If Looks Could Kill Aka As Good As Dead Part 9

"What?" she asked.

"Just thinking about Fate."

"What about Fate?"

"It plays odd tricks on us sometimes. Like you and Jazzy for instance. Twins separated at birth, raised in two different worlds and now here y'all are on the verge of turning each other's lives upside down."

Reve glowered at him. "Explain something to me, will you?"

He nodded. "Sure. If I can."

"How is it that, considering Jazzy and I are probably identical twins, you react in a totally different way to the two of us although we look a great deal alike? I'd think that considering she's your friend, you'd have viewed me in a more favorable light when we first met. But you disliked me instantly."

"That's a d.a.m.n good question. And when I figure out the answer, Ms. Sorrell, you'll be the first to know."

Dallas held Genny in his arms as they sat alone in front of the living room fireplace, the soft tapping of raindrops on the old metal roof soothing them like a lullaby. He loved moments such as this, just Genny and him. And Drudwyn asleep on the floor. If a year ago somebody had told him that he'd not only be content being a small town sheriff, but that he'd marry a psychic and live a simple life with her in the Tennessee hills, he'd have told them they were crazy. But he would have been wrong. He'd never been as happy or content as he was here with Genny. His wife. His life.

"Do you think I might have pushed too hard?" Genny asked. "I suppose I shouldn't have insisted that Reve stay and that Jacob take her home. I don't know who looked the most miserable when they left here, him or her."

"I'd say it was even-Steven."

"They're not always going to despise each other." Genny maneuvered herself around so that she could keep her head resting on his shoulder and look up at him at the same time. "But maybe I should just let nature take its course."

"What are you talking about?" Sometimes Genny spoke in riddles. And sometimes he instinctively figured out those riddles. But other times, like now, she was a complete puzzle to him. He tried to see into her mind, but couldn't. Had she shut him out or was he just not concentrating hard enough? The latter, he suspected.

"I'm not the only one who sees it," Genny said. "Jazzy picked up on it, too. I don't understand why you didn't."

"I'm lost, honey. What is it that I don't understand?"

"That Reve is the woman for Jacob."

"What?"

"Goodness, Dallas, a person doesn't have to be psychic to pick up on the s.e.xual tension between them. It's so strong it practically has a life of its own."

Dallas laughed, but stopped immediately when he noted the frown on Genny's face.

"Sorry, but all I picked up on between those two was pure, unadulterated hatred."

Genny jerked away from him, crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a disappointed glare. "Okay, so maybe you do have to be psychic-or a woman-to see what's right under your nose. I'm telling you that I know"-she laid her hand over her heart-"Reve and Jacob are meant for each other."

Dallas grasped her hands and tugged on them, toppling her over and into his lap. He nuzzled her ear. "If you say they're meant for each other, then they're meant for each other. I trust your instincts without any doubts."

She draped her arm around his neck. "Why don't we go to bed?" She kissed him.

Dallas's body hardened instantly. He stood, Genny in his arms, and walked out of the living room, up the stairs and straight to their bedroom. His last thought before he concentrated fully on making love to his wife was that he hoped Reve and Jacob didn't kill each other before they discovered they were destined to be lovers.

The rain had slacked off by the time Jacob pulled his Dodge Ram to a halt in front of Reve's rental cabin. On the ride down the mountain, they had managed to remain civil, even without Genny's presence as a deterrent. Of course, neither of them had said more than ten words. He'd turned on the radio for a while, but as soon as he realized she didn't like his taste in music, he'd turned it off. The silence between them had been more deafening than a rock concert. He couldn't ever remember feeling so d.a.m.n uncomfortable.

When he opened the driver's door, Reve said, "You needn't bother to get out."

Disregarding her statement, he got out, pulled an umbrella from the back and opened it. Holding the bright orange and white UT umbrella over his head, he rounded the hood and opened the pa.s.senger door for her. When he offered her his hand, she stared at it as if it was contaminated with leprosy. Reluctantly, as if she knew he had offered her his hand more as a dare than as a gentlemanly gesture, she put her hand in his and allowed him to help her out of the truck.

