The Last to Die (51 page)

Jazzy hug-ged her-self and sig-hed con-ten-tedly. Re-ve Sor-rell might be a lady-a very rich and im-por-tant lady- but who ca-red? Ca-leb didn't. And it didn't mat-ter to him that Jaz-zy wasn't so-me blue blo-od with a lily-whi-te re-pu-ta-ti-on. He lo-ved her just the way she was. And Ca-leb's opi-ni-on was all that mat-te-red.

* * *

Sally Tal-bot sto-od on her front porch, a tasty chaw of to-bac-co in her mo-uth. Pe-ter and Pa-ul, her old blo-od-ho-unds, lo-un-ged la-zily un-der the porch, the-ir he-ads ba-rely pe-eking out as they sno-red. She wis-hed she co-uld sle-ep as easy as them two var-mints did, but if they had the wor-ri-es she had, they wo-uldn't be sle-eping so so-undly eit-her. Af-ter spit-ting a spray of brown ju-ice out in-to the yard, Sally wi-ped her mo-uth and to-ok a de-ep bre-ath of autumn mo-un-ta-in air. The-re we-ren't not-hing li-ke autumn in the Ap-pa-lac-hi-ans. The crisp, cle-an mor-ning air. The bright co-lors na-tu-re pa-in-ted the earth this ti-me of ye-ar. No, sir-ree, we-ren't no pla-ce on earth as ne-ar God's he-aven as the-se he-re mo-un-ta-ins.

All her li-fe-so-me se-ven-ty-one ye-ars now-she'd spent he-re in Che-ro-kee Co-unty, most of it in this sa-me old ho-use her pa had bu-ilt for her ma be-fo-re he up and di-ed of TB back in for-ty-ni-ne.

And all the-se ye-ars she'd be-en an od-dball, dif-fe-rent from folks he-re-abo-ut. Not crazy, mind you, but not qu-ite all the-re eit-her. She had bo-ok le-ar-ning. She co-uld re-ad and wri-te and add up fi-gu-res. And she knew the-se hills as well as an-y-body, bet-ter than most She'd al-ways be-en po-or and hadn't ne-ver ca-red a ho-ot abo-ut mo-ney. Not un-til Jaz-zy ca-me in-to her li-fe. She'd wan-ted to gi-ve that gal ever-y-t-hing her lit-tle he-art de-si-red, but she'd fa-iled thi-se-rably. She'd do-ne the best she co-uld. If she'd had a man brin-ging in a li-ving, things might ha-ve be-en bet-ter, but she and Jaz-zy had ma-de out all right. They'd had a ro-of over the-ir he-ads and they'd ne-ver go-ne hungry.

Jaz-zy had grown up to be a fi-ne wo-man, a re-al smart wo-man who'd do-ne all right for her-self. Her gal ow-ned a res-ta-urant and a bar in Che-ro-kee Po-in-te and she was a par-t-ner with so-me ot-her pe-op-le in Che-ro-kee Ca-bin Ren-tals. Yep, she was damn pro-ud of her ni-ece.

A chill rac-ked Sally's body. "Win-ter's co-ming," she sa-id to no one in par-ti-cu-lar.

But it wasn't the co-ol mor-ning bre-eze that had chil-led Sally. It was tho-ughts of Jaz-zy. Her lit-tle Jas-mi-ne. She'd na-med Jaz-zy for them be-a-uti-ful flo-wers that her sis-ter Cor-ri-ne had lo-ved so.

When she'd put Jas-mi-ne in Gor-ri-ne's arms thirty ye-ars ago, she'd ne-ver dre-amed that widhn a few months Cor-ri-ne wo-uld be de-ad-her and her lo-ver-and she'd be left to ra-ise Jaz-zy all alo-ne. But the-re hadn't be-en a day pass that she hadn't tfi-an-ked the go-od Lord for that gal. She lo-ved Jaz-zy as if she was her own and Jaz-zy lo-ved her li-ke a mot-her.

"God, for-gi-ve me and ple-ase help me," Sally sa-id softly. "You know I didn't ha-ve no idea the-re was anot-her baby, that Jaz-zy had a sis-ter."

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Reve Sor-rell might not be her sis-ter, Sally told her-self. Co-uld just be a co-in-ci-den-ce that they lo-ok so much ali-ke. But if the DNA test they was ha-ving do-ne pro-ved them to be twins, then Jaz-zy was go-ing to be as-king a lot mo-re qu-es-ti-ons. She'd want to know how it was pos-sib-le that her aunt Sally hadn't known not-hing abo-ut anot-her baby.

All the li-es she'd told Jaz-zy from the ti-me she'd be-en a lit-tle girl wo-uld co-me back to ha-unt her-if that Sor-rell gal tur-ned out to be Jaz-zy's sis-ter. She knew what Jaz-zy wo-uld say to her, co-uld al-most he-ar her.

"You told me that my ma-ma ca-me back ho-me to you right be-fo-re I was born, that her boy-f-ri-end had run out on her and she had no pla-ce el-se to go. You told me that you de-li-ve-red me and that you sent for old Doc Web-s-ter a few days la-ter to re-cord my birth and check me and ma-ma to ma-ke su-re we we-re all right. Isn't that so? Tell me, Aunt Sally, did you or did you not de-li-ver anot-her baby? We-re you the one who threw my sis-ter away?"

Them the-re DNA tests wo-uldn't lie. If they pro-ved them gals to be sis-ters, then Sally had so-me ex-p-la-ining to do. If I tell Jaz-zy the truth, will she ha-te me? I just co-uldn't be-ar it if that gal ha-ted me.

