The Last To Die

by Beverly Barton

  "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.

  There was no po­int mo­oning aro­und in her apar­t­ment, we­aring out the rug in her li­ving ro­om. All the res­t­less pa­cing in the world wo­uldn't ta­ke her mind off her pre­di­ca­ment. She had to find a way-short of mur­der-to ke­ep Jamie out of her li­fe. Per­ma­nently. She co­uld ha­ve Jacob or Dal­las is­sue a res­t­ra­ining or­der, but that wo­uld pro­bably ha­ve an ad­ver­se ef­fect. Jamie wo­uld see it as a sign of we­ak­ness on her part and pur­sue her all the mo­re, even if it me­ant his be­ing ar­res­ted. With Big Jim Up­ton's mo­ney, Jamie co­uld af­ford the best law­yers and un­li­mi­ted ba­il mo­ney.

  What she ne­eded was to get out of the ho­use, go down to Jas­mi­ne's for bre­ak­fast, find as much work to do in the of­fi­ce this mor­ning as pos­sib­le. Jaz­zy sho­we­red hur­ri­edly, then slung on je­ans and a long-sle­eved gold shirt. She grab­bed a be­ige che­nil­le swe­ater and her pur­se as she he­aded out the do­or. The air was crisp and chilly, the sky cle­ar and bright. Al­re­ady at six o'clock the lit­tle town was sho­wing signs of ac­ti­vity. When she re­ac­hed the bot­tom of the out­si­de sta­irs that led from her up­s­ta­irs apar­t­ment to the si­de­walk that ran along the back of Jaz­zy's Jo­int, she he­ard a horn honk. When she glan­ced up, she saw Dr. Mac­Na­ir toss up his hand and wa­ve at her. She wa­ved back as he tur­ned his SUV in­to a par­king pla­ce in front of Jas­mi­ne's, the res­ta­urant she ow­ned that was lo­ca­ted be­si­de her hon­ky-tonk on the cor­ner of Flo­ren­ce Ave­nue and Lo­den Stre­et Now why co­uldn't she fall for a ni­ce guy li­ke Gar­vin Mac­Na­ir? She'd bet her last dol­lar that he'd be­en as fa­it­h­ful as an old dog to his wi­fe be­fo­re she up and left him for her for­mer high scho­ol swe­et­he­art a co­up­le of months ago. Why was it that ni­ce guys se­emed to fi­nish last, when as­sho­les li­ke Jamie ca­me out on top ti­me and aga­in?

  Poor Gal­vin. The who­le town knew his per­so­nal bu­si­ness, knew his wi­fe had left town, mo­ved in with her for­mer lo­ver, and fi­led for di­vor­ce. Every mot­herly old wo­man in Che­ro­kee Co­unty had ma­de it her mis­si­on in li­fe to con­so­le him and try to fix him up with the­ir da­ug­h­ter or ni­ece. So why didn't she ask Gal­vin out? A new man in her li­fe was just what she ne­eded. But not Gal­vin. He just wasn't her type. He was too damn ni­ce. Too swe­et.

  "Morning, Jaz­zy," Gal­vin sa­id as he got out of his truck. "You're out and abo­ut mighty early."

  "So are you," she rep­li­ed. "You don't usu­al­ly eat bre­ak­fast at Jas­mi­ne's. What's wrong, ti­red of hos­pi­tal fo­od?"

  "I de­ci­ded to eat out to ce­leb­ra­te." When Jaz­zy eyed him spe­cu­la­ti­vely, he ex­p­la­ined. "Ni­na went to Re­no for a qu­ic­kie di­vor­ce. It se­ems she co­uldn't wa­it."

  "Gee, Gal­vin, I don't know what to say. Sho­uld I say con­g­ra­tu­la­ti­ons or I'm sorry?"

  He shrug­ged. "Ne­it­her, I gu­ess."

  She pla­ced her hand on his sho­ul­der. "Co­me on in­si­de. Bre­ak­fast is on me."

  "That's aw­ful­ly ni­ce of you, but not ne­ces­sary." He fol­lo­wed her in­to Jas­mi­ne's.

  When she saw Tif­fany, one of her wa­it­res­ses, she cal­led out to her, "Dr. Mac­Na­ir's bre­ak­fast is on the ho­use."

  "Sure thing." Tif­fany smi­led warmly and sho­wed the doc­tor to a tab­le.

