight. Try to say something romantic, something from the heart.”

  “I don’t do romantic,” Jacob grumbled.

  “For Genny’s sake, you could try.” Jazzy tugged on Jacob’s arm and he responded, allowing her to lead him toward the bar.

  “She gets enough romantic mush from Dallas.”

  “You, Jacob Butler, are hopeless. I pity the poor woman who winds up with you.”

  “Jazzy Talbot, the guy who gets stuck with you will be the most henpecked, dominated poor soul on earth.”

  “Since we know each other so well, warts and all, maybe we should just get married. That way we wouldn’t ever have to concern ourselves with romance.”

  Jacob chuckled. “We’ve already tried dating and found out there just aren’t any sparks between us.”

  “Maybe we’d be better off without sparks. It would make things less complicated.”

  “Less complicated, but not worth the effort.”

  Jacob and Jazzy lifted glasses from the bar and raised them in honor of the engaged couple. Jazzy clinked her long nails against the side of her glass, hoping to gain the guests’ attention. But the noise level was so loud that no one heard her.

  Jazzy hoisted herself up and onto the bar, then shouted, “Listen up, everybody.”

  The room grew quiet. Jazzy smiled.

  She hoisted her champagne flute higher. “Here’s to Genny and Dallas.” She looked at the couple and smiled. “May you always be as deeply in love as you are tonight.”

  The partygoers cheered. Jazzy nodded to Jacob.

  He cleared his throat and saluted the couple with his glass. “Here’s to you, Dallas. And all I can say is—better you than me.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Dallas pulled Genny into his arms and kissed her, right there in front of their families, friends, acquaintances—and before God. A preliminary for their wedding day.

  Jazzy had never envied anyone so much in her entire life.

  Dear Reader,

  I’m sure when you finished reading THE FIFTH VICTIM, you were left wondering what the future held for several important secondary characters, especially Jazzy Talbot and Jacob Butler. From the conception of Genny’s and Dallas’s story, I visualized a trilogy set in Cherokee County, Tennessee, with Jazzy as the heroine of the second novel and Jacob the hero of the third. I’m pleased to tell you that both books are available. First look for THE LAST TO DIE. Jazzy will be accused of murder and no one suspects that the real killer has plans for Jazzy to be the last to die in a string of brutal murders. Be sure to read the brief excerpt in the back of this book. The final book of the trilogy is AS GOOD AS DEAD.

  I love hearing from readers, so please write to me in care of Kensington. Check out my website at www.beverlybarton.com where you can enter my contests, find my e-mail address and a list of all my books. And don’t forget to sign up for my e-mail newsletter.

  Warmest regards,

  Beverly Barton

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at The Last to Die by Beverly Barton.

  Prologue

  He pounded on her door and shouted her name. Go away, she wanted to scream. Leave me the hell alone. But she knew he wouldn’t go. Not unless someone came and dragged him away. Maybe she should call Jacob and tell him that Jamie was harassing her again. As the county sheriff, he could hold Jamie in jail overnight. Or she could phone Caleb and ask for his help in getting rid of an unwanted midnight visitor. Caleb had gotten plenty of practice lately as the bouncer at Jazzy’s Joint. He’d thrown Jamie out of the place several times recently. But for some reason, she just couldn’t bring herself to pick up the telephone. It wasn’t that she wanted to see Jamie. Not tonight of all nights. But she’d been expecting him, had known somewhere deep down inside her that he would pay her a visit after his engagement party ended.

  “Jazzy…lover, please, let me in.”

  His voice was slightly slurred, no doubt the result of numerous glasses of champagne, and not the twenty-dollars-a-bottle stuff either. Probably Moet’s Dom Perignon or Taittinger Comtes des Champagnes. Or possibly Roederer Cristal or Pommery Cuvee Louise. Something that cost no less than eighty bucks a bottle. In hosting the big bash celebrating their only grandchild’s upcoming nuptials, Big Jim and Reba Upton had spared no expense. Everybody in Cherokee Pointe had been talking of nothing else. The Uptons had hired a catering service out of Knoxville for the engagement party and the rehearsal dinner, the same service the bride’s parents had chosen to cater the wedding reception next month.

  While Jamie continued banging on the door and pleading with her to talk to him, Jazzy curled up tightly on the sofa and placed her hands over her ears. Jamie had been engaged twice before and hadn’t followed through with wedding plans either time. But it looked as if his engagement to Laura Willis might actually end in marriage. If for one minute she believed Jamie’s marrying another woman would put an end to his obsession with her, she’d be the first in line to offer them congratulations.

