by Unknown
The auction is very popular, draws quite the crowd.
Not that you need the exposure, of course. I’m so excited we’ll be able to showcase your work…and as a local artist at that.”
“I’ve been…out of the public’s eye for a while.
I’m sure the publicity can’t hurt. It will be good for me to be back in the spotlight, even if only for a short while, all the better if the auction is more profitable because of it.”
A tiny furrow dug in between his brows. That wasn’t very modest. Then he relaxed. Maybe all she needed was a little warning, nothing that would hurt her of course, just a gentle nudge. A little something to help her to stay on the right track.
She could rely on him to watch over her, help her make the right decisions. She could count on him to protect her from sin.
Excusing himself, he strolled down the street toward the Post Office. Inside, he emptied his box, sorting envelopes as he headed for the door.
“Hey there,” Jim called from behind the counter.
Heaving a sigh, the Apostle stopped at the door and spun back, pasting a smile on his face. “How are you, Jim?”
“Great, just great.” The postman leaned an elbow on the counter. “‘Specially now that pretty little JJ moved to town. Bet she’s a real wildcat in bed…the quiet ones always are.” 180
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The Apostle saw red. Jim was a pervert, an abomination. His palms dampened the stack of envelopes he crunched in his hands. Murderous rage boiled through his veins. It would be so easy to snuff out such a worthless life. He could almost feel the degenerate’s final heartbeat pulse beneath his fingertips.
It would feel good.
Appalled at his own thoughts, the Apostle stammered a quick, absent reply and ducked outside. Black, acidic hatred clutched his stomach tight. His breath sawed through his nostrils. It took every last ounce of his composure to smile at passersby as he made his way back to his office. The Devil was insidious, ever watchful for weakness, tempting the faithful to stray. Murder was against God’s will. He would not stray from his path of righteousness.
Murder was a sin.
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Chapter 14
JJ laughed as Ginny vaulted into the air, doing her patented boogie-woogie, chicken dance as bowling pins crashed and ricocheted at the end of the long lane. Overhead, the electronic scoreboard blinked, flashing a new score.
“That’s worth another round,” Ginny shouted over the busy din of the crowded Bowl-a-Rama. She staggered to the padded booth and plopped beside JJ, jostling her with a loose shoulder, knocking her into Brandi. “See, ain’t this fun?” How Ginny could bowl, much less manage a strike in her current condition was beyond JJ. Yet she’d had four strikes tonight…or was it five? She’d lost count. Never had she seen anyone down so much alcohol and remain upright, either. Then again, there weren’t many at her table tonight who’d been slacking as far as the booze went.
Giggling, JJ lifted her beer in tribute, tipping it to her lips. She’d gone well past her own limit, and the room had taken on a pleasant, golden glow, as if all were right with the world. Her only surprise was the alcohol had given her this enjoyable, fuzzy feeling rather than sending her straight to the ladies room in disgrace, as it usually did.
Across the table, her new friend, Carol Ann Metcalf waved a twenty in the air, batting her artificially enhanced eyelashes at the tall blond behind the counter. Grinning, he nodded acknowledgement and began loading up a tray.
Brandi snaked an arm around JJ’s shoulder.
“So…what’s the JJ stand for?”
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JJ had just enough alcohol in her to own up to the awful truth. “Jillian Josephine.”
“That’s not so bad.” Brandi giggled when JJ
made a face. “What’s your poison, Jillian Josephine?”
“JJ, please…just JJ. And I’ll have another beer, I know better than mixing.”
“Sspoil-ssport,” Ginny slurred. “C’mon, JJ, just one li’l ol’ shotsy. Ya gotta have one… ‘S a rule. ‘S
girl’s night out. We all got ssittzers tonight.” She waved her arm flamboyantly toward Carol Ann, Brandi, and Lacy—though Lacy had no children—
then thumped her own chest. “No kids to worry
‘bout…no men folk to slow us down. ‘S high time to get all lacquered,” hiccup, “licked,” she shook her head, giggling, “liquored up.” Ginny nodded soberly, grabbing twice before she snatched the slippery tip of her tongue between her sluggish fingertips. Her tongue wiggled loose, and she shrugged, beaming at the room at large. “Damned tongue quit working after that lasss Capt’n.”