  Maybe Tif­fany and Dr. Mac­Na­ir might ma­ke a go­od co­up­le. For­get it, she told her­self. Don't try to play mat­c­h­ma­ker. You ne­ed to find yo­ur­self a man, so­me­body who'll ta­ke yo­ur mind off Jamie.

  No so­oner had the tho­ught be­en pro­ces­sed than the do­or ope­ned and She­riff But­ler en­te­red the res­ta­urant. Big, rug­ged Jacob. A six-fi­ve qu­ar­ter bre­ed who'd on­ce be­en a Navy SE­AL. Now the­re was a man for you. A re­al man, one hun­d­red per­cent, thro­ugh and thro­ugh. She'd known Jacob all her li­fe and lo­ved him-li­ke a brot­her. They'd tri­ed da­ting back last ye­ar and fo­und out af­ter only a co­up­le of months the re­ason they'd ne­ver da­ted be­fo­re then. No sparks. Ab­so­lu­tely no se­xu­al che­mistry. She wo­uldn't go as far as to say kis­sing him had be­en li­ke kis­sing a brot­her, but they'd both fi­gu­red out pretty qu­ick that they we­re bet­ter off re­ma­ining go­od fri­ends than ris­king the­ir fri­en­d­s­hip by sle­eping to­get­her.

  "Good God, has hell fro­zen over?" Jacob as­ked te­asingly in his de­ep ba­ri­to­ne vo­ice.

  "Okay, so I re­cently sa­id that hell wo­uld fre­eze over be­fo­re I'd get up be­fo­re se­ven, but the­re's no ne­ed to be sar­cas­tic so early in the mor­ning."

  Jacob re­mo­ved his Stet­son and nod­ded to­ward a bo­oth in the back. 'Jo­in me for bre­ak­fast?"

  "Coffee, may­be."

  By the ti­me they slid in­to op­po­si­te si­des of the bo­oth, Tif­fany ap­pe­ared with a cof­fe­epot. Af­ter she po­ured the­ir cups full and to­ok Jacob's bre­ak­fast or­der, she he­aded to­ward the ki
t­c­hen.

  "Want to tell me abo­ut it?" Jacob as­ked.

  "About what?"

  "I saw Jamie Up­ton's Mer­ce­des par­ked in front of Jaz­zy's Jo­int in the mid­dle of the night, af­ter the pla­ce had clo­sed."

  "So?"

  "I tho­ught you we­re fi­nis­hed with him."

  Jazzy for­ced a smi­le. "Why co­uldn't you and I ha­ve fal­len in lo­ve? It wo­uld ha­ve ma­de my li­fe so much sim­p­ler. And so much bet­ter."

  "I know it's no­ne of my bu­si­ness, but… did you let him spend the night?"

  "You're rig­ht-it's no­ne of yo­ur bu­si­ness. But no, he sta­yed two ho­urs and left I ha­ve no do­ubt that he fo­und so­me­body to so­ot­he his di­sap­po­in­t­ment."

  "Maybe he went ho­me to his fi­an­c­ée. He is get­ting mar­ri­ed in a few we­eks, isn't he?" Jacob lif­ted his cup to his lips.

  "That's what they say."

  After ta­king se­ve­ral swigs, he set the cup down. "Genny cal­led me right be­fo­re I left the ho­use. I fi­gu­re she'll be get­ting in to­uch with you to­day."

  "Is so­met­hing wrong?"

  "She had a vi­si­on be­fo­re day­b­re­ak this mor­ning."

  A shud­der rip­pled up Jaz­zy's spi­ne. "She hasn't had a vi­si­on sin­ce… was it abo­ut-"

  "It was abo­ut Jamie."

  "What?"

  "She saw so­me­one kill Jamie. She be­li­eves it's a pre­mo­ni­ti­on."

  "Who-who did she see kill Jamie? Was it me?"

  Jacob re­ac­hed ac­ross the tab­le and to­ok Jaz­zy's hand in his. "Are you plan­ning on kil­ling Jamie?"

  She jer­ked her hand away. "No, of co­ur­se not, but we both know I pul­led a gun on him a few months ago. And we both know that, un­der the right cir­cum­s­tan­ces, I might sho­ot him."

