Authors: Beverly Barton
Dal-las sho-ok his he-ad. "He scre-wed up and got kic-ked off the for-ce?" Dal-las sho-ok his he-ad aga-in. "Wha-te-ver this ot-her in-for-ma-ti-on is, it has not-hing to do with him be-ing a po-li-ce-man, do-es it?"
"Bingo!" Dal-las wal-ked over to the cof-fe-ema-ker on the cor-ner tab-le, pic-ked up a cle-an mug, and po-ured him-self a cup. "Just to set the re-cord stra-ight, McCord was a top-notch cop."
"Just spit it out, will you?" 'Te-ri had no idea that just by chec-king sim-p-le things li-ke McCord's birth re-cords, his scho-ol re-cords, and so on, that she'd blow McCord's co-ver he-re in Che-ro-kee Co-unty," Dal-las sa-id. 'You know what McCord's na-me is?"
"It's not Ca-leb McCord?"
"Yeah, but it's his mid-dle na-me you might find in-te-res-ting." Dal-las pa-used for ef-fect, then sa-id,
"The na-me on his birth cer-ti-fi-ca-te is Ca-leb Up-ton McCord. His fat-her is lis-ted as de-ce-ased. A guy na-med Franky Joe McCord."
"And the mot-her's na-me?"
"Melanie Up-ton McCord. Do-es that ring a bell? Is she re-la-ted to Big Jim Up-ton?"
"Melanie Up-ton was Big Jim's da-ug-h-ter," Jacob sa-id. "My God, that me-ans-"
"Caleb McCord is Jamie's first co-usin."
"And the so-le he-ir to the Up-ton for-tu-ne now that Jamie is de-ad."
Caleb pla-ced the tray on the cof-fee tab-le in front of the so-fa. When he tur-ned to tell Jaz-zy that sup-per was ser-ved, he re-ali-zed she was fast as-le-ep. Worn to a fraz zle. She lay the-re cud-dled in the fe-tal po-si-ti-on as if pro-tec-ting her-self.
Let me pro-tect you
, he wan-ted to say.
Let me ta-ke
ca-re of you
.
There had be-en ot-her wo-men in his li-fe, but not that many. He'd al-ways be-en the type who pre-fer-red qu-ality over qu-an-tity. And he'd ne-ver ac-tu-al-ly be-en in lo-ve. In lust se-ve-ral ti-mes, but ne-ver in lo-ve. And may-be he wasn't! in lo-ve with Jaz-zy. He was smart eno-ugh to know that!
des-pe-ra-tely wan-ting a wo-man and lo-ving one wasn't the; sa-me thing. But damn it all, from the night they met at Jaz-zy's Jo-int-the first ti-me he res-cu-ed her from Jamie- he'd re-ali-zed that Jas-mi-ne Tal-bot was dif-fe-rent from all' the ot-her wo-men he'd known. It had be-en a gut-le-vel re-ac-ti-on. A re-cog-ni-ti-on. And des-pi-te the fact that she'd still be-en partly hung up on Jamie, Jaz-zy had felt it, too. He knew she had. The se-xu-al ten-si-on bet-we-en them had; be-en elec-t-ric. If he had just pus-hed a lit-tle har-der that night when he wal-ked her to her do-or, she'd ha-ve in-vi-ted him in. He'd go-ne over that night a tho-usand ti-mes, and every ti-me he men-tal-ly kic-ked him-self for be-ing such a I damn gen-t-le-man. If only he had ta-ken her to bed and1 fuc-ked her li-ke crazy, things wo-uld be dif-fe-rent now. They'd be a co-up-le, and she might not be the pri-me sus-pect in Jamie's mur-der.
Hell, may-be it was just his ego-or may-be it was part of that re-cog-ni-ti-on thing bet-we-en Jaz-zy and him-but he be-li-eved that on-ce they ma-de lo-ve, she wo-uld be his. He-art and so-ul. And that's what he wan-ted. Ot-her men had pos-ses-sed her body. And ye-ah, he su-re as hell wan-ted that. But
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he wan-ted mo-re. Only Jamie Up-ton had pos-ses-sed her he-art-ever sin-ce she was six-te-en. He wan-ted her to lo-ve him li-ke that, with all her he-art. But what he wan-ted most, what he fi-gu-red no ot-her man had ever had, was a con-nec-ti-on that went a lot de-eper. So-ul de-ep.
