Beverly Barton.

As Good As Dead.

KILLING HER SOFTLY.

WHAT SHE DOESN'T KNOW...

"Fast-paced, multi-faceted, and absolutely riveting."

- LINDA HOWARD New York Times Bestselling Author When you're marked for death, there's no escape...

ON THE TRAIL OF A KILLER.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Jacob asked.

"It means somebody has been getting away with murder for the past twenty-five years," Dallas said. "And not just one or two murders, but over twenty murders, possibly more."

"He could have killed other women whose bodies were never found." Holding the papers tightly in his right hand, Jacob slapped the faxed doc.u.ments against his left palm. "It's got to be the same guy. It's the exact same MO. All the victims were redheads. Either prost.i.tutes or reputed to be bad girls. They were all raped, strangled with a black braided ribbon-left around their necks-and their naked bodies dumped in either a river or a lake or a creek."

"When I spoke to Teri, she said that with the evidence she's compiled, the Bureau will definitely want to become involved, but she's given us twenty-four hours to get our act together before she reports what she's found."

"Did she get Line to come up with a profile of this killer?"

"Yeah. And Line says our guy is definitely the organized type," Dallas said. "High IQ, possibly college educated. Could have been a mama's boy or at least the family favorite. And there's a good chance he suffered some type of either physical or mental abuse as a child. And Teri said that Line suspects some traumatic experience involving a red-haired woman was the catalyst that brought out his killer instinct. In Line's opinion, this guy is probably a psychopath..."

In memory of my father, a man with a kind and generous heart, a mind that thirsted for knowledge and a truly good soul destined for eternal happiness. This one is for you, Dee Jr., my daddy.

PROROGUE.

Kat Baker applied the dark pink lipstick to her mouth, tossed the plastic wand onto the dressing table and stood up to view herself in the full-length mirror. Studying her image, she decided she looked d.a.m.n good, despite her hair color, an outrageous shade of dark red. She'd been a brunette since childhood and had gone blonde in her early twenties, but never had she considered dyeing her long, glossy mane red. However, being a working girl whose livelihood depended upon pleasing her clientele, she did whatever the men in her life requested. And this new man had the money to pay for the exclusive rights to her whenever he was in town.

Tonight would mark their fourth "date." When he'd telephoned two days ago, he'd given her specific instructions on how to dress and where to meet him, just as he'd done on two previous occasions. He called himself Harry-no last name- but she knew that wasn't his real name. Few of her clients ever divulged their true ident.i.ties and she couldn't blame them, although some used their real given names. They seemed to want to hear her cry out their name when she came. And she was good at faking those earth-shattering o.r.g.a.s.ms many men tried so hard to give her.

But Harry wasn't like that. He didn't seem to give a d.a.m.n whether or not she got off, just as long as he did. A shudder pa.s.sed through her as she recalled the last time he'd been in town. He'd come here the first time, as most of her Johns did, to this small Knoxville apartment she rented strictly for her business dealings. She kept another place-her own private home-across town in a nicer neighborhood where no one knew what she did for a living. The first two times with Harry, he'd been aggressive and demanding, but hadn't requested anything out of the ordinary. But the third time had been different. And truth be told, if he hadn't offered her such an exorbitant amount of money to be available whenever he came to Knoxville, she'd never see him again. She could deal with rough s.e.x, even with mild S&M, but Harry had come d.a.m.n near close to choking her. When she'd managed to breathe again, she had tried to get away from him, but he'd held her down and f.u.c.ked her like crazy.

Before he'd left that night, he'd given her a huge sum in cash, instructed her to dye her hair red and to wear a black corded ribbon around her neck the next time they were together. He'd even pulled the ribbon from his pocket and handed it to her. The guy gave her the creeps, but she'd convinced herself that he hadn't really hurt her-just scared the s.h.i.t out of her-and the money was three times what she usually made. A woman in her business who was over thirty had to think about her future, didn't she?

Kat opened the middle drawer in her dressing table, reached inside and pulled out the black ribbon. As she tied it at the back of her neck, she wondered just what it was about this strip of black braided satin that turned Harry on. Probably some freaky thing from his past. Something to do with his mommy or his nanny or his teenage sweetheart.

Grabbing her purple leather jacket from the closet where she kept her working clothes, she thought ahead to her appointment and wondered what Harry would do to her tonight. Whatever it was, she was sure she'd earn her pay.

Kat's eyelids fluttered as she tried to open her eyes, but the lids were heavy. So heavy. Her head throbbed something awful. Where was she? What had happened to her? Why couldn't she remember?