Once on the ground beside him, she looked him square in the eye and said, "Are you going to walk me to my door or are we going to stand here holding hands all night?"

If she thought that would make him drop her hand like a hot potato, she had another thought coming. He held her hand a little tighter.

"I'll walk you to your door." Keeping the umbrella over them to block the slow drizzle, he urged her into movement. "But don't expect a good-night kiss. Not on a first date."

She cut her eyes upward and gave him a sidelong glance.

"I wouldn't want you to think I'm easy," he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Maybe the best offense was a good defense, he thought. Taking her off guard with a little humor might work. After all, he had promised Genny that he'd be nice to Reve, hadn't he?

"I doubt you give a d.a.m.n what I think of you," she said in a very pleasant voice.

When they reached the cabin door, he took the key she held and unlocked the door, then handed the key back to her. "Good night, Ms. Sorrell. Spending an evening with you has been an experience I wouldn't care to repeat anytime soon."

"For once, Sheriff Butler, we're in total agreement." Her smile was as phony as her sweet tone of voice.

He turned and walked away, but when he reached his truck, he glanced back and found her standing on the doorstep watching him. He waved. She waved.

"And one more thing, just to set the record straight," he said. "You're right, I don't give a rat's a.s.s what you think of me."

Laughing, she shot him a bird, letting him know she felt the same, then turned around, went inside her rental cabin and closed the door.

Jacob chuckled. d.a.m.n infuriating woman! He closed the umbrella, tossed it in the back, then hopped up into the cab of his truck. Just as he shut the door, a call came in over the radio.

"Jacob," Tewanda Hardy said. "We've got a homicide on Clinton Road. Moody and Bobby Joe are on their way there now."

"Give me the exact address."

"Two-oh-nine Clinton. It's a rental house."

"Do we know the victim's ident.i.ty?"

"Jeremy Timmons."

Jacob groaned. Ever since he'd taken office, Jacob had been trying to acquire enough evidence against Timmons, the slimy little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, to arrest him. The guy was a pimp who oversaw a stable of five or six working girls, but he'd managed to stay one step ahead of the law. Jacob wasn't surprised that somebody had killed the son of a b.i.t.c.h.

"Who called it in?" Jacob asked.

"A girl named Amber Chaney."

"Have you contacted-"

"The coroner and forensics? Yeah, Pete's on his way. And Burt said he'd go by and pick up Dewayne."

Jacob started the engine, s.h.i.+fted into reverse and backed up, then headed out of town. Just when he'd thought his bad night was over, it had taken a turn for the worse. During his short term in office, there had already been too many murders in Cherokee County. The last thing he or his county needed was another one. Even if Timmons had deserved killing, and he probably had, it was still the sheriff's job to find the murderer and bring him or her to justice. Jacob's guess was that one of Timmons's "girls" had whacked him.

He laid her limp body on the edge of the bed, spread apart her legs and touched her intimately. Desire consumed him, urged him on, forced him to do the unthinkable. He unzipped his pants, freed his p.e.n.i.s and rammed himself into the girl.

Pure evil. Black hatred. Pa.s.sion and anger. A need for s.e.xual gratification and a hunger for power.

He took her with brutal pleasure, coming quickly. But s.e.xual release alone could not satisfy him.

Suddenly he undid the braided black satin ribbon around the girl's smooth neck. In a frenzy of excitement and unparalleled power, he grasped the ribbon and tightened it around her throat. She didn't struggle, couldn't struggle. Within minutes, she stopped breathing.

Genny Madoc screamed.

Dallas came instantly awake, flipped on the bedside lamp and turned to his wife. She lay beside him, thras.h.i.+ng back and forth, her screams tapering off to gasps and sobs. Gently, he slipped his arms around her and lifted her up and into his embrace. While she trembled and wept, he stroked her back lovingly.

Although her mind and spirit were still halfway submerged in the obsidian depths of a precognitive experience, Genny felt Dallas holding her, soothing her. And she sensed his love and concern.

"Slow and easy," Dallas said. "Come back to me, but don't try to rush it. Take your time."

Forcing the dark shadows from her mind, she inched her way steadily back into the realm of reality. Finally she managed to speak. "He strangled her."

