"I'm not at Jazzy's Joint. I'm out by the country club, at the old covered bridge. When you get the tire changed, I want you to-"

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing way out there?" Two seconds later, he roared into the phone, "Did you go out there y yourself?"

"Yes, I came by myself, but I'm all right. I brought my thirty-tw0 with me. I told Lacy to tell you to meet me here, s hurry up, will you?'

"Dammit, Jazzy, why-"

"I'll explain everything when you get here."

"Listen to me-you turn around and come right back into town."

"I'll be waiting here by the old bridge. Hurry." She hung up on him. He might call back, but she doubted he'd waste his time. He knew her well enough to realize that if he called back, she wouldn't answer. His time would be better spent fixing that tire.

Five minutes pa.s.sed, then ten. Jazzy turned off the radio, killed the motor and opened the driver's door. As she emerged from her Jeep, she patted her breast pocket to rea.s.sure herself that the thirty-two was still in place. She doubted seriously that she'd need a gun, but if she did, it would take only a matter of a few seconds to put her hands on the weapon.

Jazzy closed the door and stood by the hood for several minutes. This was ridiculous. Why call her and ask to met her and then not show up? Had the call been nothing more than a hoax? Someone's idea of a practical joke? She pressed the tab on her lighted digital wrist.w.a.tch. Nine-twenty. She'd wait ten more minutes and then she was out of there.

Submerged up to her shoulders in the soothing warm water of the hot tub on the screened porch of her cabin, Reve lifted an iced gla.s.s of Tennessee Tea and sipped leisurely on the delicious brew. She'd found the four-pack of small bottles in the guest basket, which had been filled with a variety of specialty items. The basket was a gift Jazzy had left at the cabin before her arrival. She'd never tried this drink before-a combination of Jack Daniels and sweet tea-but found she really liked the taste. Of course she'd always had a weakness for anything sweet.

Jacob Butler wasn't sweet. He was tough and surly and- Now, how had her mind made that colossal jump from Tennessee Tea to Jacob Butler?

It could be because she couldn't seem to get him out of her thoughts.

Stop it, Reve. You're obsessing about that man again.

Ever since he'd dropped her off at her cabin earlier today, she'd done everything possible to get him off her mind. She'd called Jazzy to beg off supper tonight, then she'd placed a call home to speak to her housekeeper and even phoned Paul Welby again, although that call had been totally unnecessary. Paul was like a futuristic robot-efficient, brilliant and unemotional. She had inherited him from her mother. Lesley Sorrell had hired him as her personal a.s.sistant when he was fresh out of college. Vanderbilt. By the time Lesley pa.s.sed away, Paul was earning a six-figure salary. But only after he became Reve's a.s.sistant had she learned that he was worth every cent.

Watching TV and reading hadn't captured her attention for very long, nor had preparing her evening meal. Her mind kept wandering off in one particular direction. An unwanted direction. She had replayed the forty-five minutes she'd spent with Jacob over and over again in her mind. From the moment he had startled her by helping her on with her coat until he'd helped her down out of his truck when he dropped her off at the cabin, she had seen another side of a man she thought she hated. Today, he'd been kind to her. Not once had he ridiculed her or tried to provoke her. He had acted as if he actually liked her.

Was that possible? Could she and Jacob ever be friends? After the way their relationship had started- Wait just a darn minute! You do not have a relationship with Jacob. He's Jazzy's friend, not yours. Okay, so he treated you as if he thought you were human this afternoon, that doesn't mean he likes you or that he wants to befriends.

Reve took several more sips of her Tennessee Tea, then set the gla.s.s on the rim of the hot tub and scooted down until only her head protruded above the water. She'd been out here nearly thirty minutes, hoping the liquor and soak would relax her so she could sleep tonight. Sleep without dreaming about anything unpleasant. Like Jacob Butler.

Admit it, you're afraid you '11 have another erotic dream about the man. You 're accustomed to being in total control of your life, of everything and everyone in your world. And you I hate having no control over Sheriff Butler or over the way he makes you feel.

