"Jazzy told me yesterday afternoon that the guy's got a thing for Genny and that you don't like him."

Butler harrumphed. "Let's just say that Mr. MacKinnon and I don't see eye to eye on several things."

"Including his relationship with Genny?"

Butler studied Dallas closely. "I think he's obsessed with her. That bothers me."

"What does Genny think?"

"Maybe you should ask Genny." Butler lifted his coffee mug.

Before Dallas could comment, Tiffany brought his breakfast, laid his bill on the table, and hurried to take Brian MacKinnon his first cup of coffee.

Butler stood. He lifted his brown leather jacket from the seat, slipped into it, then picked up his Stetson and placed it on his head. "When you finish up here, come on over to the office and we'll compile a list of all the men who have moved into Cherokee County in the past six or seven months." Removing his wallet from his pocket, Butler took out three dollars and laid them on the table for a tip, then picked up his bill.

"Yeah, okay." With a smart sheriff like Butler in charge, maybe they had a chance to catch the killer. Dallas had Butler pegged as one of the good guys-someone he could trust.

Before Butler reached the cashier, who did double duty as one of the waitresses, he paused and called out to Dallas. "I checked on Genny this morning. She's fine. And she said to tell you h.e.l.lo."

Dallas tried not to react. He nodded to acknowledge he'd heard Butler, who glanced across the restaurant at Brian MacKinnon, then looked away, paid his bill, and headed out the door. Dallas's gaze made contact with MacKinnon's. Instantly he felt the hatred seething inside the man. Had Butler made the comment about Genny to rile MacKinnon? If he had, his ploy had worked.

When Tiffany came to his table to refill his mug, Dallas asked, "Exactly who is Mr. MacKinnon?"

"Brian MacKinnon is the owner of the Cherokee Pointe Herald and our local TV station, WMMK," she said. "And his daddy is Mr. Farlan MacKinnon, one of the richest men in these parts. They live in that big old Victorian mansion over on Bethel Street."

"I see. Thanks." Dallas finished his breakfast, left Tiffany a nice tip, paid his bill, and avoided making eye contact with MacKinnon as he left the restaurant.

He didn't know Brian MacKinnon from Adam, but if Sheriff Butler thought the guy was obsessed with Genny, that alone was reason for Dallas to dislike him. Obsession was a dangerous thing. He should know. He'd come d.a.m.n close to becoming obsessed with finding Brooke's killer. Only by sheer will, coupled with his years of training and experience as a federal agent, had he been able to stop himself from crossing the line between ruthless determination and obsession. If MacKinnon wanted Genny and he had crossed the line from wanting her to being obsessed with having her, then he could become dangerous.

He had waited in her Vega all night and had given up hope that she would leave the sheriff's place before dawn; but just when he'd started to leave, she came sneaking down the stairs. The morning sun had been rising in the eastern sky. Too late to sacrifice her today. He had experienced several moments of indecision. Should he let her go or should he take her? He never chose his first four victims. He allowed Fate to make those choices. It had seemed to him that Fate had placed Misty Harte directly into his hands; and he wasn't a man to go against Fate. He'd learned at an early age the importance of the unexpected and the unexplainable, and the power of the cosmic forces that ruled the universe.

After tying and gagging Misty and depositing her in the bas.e.m.e.nt, he had disposed of her little yellow car, parking it behind an abandoned service station less than half a mile from town. It had been an easy walk back into Cherokee Pointe; and not one single soul had seen him, because he'd been very careful. He was always careful.

The bas.e.m.e.nt was the perfect place to keep her. No one ever came down here. He could keep her for several days, if he wanted to prolong his enjoyment. He had found from past experience that when he kept a woman for more than a few hours, it was best to drug her heavily. Sedated, they didn't put up a fight. He didn't want any telltale scratches on his arms or face.

Using the towel he had taken with him on his second trip to visit his captive, he wiped his p.e.n.i.s, then pulled up his briefs and pants. He glanced down at the naked woman tied to the cot and smiled when he saw his s.e.m.e.n glistening on her belly.