  ''Talk to Genny. Let her do a re­ading. She do­esn't think you'll kill Jamie, but she be­li­eves that his de­ath will cre­ate tro­ub­le for you."

  "Why do­esn't that sur­p­ri­se me? All Jamie Up­ton has ever be­en to me is tro­ub­le. Ap­pa­rently he's tro­ub­le for me ali­ve or de­ad."

  "Stay away from him," Jacob ad­vi­sed. "And I'll ma­ke su­re he stays away from you. I'll tell Ca­leb to ke­ep an eye out for you and call me at the first sign of-"

  "You think Genny's pre­mo­ni­ti­on is go­ing to co­me true, don't you? And you're af­ra­id she might be wrong and I'll be the one to kill Jamie."

  When she lo­oked in­to Jacob's moss gre­en eyes, she saw the truth be­fo­re he rep­li­ed, "Bet­ter sa­fe than sorry. No use ta­king any un­ne­ces­sary risks."

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  Erin Mer­cer cur­sed softly un­der her bre­ath as she he­aded for the front do­or of her ca­bin. What the hell was Jim's gran­d­son do­ing knoc­king on her do­or? She tho­ught she had ma­de it per­fectly cle­ar the last ti­me he'd shown up-unan­no­un­ced and un­wel­co­me-that she wasn't bu­ying what he was sel­ling. As far as she was con­cer­ned, he was a wor­ri­so­me brat so­me­one sho­uld ha­ve dis­cip­li­ned ye­ars ago. Be­fo­re she re­ac­hed for the do­or­k­nob, she pa­used long eno­ugh to fas­ten the top two but­tons on her blo­use. No use gi­ving Jamie an ex­cu­se to ac­cu­se her of trying to lo­ok sexy for him. Stu­pid boy. As if she'd ever be in­te­res­ted in so­me­one as self-cen­te­red and im­ma­tu­re as he, even with his un­de­ni­ab­le yo­uth and go­od lo­oks. Too many wo­men had fal­len for the flashy ex­te­ri­or be­fo­re dis­co­ve­ring the ug­li­ness of the in­te­ri­or man. She'd known his type and, when she'd be­en yo­un­ger and fo­olish, she'd gi­ven her he­art to so­me­one a gre­at de­al li­ke Jamie Up­ton.

  If any ot­her man sto­od out­si­de her do­or this morn ing, she wo­uld ta­ke the ti­me to check her ap­pe­aran­ce in the mir­ror, may­be even dab on a lit­tle blush and lip­s­tick. Af­ter all, even tho­ugh she was fifty, she to­ok pri­de in her ap­pe­aran­ce and knew most men con­si­de­red her an at­trac­ti­ve wo­man.

  Erin ope­ned the do­or hal­f­way and gla­red at the han­d­so­me de­vil stan­ding on her do­or­s­tep. "What do you want?" she as­ked, her to­ne surly. She'd le­ar­ned the first ti­me Jim's gran­d­son sho­wed up at her ca­bin that he per­ce­ived any ple­asan­t­ness on her part as an open in­vi­ta­ti­on. Not­hing wo­uld ple­ase him mo­re than sco­ring with his gran­d­fat­her's mis­t­ress.

  "Wake up on the wrong si­de of the bed?" As he pla­ced his hand on the do­or fra­me, he le­aned for­ward. "If you'd wo­ke up with me be­si­de you, you'd be in a much bet­ter mo­od."

  "It's early. I've had only one cup of cof­fee. I'm not in the mo­od for yo­ur ga­mes. I re­pe­at, what do you want?"

  When he mo­ved to­ward her, she in­s­tin­c­ti­vely eased bac­k­ward, not wan­ting the­ir bo­di­es to to­uch. She didn't trust this man, didn't fe­el en­ti­rely sa­fe aro­und him. She wasn't physi­cal­ly af­ra­id of him, be­ca­use she knew she co­uld han­d­le him, if it ca­me to that. The fe­ar she felt was mo­re ba­sic, a to­tal­ly emo­ti­onal res­pon­se.