* * *

Genny Slo-an stop-ped sud-denly on her mor-ning trek from the gre-en-ho-use to her back porch.

Al-t-ho-ugh she'd sel-dom be-en ab-le to con-t-rol the vi-si-ons that ca-me to her, she had le-ar-ned what signs to ex-pect, signs that fo-re-war-ned her.

Drudwyn pa-used at her si-de, and then lic-ked her hand.

"It's all right, boy. I think I can ma-ke it to the porch." Genny stro-ked the half-wolf dog's he-ad. "But if I don't ma-ke it, you let Dal-las know that I ne-ed him."

Drudwyn hur-ri-ed ahe-ad of her, then pa-used and wa-ited at the do-or. Genny ma-de it to the porch. Ba-rely. She slum-ped down on the back steps and clo-sed her eyes. She'd be-en born with the gift of sight, a God-gi-ven ta-lent in-he-ri-ted from her gran-d-ma. Mo-re ti-mes than not, she'd fo-und the gift co-uld be a cur-se.

Lights swir-led in-si-de her he-ad. Co-lors. Bright, warm co-lors. And then she he-ard Jaz-zy's la-ug-h-ter mi-xing with sof-ter la-ug-h-ter. Anot-her wo-man's la-ug-h-ter. Hap-pi-ness. Be-a-uti-ful hap-pi-ness. Genny sen-sed a to-get-her-ness, a one-ness, al-most as if Jaz-zy and this ot-her wo-man we-re a sin-g-le en-tity. As that know-led-ge fil-led Genny's con-s-ci-o-us-ness, she un-der-s-to-od she was re-ce-iving energy from Jaz-zy and from Re-ve Sor-rell. She didn't ne-ed to see the re-sults of a DNA test to know they we-re twins. Iden-ti-cal twins. In-di-vi-du-als, yet fo-re-ver lin-ked from the mo-ment of con-cep-ti-on.

Suddenly the bright, che-er-ful lights in-si-de Genny's mind dar-ke-ned. Black clo-uds swir-led abo-ut in her con-s-ci-o-us-ness, com-p-le-tely ob-li-te-ra-ting the be-a-uty and hap-pi-ness. Fe-ar.

An-ger. Hat-red. Je-alo-usy! An evil mind con-ce-aled by a mask of nor-malcy.

Danger! Jaz-zy and Re-ve we-re in ter-rib-le dan-ger.

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But from whom? Who pos-ses-sed this dark, vi-ci-o-usly cru-el he-art? Who fe-ared the truth? Who was wil-ling to do an-y-t-hing-even kill-to ke-ep the truth hid-den?

Genny del-ved de-eper in-to the black abyss, se-eking the iden-tity of this per-son, se-ar-c-hing for any link bet-we-en this evil and her de-arest fri-end, Jaz-zy.

Oh, God, the hat-red. Pu-re wic-ked hat-red.

"Genny!"

She he-ard Dal-las's vo-ice as if it ca-me from far away.

"Damn it, Genny, co-me out of it. Now! You're go-ing in too de-ep."

He sho-ok her so-undly.

Genny gro-aned. Her eye-lids flew open. She gas-ped for air.

Dallas pul-led her in-to his arms. "What the hell hap-pe-ned? I tho-ught you prot-hi-sed me that you wo-uldn't go in that de-ep wit-ho-ut my be-ing the-re to-"

"I had to go as far as I co-uld," she sa-id as she res-ted her he-ad on her hus-band's chest and wrap-ped her arms aro-und his wa-ist. "I had a vi-si-on abo-ut Jaz-zy and Re-ve Sor-rell. I know they're twins." She lif-ted her he-ad and lo-oked at Dal-las. 'That was a vi-si-on fil-led with joy and light and be-a-uty. But sud-denly the dar-k-ness ca-me. I- I'm not su-re if the-re's a con-nec-ti-on bet-we-en Jaz-zy and Re-ve and the evil I sen-sed." 'The two vi-si-ons might ha-ve nodhng to do with each ot-her,"

Dal-las told her as he ca-res-sed her che-ek with the back of his hand.

"Maybe not, but usu-al-ly, when two vi-si-ons over-lap that way, they're so-me-how con-nec-ted."

"But not al-ways."

"No, not al-ways."

Dallas lif-ted Genny in-to his arms and car-ri-ed her in-to the ho-use. She snug-gled clo-se, lo-ving the pro-tec-ti-ve fe-el of this man she lo-ved abo-ve all ot-hers, mo-re than li-fe it-self.

"You're aw-ful-ly qu-i-et," Dal-las sa-id. "Are you su-re you're all right?" 'Yes. I'm all right. But Jaz-zy and Re-ve may be in gra-ve dan-ger."

USA To-day bes-t-sel-ling aut-hor has writ-ten over thirty con-tem-po-rary ro-man-ce no-vels and cre-ated the po-pu-lar "The Pro-tec-tors" se-ri-es for Sil-ho-u-et-te's In-ti-ma-te Mo-ments li-ne. This six-th-ge-ne-ra-ti-on Ala-ba-mi-an is a two-ti-me Mag-gie Award win-ner, a two-ti-me Na-ti-onal Re-ader's Cho-ice Award win-ner, and a re-ci-pi-ent of a Ro-man-tic Ti-mes Ca-re-er Ac-hi-eve-ment Award for Se-ri-es Ro-man-tic Ad-ven-tu-re. She is cur-rently wor-king on her next no-vel of ro-man-tic sus-pen-se for Zeb-ra Bo-oks. Vi-sit her web-si-te at www.Be-ver-l-y-Bar-ton.com

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