The Last to Die. Beverly Barton

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      “Am I free to go?” Reve asked Sheriff Butler, who had detained her for nearly three hours at the sheriff’s department, located on the first floor of the Cherokee County courthouse. Of course, being a responsible officer of the law, he’d taken her by the local hospital’s ER before dragging her here. Just as a precaution, he’d told her. More to humiliate her, she’d decided. This big moron had taken it upon himself to try to bring “Miss High and Mighty” down a peg or two. While she’d been twiddling her thumbs waiting for him to release her, she’d overheard him say those very words to one of his deputies.

      “Why are you in such a big hurry to leave our fair city?” Butler asked her. “You might give us the idea you don’t think much of our town or of us.”

      “I don’t think anything one way or the other about you, this town, or the entire citizenry.”

      “Citizenry? That’s one of them five-hundred-dollar words that you learn in college, ain’t it?”

      The two deputies on duty—Bobby Joe Harte and Tim Willingham—chuckled, but had the decency to look embarrassed when she glared at them. The two men had been staring at her since the moment the sheriff escorted her into the courthouse. With absolutely no tact, they’d asked her right out if she was Jazzy’s long-lost sister. She’d replied, “Does this Jazzy person have a long-lost sister?”

      Reve crossed her arms over her chest as she focused her attention on the sheriff. “If you’ve had your fun for the day, then just let me be on my way to the nearest car rental place, and I promise that you will never see me again.”

      “Closest car rental is out at the airport,” Deputy Bobby Joe Harte told her.

      “Thank you, Deputy Harte.” She rewarded him with a warm smile. “If you’d please call a taxi for me—”

      “We don’t have a taxi service in Cherokee Pointe,” Deputy Willingham informed her. “Not since old John Berryman died. Wasn’t never enough business for him, so nobody wanted to take on the job.”

      “It’s nearly lunchtime,” the sheriff said. “Why don’t you join me for a bite over at Jasmine’s and afterward I’ll drive you out to the airport?”

      She’d rather eat glass than dine with Sheriff Butler, but she did need a ride to the airport. If there was a flight out to Chattanooga later today, she’d forget about renting a car. The sooner she escaped from this ill-advised little trip into the twilight zone, the better she’d like it.

      “Isn’t there any other place in town to eat?” she asked, not wanting to run into Jazzy Talbot again, possible biological sister or not.

      “You have some reason for not wanting to eat at Jasmine’s?”

      Ah, hell, Reve, give up before you wear yourself out fighting a losing battle. It’s destined for you to face your look-alike again, so just bite the bullet and go peacefully with the sheriff. Later, once you’re back in Chattanooga, you can seek revenge. With one phone call to Senator Everett or Governor Neels, she could make Sheriff Jacob Butler rue the day he’d ever screwed with Reve Sorrell.

      Damn! Bad choice of words. Putting Jacob Butler’s name in the same sentence with hers and the word screw brought some rather graphic and totally unwanted images to her mind. Totally unwanted, she told herself again. This guy would be the last man on earth she’d ever—

      “Ms. Sorrell?”

      She snapped around and smiled, ever so sweetly. “I’d be delighted to join you for lunch at Jasmine’s.”

      Butler eyed her suspiciously. So the guy was no fool. He knew she couldn’t stand the sight of him, that from the moment he pecked on her car window after the wreck, she had taken an instant dislike to him.

      “Okay, so delighted might be an overstatement,” Reve admitted. “Let’s just say I need a ride to the airport, and if eating lunch with you is the price I have to pay—”

      “Humph. I just figured you and Jazzy ought to hook up before you rush out of town. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you two have to be related. My guess is you must be at least a little curious about a woman who looks enough like you to be your twin. And if I know Jazzy—”

      “And you do know Jazzy, don’t you, sheriff? Hell, every man in town knows Jazzy.”

      The two deputies cleared their throats simultaneously. Reve smiled mockingly.

      “You implied that before, back at the accident site,” Butler said. “Want to explain how you’ve jumped to that conclusion about a woman you don’t know?”

      Reve sighed loudly. “I met Jazzy, very briefly earlier today. But we didn’t have time to delve into the possibilities of being related. She was too busy arguing with a man named Caleb McCord about her having spent the night with Jamie Upton.”

      Reve could swear that Sheriff Butler growled, the sound somewhat like an enraged animal. Good Lord, was this man jealous over Jazzy Talbot, too?

      “Was it something I said?” Reve asked sarcastically. “Did finding out that Jazzy’s been two-timing you with more than one man upset you?”

      “Come on, Ms. Sorrell.” Butler picked up his Stetson, put it on, and then grabbed her arm. “I’ll take you straight to the airport to pick yourself up a rental car or buy yourself a ticket out of town. I’ve decided that I wouldn’t wish you on my worst enemy, let alone a good friend like Jazzy.”

      How dare he speak to her in such a manner! You’d think she wasn’t good enough to kiss Jazzy Talbot’s shoes, when in fact it was the other way around. Ms. Talbot was a white trash slut, reared by a tobacco-chewing bag lady.

      “Nothing would suit me better.” Reve jerked away from Butler, but kept pace with his long-legged stride as he escorted her out of the sheriff’s department and into the courthouse corridor.

      Just as Butler shoved open the door to the rear entrance, a whoosh of cool, damp air slapped them in the face. A misty drizzle pelted them the minute they walked outside. A loud clap of thunder rattled the windowpanes in the old building. Great, just great, Reve thought. Just what I need—having to drive back to Chattanooga in a rental car during a springtime thunderstorm.

      They made a mad dash to Butler’s truck, and much to her surprise the sheriff actually opened the passenger door for her and gave her a hand getting up and into the cab. She glanced over her shoulder to say thanks, but he was already rounding the hood. He jumped in on the driver’s side, closed the door, and took off his Stetson. He shook the rain from his hat and returned it to his head, then stuck the key in the ignition and started the truck. While the engine idled, he turned to Reve.

      “What?” she asked when he stared at her.

      “Just to set the record straight, Jasmine Talbot is a good woman. She and I are friends. Nothing more. And Caleb McCord works for her at Jazzy’s Joint. He’s the bouncer. And he’s become quite protective of her, just as I am, because Jamie Upton preys on women. He’s hurt Jazzy in the past, and he’ll hurt her again if she gives him the chance.”

      This eloquent defense of Jazzy Talbot wasn’t what Reve had expected, and certainly not from a man she thought was a backwoods lout. If what Butler said was true, had she possibly misjudged the woman?

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