BEVERLY BARTON - Beg To Die

Dallas leaned over, just enough to loosen the covers from his upper body. Genny looked at him, at this man she loved more than life itself, and wished more fervently than she ever had before that she wasn’t cursed with the gift of sight. Loving her, living with her, marrying her come June, Dallas had to deal with her special talents as only the mate of a true psychic would have to do.

Genny discarded the heavy quilt, dropping it to the floor as she slipped into her robe and house shoes, her movements slow and unsteady. She turned to Dallas. “I won’t be able to sleep. I think I’ll fix myself some coffee and go outside to watch the sunrise. You stay here and go back to sleep.”

Totally naked, Dallas emerged from the bed in all his masculine glory, a morning erection jutting out between his thighs. “You’re so weak you can barely walk. You aren’t going anywhere without me.” He grabbed his discarded jeans and shirt off a nearby chair. “I’ll fix coffee. Then if you want to go outside, I’ll go with you.”

“I’m just a little weak. The vision drained some of my strength, but it was a brief vision and I’m not exhausted. Really I’m not.”

Not bothering to put on his socks, he stuffed his feet into his shoes, put his arm around her shoulders and guided her out of the bedroom. “You need to talk about it. If it was a premonition of someone’s death, then maybe there’s something we can do to prevent it from happening.”

Genny loved the way he said “we” so naturally, without giving it any thought. Almost instantly, from the first night they met, they had become one spirit.

Fifteen minutes later, Dallas and Genny, coffee mugs in hand, stood on the front porch of her old Tennessee farmhouse and watched the sunrise. Dallas’s strong arms encompassed her as he stood behind her, his big body warming her. Pale and pink, like the tips of a hundred torches barely beginning to brighten the horizon, the first glimmer of morning sunlight lit the Eastern sky.

“No matter how many times I see this, it never ceases to take my breath away,” she told him.

“I know exactly what you mean.” One of his big hands clamped down on her shoulder.

When she glanced back and up at him, he wasn’t looking at the sunrise, but at her. And she knew that she, not nature’s beauty, was what captivated him.

Genny glanced up at the sky, leaned her body back, closer into Dallas, and lifted the strong, dark brew to her lips. The Colombian Supreme had a rich, mellow flavor, and she, like Dallas, took her coffee black.

“The man was Jamie Upton,” Genny said, her voice not much more than a whisper, as if she thought by not saying his name too loudly, it might somehow protect him.

“You saw someone kill Jamie Upton?” Dallas nuzzled the side of her neck with his nose. “I’m not surprised. I figure it’s only a matter of time before he pisses off the wrong woman.”

“Please don’t say that.”

Dallas took a swig of coffee, then set his mug on the windowsill behind him. When Genny took several steps toward the edge of the porch, he followed and wrapped his arms around her again. “Tell me what’s frightened you so. There has to be more to your vision than simply seeing Jamie killed.”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Depends.”

“On what?” she asked.

“On how he was murdered and on who killed him.”

“I don’t know who she was, but—”

“So I was right, huh? I figured it was a woman. After all, it would be only poetic justice if some woman chops off his balls.”

Genny gasped. Dallas clutched her shoulders and whirled her around to face him.

“Is that what happened?”

Feeling suddenly cold and knowing the color had drained from her face, Genny nodded. “And—and there was something about the woman.”

“I thought you said you didn’t recognize her.”

“I didn’t see her face, but I saw a few strands of her hair.”

“So?” Dallas stared at her quizzically.

“Her hair was red.”

“Red? Good God, honey, you don’t think it was Jazzy, do you?” When she couldn’t bring herself to respond, Dallas grunted. “You think you saw Jazzy murder Jamie, don’t you?”

“No, of course not. Jazzy isn’t capable of murder.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Every human being is capable of killing, given the right provocation. But if Jazzy was going to kill Jamie, she’d already have done it. Long ago.”

Genny took a deep breath, then exhaled as she nodded agreement. “I don’t think the woman who killed Jamie in my vision was Jazzy, but my instincts warn me that somehow Jamie’s death will bring great trouble to her.”

“So should we forewarn Jamie?”

Genny shook her head. “No. He’d never believe me. He’d only laugh at me. But I’m going to tell Jazzy. She needs to stay as far away from Jamie as she possibly can.”

“That might be a problem, considering how he hounds her all the time.”

“I think she needs to take out a restraining order against him.” Genny looked directly at Dallas. “Now that you’re the chief of police, you can handle that for her, can’t you?”

“Yeah, sure, but Jamie being Jamie, I doubt a restraining order will keep him away from her.”

“Then maybe I should speak to Caleb McCord.”

“McCord? The bouncer at Jazzy’s Joint?”

“Yes, that Caleb McCord.”

“Am I missing something? Why would you tell—”

“That’s right, I didn’t tell you, did I?”

“Tell me what?”

“Caleb is in love with Jazzy.”

“He is?”

“Yes, he is. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Dallas chuckled. Genny turned her attention back to the morning sky as she sipped her coffee and allowed her fiancé to pull her down in his lap as he sat in one of the four rocking chairs on the front porch.

Laura Willis rested on the window seat in the guest bedroom she shared with her younger sister, Sheridan, at the Upton estate outside Cherokee Pointe. She’d been living here since Jamie brought her to meet his grandparents three months ago. Until her sister and parents had arrived two days ago for her engagement party, she had shared Jamie’s bed many nights. The nights he stayed at home. His grandmother, Miss Reba, assured her that Jamie wasn’t with other women on those nights he stayed out until dawn, but she knew better. Her Jamie was a ladies’ man. And there was one lady—and she used the term loosely—Jamie found irresistible. Jazzy Talbot.

Maybe she was a fool to believe that once she and Jamie were married he’d be faithful to her. But he had solemnly vowed to her that once they said their “I dos,” he would be true to her. Perhaps she had to believe he’d keep his word because she loved him so much.

And he loved her. She knew he did. He could be tender and considerate and loving, as well as wildly passionate. She was lucky that he intended to marry her. He’d been engaged twice before, but this time would be different. In three weeks they would say their vows and she would become Mrs. James Upton III. And if Jazzy Talbot didn’t stay away from her husband, she’d…what would she do? She’d kill her, that’s what she’d do.

No, no, Laura, you don’t mean that. You could never kill another human being. Not even Jazzy.

The eastern sky brightened as dawn colored the horizon with muted pastels. Laura could see the front drive from her window as well as the expansive front lawn. Quiet, empty, nothing more than the spring breeze stirring at this time of day.

You’re with her, aren’t you, Jamie? You spent the night with her. Touching her, kissing her, making love to her the same way you do me. No, no, no! It’s not the same. He loves me. He only wants to fuck her.