Reve groaned, then forced herself to get out of the hot tub. If she stayed in here much longer, she'd turn into a prune. Either that or go to sleep and drown. The moment she emerged j from the tub, the cool night air hit her, sending a shuddering chill through her body. She grabbed the huge towel off the hook on the back wall and dried herself quickly, then lifted her robe from the nearby rocking chair and put it on. When she entered the cabin, heavenly warm air encompa.s.sed her. She closed her eyes and sighed. Then it happened. She could almost feel a pair of strong arms surround her. Jacob's strong arms. Her eyes flew open. She was alone in her cabin. d.a.m.n bar vivid imagination!

Jazzy walked down the road and onto the covered bridge. Maybe the caller had meant for her to come across the bridge and park on the other side. Had she misunderstood the instructions? When she was about a third of the way across the bridge, she thought she heard a sound from behind her. Footsteps?

Okay, run back to the Jeep, jump in and get the h.e.l.l out of here.

She shouldn't panic. Not yet.

There, she heard the noise again. Definitely footsteps behind her. Putting her hand in her pocket so that she could whip out the thirty-two, if needed, she started to whirl around, but before she did, something hit her on the head. Something hard and heavy. Excruciating pain shot through her head. She dropped to her knees.

What the h.e.l.l?

"s.l.u.t," someone said. "You're a wh.o.r.e just like your mother!"

Despite the debilitating pain pounding in her head and radiating through her body, Jazzy managed to jerk the gun from her pocket. But before she could face her attacker, another hard blow came down on her head. She saw stars-literally saw stars. The thirty-two dropped from her hand as an odd weakness possessed her. And then everything went pitch black.

Farlan hated riding in Brian's Porsche. He felt like a mackerel stuffed into a sardine can whenever he rode in any small sports car. But he'd asked Brian to pick him up at the country club this evening in the hope that they could have a father-son talk. Farlan had come to the club with Dodd earlier with the express purpose of being without his car so that he could use it as an excuse to trap Brian into this meeting. When he'd finally caught up with his son, reaching him on his cell phone, Brian had sounded peculiar, as if he was upset that his father had disturbed him. Farlan wished he understood his son better, wished they had a better relationship. But Brian was his mother's son. Temperamental. High-strung. Self-centered. Emotionally needy.

When they left the country club, Farlan had suggested they take the back way home, a longer route that took them over the old covered bridge and around a winding two-lane road through a densely wooded area the MacKinnon family owned. Farlan wanted the ten extra minutes it would take them to go home by this route, so that he could broach a subject that had been bothering him since going over the latest report from his accountants.

Brian had embezzled money from the family business in the past. Not huge sums, so Farlan had turned a blind eye and personally made up the losses. But recently, Brian had stolen over a quarter of a million dollars and hadn't covered his tracks very well, almost as if he wasn't concerned about being caught. What bothered Farlan was why his son, who drew a generous yearly salary, felt the need to take money from the business, to commit a criminal act. Didn't he know that all he had to do was come to Farlan and ask for the money?

"I hate driving across that d.a.m.n old bridge," Brian said. "I always have the feeling it's going to collapse out front under me."

"That bridge is as st.u.r.dy as the day it was built," Farlan replied. "I personally see to it that the county keeps it up. Your grandfather was the man responsible for having than bridge remodeled back in the sixties. At one time the sides were covered, too, not partially open the way they are now." I Brian didn't respond. His son had never been interested in family history, let alone Cherokee County history.

Farlan tried to think of the best way to approach the subject of Brain embezzling funds from MacKinnon Media, bud before he came up with a suitable idea, he noticed a vehicle pulled off to the side of the road.

"Is that somebody with car trouble?" Farlan questioned aloud.

Brian eased his sleek Porsche to a stop in the middle of the road, directly in front of the old covered bridge. "I don't see anybody. Looks like the car is empty."

"Do you recognize the vehicle. It's a Jeep, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's a Jeep. As a matter of fact, it looks just like Jazzy Talbot's red Jeep."

"Maybe we should make sure everything is okay before we go on."

"I don't feel like playing Good Samaritan tonight."

"Humor me," Farlan said. "Go see if there's a problem."