She heard an odd noise rumbling in her ears and realized it was the sound of her own groans. Wake up, Kat. Dammit, girl, wake up.

Something odd was going on. Had somebody drugged her? Think. Try to remember. She'd had an appointment with Harry tonight. Oh, G.o.d, that was it! The last thing she remembered was having drinks with Harry. Wine. She hated wine, but he'd insisted, telling her that it was a very expensive bottle he'd bought especially for them.

Suddenly she felt something brush over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Hands. Large hands. A man's hands. But those hands felt strange, as if they were covered in plastic.

She tried again to open her eyes, but without success. Then she tried to speak, but all she managed was a hoa.r.s.e moan.

"You're beautiful, Dinah," a man said, his hands caressing her body with gentle force.

Who the h.e.l.l was Dinah?

Kat moaned and tried again to open her eyes. When she gazed up at the man hovering over her, she recognized him. It was Harry.

Harry looked down at her and smiled as he rammed into her. "You're always a good f.u.c.k, Dinah. The best."

"Har... ree...?" She couldn't manage to keep her eyes open.

"You shouldn't be waking up, my love. But it doesn't matter. It'll soon be over. For this time."

For this time? Her mind was still so foggy she couldn't think straight. She knew she was with Harry, knew he was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her and suspected he had drugged her. But why had he drugged her? He'd paid her for her services. She'd do anything he wanted. He knew that. h.e.l.l, maybe he got off f.u.c.king a woman while she was unconscious. You never knew what turned a guy on.

He pumped into her, his thrusts increasing in speed. She lifted her arms, intending to caress him, to urge him on, but her arms felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds each. That must have been some strong drug he'd put in her wine.

She forced her eyes open again only moments before Harry came. Grunting and shivering, he moaned into her ear. "Dinah... my Dinah."

He lifted himself up and off Kat, then slid backward out of the car. Kat managed to halfway sit up. That's when she realized they were in a parked car. She peeked out the window. Darkness. She stared at Harry, who stood just outside the open back door. He carefully removed the condom from his p.e.n.i.s and placed it in a plastic bag.

How odd was that? Maybe the guy's a neat freak.

After laying the bag on the floor board beside her, he zipped up his pants, which couldn't have been an easy task with gloves on.

Gloves?

Why was Harry wearing plastic gloves?

Glancing at her, he smiled again. He reached out, shoved her back down on the seat, then caressed the black satin ribbon around her neck.

"Harry? What-"

"Hush, sweet Dinah. Don't talk. It's not part of our game."

"What game?"

He laughed and the sound sent chilling ripples up her spine.

Harry untied the satin cord, then grasped the ends.

When Kat saw the wild look in his eyes, she panicked. She knew in that very instant that he was playing a deadly game.

"No... don't," she pleaded. "I-I don't want to play this game."

"I told you not to talk."

He tightened the ribbon around her neck. Grasping his hands, she struggled against him. "Please..." Is he going to kill me? He slowly tightened the ribbon more and more. She could barely breathe. G.o.d help her, he was choking her to death.

Don't kill me, she pleaded silently. I don't want to die.

Allowing the good feelings to linger inside him for a few minutes, he looked up at the dark night sky and laughed aloud. G.o.d, he felt great! When he'd come, when he'd finished humping Dinah as he'd dreamed of doing, a great sense of satisfaction had claimed him completely. She had denied him, snickered at him, made him feel like a fool. But in the end, she'd given in and allowed him to make love to her.

He focused his gaze inside the car at the lovely redheaded woman lying on the backseat. Moonlight illuminated her luscious naked body-her parted thighs, her full, round b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her slightly open mouth. Power surged through him, every nerve in his body electrified by the dark energy flowing through him. He could taste her-all that lush sweetness. He intensified the pressure as he pulled the cord until it cut into her neck. As he squeezed the life out of her, the pressure from the ribbon burned into his palms and heat suffused his body. This was the defining moment, the pleasure almost unbearable.

It took only seconds for her to die. Or at least that was the way it seemed to him.

But she would not stay dead. She never did.

He had to act quickly, remove her body and dispose of it so that he could put this incident behind him and live in peace for a while. Until she returned to him.

Slipping his arm beneath the plastic sheet he had used to protect the car seat, he pulled her into a sitting position, wrapped the sheet around her and dragged her toward him.

He didn't especially like the scent of death, but it didn't repulse him, either. Actually, the odor rea.s.sured him that he had accomplished his goal.

Resting there pa.s.sively coc.o.o.ned in the sheet, like a limp dishrag, she made no protest when he scooped her up into his arms. Although she wasn't a large woman, she felt heavy, as if she weighed two hundred pounds.