Across the table, Lacy Becker dropped her head to Carol Ann’s shoulder, humming blissfully. The blond arrived with his weighted tray, slid the edge onto the table, and began passing drinks around.
“How about a pizza, ladies?” He aimed the question at the group in general, but his eyes—and his smile—were for Carol Ann alone.
“That’s a great idea, Adam.” Brandi elbowed JJ
as she gave a stage nod in Carol Ann’s direction. The calf-eyes were mutual.
Carol Ann tried to pass her money to Adam, but he waved it away with a shy grin. “Now you know better, Carol Ann. Your money’s no good here.” The heat in his smile sent a wave of female twitters around the table. Clearing his throat, he promised he’d return with a large double pepperoni, and sauntered away.
Five female necks craned to follow his exit.
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“What a man,” Carol Ann sighed, patting a hand over her heart dramatically.
“I’ll say,” Brandi chimed in. “You get tired of playing with him, be sure to toss him my way.”
“Ssspeaking of what-a-man, take a gander at that hunk-a-raw-sssex that just ssswaggered in.
That one looks right,” hiccup, “right up your alley, JJ.” Whipping her head around, JJ’s gaze zeroed in like a heat-seeking missile on the tall drink of water leaning against the service counter…and oh, was he sexy. His ankles were crossed, his thumb hooked in his utility belt. He was in uniform again, with a gun strapped to his hip and a star pinned to his chest. He was insolent, cocky. He oozed sensual bliss. He was…
Dear Lord help her, he was edible.
And Cam was staring right at her, as if there wasn’t another soul in the entire building.
Forcing herself to turn away, her face on fire, JJ
couldn’t help grinning like a loon at the blurry label on the half-empty beer bottle in front of her. Ginny jostled her again, sloshing her caramel-colored drink over the side of her glass. Brandi leaned close, whispering—loudly—that JJ ought to go on over and be friendly with the good sheriff. After all, you never knew when being on first-rate terms with the long arm of the law might come in handy.
Embarrassed, JJ shushed Brandi and took an unsteady gulp of her beer. She shouldn’t be reacting like this, like a giddy schoolgirl the high school jock just winked at. She hadn’t seen him since he’d left her house yesterday morning. He’d told her he’d come back…and then he hadn’t—not that it mattered.
Because it didn’t…not at all.
She’d delivered his toolbox to the sheriff’s department after her stop at Paper Cutouts. The 184
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odd-looking young woman with glow-in-the-dark green hair and a familiar voice staffing the front desk had smiled as if JJ were the answer to some sacred prayer, and politely asked if she’d like to leave a message for the sheriff. JJ had been so flustered by that knowing look and bizarre smile she’d sputtered, backing from the office without passing on the scathing set-down she’d rehearsed.
Now there he stood, gorgeous as a Chippendale dancer. She stole a sidelong glance, and silently cursed when she realized he no longer leaned against the counter. Had he left? Disappointment settled in the pit of her stomach.
Facing her companions, she reached for her b
eer again, only to gasp and freeze. How did he move so fast? Cam stood beside the table, feet spread, both thumbs hooked on the corners of his belt buckle. She ogled that belt buckle…or round about that area…and licked her lips. Snagging her bottom lip between her teeth, she stifled a whimper. What would he do if she stuffed a wad of cash in his belt?
With that sexy grin and that taunting uniform, he certainly fit the part. Did male strippers give lap dances?
Holy crap, what was wrong with her? Appalled, she leaned back in her seat and slowly, carefully lifted the beer bottle to her lips with trembling fingers. Her brain must be pickled. There was surely no other excuse for her wayward thoughts.
Dragging her gaze up to his face, her cheeks went up in flames. He smiled at her as if he’d read her mind—every naughty little thought—and she wondered if spontaneous human combustion were possible.
“Ladies…JJ,” he drawled, angling his head. His voice dipped an intimate octave on her name, sending a tremor of delight trilling through her 185
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body. “How are we this evening?”