  Sure, there had been a time when she’d dreamed of becoming Jamie’s wife, but that had been years ago, when she’d been young and foolish. That stupid dream had died a slow, painful death as maturity had given her a firm grip on reality. No way would Jamie’s rich and socially prominent family ever accept her; they still saw her as nothing but a white trash tramp who’d gotten pregnant at sixteen. Did she still care about Jamie? Yeah, somewhere in her heart remnants of that passionate first love still existed. Only a few years ago, she had still been as obsessed with Jamie as he was with her. For the past ten years he had floated in and out of her life, just as he had floated in and out of town. But this time, when he’d returned a few months ago with a new fiancée in tow, Jazzy had turned him away when he’d come to her. And one night, when he hadn’t taken no for an answer, she had threatened his life. Or, to be more precise, sh
e’d threatened his manhood. And what truly frightened her was the realization that she would have shot him—shot his balls off—if he’d come after her again.

  “Jazzy…don’t be mean. Please, doll baby, let me come in. Just one last time. Don’t you know how much I love you?”

  No, damn you, no! You don’t love me! You never did. You’re not capable of loving anyone except yourself.

  While she sat on the sofa, hugging herself, wishing she could block out the sound of Jamie’s pleading, memories washed over her, flooding her senses. The first time Jamie had kissed her. The junior/senior prom, when she’d given him her virginity and had known she would love Jamie forever. The day he’d cried when he told her he couldn’t marry her even though she was carrying his child. The night he had returned to Cherokee Pointe after his first year of college. They’d made love repeatedly for forty-eight hours, leaving bed only when necessary. The first return visit, years ago, when he’d brought home his first fiancée—and Jazzy had welcomed him into her arms, into her bed, not caring about his bride to be.

  How many times had she forgiven Jamie? How many times had she given him just one more chance? Time had run out for them. She knew it, even if he didn’t. She’d turn thirty soon; she had wasted enough of her life waiting for Jamie Upton to give her what she wanted, what she’d always wanted from him. Marriage.

  “Jazzy…Jazzy…baby, please, talk to me. Even if I marry Laura, it doesn’t mean we can’t still be together.”

  A cold, deadly calm settled over her heart. She stood, squared her shoulders and walked to the door. Her hand hovered over the knob. You’re the only one who can end this thing once and for all, she told herself. Do what you have to do to free yourself from Jamie.

  Simultaneously Jazzy unlocked the deadbolt and turned the knob. When she eased open the door, Jamie took full advantage and shoved his way into her apartment. Before she could say a word, he grabbed her and kissed her. Impatiently. Brutally. His tongue thrust inside her mouth. For a split second, she savored his savage possession. Then common sense took charge. She broke away from him, her breathing ragged. He reached out for her, but she sidestepped his grasp.

  “I need you, Jazzy. I’m aching, I want you so bad.”

  “What we once had is over,” she told him. “It’s been over for a long time. I’ve accepted that fact. It’s time you did.”

  “I don’t love her. I’m marrying her because Big Mama is giving me no other choice. She expects me to marry Laura.”

  Jazzy laughed, mirthless chuckles. “And God forbid you ever go against what Big Mama wants.”

  “I’m sorry.” His shoulders slumped. “I know I’m a spineless bastard. But if I don’t keep Big Mama happy, I could lose everything. Big Daddy’s done told me this is my last chance. If I screw things up with Laura, he’ll write me out of his will.”

  Jazzy almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “You know I’ll never be your mistress. I draw the line at fooling around with a married man.”

  Lifting his sedate gaze from where he’d been staring at the floor, he looked directly at her. “Would you let me stay tonight? Just for a little while. A couple of hours.” He held up his arms in an “I surrender” gesture. “Just let me hold you. I swear, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. I need you, Jazzy. One last time. Please, lover. Please.”

  Against her better judgment, she nodded. “You can stay an hour. That’s all.” When he opened his arms to her, she shook her head. “Sit down on the sofa. I’ll fix us some coffee. I think you could use some. You should sober up before you head home and try to explain to your fiancée where you’ve been.”

  “Hey, honey, if you’re planning on getting your gun while the coffee is brewing, there’s no need. Believe it or not, I want us to be friends. I’d prefer lovers, but I’ll settle for friends. I just can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

  Oh, hell. Why had he said that? Don’t go soft. Not now. You’ve heard Jamie’s line of bull before. You know the guy can sweet talk his way out of any jam—or into any woman’s bed. But not her bed. Not ever again.

  “You aren’t going to get to me,” she told him. “Remember, I’ve heard it all before. I’m the girl you honed your persuasion skills on.”

  “You may not believe me, Jazzy, but…” He came up behind her, but didn’t touch her, just stood very close, his breath warm on her neck. “In my own selfish way, I do love you. I always have. And I always will.”

  Odd how a part of her wanted to believe him, maybe even needed to believe him. When she turned to him, he reached out and caressed her cheek. She sucked in her breath.

  “Please, Jazzy.” He looked at her with those sexy hazel eyes, his expression one of intense longing. “Baby…please.”