"You witnessed a murder?" Dallas asked.

She nodded. "But I don't think it's happened yet."

"Did you see his face? Did you recognize the victim?"

"No, I didn't see his face. Only a hazy glimpse of his hands and his... his p.e.n.i.s."

"What?" Dallas grasped her shoulders.

"He raped her and then killed her. He enjoyed killing her. It gave him more pleasure than the s.e.x."

Dallas swallowed hard.

"The victim is young and pretty and has curly red hair. I didn't recognize her. I got only a glimpse of her face."

"I'll call Jacob and we'll see if we can stop this murder before it happens. Did you pick up on anything that might help us locate this girl?"

Genny shook her head. "Not really. They were inside, not outside. He laid her on a bed. And-and he choked her to death with a braided black ribbon."

"Will you be okay while I contact Jacob?"

She gave him a gentle shove. "Call him and then fix me some chamomile tea."

Dallas rolled out of bed, dragged on his discarded jeans and reached out for the bedside phone.

Jacob answered on the fifth ring. "Butler here."

"Jacob, it's Dallas. Genny has seen another murder. She believes it hasn't happened yet, so-"

"It has. I'm on the scene now. Pete's examining the body. Please tell me that Genny saw the killer."

"Nope, sorry. She did see the victim however, but didn't recognize her."

"Did you say her?"

"Yeah, why?"

"This victim is a man," Jacob said. "Jeremy Timmons. Looks like somebody strangled him."

"Genny saw a young woman being strangled with a black braided ribbon. She had curly red hair." The wheels in Dallas's mind turned at breakneck speed, resulting in an educated guess. "What do you want to bet that the woman Genny saw murdered is one of Timmons's girls, that their murders are connected?"

"Could be. But there might not be a connection between this murder and the murder Genny saw in her vision."

"Maybe you should find out if one of Timmons's girls has red curly hair."

"I'll do my best to find out, but the odds are against us. The girl-Amber Chaney-who found Timmons's body isn't likely to give me the names and addresses of her colleagues."

"If I'm right, then finding this girl right away might be the only way to save her life. Tell that to Amber Chaney."

CHAPTER 9.

Jacob couldn't help feeling sorry for Amber Chaney, despite the fact that she looked anything but sympathetic. Frizzy, jet-black hair-dyed-matched the color of the thick eyeliner splotched by her tears and the knee-high, spike-heeled boots she wore. She'd been puffing on a cigarette when Jacob arrived at Jeremy Timmons's rental house on Clinton Road; and she was smoking now while she waited impatiently at the sheriff's department for him to question her again. At the scene of the crime, she hadn't admitted she worked for Timmons, that he'd been her pimp.

"I know him, that's all," she'd said. "He's a friend of mine."

"Want to give us the names of his other girlfriends?" Jacob had asked.

She'd blown smoke in Jacob's face and replied, "I didn't say I was his girlfriend."

Moody Ryan, Jacob's youngest deputy, shook his head. He stood beside Jacob's desk looking into the outer office where Amber sat tapping her foot on the floor and glancing nervously about as if she wanted to get up and run off.

"I knew Amber in school," Moody said. "She was a freshman when I was a junior. She's my kid sister's age. I had no idea she"-he lowered his voice-"was in that line of business. Heck, she's got a little boy, you know. Mike Crouch knocked her up when she was in tenth grade, and he up and joined the Army and left her high and dry. But I heard Amber got her GED and was working somewhere over in Newport."

"Do you think she remembers you?" Jacob asked.

"Maybe. Probably."

"Why don't you go talk to her. Take her a cup of coffee." Jacob inclined his head toward the coffee machine in the corner of his office. "See if you can make her understand that a woman's life might well depend on what she tells us. We need to find this redheaded woman Genny saw in her vision as soon as possible."

"Sure thing. I'll give it a try." Moody, like the rest of Jacob's staff, didn't question Genny's psychic abilities. They'd all seen her in action and knew she was the real McCoy, not some fake out to fool people and take their money.

Just as Moody left the office with a cup of hot coffee in his hand, he met Pete Holt, the county coroner. Jacob motioned for Pete to come on in.

"What do you have for me?" Jacob asked.