Just lo-oking at her ma-de his body hard and his mind soft as mush. She was gor-ge-o-us. Clas-sic fe-atu-res li-ke an old mo-vie star, li-ke that sexy red-he-aded bom-b-s-hell from the for-ti-es-Ri-ta Hay-worth. He knew she dyed her ha-ir that shoc-king sha-de of bright red, but he fi-gu-red that she was a re-al red-he-ad, just a mo-re sub-du-ed sha-de. And sub-du-ed was ne-ver a word an-yo-ne wo-uld as-so-ci-ate with Jaz-zy. God, how that na-me su-ited her. She was sultry and sexy and se-duc-ti-ve. And her se-xu-ality and be-a-uty was right out the-re, right in yo-ur fa-ce. Du-ring the three months he'd known her, he'd fi-gu-red out that she wasn't the hot-to-trot lit-tle num-ber most pe-op-le tho-ught she was. Un-less she'd slept with Jamie-and he ten-ded to be-li-eve her when she sa-id she hadn't-the-re hadn't be-en a man in her bed sin-ce Ca-leb had known her. He sus-pec-ted that her re-pu-ta-ti-on as a tramp was grossly exag-ge-ra-ted.
Caleb lif-ted the af-g-han hig-her, eno-ugh to co-ver her to her sho-ul-ders. Then he le-aned down and kis-sed her fo-re-he-ad. Le-aving her to rest, he wal-ked qu-i-etly over to the por-tab-le pho-ne, pic-ked it up, and car-ri-ed it in-to the kit-c-hen. He fi-gu-red he'd try fin-ding out what he co-uld abo-ut Re-ve Sor-rell on his own, and if his Mem-p-his con-tact didn't co-me thro-ugh for him, he'd go to Dal-las Slo-an. Al-t-ho-ugh he li-ked Slo-an and But-ler well eno-ugh, he didn't know them any bet-ter than they knew him. He fi-gu-red he co-uld trust them whe-re Jaz-zy was con-cer-ned, but he had a few sec-rets he'd rat-her ke-ep hid-den for the ti-me be-ing. If he got too chummy with them, they just might ask him too many per-so-nal qu-es-ti-ons.
Knowing Li-e-ute-nant Joe Do-no-van's cell num-ber by he-art, Ca-leb qu-ickly pun-c-hed the to-uch-to-ne keys and wa-ited whi-le the pho-ne rang.
"Donovan he-re."
"Hey Joe, how are things in the Ri-ver City?"
"Who the-Mc-Cord, is that you?"
"Yep."
"Where the hell are you, man? You just up and di-sap-pe-ared af-ter you got out of the hos-pi-tal."
"I'm in a pic-tu-res-que lit-tle mo-un-ta-in town cal-led Che-ro-kee Po-in-te, Ten-nes-see."
"Getting so-me R and R? Do-ing a lit-tle fis-hing?"
"Working as a bo-un-cer in a juke jo-int."
Donovan la-ug-hed. "You're kid-ding me."
''The ow-ner is a fri-end."
"A new fri-end?"
"Yeah."
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"A lady fri-end?" Do-no-van as-ked.
"Yeah."
"You old dog, you."
"Think what you will," Ca-leb told him. "But I ha-ven't cal-led you to dis-cuss my lo-ve li-fe or lack the-re-of. I ne-ed a fa-vor."
"Name it and it's yo-urs."
"I want so-me in-for-ma-ti-on on a lady."
"Your lady?"
"No, not my lady. On a very rich, very stuck-up gal na-med Re-ve Sor-rell."
"Sorrell… Sor-rell. For so-me re-ason it rings a bell."
"How much do you think you can find out abo-ut her be-fo-re mor-ning?"
"Why the rush?"
"Because I fi-gu-re the lady will be le-aving town so-on, pro-bably to-mor-row so-me-ti-me, and I ne-ed that in-fo fast."
"I'll see what I can do."
"I'd ap-pre-ci-ate it."
"Hey, McCord… you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm all right."
"Glad to he-ar it. So-me of us we-re… con-cer-ned, when you just up and left wit-ho-ut a word."