  She didn’t protest when he pulled her close. Gently. And kissed her. Tenderly. All the old feelings resurfaced and for a moment—just a moment—she wanted him in the same old way. He allowed her to end the kiss. Then he stood there staring at her, waiting for her judgment call.

  “I can offer you coffee and conversation for an hour,” she told him. “That’s it. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it.” A sly, seductive grin curved the corners of his lips as he turned and walked over to the sofa, then sat and crossed one leg over the other knee.

  You’re a fool, Jazzy told herself as she rushed into the kitchen and prepared the coffeemaker. Being nice to Jamie wasn’t the answer. But God in heaven, old habits died hard.

  Tonight she would say good-bye to Jamie. This time would be the last time. And if he ever came to her again, she knew what she’d have to do. She’d have no choice, not if she wanted to save herself.

  The man had to die! It wasn’t that she wanted to kill him or anyone else, but he had left her no other choice. Not only would he have to die, but she feared others would have to forfeit their lives, also, if they interfered. Of course, it wasn’t entirely his fault; after all, he was only human, a mere man, with all the weaknesses inherent to his sex. But he was the worst of his kind, spineless and weak. He gave in to his baser instincts without regard to how his actions might harm others. He reveled in the depravity that plagued most men and many women.

  Her hand settled over her belly. In order to protect herself—and her baby—she needed to plan a strategy that would put suspicion on someone else. But not just anyone. She wanted that woman to pay with her life, and what better justice than to have her executed for murdering her lover? After all, the whole town knew she’d threatened to kill him.

  She stood in the shadows, waiting and watching, knowing where he was and what he was doing. He was with that woman, making love to her. How could he do this? He had sworn his love was true. Lies. All lies! They were fornicators. Sinners. Evil to the core. Both of them deserved to die. To be punished.

  She shouldn’t act hastily, in the heat of the moment. That was the way mistakes were made. She had made mistakes in the past, but not this time. She had trusted when she shouldn’t have, but never again. She needed to be calm and in control when she ended the son of a bitch’s life. There was no need for her to kill him tonight. As long as she eliminated him before his wedding day, everything would be all right.

  She would not kill him quickly. A quick death was too good for him. He needed to die slowly, painfully, tortured and tormented. The thought of listening to his agonizing screams excited her. Her mind filled with vividly gruesome impressions of his last hours on earth.

  “Everything I do, I do for you, my sweet baby. I won’t let anyone hurt you. They think we aren’t good enough for them. They think they can sweep us out the door and pretend we don’t exist. But I won’t let that happen. You don’t have anything to worry about. Not now. Not ever. Mother’s here… Mother’s here.”

  NEW GAME

  The game is simple—he is the Hunter. They are the Prey. He gives them a chance to escape. To run. To hide. To out-smart him. But eventually, he catches them. And that’s when the game gets really terrifying …

&n
bsp; NEW RULES

  Private investigator Griffin Powell and FBI agent Nicole Baxter know a lot about serial killers—they took one down together. But this new killer is as sadistic as they’ve ever seen. He likes his little games, and he especially likes forcing Nic and Griff to play along. Every unsolvable clue, every posed victim, every taunting phone call—it’s all part of his twisted, elaborate plan. And then the Hunter calls, wanting to know if they’re really ready to play …

  BUT WINNER STILL KILLS ALL …

  There’s a new game now, and it’s much more deadly than the first. A brutual psychopath needs a worthy adversary. He won’t stop until he can hunt the most precious prey of all—Nicole. And with his partner in a killer’s sights, Griff is playing for the biggest stakes of his life.

  Please read on for an exciting sneak peek of

  Beverly Barton’s

  THE MURDER GAME,

  Now on sale!

  Prologue

  I am not going to die! Damn it, I refuse to give up, to let him win this evil competition.

  Kendall Moore pulled herself up off the ground where she had fallen, face-down as she ran from her tormentor. Breathless and exhausted, she managed to bring herself to her knees. Every muscle ached. Her head throbbed. Fresh blood trickled from the cuts on her legs and the gashes in the bottoms of her calloused feet.

  The blistering August sun beat down on her like hot heavy tendrils reaching out from a relentless monster in the sky. The sun was her enemy, blistering her skin, parching her lips, dehydrating her tired, weak body.

  Garnering what little strength she had left, Kendall forced herself to stand. She had to find cover, a place where she had an advantage over her pursuer. If he caught up with her while she was out in the open, he would kill her. The game would be over. He would win.

  He’s not going to win! Her mind screamed orders—run, hide, live to fight another day. But her legs managed only a few trembling steps before she faltered and fell again. She needed food and water. She hadn’t eaten in three days and hadn’t had any water since the day before yesterday. He had been pursuing her from sunup to sunset for the past few days, apparently moving in for the kill. After weeks of tormenting her.