BEVERLY BARTON - The Fifth Victim

As she climbed out of bed, the chill in her bedroom encompassed her. She reached out and lifted her robe off the foot of the bed, then slipped into it as she headed for the bathroom. After relieving herself, she went to the tiny kitchen in her second-story apartment over Jasmine’s and hurriedly prepared the coffeemaker.

She glanced out the window facing the east and saw the first faint glimmer of dawn. Was Jamie asleep at home with his latest fiancée, or was he in bed with the woman named April or Amber or something that started with an A and had a cutesy sound to it? He was with one or the other, Jazzy thought. He’d made love to one of those women, held her, kissed her, and whispered sweet nothings in her ear. That woman could have been her. All she’d had to do was welcome him back into her life. He’d be with her now and every night for as long as he was in town, if only she’d said yes.

Her body ached for his.

Jazzy opened the refrigerator, took out a carton of orange juice, and drank straight out of the carton.

Was it Jamie her body ached for or was it just a man? Any man? She hadn’t been with anyone in a long time. Despite what people thought—that she was a slut—Jazzy took sex seriously. Over the years, there had been a few men other than Jamie, but not many. And she’d cared about each of them, had hoped for a future with each of them, and had been disappointed by each of them.

A part of her might always love Jamie, but she wasn’t in love with him anymore. He was poison to her. Every time he breezed into town, he came to her and renewed her hope for something real and lasting between them. But not this time. Not ever again. She’d cried her last tear over Jamie Upton!

Dallas woke instantly when he heard the woman’s screams. He shot straight up in bed. For a moment he didn’t remember where he was. You’re in Genny Madoc’s home in Tennessee, in the mountains , he reminded himself. Good God, had that been Genny screaming? He jumped out of bed, slid into the slacks he’d tossed across the cedar chest at the foot of the bed last night, and then eased his Smith & Wesson semiautomatic from his hip holster and raced out into the dark hallway.

“Genny?”

Silence.

“Genny?” he called again as he rushed toward her bedroom.

He knocked on the door. No response. He knocked again. Drudwyn growled. And then he heard a soft, weak voice.

“Help me,” she said.

He flung open the door, not knowing what to expect. A kerosene lamp’s dim glow shimmered over the room, illuminating the mantel on which it rested and casting shadows across the wooden floor and over the flowery wallpaper. Genny lay in the middle of the bed, unmoving, rigid, her gaze focused on him as he made his way to her.

Drudwyn growled when he approached the bed.

Genny closed her eyes and instantly the dog quieted. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn the animal had read Genny’s mind.

As he leaned over her, his gaze fixed to hers, he asked, “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Are you in pain?”

She nodded, then whispered, “Yes.”

Okay, he knew a little first aid, enough to get by in a pinch, but if there was something seriously wrong with Genny, then they were in big trouble.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked. “And what can I do to help you?”

“Stay with me.” She glanced at the edge of the bed.

“Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?” Maybe she had a stomach virus or food poisoning.

“No, I’m not sick.” Her voice was breathless, as if she’d run a race and was now exhausted.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Is the telephone working?” She looked at the extension on the bedside table.

Dallas lifted the receiver to his ear. Dead. “No. It’s still out.”

“Try my cell phone.”

“Where is it?”

“In the drawer in the nightstand.”

He opened the drawer, removed her small phone, and looked to her for instructions.

“Call Jacob.” She recited the number.

“Damn,” Dallas said. “Still no reception.”

Tears flooded Genny’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter. He’d be too late to save her even if we could get in touch with him.”

Dallas tossed the cell phone back into the drawer, then sat down on the bed beside Genny. “What are you talking about? Who couldn’t Jacob save?”

“The woman he’s going to kill.”

“I don’t understand—”

“I had another dream. Another vision. He’s going to kill again. He may already have sacrificed her.”

Dallas grabbed Genny and jerked her into a sitting position. With his hands clutching her slender shoulders, he glared into her mesmerizing black eyes.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I saw her on the altar. Windows with light. Colors. Stained-glass windows maybe. And the sword. He was excited. Waiting. Waiting for the right moment.”

What the hell was going on? What sort of crazy dream had Genny had? “You must have had a nightmare,” Dallas said. “With a killer on the loose, your imagination kicked into overdrive.”

“It wasn’t just a dream … it was …” her voice faded.

Suddenly Genny fainted. She fell into Dallas’s arms. Delicate. Fragile. Helpless. Dallas cursed loudly.

For a split second Dallas couldn’t think straight. All he could do was react to the feeling of having this beautiful woman in his arms. Although she was small and slender, her body rounded in all the right places. At the present moment her high, full breasts were pressing into his naked chest. And her long, silky black hair draped over his shoulder. He took a deep breath, eased Genny off him, and laid her gently back on the bed.

She’d said that it wasn’t just a dream. What did that mean? Some maniac had cut a young girl wide open out in the woods in the county where Genny lived. Her cousin was the sheriff and had probably told her more than he should have about the gruesome murder. Undoubtedly she’d had the recent killing on her mind when she’d gone to bed, and her subconscious had created a hideous nightmare.

He could still hear the panicked scream that had awakened him. Genny had been terrified. But once she’d fully awakened and realized she was not only safe, but also not alone, she should have recovered quickly. She hadn’t. She’d fainted dead away, as if for some reason she was totally exhausted.

While she lay there, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and steady, he studied her face. The face of an angel. His gaze traveled downward and came to a screeching halt where her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. Her nipples were tight, peaking against the soft cotton material of her long-sleeved pajama top.

Dallas swallowed hard. Now was not the time to get all hot and bothered over a fine piece of ass. Two seconds after the thought flashed through his mind, he grimaced. Why the hell had he done that—reduced his attraction to this woman as nothing more than lust? It had become a fatal flaw with him. Whenever he found himself more than mildly interested in a woman, he convinced himself that there was nothing emotional about it, simply normal male libido.

Genny groaned softly. Her eyelids fluttered.

Dallas caressed her cheek.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. The fear he’d noticed only moments ago was gone, replaced by weariness.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Tired. Very tired.”

“I don’t understand. Why would a nightmare drain you this way?”

“They always leave me very weak.”

She tried to lift her hand, to reach out for him. When he realized how difficult the effort was for her, he grabbed her hand in his and held it against his chest.

He still didn’t understand. It had to be highly unusual for a nightmare to devastate a person the way it had Genny.