He would shower, shave, and dress a little later, before beginning his day. Around noon he'd have to come back down here and give Misty another injection. Although she was gagged and securely tied, he didn't want to take any chances. Over the years, while he'd been seeking his ultimate goal, not one law enforcement agency in any state had even come close to catching him. He had outsmarted them all. And he'd do it again. Jacob Butler was an intelligent man, but he was nothing more than an inexperienced sheriff in a backwoods Tennessee county. He'd have no better luck than the others had in discovering the killer of five local women.

But what about the FBI agent? What the h.e.l.l was he doing in Cherokee Pointe? The Bureau didn't get involved in cases like this unless the locals requested a.s.sistance. And even then Bureau involvement was restricted to providing investigative resources. Had Butler called in the Feds?

He would have to be very careful. No mistakes. He couldn't afford for anything to go wrong. After all these years of searching, he had finally found her. The one who could give him what he desired most in this world.

Dropped off at Genny's house by the MacKinnons' chauffeur, Wallace had arrived at Cherokee Nurseries a little late. It had taken Genny a good ten minutes to a.s.sure Wallace she wasn't upset with him. Sweet Wallace. If everyone were as kind and gentle as he, the world would be a far better place. The old man had been a part of her life as far back as she could remember, having worked for Granny Butler since his youth. He was extraordinarily fond of Genny, as she was of him. She thought of Wallace as family. Over the years she'd had occasion to meet the other members of the MacKinnon family, although their social circles seldom mixed. Mr. Farlan was a nice enough man, if you liked the old-fashioned, ruler-of-all-I-survey type. Miss Veda was never friendly, but neither was she rude. The few times Genny had actually been in the grande dame's presence, she had sensed a terrible sadness in the woman. Genny suspected that Veda MacKinnon had never been truly happy a day in her life.

And then there was Brian, the only son, the heir apparent. He was much older than Genny, and their paths had seldom crossed until a few years ago. When Wallace had broken a leg and been hospitalized, Farlan had sent Brian to handle the situation. And that's where she'd actually met Brian for the first time. Although they'd never met before, she'd always known who he was-and that he had a reputation for being a heartless b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

For some reason, Brian had become smitten with her, and she had to admit that at first she'd been flattered by his attention. It wasn't as if she hadn't been pursued before. She had. But never with such dogged determination. Even the rumors about her being a witch like her grandmother hadn't scared Brian away.

She certainly didn't love him, and there were times she didn't like him. But she sensed how desperately he needed her. Even Wallace had commented on what a good influence she was on his nephew. So how could she turn Brian away completely? But she had never lied to him-had never given him any false hopes.

"I want us to be friends," she'd told him as he'd held her hand.

He'd brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. "I want that, too. I want us to become good friends. I'm a patient man, Genevieve. I can wait for you as long as it takes."

Genny shook her head, dislodging thoughts of Brian. Lately he had begun to unnerve her with his relentless attention, but Jacob had spoken to him and that seemed to have cooled his ardor. At least temporarily. She suspected that Jacob, in his own strong, unemotional way, had threatened Brian. Jacob was not a man for subtleties.

"What's the matter, Genny?" Wallace asked as he carried their lunchtime dishes from the table and placed them in the sink.

Genny glanced at him and smiled. "Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"About Jacob."

"I like Jacob. He's a good man."

Genny lifted her hand and laid it on Wallace's shoulder. "He has a very difficult job, you know. With two murders to solve and no suspects."

"Why would anybody hurt those women?" Wallace asked guilelessly.

Genny squeezed his shoulder. "I don't know. But I do know that there is great evil involved in those deaths."

"Couldn't you have one of your visions and see who the killer is?"

Genny sighed. "I wish it was that simple." She rinsed off the dishes and began placing them in the dishwasher. "I have no control over my visions."

Wallace patted her back. "It's all right. It's not your fault you can't see who the killer is. Melva Mae always said her visions were a curse more than a blessing."

"Granny was right about that." Genny finished stacking the dishes in the dishwasher, then added detergent and closed the door. "Come on. We need to get those herbs shipped out today. We'll finish packing them, and you can take them by the FedEx office in town on your way home."

"I thought you were going to check the drying shed first," Wallace said. "Isn't Miss Sally coming by later to help with the packing?"