"Call me as so-on as you get an-y-t-hing on Re-ve Sor-rel, okay?"
"Sure thing."
Jasmine Tal-bot had be-en ar-res-ted. The dis-t-rict at-tor-ney wo-uld pre-sent his ca-se to a grand jury and then Jaz-zy wo-uld be tur-ned over for tri-al. And she'd be fo-und gu-ilty. What a de-li-ci-o-us tho-ught: Jaz-zy suf-fe-ring, pa-ying for her sins. If me-re was any true jus-ti-ce, she wo-uld be sen-ten-ced to de-ath. But if the char-ge was se-cond deg-ree mur-der, then im-p-ri-son-ment wo-uld be Jaz-zy's only pu-nis-h-ment. If that hap-pe-ned, she knew what she had to do. But she wo-uldn't kill Jaz-zy, not un-til af-ter she had suf-fe-red a gre-at de-al mo-re. Not un-til af-ter the tri-al. The way she had things plan-ned, Jaz-zy wo-uld be.
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Now that Jamie was de-ad and her plans for Jaz-zy we-re fal-ling in-to pla-ce, she ne-eded to do what she had ori-gi-nal-ly co-me to Che-ro-kee Po-in-te to do-ta-ke ca-re of her baby and exact re-ven-ge on the ot-hers who had wron-ged her and her child.
It wasn't her fa-ult that she had be-en se-pa-ra-ted from her baby. It was the-ir fa-ult. She wo-uld ne-ver ha-ve wil-lingly let them ta-ke her away. How co-uld an-yo-ne be so cru-el as to se-pa-ra-te a mot-her and child? But he hadn't ca-red-not abo-ut her and not abo-ut the-ir lit-tle girl. If he had lo-ved the-ir da-ug-h-ter the way he sa-id he did, he wo-uldn't ha-ve ta-ken her away from a mot-her who lo-ved her.
Tears mo-is-te-ned her che-eks. Was she crying? She didn't cry. Not an-y-mo-re. The-re was no re-ason to cry. Ever-y-t-hing was all right. Jamie was de-ad. Jaz-zy wo-uld be Pu-nis-hed se-ve-rely be-fo-re she di-ed. The ot-hers wo-uld Pay for the-ir sins. And her swe-et baby was sa-fe.
"You're sa-fe, pre-ci-o-us dar-ling." She hur-ri-ed ac-ross the ro-om to whe-re the baby lay sle-eping in the mid-dle of the bed. Be-a-uti-ful baby girl. Sa-fe. Sa-fe with the mot-her who lo-ved her.
"You want Mommy to hold you and rock you and sing to you, don't you? That's what I want, too."
She lif-ted the child in-to her arms and kis-sed her swe-et, pink che-eks as she car-ri-ed her to the roc-king cha-ir. She sat down and be-gan to rock and hum, the sa-me lul-laby she had sung to her ot-her baby.
No, no, the-re was no ot-her baby. Only this one. Only my lit-tle girl
.
She stop-ped roc-king and lo-oked down at the child in her arms. "It's all right. Mommy's just a lit-tle con-fu-sed. I tho-ught you we-re my only baby girl, but… but she's my lit-tle girl, too. I kil-led Jamie to pro-tect her. No, that's not right. I kil-led Jamie to pro-tect you."
Sighing con-ten-tedly, she hug-ged her child to her bre-ast as she be-gan roc-king and hum-ming aga-in.
Jazzy wo-ke with a start, a scre-am fro-zen on her lips. She'd be-en dre-aming. Crazy, mi-xed up things. Jamie's blo-ody hands re-ac-hing out for her, stran-g-ling her.
Don't pa-nic
, she told her-self.
It
was only yo-ur sub-con-s-ci-o-us mind tel-ling you that Jamie is re-ac-hing out from the gra-ve to
des-t-roy yo-ur li-fe
. As if he hadn't do-ne eno-ugh whi-le he was ali-ve!
Only a lamp in the cor-ner of the li-ving ro-om ga-ve off any light. A for-ty-watt bulb. She lif-ted her he-ad and glan-ced aro-und at the dimly lit area. Ca-leb sat in the cha-ir ac-ross from her, his he-ad bent, his bre-at-hing soft and even. He was as-le-ep.
What ti-me is it?