“We’d be a lot better if you joined us, sssheriff.” Ginny wriggled a limber eyebrow, leering at JJ.
“Wouldn’t we, JJ?”
“Well, now. I can’t think of many things I’d enjoy more,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the group, lingering on JJ, “but, to my regret, I have to pass.
I’m on duty tonight.”
“Aw…p-party-p-pooper.” This from Lacy, her head lolling from Carol Ann’s shoulder back against the seat.
Cam’s lips twitched, but he adopted a stern expression. “Lacy Becker, I think you’ve had about enough to drink. You’d better have a ride home.
Want me to call your brother for you?”
“Red’s p-pickin’ me up when I call him,” she informed him, wobbling her head with a sober expression. She was half a Jell-O shot away from sliding under the table.
“That goes for the rest of you, too.” His eyes came back to rest on JJ, and she fought the urge to squirm in her seat. “I’d hate to have to haul any of you in tonight.”
Grinning, Brandi tossed her arm around JJ’s shoulders again. “Will you cuff us, Sheriff?”
“Yeah…” Ginny threw an elbow at Cam, clipping his hip. “You better ssstrip-sssearch JJ, Cam.
Ssshe’s been awfully naughty.” Gasping, JJ all but knocked Ginny from the booth. Her heart thudded against her ribs. Cam simply tilted his head again, stripping her with his eyes, and murmured, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Then, louder, he added, “Have a nice night ladies…JJ.” Again, the sensual octave dip on her name.
Grinning, he swaggered away.
Once again, five female necks craned for a better view.
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“I’d take a p-piece of that with a scoop of ice cream on the side,” Lacy purred, adding, “Even if he is Red’s boss.”
“You and me both.” Brandi bobbled her head.
Recalling herself, she shot a guilty glance at JJ.
“Course I wouldn’t dream of poaching, but, oh the stories I’ve heard… You are definitely one lucky woman, JJ Frost.”
Frowning, JJ glanced from one confirmatory nod to the next. What were they talking about? Maybe she’d had more to drink than she’d thought. She did a quick mental tabulation of her drinks, and shook her head in amazement. She’d definitely had more than her limit. As carefully as if it were a coiled snake poised to strike, JJ pushed the beer bottle away with the tip of one finger.
Then their words finally began to register. She didn’t know quite what to think. Her head was spinning. Surely that was the reason they were talking like this…as if trying to make inroads with her on Cam’s behalf. It was ridiculous. They were bragging him up like proud mother hens with a prodigal son.
Though they claimed none in the small group had ever actually been with him in that sense of the word, they admitted rumors of his conquest were the stuff of local legends. From all accounts, he was a living god in the bedroom. It was a lamented fact, at least by said conquests, that he never returned to the same bed twice. It was also purported he was cool under fire, never once losing control in the heat of passion. He left every last one of his lovers with a smile and fond, fond memories. In short, he was a Casanova. A generous, considerate lover without an ounce of possessive tendency. He was never jealous, never controlling of his women, more often than not remaining on friendly, though emotionally shallow terms with his ladyloves.
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On some hops-soaked level, she agreed with their claims. Wholeheartedly. If his kisses were any indication, his god-in-the-bedroom status would remain unchallenged. She must have had too much to drink. He was sounding better and better by the second. “He sounds like a hound dog without a loyal bone in his body,” JJ snorted, anxious to put the evening…and the man…back into proper perspective.
“Naw…he just hasn’t found the right woman.” Ginny thrust JJ’s beer back into her hands, suddenly looking far too serious for JJ’s comfort.
“When a woman finally tags him—the right woman, mind you, you better believe it will be for keeps.”
“I doubt he’d hold still long enough for the shot.” Unmindful of her resolve to cut herself off for the night, JJ tipped the bottle to her lips. “Besides, given his history, I’d say he lacks the ability to make a commitment to just one woman.”
“For the right woman, he’ll hold still all right,” Ginny insisted stubbornly. “Once he commits, he’ll never look twice at another female…and that you can bet your lacy Saturday-night panties on.”
