"In surgery," Jacob said. "Fighting for her life."

"Have we got anything here?" Dallas motioned with a subtle move of his right hand.

"Nothing was touched before Earl got here. Of course, he called in Burt and Dwayne. They're collecting evidence now. Blood from the bridge railing and the rocks below appear at first glance to be about it. But we've got some b.l.o.o.d.y shoe prints, too. And tire tracks, although it'll be just about impossible to prove the tracks belong to our perpetrator since there's traffic along this road all the time, but we photographed them and I think we should make casts."

"I want every sc.r.a.p of possible evidence doc.u.mented and no stone left unturned," Dallas told Glenn. "And be sure to keep accurate records and see to it that every tidbit of evidence is clearly marked."

"Yes, sir." Glenn nearly saluted before he turned and motioned to one of the uniformed officers a.s.sisting the men in charge of collecting evidence. "Bring the gun over here." "Gun?" Dallas and Jacob said simultaneously. "We found a Beretta Tomcat pistol on the bridge not far from where the railing is smeared with blood," Glenn said.

The officer brought the gun, sealed in a plastic bag and appropriately tagged, and handed it to the lieutenant. Glenn held up the bag.

"Polished blue finish," Jacob said. "That's Jazzy's gun or one just like it. I was with her when she bought it." "Was it fired tonight?" Dallas asked. "Nope. It still has a full seven-shot magazine in it." "That tells us that whoever hit her probably came up behind her quickly and got in at least the first blow before Jazzy knew what was happening," Jacob surmised.

"Any sign of the weapon her attacker used?" Dallas asked. "Not so far," Glenn said. "But we're going to scour every inch of the bridge, as well as the creek and ground within sight, then we'll span out and search the woods."

"I'll let you get back to work." Dallas cordially dismissed Glenn, who immediately returned to his duties.

By the differential way Glenn acted toward Dallas, it was obvious he admired and respected the chief of police. It said a lot about the kind of man Tommy Glenn was because everybody knew he'd badly wanted the job Dallas had been given.

"What are the odds we'll find anything that will help us?" Jacob asked.

"You never know. Criminals make mistakes all the time, especially amateurs."

"You believe whoever tried to kill Jazzy is an amateur?"

"Either that or he's somebody who wants us to think he is. I suspect this isn't the work of the guy who killed Becky Olmstead, Kat Baker and all those other redheads over the past few years. The MO isn't identical."

"Do you think we have a copycat killer on our hands?"

"Possibly. The public knows that a couple of prost.i.tutes were murdered and their corpses dumped in a body of water. The Tennessee River and Douglas Lake. And word leaked out that both women were redheads."

"Those are the only two things about Jazzy's attack that are the same as the two murders."

"She was. .h.i.t over the head, not strangled," Dallas said. "And she wasn't raped."

"What if it wasn't the serial killer or a copycat killer?"

Dallas c.o.c.ked his head to one side and gave Jacob an inquisitive look. "Do you have another theory?"

"I know we can't completely rule out the serial killer, and I'm not saying it isn't a copycat, but what if the person who attacked Jazzy had a personal reason for wanting her dead?"

"Like what?" Dallas smiled like a proud papa whose son had just become a man.

"She and Reve have hired the top private investigation man in Tennessee to search for their birth parents. What if somebody in Cherokee County doesn't want the twins to learn the truth? What if whoever tried to kill them when they were babies is still around?"

''If that's the case, then neither Jazzy nor Reve will be safe until the truth is revealed."

CHAPTER 22.

Five days after her surgery, Jazzy remained in a coma. Everything possible was being done for her. Reve had called in the most renowned specialists, sparing no expense to fly in the leading neurologists. Every available test had been done, except those the doctors deemed either unnecessary or too risky at this point. An MRI and a CT Scan, which looks at the structure of the brain, were followed by other diagnostic testing, most of which Reve couldn't remember. The local neurologist, Dr. Behel, and his colleague from Vanderbilt, Dr. Alfred Cornelius, had agreed not to run a SPECT Scan, despite the fact the results of both the MRI and the CT Scan were normal, and yet Jazzy had not awakened. In patients of reproductive age, the SPECT Scan procedure was used judiciously.

Dr. Cornelius had said, "If Ms. Talbot's condition doesn't change in the next few weeks, I suggest moving her to Nashville, to Vanderbilt, where we can run a PET Scan, and if we feel it necessary at that time, we'll discuss running the SPECT Scan."

Although Reve hadn't lived at the hospital 24/7, as Caleb had, even when she wasn't there, she got little sleep or rest.