She threw off the af-g-han and swung her legs aro-und so that her fe-et to-uc-hed the flo-or. That's when she no-ti-ced the tray on the cof-fee tab-le. Ca-leb had fi-xed her a san-d-wich and a cup of tea.
Lif-ting her left wrist, she chec-ked her watch. Ele-ven-eig-h-te-en. Jaz-zy's Jo-int wo-uld be clo-sing so-on and the rum-b-le of juke-box mu-sic wo-uld fa-de away, as wo-uld the muf-fled so-und of talk
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and la-ug-h-ter. One of the draw-backs of ha-ving an apar-t-ment over a bar was the no-ise at night. But sin-ce she was usu-al-ly at Jaz-zy's Jo-int un-til it clo-sed, the no-ise had ne-ver bot-he-red her.
Jazzy's sto-mach rum-b-led, re-min-ding her she hadn't eaten sin-ce bre-ak-fast. Won-der what kind of san-d-wich Ca-leb fi-xed? She le-aned over and re-ac-hed to-ward the tray. When she pic-ked up the san-d-wich and dis-co-ve-red it was bo-log-na and che-ese on whe-at bre-ad, she smi-led. He'd re-mem-be-red her fa-vo-ri-te.
She stu-di-ed him as he slept, and ever-y-t-hing fe-ma-le in her re-ac-ted to all that was so very ma-le in him. For months now she had fo-ught her at-trac-ti-on to Ca-leb, gi-ving her-self a hun-d-red and one re-asons not to ha-ve an af-fa-ir with him.
Why did I fight so hard to re-sist him? Damn it, why didn’t I just gi-ve in to what I wan-ted?
Be-ca-use you knew it wo-uld be mo-re than sex with Ca-leb and you we-re af-ra-id to lo-ve
anot-her man. Fuc-king is one thing but lo-ving is anot-her
.
Jazzy bit in-to the san-d-wich. De-li-ci-o-us. God, she hadn't re-ali-zed how hungry she was. As she sa-vo-red every bi-te, she gro-aned with sa-tis-fac-ti-on.
"If you re-act that way to eating a san-d-wich, I'm won-de-ring how you re-act to re-al ple-asu-re,"
Ca-leb sa-id.
Jazzy gas-ped, then la-ug-hed and lic-ked her lips. "I bo-ught you we-re as-le-ep."
I was un-til so-me-body star-ted mo-aning and gro-aning." You sho-uld ha-ve go-ne on ho-me," she told him. "You didn't ha-ve to stay."
He yaw-ned and stret-c-hed, then lo-oked po-int blank at her. "Ye-ah, I did."
''Thanks. I'm glad you sta-yed. I re-al-ly don't want to be alo-ne."
"We're go-ing to ma-ke su-re you're ne-ver alo-ne," Ca-leb sa-id.
"We?"
"Genny, Sally, Lu-die, and I. Whe-ne-ver I can't be with you, one of them will be."
"Who de-ci-ded I ne-eded a full-ti-me bab-y-sit-ter?" Jaz-zy gob-bled up half the san-d-wich, then wi-ped her hands on the nap-kin be-si-de the te-acup.
"It was a una-ni-mo-us de-ci-si-on. Even Jacob and Dal-las vo-ted in the af-fir-ma-ti-ve."
Jazzy sto-od up and wal-ked aro-und the cof-fee tab-le that se-pa-ra-ted the so-fa from the cha-ir whe-re Ca-leb sat She sto-od over him for a mi-nu-te, then le-aned down and pla-ced her hands on his sho-ul-ders. "So do-es this me-an you're spen-ding the night?"
Caleb re-mo-ved her hands from his sho-ul-ders, pus-hed her back, and sto-od. "Con-si-der me yo-ur per-so-nal bod-y-gu-ard."
Standing so clo-se to him, she co-uld fe-el his he-at. And co-uld al-most he-ar the be-at of his he-art.
Al-t-ho-ugh she was fi-ve-eight, she had to lo-ok up at him be-ca-use he was a go-od six in-c-hes
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tal-ler. She dra-ped her arms aro-und his neck and ga-zed in-to his whis-key-gol-den eyes.
''Just who are you, Ca-leb McCord, and whe-re ha-ve you be-en all my li-fe?"