"You're right," Genny replied. "Why don't you go ahead and get the boxes ready in the shipping room while I check out the drying sheds? But we won't wait on Sally. She's liable to show up any minute now or not show up at all. You know how she is."

Wallace chuckled. "I think Miss Sally's funny. She makes me laugh."

"You're right. Sally can be a real hoot."

Genny washed and dried her hands, then headed toward the back porch. Drudwyn, who'd been sleeping peacefully by the screen door, lifted his head and looked up at Genny.

"Come on, boy, if you want to go out and run around for a while."

The minute she opened the screen door, Drudwyn bounded outside. The sun shone high overhead like a glossy yellow-orange ball. The weather forecasters were predicting a slight warm-up, with the high temperatures today hovering around forty-five. Over half the snow had melted yesterday, leaving patches of icy white dotted about everywhere. Genny grabbed her heavy coat from the rack on the back porch and retrieved her gloves and hat from the pockets. She slipped on her gloves, then her hat and coat.

"I'll meet you in the shipping room," Genny called out as she left Wallace on the back porch.

She had enlarged the drying shed a few years ago when she had expanded her business. Organically grown herbs were a top item in today's market, and nearly a third of her profits came from the sale of medicinal herbs. Her list of herbs was quite extensive, everything from anise to yarrow. Some of the herbs grew quite nicely in the greenhouses, others she cultivated in warm weather in her gardens; but several were wild specimens found in the surrounding woods. She had learned everything she knew about medicinal herbs from Granny, who had learned the art of healing with herbs from her two grandmothers, one a full-blooded Cherokee and the other a descendant of Celtic Druids. She had been taught that both her Native American ancestors and her Scots-Irish ancestors shared a respect for nature. The Cherokees, as did most other tribes, lived in harmony with nature and used herbs as a means of drawing healing powers from the universe.

The drying shed, situated behind the greenhouses, was built of wood and gla.s.s, with forced-air drying. Granny and Wallace had made a simple solar hot-air device from a length of dryer hose, but she had replaced the homemade system with a propane forced-air heater. Propane was a better choice than electricity because it was more efficient and reliable.

Genny opened the shed door, then closed it behind her quickly. Her gaze scanned the interior of the five-hundred-square-foot area. She had used rafters, screens, and racks to make full use of the s.p.a.ce. In one area she had also used a "raised" floor, which was a framework of beams covered with permeable sisal cloth.

After making her way through the room, visually checking the dried herbs, Genny made a note of what needed to be processed soon. She always kept a personal supply of processed herbs to share with family and close friends. From time to time various Cherokee County residents came to her for potions, remedies, and such like.

Dried herbs could not be kept indefinitely, of course, not without losing their healing properties. Granny had taught her that medicinal plants could be kept only as long as their growing cycle. If a flower blooms every year, it can be stored for only a year. And if an herb seed matures in two years, then the seeds cannot be kept longer than two years.

Just as Genny emerged from the drying shed, she saw Sally standing near the back porch. Sally and Wallace were deep in conversation. The two were of a similar age and seemed to have a great deal in common. Wallace was known as the town idiot and Sally the town eccentric. Both possessed hearts of gold.

Perhaps what this world needs is more idiots and eccentrics.

Sally had brought along Peter and Paul, her bloodhounds. The two red dogs, each weighing well over a hundred pounds, frolicked in the sunshine with Drudwyn. The animals were old friends, too.

Sally threw up a hand and waved when she saw Genny, then called out to her, "Have you talked to Jazzy today?"

Genny shook her head. When she approached Sally and Wallace, she asked, "Why did you ask about Jazzy? Is something wrong?"

"Don't know for sure." Sally lifted a container of snuff from her pocket, flipped the lid, and, using a small stick, packed the finely ground tobacco in the hollow between gum and jaw. "I tried calling her a couple of times and didn't get no answer at her apartment, and the folks at the restaurant said she had called them to say she wouldn't be in this morning."

"That doesn't sound like Jazzy, does it? Did you try her cell phone? Maybe she went out of town for some reason?"

"No answer on her cell phone," Sally said. "Besides, that gal don't leave Cherokee County without telling me. She knows I'm a worrier."