She had remained at the hospital for the first thirty-six hours, as had Genny; then Dallas had driven them to Genny's home in the mountains and placed an officer outside to guard them. She had stayed with Genny a couple of days, the two making the trip to the hospital together daily. But yesterday morning, Lacy Fallon had phoned her and asked what should be done about managing both Jazzy's Joint and Jasmine's. It seemed that Jazzy, being a bit of a control freak, hadn't trained anyone to take over in case of an emergency. Even though both establishments were continuing business as usual, if someone didn't take charge soon, both would have to close. So Reve had moved into Jazzy's upstairs apartment and, using her basic business skills, took over the reins of her sister's two establishments. After all, there was little she could do for Jazzy just sitting in the ICU waiting room, but by taking charge of her sister's business affairs, she'd be doing something useful.

The policeman who'd parked outside the apartment last night had been replaced by a sheriff's deputy this morning. Moody Ryan had followed her to the hospital and come up on the elevator with her.

"I'm going to be here for at least an hour." Reve stopped outside the waiting room and turned to the young deputy. "Why don't you go down to the cafeteria and eat breakfast?"

"I had breakfast before I came on duty, ma'am."

"Then go get a cup of coffee."

"Ma'am, I'll stay out of your way. You won't even know I'm here. But my orders are to keep you under constant surveillance."

"And those orders came from?"

Moody's lips twitched. "Sheriff Butler."

"I sincerely hope Sheriff Butler doesn't expect you to go to the ladies' room with me."

Moody blushed. "No, ma'am, I'm sure he doesn't."

Giving up on trying to escape her shadow, Reve opened the door and entered the small ICU waiting room. Moody, Ryan came in behind her. On the solitary sofa nestled against the back wall, Caleb lay curled up in an awkward position, a hospital-issue blanket wrapped around him from armpits down to the top of his booted feet. The poor guy looked like h.e.l.l. He'd been cleaning up in the bathroom, but he hadn't shaved and the brown stubble on his face was turning into a beard. If she'd ever seen a guy madly in love, that guy was Caleb McCord. If, G.o.d forbid, Jazzy didn't make it, Reve didn't think Caleb would either.

She turned to Moody. "Look, if I promise not to leave this room, would you go to the snack bar and get a cup of fresh coffee and a sausage biscuit?"

Moody stared at her questioningly.

"I'm sure Caleb hasn't had a bite to eat since sometime yesterday. I want him to have breakfast, but I see no point in both you and I going to the snack bar."

"Yeah, I guess it would be okay for me leave you, if you promise to stay right here with Caleb."

Just as Moody headed out of the waiting room, Caleb roused and gazed bleary-eyed at Reve. He threw up a hand and waved.

"Morning," she said.

He kicked off the blanket, sat up and stretched. "What time is it?"

"A little after eight. I sent Moody down to the snack bar to get you something to eat."

Caleb rubbed the back of his neck. "They don't make these couches for sleeping."

"You really should go home, take a shower and sleep in your own bed for a few hours."

Caleb stood, picked up the blanket, folded it unevenly and laid it across the arm of the sofa. "I'm not leaving this hospital until Jazzy comes out of that d.a.m.n coma."

"That could be weeks," Reve reminded him.

"Don't waste your breath. I'm not going anywhere until she opens her eyes and looks at me."

Reve nodded, then went over and hugged him. "You keep your vigil here at the hospital, and I'll make sure her business interests are taken care of. When she recovers, I'll turn things back over to her in tip-top shape."

Caleb eased back and took Reve's hands in his. "She's going to come out of the coma and recover completely."

Caleb had stated his hopes confidently. Too confidently? No. They shouldn't expect the worst. They should remain cautiously optimistic. Hadn't Dr. Cornelius told them that using the standard Glasgow Coma Scale, which estimated a patient's chances of living and recovering by a.s.signing numbers ranging from three to fifteen, Jazzy had a chance for a full recovery? The higher the number, the better the odds. Jazzy's case was a ten, and a ten was on the high end of the mid-range.

"With patients scoring eight to ten, twenty-seven percent will die," the doctor had explained frankly. "But the good news is that sixty-eight percent will have a good recovery, with moderate disabilities."

"You're absolutely right," Reve said to Caleb. "Jazzy's a fighter. She'll wake up any time now, and when she does, she'll do whatever it takes to recover. And we'll be here to help her. If she needs her own personal physical therapist, I'll hire the best. She may not be ready for that Christmas wedding y'all planned, but-"

"Then maybe a New Year's wedding," a female voice said.

Reve and Caleb looked around to see who'd spoken. There stood Miss Reba and Big Jim. She carried a small overnight case, and he held a garment bag.

"Any change in Jazzy's condition?" Big Jim asked. "No change," Caleb replied.