  Once in­si­de, Jamie he­aded stra­ight for the li­ving ro­om. Erin huf­fed, re­sig­ned her­self to en­du­ring Jamie's pre­sen­ce for the ti­me be­ing, and shut the do­or. When she en­te­red her li­ving ro­om, she fo­und him al­re­ady lo­un­ging on her so­fa, with his fe­et prop­ped up on the cof­fee tab­le. He lo­oked as if he'd be­en out all night. His tux was wrin­k­led, his bow tie mis­sing, and his shirt but­to­ned up wrong. A hint of brown stub­ble on his pretty boy fa­ce ga­ve him a ra­kish ap­pe­aran­ce. And that's what Jamie was all rig­ht-a ra­ke. A bo­na fi­de, old-fas­hi­oned ra­ke.

  Of co­ur­se, cal­ling him a ra­ke was a com­p­li­ment in com­pa­ri­son to the ot­her ap­prop­ri­ate na­mes that ca­me to mind.

  "I'm get­ting myself anot­her cup of cof­fee. Wo­uld you ca­re for so­me?" she as­ked as she pas­sed thro­ugh the li­ving ro­om and star­ted to­ward the kit­c­hen.

  "I'll set­tle for cof­fee, but what I'd re­al­ly li­ke is so­me tea and sympathy. You know abo­ut that, don't you, Erin? It's when an ol­der wo­man ta­kes a yo­un­ger man in­to her bed to com­fort him."

  Erin pa­used, but didn't bot­her lo­oking back when she sa­id, "My gu­ess is that you've spent the night in so­me­one's bed get­ting plenty of sympathy or wha­te­ver the hell you want to call it. I sug­gest that if you ne­ed mo­re, you re­turn to the ge­ne­ro­us lady who so wil­lingly ga­ve it to you ear­li­er."

  As she en­te­red the kit­c­hen, she he­ard him la­ug­hing. Dam­ned ob­no­xi­o­us boy. Hur­ri­edly she po­ured cof­fee in­to two mugs and re­tur­ned to the li­ving ro­om. When she held out a mug for him, he pat­ted the so­fa.

  "Sit with me."

  She eyed him skep­ti­cal­ly and sho­ok her he­ad.

  He ac­cep­ted the cof­fee. "I pro­mi­se I won't bi­te."

  "No, but I might. I might bi­te a plug out of that big he­ad of yo­urs and bring it back down to a nor­mal si­ze."

  "You think I'm an ego­tis­ti­cal bas­tard, don't you?"

  "If the shoe fits…"

  Erin to­ok a se­at op­po­si­te him, with the mas­si­ve squ­are oak coc­k­ta­il tab­le bet­we­en them. "I sup­po­se you know you'll ha­ve a gre­at de­al of ex­p­la­ining to do when you go ho­me. The who­le town is pro­bably buz­zing with gos­sip abo­ut yo­ur le­aving yo­ur fi­an­c­ée alo­ne at yo­ur en­ga­ge­ment party last night."

  "I sta­yed for ho­urs. I spo­ke to ever­yo­ne, ac­cep­ted go­od wis­hes, pre­sen­ted myself as the du­ti­ful fi­ancé. I didn't le­ave un­til ne­arly ele­ven."

  "You left be­fo­re half the gu­ests did. How do you think that ma­de yo­ur fi­an­cee fe­el?"

  "She knows I'm a cad… and lo­ves me an­y­way. "Jamie bro­ught the cof­fee mug to his lips. "Strong and black. Just the way I li­ke it."

  "I fe­e
l sorry for La­ura. She's so yo­ung and so in lo­ve with you. She de­ser­ves bet­ter. What's wrong with you, Jamie? Don't you ha­ve any idea how lucky you are? You ha­ve gran­d­pa­rents who ado­re you, all the mo­ney you co­uld ever ne­ed, and a wo­man who is de­vo­ted to you."

  "Laura's not the wo­man I want." He lo­oked right at Erin, and for a split se­cond she tho­ught she saw ge­nu­ine emo­ti­on in his ha­zel eyes. Sad­ness? Reg­ret? 'Then why marry her? If she's not-"

  "It's Jaz­zy," Jamie sa­id. "It's al­ways be­en Jaz­zy. It al­ways will be." 'Then bre­ak off yo­ur en­ga­ge­ment to La­ura and marry Jaz­zy."

  Jamie la­ug­hed, the so­und hol­low and emo­ti­on­less. "You're a go­od one to talk. You're my gran­d­fat­her's mis­t­ress. You know he'll ne­ver di­vor­ce Big Ma­ma, yet you hang on to him an­y­way. Why don't you de­mand that he le­ave his wi­fe and marry you?"