Brian grumbled under his breath when he got out of the Porsche. Farlan watched his son as he walked over to the Jeep, circled the vehicle and then peered into the closed window on the driver's side.

He called back to Farlan. "It's empty. No sign of anybody. But I'm sure this is Jazzy's car." Standing at the back of the Jeep, he pointed to the car tag. "That's her personalized tag. Jazzy One."

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Farlan's stomach. He didn't know Jazzy Talbot, but he'd heard all about her. She'd been front page news only a few months ago when she'd been arrested for murdering her former lover, Jamie Upton. In every newspaper photo printed in the Herald, she'd been holding her hand across her face; and he hadn't bothered watching any of the TV coverage. Of course, he'd seen her at a distance from time to time, either in town or at her restaurant. Even once or twice in Jazzy's Joint. A pretty girl, as he recalled.

"I think we should look around to see if she's sick or hurt." Farlan undid the glove compartment, pulled out a couple of flashlights and opened the car door. He got out and rounded the Porsche's hood.

Brian grunted. "She probably came out here to meet some man and they're in his car f.u.c.king their brains out."

"Humor me again," Farlan said. "I can't say exactly why, but I think the woman's in trouble. Let's just look around and make sure. You take the right side of the road, and I'll take the left. We'll cross the bridge and then backtrack. If we don't find anything, we'll call the police and let them find out why she abandoned her Jeep."

''I think we should call the police now and just go on home."

Disregarding his son's comment, Farlan walked up the road. Brian huffed loudly, then followed. Keeping to the edge of the bridge, Farlan ran his flashlight down into the murky water below. A series of large boulders rested directly underneath the bridge. These huge rocks, formations that had been rounded and smoothed by eons of flowing water, were scat-tered throughout the shallow areas of the creek.

"See anything?" Farlan asked.

"Not a d.a.m.n thing."

When he was about a third of the way across the bridge, his foot hit something. Glancing down, he saw what looked like a small handgun. Don't touch it, he told himself.

"What's the matter?" Brian asked.

"There's a gun on the bridge." Farlan toed it with the tip; of his shoe. "Right there."

"Whatever you do, don't touch the d.a.m.n thing."

"h.e.l.l, boy, I've got better sense than to do something that stupid." Farlan moved his flashlight over the bridge railing, scanning back and forth as far as he could see. Suddenly, he noticed something red smeared across the railing several feet down from where he stood. With Brian right behind him, i he made his way to the spot, then reached out toward the red stain. Brian caught his hand only seconds before he touched the still damp liquid.

"It's blood," Farlan said.

"Yes, I believe it is."

Farlan shot the flashlight over the bridge, right below where the railing bore the b.l.o.o.d.y marks. Good G.o.d! He blinked several times, wondering if he was actually seeing part of a, body on top of one of the boulders. He refocused and looked again. It was no hallucination. She was real. The lower hall' of her body lay submerged in the water, while the upper half lay sprawled on the boulder.

"Brian, I think I've found her."

Brian rushed to Farlan's side and looked over the rail.

"d.a.m.n!"

"Is that Jazzy Talbot?" Farlan asked.

"I'm not sure, but it's definitely a woman's body." He shined his flashlight on the spot where Farlan had his flashlight focused. "She's a redhead, so since that's Jazzy's Jeep back there, I'd say the odds are that-"

"Lord, do you suppose the man who killed those two prost.i.tutes, killed Jazzy? The rumor is that both that Olmstead girl and the one found up around Loudon Dam were redheads."

"This can't have anything to do with those murders," Brian said rather emphatically, then quickly added, "At least I doubt it."

"I'd better call the police." Farlan shook his head. "Poor girl."

"Wait!" Brian grabbed Farlan's arm. "Look-did she just move? I think she's still breathing."

"What?" Farlan narrowed his gaze and peered over the wooden railing. Sure enough, the woman moved, ever so slightly, as if struggling to breathe.

"You call the police and tell them to send an ambulance," Brian said. "I'll go down there and get her out of that cold water. If she's been down there for a while, hypothermia could have already set in. Besides, her body could wash loose from the boulder at any time and be swept away down the creek."