Reve noted a genuinely sad expression on Jim Upton's race. A strong, handsome face, she thought, especially for a man of seventy-five. Although handsome in his own right, Caleb didn't resemble his grandfather and wasn't quite as tall. But there was a strong hint of Miss Reba's beauty in her grandson's attractive features.

"We've brought some toiletries and a change of clothes." Reba marched into the waiting area. Though a pet.i.te woman, her presence filled the entire s.p.a.ce. "And your grandfather has arranged for you a room on this floor, directly down the hall." She kissed Caleb's cheek. "Now you run along with Jim and get freshened up, then go down to the cafeteria for breakfast. I'll stay here with Reve until you return."

"I can't-"

Big Jim grabbed Caleb's arm. "n.o.body's asking you to leave the hospital, son. But if you don't take better care of yourself, you're not going to be able to help Jazzy when she comes out of that coma."

"I don't know how your grandfather managed to commandeer a hospital room for you," Reve said, her eyes wide in astonishment, "but you should take advantage of this opportunity. If Jazzy sees you looking like this, she won't know you."

"How did you get them to give me a room here?" Caleb asked.

"The Uptons are major contributors to every charity in Cherokee County. Everybody knows how generous we can be," Jim replied. "I just called in a few favors."

"And twisted a few arms," Reba added, then winked at her grandson as she handed him the overnight case.

"Okay, I'll take a shower and change clothes," Caleb said. "But Reve's already sent Moody Ryan to the snack bar for something to eat so I won't need to go to the cafeteria."

Jim put his arm around his grandson's shoulders and guided him out of the room. Once alone with Reve, Miss Reba turned to her and smiled.

"How are you, my dear?"

"I'm doing okay."

"You're keeping tabs on Jazzy's business concerns, I hear."

"Yes, ma'am."

"If there's anything you need from Jim or me-"

"I'd like to ask you something, and I'd appreciate a completely honest answer."

The fact that Miss Reba had come to the hospital every day and had encouraged Caleb's hopes that Jazzy would live and recover completely hadn't escaped Reve's notice. Whether Miss Reba's sentiments were sincere was another matter entirely.

"Let's sit down." Reba indicated the sofa.

When Reba sat, Reve moved Caleb's blanket to a nearby chair and joined his grandmother. She faced the woman and from her expression suspected Miss Reba knew what she intended to ask.

"You've been wonderfully caring and supportive of Caleb these past five days," Reve said. "No grandson could ask for a more loving, concerned grandmother."

"And you want to know if those feelings of care and support extend to his fiancee."

"Yes, I do. Because when Jazzy comes out of the coma-"

"You mean if she comes out of the coma."

"Is that what you're hoping for? You hope she-"

"What I want does not matter," Miss Reba said. "But to answer your question-no, I don't want Jazzy to die or remain in a coma. Am I thrilled that she's going to one day be my grandson's wife? No. Have I accepted the inevitable? Yes."

"And what does that mean exactly?"

"You've become very fond of Jazzy in a relatively short period of time, and I believe it's not simply because she's your biological sister, is it?"

'Jazzy is not what she seems to be," Reve said. "She puts UP that bad-girl front, even does things to perpetuate her reputation. But Jazzy isn't bad. She has a big heart, a good heart. And believe this, Miss Reba, if you don't believe any-flung else about her-she loves Caleb."

Yes, I think she does. I know he worships her. And that's the reason that as soon as Jazzy is well enough, I intend to give Caleb and her the biggest, fanciest wedding Cherokee County has ever seen."

"I'm surprised. Pleasantly surprised." Reve believed that Miss Reba meant exactly what she'd said.

"Well, my dear, you see, I've learned from my mistakes. 11 will never do anything to jeopardize my relationship with Caleb, and if that means welcoming Jazzy Talbot into 01 family with open arms, then that's what I intend to do."

Dallas removed the faxed doc.u.ments the moment they came out of the machine, scanned them quickly and then handed them to Jacob. The two men had been holed up in Dallas's office since six that morning and it was now nearly noon. Despite as thorough an investigation as their combined forensics teams could do, the end results were that whoever had attacked Jazzy was still on the loose and they were no closer to solving the mystery of Jeremy Timmons's murder than they were the night Amber Chaney found his body.

Dallas had arranged to send the evidence collected in each case to his old FBI friend Chet in Knoxville, who would use the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation's more sophisticated equipment to examine everything. And Dallas had contacted a former colleague, Teri Nash, now engaged to FBI profiler Line Hughes, and asked for her help in collecting data on any similar murders in and around northeast Tennessee in the past quarter century. The faxes in Jacob's hands were the results of Teri's week-long search.

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

"It means somebody has been getting away with murder for the past twenty-five years. 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."