"Did whoever you spoke to at the restaurant say Jazzy was sick?"

"I talked to Tiffany. She was the one who talked to Jazzy, and she told me Jazzy didn't give her a reason."

"I hope Miss Jazzy isn't sick," Wallace said. "Genny, maybe you should take her some of our medicine."

"I'll try to get in touch with her this afternoon, and if I can't contact her, I'll drive into town this evening," Genny said.

"You know Jamie Upton is back in town." Sally spit out a dark brown liquid on the ground, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I wish he'd stay away." Sally grunted. "h.e.l.l, I wish he'd drop dead. Mark my words, one of these days somebody'll kill that no-good rascal."

"Do you think Jazzy's with Jamie?" Genny hoped and prayed not. Jamie had given Jazzy nothing but grief for as long as they'd known each other, which was just about all their lives.

"She swore to me that she wouldn't have nothing to do with him this time. I sure do hate that things didn't work out with her and Jacob. That's what my gal needs-a good man who'd treat her right."

"Why don't you and Wallace go on into the shipping room and I'll give Jazzy a call before I join you?" Genny offered Sally a forced smile, then hurried into the house.

She lifted the receiver from the wall phone and dialed Jazzy's home number. The phone rang repeatedly, then the answering machine picked up. Genny tried the cell phone. Voice mail. After that she tried the restaurant.

"Tiffany, this is Genny Madoc. Has Jazzy come in yet?"

"Yes, ma'am, she just showed up. I don't know what's going on, but we're having an epidemic of no-shows. First Jazzy didn't come in, then Lois called to say one of her kids was sick and Misty hasn't shown up for the afternoon shift."

"Sorry y'all are having a problem," Genny said. "Would you mind putting me through to the business line in Jazzy's office?"

"Sure thing."

Jazzy picked up on the third ring. "Jasmine Talbot. How may I help you?"

"Next time you decide not to answer your phone or show up for work, you'd better call Sally so she won't worry about you."

"G.o.d, Genny, tell her I'm sorry. But...well, I-"

"What's wrong?"

"I need to see you. I want you to give me a reading."

"What's happened? Is it Jamie?"

"He came to see me last night."

"Did you-"

"No. I made him leave. At gunpoint."

A cold shiver danced along Genny's nerve endings. "Come out around five-thirty. I'll make sure Sally and Wallace are gone for the day."

"Genny?"

"What?"

"I'm scared."

"Of Jamie?"

"Yes, of Jamie. And of myself. I believe I could have actually shot him last night. I-I wanted him dead."

Brian MacKinnon had put in a phone call to Senator Everett first thing that morning. He needed to know what Dallas Sloan was doing in Cherokee Pointe. If he'd been on better terms with Jacob Butler, he would have asked him about the FBI agent. The two seemed d.a.m.n chummy at breakfast this morning. Jacob had been especially reluctant to talk to the press about the two recent murders. But murder in their relatively crime-free county was big news. And two sacrificial murders was front-page headline news.

Had Jacob asked for FBI a.s.sistance? The Cherokee Pointe Herald readers had a right to know, didn't they? And hundreds of WMMK viewers had been calling the "Have Your Say" hotline since the morning of the first murder.

Besides, he had a burning need to find out everything he could about the man who was interested in Genny. Having Pierpont as a rival was bad enough, but where Pierpont was merely a minor thorn in his side, Agent Sloan might prove to be real compet.i.tion.

Chapter 11.

While Jacob was out of the office tending to business earlier in the day, Dallas had made a phone call to Teri Nash. He'd given her an update on the second murder and asked her if Linc Hughes had finished with the profile he'd promised to compose from the information Dallas had given him on the murders in Mobile.

"Fax me whatever Sheriff Butler will share with you and I'll get it to Linc and he can compare the murders in Mobile to the ones in Cherokee Pointe," Teri had told him. "Rutherford's got him working night and day on another case right now."

Rutherford had given Dallas about as much leeway as he was going to. The guy could be a real p.r.i.c.k sometimes, a real stickler for rules and regulations. Rutherford had given him a couple of verbal reprimands and threatened him with suspension for a few weeks or even months. Dallas figured that he'd have to take a leave of absence to avoid getting suspended.