Farlan patted Brian on the back. "You go on, son, and see if you can help her. I'll call 911 for the police and an ambulance."

Caleb brought his T-Bird to a screeching halt behind the Porsche blocking the road. Parked just off the road in the gra.s.s, Jazzy's red Jeep glistened in the moonlight like fresh Wood. Off in the distance he heard the wail of sirens. His heartbeat went wild. Adrenaline pumped through his body at an alarming rate. Even before he jumped out of his car, he saw Farlan MacKinnon pacing back and forth on the old covered bridge.

Where' s Jazzy? His mind screamed. Where's my Jazzy!

"What the h.e.l.l's going on here?" Caleb ran toward Farlan MacKinnon.

The old man, his face pale, his eyes round with shock, whirled around and stared at Caleb. "He's gone down to get her."

"Who's gone down where to get who?" Caleb asked as he ran toward MacKinnon. "Answer me, d.a.m.n it!"

"We saw her Jeep, and I got this crazy notion something was wrong," the old man rattled. "I told him we'd better check and see if something had happened to her."

Caleb grabbed MacKinnon by the lapels of his overcoat and shook him several times. "Is it Jazzy? Has something happened to her?"

"Jazzy? Yes, Jazzy Talbot. I don't know the girl well. I've seen her around-"

Caleb shook the old man again. "Where is she? What happened to her? Who's gone to get her?"

"She was down in the creek," MacKinnon replied. "At first we thought she was dead, but then we saw her move. She was just barely breathing. He went down to get her, to see if she's still alive. I-I called 911."

Caleb released his firm hold on MacKinnon's lapels and turned to search for Jazzy and for whomever MacKinnon-had sent to help her. The sirens grew louder. Closer.

Whatever's happened, Jazzy, honey, hang in there.

Suddenly, coming from the other side of the bridge, a man appeared. Caleb felt as if there were lead weights on his ankles as he moved forward, trying to gain a better look at the dark figure moving toward him. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed the flashlight from MacKinnon's hand and held it up to spotlight the figure moving steadily toward them.

"Give me a hand, will you?" the man called.

Caleb realized two things simultaneously. The man was Brian MacKinnon. And he was holding a wet, b.l.o.o.d.y body in his arms. Jazzy's body!

CHAPTER 21.

Reve sat beside Jacob in the cab of his truck as he raced along the road from her cabin to County General Hospital, the siren blasting and the blue light atop the truck flashing. The minute Dallas had called him and told him about Jazzy, he'd come straight to Reve.

"I didn't think this was something you needed to hear over the phone," he'd told her as he stood at her front door. "Dallas just called me. He and Genny are on their way to the hospital. Jazzy's been hurt. Hurt real bad. They don't know if she's going to make it."

Reve had grabbed her coat and purse, and with Jacob's arm around her for support, she'd hurried with him to his truck. When she'd stumbled in her attempt to climb into the cab, he had gripped her by the waist, hoisted her up off the ground and placed her on the seat.

"Jacob?"

"Huh?" He kept his eyes on the road. Did Dallas say what happened?". Apparently somebody called Jazzy and told her they had *"formation about her birth parents and set up a meeting out V the old covered bridge near the country club."

"Tell me she didn't go out there alone."

"h.e.l.l, yes. You know Jazzy. Bull-headed and determined." Jacob swallowed hard.

Without thinking, acting purely on instinct when she realized how worried Jacob was, Reve reached over and squeezed his arm. He tensed.

"She's tough," he said. "She'll make it."

"Do they know exactly what happened to her and how it happened?"

"Dallas knew only what the officers who were at the site told him. It appears someone knocked Jazzy in the head hard' enough to render her unconscious and then threw her off the bridge and into the creek. She landed halfway in the creek and partly on the rocks below."

Reve's hand rose from Jacob's arm and flew up to cover her mouth. "Oh, dear G.o.d." How could this have happened? What had prompted Jazzy to take such a risk? "Caleb?" She suddenly wondered about Jazzy's fiance. "Does he know?"