The Fifth Victim. BEVERLY BARTON

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      Dillon came across the room toward her, his movements lazy and deliberate, like a dancer in slow motion. He held out a half-filled tumbler. Her gaze met his, the two joining together for endless moments. After lifting one foot and then the other, she kicked her panties aside and took the glass of whiskey from him.

      “Not knowing when your hubby will get home, you’re taking a terrible risk coming here this way.” Sipping on the liquor, he eyed her over the rim of his glass.

       Why had he reminded her? Didn’t he want her here? Had he decided having an affair with the mayor’s wife was too dangerous?

      “Being with you is worth the risk.” With shaky hands she lifted the tumbler and tasted the whiskey. A hot blaze zipped down her throat and hit her belly like a ball of fire. She coughed a couple of times, but never took her eyes off him. “I thought you felt the same way.”

      Dillon gulped a couple of swigs from the glass, blew out a warm breath, and set the tumbler aside. Before she knew what was happening, he reached out and grabbed her. She gasped when her naked breasts crushed against his bulky knit sweater.

      “I’ll show you how I feel.” He took the glass from her and set it alongside his atop a discarded pair of jeans on the chest at the foot of the bed.

      Her heartbeat accelerated the moment his hands cupped her hips and pressed her against his erection. With frenzied motions, she ran her hands up under his sweater to touch his sleek chest. Together they quickly divested him of his clothing, all the while kissing and touching. Moments later, he tossed her onto the bed and took her without any real foreplay. He rammed himself up inside and began pumping her like mad. Luckily she was already dripping wet and pulsating with need. They went at it like a couple of animals and both came within a few minutes.

      Later—five minutes or ten, Cindy wasn’t sure—she eased out of his arms and off the bed. She went to the bathroom, cleaned herself, and came back into the bedroom to gather her clothes. Dillon scooted up in the bed, leaned his back against the headboard and watched her perform a reverse striptease.

      Her clothes were damp and clammy, but it couldn’t be helped. She didn’t dare stay long enough for them to dry.

      “Dillon?”

      “Hmm?”

      “If I leave Jerry Lee, will you … would you be here for me?”

      Dillon stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise. “You’ve told me yourself that he’d never let you leave him. That he’d kill you first.”

      “Not if I had someone to protect me.”

      “Is that what you want? You want me to protect you from your husband?”

      “Yes, that’s exactly what I want. I want someone who cares enough about me to take me away from Jerry Lee and keep me safe.”

      “Sugar, I’m not sure I’m that man. I care about you, but—”

      “But not that much.”

      Before she embarrassed herself even more, Cindy ran from the room. She picked up her coat off the sofa in the living room, slipped into it, and rushed out into the hallway. Taking several deep breaths, she forced herself not to scream; but she could do nothing to prevent the tears from cascading down her cheeks.

      When she walked out onto the sidewalk, she realized it was snowing to beat the band. Heavy snow, so thick she couldn’t see ten feet away. God, she’d freeze to death before she made it home on foot.

      Suddenly she saw the headlights of a vehicle creeping down the street. Maybe she could hitch a ride. In a town this small there was a good chance she’d know whoever was driving.

      The vehicle slowed and then stopped. The passenger door swung open.

      “Cindy, is that you?” he asked.

      She sighed with relief. “Yes, it’s me.”

      “What are you doing out on foot on a night like this?”

      “Visiting a friend,” she replied. “Hey, would you mind giving me a ride home?”

      “I don’t mind at all,” he said. “As a matter of fact, it would be my pleasure.”

      Chapter 3

      Jacob sat in a booth at the back of the empty room in the restaurant part of Jasmine Talbot’s two businesses on Loden Street. Jasmine’s was a nice family restaurant that catered to locals and tourists alike. Jazzy’s Joint, in the adjoining building at the end of the street, was an old-fashioned bar/juke joint. Appealing to vastly different clienteles, the establishments had separate entrances and thick, double brick walls separating the two. When he was off duty, sometimes he’d mosey on over to the wilder side, but tonight, he wasn’t looking for excitement. Just a decent meal and some time to collect his thoughts.

      He was facing his first murder case since being elected sheriff of Cherokee County, and it wasn’t just an ordinary killing—a gunshot wound or a stabbing. The victim hadn’t been involved in drugs, a domestic quarrel, or a revenge scheme. Susie Richards had been barely seventeen years old. A good kid from a good family, according to everything he’d learned about her. A straight-A student, president of the junior class at Cherokee Pointe High, and liked by everyone who knew her.

      Just as Jacob finished off the last bite of apple pie and shoved the plate aside, Jazzy appeared beside him, a full pot of fresh coffee in her hand. He glanced up and smiled. She was a sight for sore eyes. A good-looking woman could always improve any bad situation. And Jasmine Talbot was about as good-looking as they came. Tall, long-legged, and big-boobed, she was definitely built like the proverbial brick shithouse. She had a short, unruly mane of fiery red hair, the color so striking he knew it came out of a bottle, and a pair of cat-green eyes that seemed to possess the ability to look right through a man.

      They had dated a few times, shared a few kisses and gropes, but hadn’t crossed over the line from friends to sex partners. And he was glad. They genuinely liked each other, but the sexual chemistry just wasn’t right between them. If they had screwed around, it would have been harder to remain buddies.

      “More coffee?” Jazzy asked, but before he could reply she filled his cup, placed the pot on the table and sat down on the other side of the booth directly across from him.

      “Thanks.” He lifted the cup to his lips.

      “It’s decaf,” she told him.

      He frowned. “I don’t drink decaf.”

      “You do tonight. I figure you’re pretty wired already, what with all you’ve had to handle today. And my guess is that you’ve been swigging down high-octane coffee all day. The stuff has probably replaced the blood in your veins.”

      “You know me too well.”

      “You should go home and get a good night’s sleep. You look like hell.”

      He grinned. “That’s one of the many things I like about you—your brutal honesty.”

      “Good thing you’ve СКАЧАТЬ