Dead weight, he thought.

Carrying Dinah with great care, he tromped down the dark, isolated dirt road. He could hear the soft rush of the river nearby, a melodic lull carrying quietly through the woods. When he neared the edge of the embankment, he paused, leaned over and opened the sheet enough to expose her face, then leaned down and kissed her good-bye. Sighing heavily, he tossed her into the Tennessee River and stood watching while the current carried her body downstream.

Farewell, my love.

There, that was done. Now he could go home, return to his normal life and put her out of his mind. At least temporarily. Of course, it was only a matter of time before she would come back. To taunt him. To entice him. To drive him crazy until he possessed her again. Each time she left, a part of him hoped-even prayed- that she would stay away for good. But his prayers were never answered. She always came back. At first it had been years between her reappearances, but gradually she'd begun returning more frequently. Often she returned within a year or less, but most recently she had shown up again in a little over six months.

He wondered how long she would stay away this time.

CHAPTER 1.

Reve Sorrell closed the lid on her suitcase, lifted it off the foot of her bed and set it on the floor. She'd been up for over an hour, after waking at three, unable to sleep. Her decision to return to Cherokee Pointe had been made after a great deal of deliberation. She'd spent months unable to put Jazzy Talbot out of her mind. Back in the spring she'd driven up to the mountains to seek out the woman Jamie Upton had told her was her spitting image, a woman who looked enough like her to be her twin. She'd met Jamie at a party here in Chattanooga, back before Christmas last year. He'd been a charming jerk, the type of man she usually avoided. But he had piqued her curiosity when he'd mentioned that his teenage sweetheart, a bar and restaurant owner in Cherokee Pointe, could easily pa.s.s for Reve's twin.

If she hadn't been an abandoned child, adopted in infancy by wealthy socialites, Spencer and Lesley Sorrell, she'd have pa.s.sed off Jamie's comments without a second thought. But since she knew nothing about her birth parents, she'd wondered if it was possible that this Jasmine Talbot Jamie had mentioned could be her sister. So she'd disregarded what her common sense had told her-not to go digging around in the past-and had gone to Cherokee Pointe.

Her first encounter with Jazzy had been less than pleasant. She'd found the woman to be rather crude and vulgar. They had disliked each other on sight. And Reve would have returned home that very day, if she hadn't been involved in a minor car accident.

As if wrecking her Jag hadn't been bad enough, following the accident, the local sheriff had treated her abysmally. Sheriff Jacob Butler was an old friend of Jazzy's and took offense at an offhand comment Reve made about the woman. It had seemed to Reve as if half the men in town were Jazzy's friends, a fact Reve had learned both firsthand and from local gossip.

To complicate matters now that she was returning to Cherokee Pointe, she'd been plagued by thoughts of the big, surly, half-breed sheriff. He was a thoroughly unpleasant sort. A real ruffian. After their initial encounter, she had hoped she would never see the man again. But when Jamie Upton was murdered while she was still in town and a witness identified a woman fitting Jazzy's description-and therefore her description-as having been seen with Jamie shortly before his death, Sheriff Butler had come knocking on her door. He'd had the gall to practically accuse her of the murder, had in fact a.s.sumed-erroneously-that Jamie and she had been lovers. Naturally, it hadn't taken the authorities long to realize she wasn't involved in the crime, so she had, thankfully, been able to escape from Cherokee Pointe and the watchful eyes of the Neanderthal sheriff.

Upon returning to Chattanooga, to her home on Lookout Mountain and her own set of friends and business a.s.sociates, she'd tried to put her less than pleasant experiences in Cherokee Pointe behind her. She hadn't wanted to think about Jazzy or the fact that they did in fact resemble each other in a way only twins did. But try as she might, she hadn't been able to erase from her mind the image of her double, a woman of dubious character.

Reve sighed heavily. Would she regret going back to Cherokee Pointe and joining forces with Jazzy to seek the truth about their possible sisterhood? They had spoken on the phone several times recently. Somewhat reluctantly, Reve had made that first call. Thirty years ago, someone had thrown her into a Dumpster in Sevierville and left her for dead. She'd been an infant, possibly only days or weeks old at the time. However, Jazzy's Aunt Sally, who had raised her from a baby, swore that her sister Corine had given birth to only one child. Was Sally Talbot lying? Or was there some other explanation? Reve knew she'd never have any peace of mind until she found out the truth-the whole truth.

She hadn't intended to leave Chattanooga this early. It wasn't quite four-thirty. But why not go ahead and get on the road? If she left now, she'd be in Cherokee Pointe by the time Jasmine's opened and she could have breakfast at the restaurant before meeting Jazzy at Dr. MacNair's office around nine. They had agreed that DNA testing was the first step in discovering the truth about their past.