“What makes you say that?” JJ didn’t believe a word of Ginny’s claim, and yet a tiny part of her was strangely hopeful.
Ginny shot her a lopsided smile as she rubbed at the wide leather strap of her watch. Her sage tone was all too sober…and oh-so-sad. “It’s the nature of the beast.”
JJ cast a wary, thoughtful glance at the door Cam had disappeared through.
The nature of the beast…
What an odd expression.
****
It took four jabs at the lock before JJ finally managed to get the key where it belonged.
Staggering around, unsteady on her feet, she waved 188
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at Red as he shifted into reverse and backed the police cruiser down the lane. Lacy slumped against his shoulder, passed out cold. Brandi and Ginny wailed a rousing rendition of “I will survive” from the back seat.
Imagine. JJ Frost…delivered home in a cop car.
She giggled. Another first.
Once inside, she staggered down the hallway, dropping boots and shedding clothing as she went.
In the kitchen, she tugged the refrigerator door open, shivering as the chilly blast of air poured over her bare skin. Snagging a bottle of water from the fridge, she worked the cap loose with severe concentration before stumbling into the small washroom where she dragged an oversized T-shirt from the dryer. Carefully propping the water bottle on top of the washing machine, she battled the hooks on her bra, gave up, and wrestled the cursed thing off over her head. Dropping it onto the dryer beside the water bottle, she tugged the shirt on, grabbed her water and the bra, and wandered back down the hallway.
Pausing at the foot of the stairs, JJ frowned at the bra in her hand, glanced at the scatter of clothes on the floor, and giggled again, draping the bra over the banister with a careless shrug. She’d just placed her foot on the bottom step, when a loud thump came from somewhere overhead.
Ice shot through her veins. Just enough for panic to set in.
A flash of her sister, drenched in crimson, lying motionless in a pool of blood, eyes lifeless and open, hand outstretched, begging for mercy that would never come, flickered through her mind. She hadn’t been able to save her sister, though she’d tried with every ounce of strength she possessed. Now he was coming for her. She wouldn’t be able to save herself either. Thi
s time she’d failed them both. That 189
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gruesome realization left the bitter taste of desperation clinging to the back of her raw throat, a throat that already bore the bluish marks of Jerry’s angry hands.
The silhouette of a man separated from the shadows, and then he was there, looming over her, his left arm raised high. In Jerry’s fist, the enormous butcher knife gleamed, dripping the gore of her sister’s death. The smile on his once handsome face was serene, twisted with justified vengeance. His muddy brown eyes glittered with vindicated, diabolical glee. She would pay for turning Sarah against him. She’d never interfere with his marriage again. His hand descended with brutal purpose, again and again. Pain seared across her ribs, her forearm, penetrated her thigh.
Clutching her side, she stumbled back, gasping.
No. No…that wasn’t real. It was just a memory.
Though the shadow of remembered pain sliced at her, she did not bleed. She was safe. She was alive.
She wasn’t in Minneapolis anymore. Jerry was dead.
The ceiling above her creaked.
Silently sobbing, she dropped to her knees and frantically rooted through the scattered clothing until she found her phone. Crawling on hands and knees into a small closet beneath the stairs, she flipped the phone open. The screen swam before her eyes. Her thumb hovered over the number nine, but she didn’t press it.
The house was just settling. It was just her imagination, intensified by another flashback.
Please, let it be just another damned raccoon. The stairs groaned, and she bit down hard on her lip.
The salty taste of blood coated her tongue. Her wide-eyed gaze darted around the small closet, but it was so dark…too dark. Like someone had poured ink over her vision. A tiny crack of light below the door offered little to no definition. She scrabbled back into 190
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a corner, huddled there.
Oh, please, oh, please…
She so didn’t want to dial 911. Eventually, they were just going to look at her like the boy who cried wolf…or the lady with the cats Cam had told her about over breakfast the other morning. But neither could she drag herself from the closet. What if someone was out there? There was a killer lurking in Sutter Hollow, after all. Earlier tonight, Ginny had told her they’d found another body…a man this time…with his chest carved open by a broken bottle.