Not wanting to bother any of the servants at this unG.o.dly hour, she heaved her suitcase off the bed. As she walked through the house and out to the garage, she couldn't help wondering if she was making a monumental mistake. She and Jazzy Talbot had nothing in common, other than a strong physical resemblance-and possibly the same birth parents. Did she really want to form a familial connection with this woman who was, by all standards, socially beneath her and morally inferior? G.o.d, Reve, listen to yourself. You sound like the biggest sn.o.b in the world. All right, maybe she was a sn.o.b. No maybe about it. She was a sn.o.b. But she'd been trained by her parents and peers to look down her nose at her inferiors. There you go again, a.s.suming just because she grew up poor, has a reputation as the town tramp and owns a honky-tonk, that Jazzy isn't your equal.

Reve unlocked the trunk of her Jaguar, dumped the suitcase inside, then slid behind the wheel and started the car.

Even if Jazzy and she turned out to be twin sisters, that didn't mean they had to become friends. She seriously doubted that Jazzy wanted to build a relationship with her anymore than she wanted one with Jazzy. But there was a need deep inside her to find out the truth-who had thrown her in that Dumpster and why? Had her birth mother thrown her away? If so, why had she disposed of one baby and not both? And if she and Jazzy were twin sisters, why had Jazzy's Aunt Sally lied to her all these years? After the DNA testing confirmed their relationship, the likely place to start their search for the truth was with Sally Talbot. And what a place to start-with a nutty old woman the whole town thought of as a kook.

Reve hit the b.u.t.ton to open the garage door, backed out and then closed the door. As she entered the street, she stopped the Jag and took a long, hard look at her home. This house had belonged to her grandparents, Spencer Sorrel's parents, and the plush mansion held only happy memories for Reve. If only she weren't adopted. If only the Sorrells had been her biological mother and father. But her adoptive mother had pointed out to her on numerous occasions that she was a true Sorrell in every way that counted. Except by blood.

As she drove along the steep, twisting street leading off Lookout Mountain, Reve compared the similarities between this road and the one where she'd had her car accident outside Cherokee Pointe. d.a.m.n! Why had she thought about that wreck again? Automatically her mind brought Sheriff Butler to the forefront-a vivid image of his hulking six-five frame, his green eyes, his hawk nose, his fierce frown. She intended to do her best to avoid Jacob Butler while she was in Cherokee Pointe. Not only did the man annoy her, but he unnerved her. His nature was a bit too savage to suit her. He'd been more than just downright unfriendly toward her; he'd shown no respect whatsoever for who she was-one of the richest and most powerful women in the state of Tennessee.

Jazzy's o.r.g.a.s.m exploded inside her, eliciting a loud, guttural moan from deep in her throat. The powerful sensations went on and on until they finally tapered off into delicious aftershocks. Hot, damp, completely sated, she smothered Caleb with deliriously exuberant kisses. He toppled her off him and onto the bed, his hard p.e.n.i.s slipping out of her during the maneuver. Before she had a chance to catch her breath, he thrust up into her. Deep and hard. Once. Twice. And then he came.

Roaring like the male animal he was, Caleb shuddered with release. Moments later, their bodies damp with s.e.x-induced sweat, they lay on their backs, their bodies not touching, only their entwined fingers.

She loved holding hands with Caleb. A sweet, sentimental gesture, but it said so much about their relationship. About who she was when she was with him. About the type of man Caleb McCord was.

Jazzy looked up at the ceiling, stretched languidly and smiled. s.e.x with Caleb was always like this-explosive and fully satisfying. But there was so much more to their relationship than great s.e.x. They were friends as well as lovers. And they were madly in love, too. Honest to goodness in love.

She didn't know what she'd done to deserve a fabulous guy like Caleb, but she thanked G.o.d for him. And with each pa.s.sing day, she trusted Caleb and the love they shared more and more. Maybe one of these days soon she would be able to accept his marriage proposal. He had asked her to marry him so many times, it had almost become a joke between them.

Almost.

Even now, months after Jamie Upton's death, his memory haunted her. But not in the way Caleb thought it did. On some basic, totally masculine level Caleb was still jealous of Jamie, of the fact that he'd been her first love and her first lover. There was no reason for him to be jealous. She didn't love Jamie. Only the distrust and fear Jamie had instilled in her kept him alive and allowed him to stand between her and Caleb, between her and happiness.

"Jazzy?" Caleb said her name in that lazy, s.e.xy Memphis drawl she loved so well.