"Sadness. Terrible sadness. A death. Not yours, but someone you know, someone-" Genny gasped. "A man is going to die."

"Is it Jamie? Do I kill him?" Jazzy's voice quivered with apprehension.

Genny squeezed Jazzy's hands, then opened her palms and rested them atop Jazzy's once again. "I don't know who he is. But you are not responsible for his death. He will die soon. In a few months. His death harms you in some way." Genny shivered.

"In what way? How?"

"I don't know."

"Is that all you see?"

Genny didn't respond. She simply sat very still, very quiet, and waited. If there was more to be told, it would come to her. She saw the shadow of a man, his image blurred. Genny felt a gentleness in him, a tender love toward Jazzy. And that's when she knew.

"Thank you, G.o.d," Genny whispered.

"What? What?"

"There is a man-not Jamie and not Jacob-who will make you happy. He will be good to you."

"Will I be free of Jamie once and for all?"

Genny hesitated. "Yes. Yes, you will be free of him." The darkness consumed her momentarily. A black, swirling reality that threatened to pull her in and trap her. Genny understood and backed away from its power. Evil, not good. She opened her eyes. Her body went limp.

Jazzy jumped up. "Are you all right?"

Genny nodded. "I'll be fine. I just need to rest for a few moments."

"Thank you so much." Jazzy hugged Genny. "All I needed to know is that I don't kill Jamie, but that I'll be free of him. Finding out there will be a good man in my future who'll treat me right was a bonus."

Two hours later, just as Jazzy cleared away the supper dishes, Drudwyn's ears perked up and he growled.

"It's all right, boy." Genny reached down to where he sat beside her and scratched his head. "I hear it, too. Someone just drove up."

"Were you expecting anybody?" Jazzy asked.

Genny shook her head. "No, not really."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I wasn't expecting anyone, but I was sort of hoping that...well, that Dallas Sloan might-"

The loud pounding at the front door stopped Genny midsentence.

"Whoever it is wants your immediate attention," Jazzy said. "You sit still and rest. I'll see who it is."

Sessions such as the one she'd shared with Jazzy taxed her energy, but she usually recovered quickly, unlike when she experienced the visions over which she had no control. At least with the readings she could back away at any point.

Genny rose from the chair, and with Drudwyn at her side, walked out of the kitchen. When she entered the hallway, she heard voices.

"Come right on in. I think Genny was expecting you," Jazzy said. "I was just leaving. I need to get back into town and tend to business."

"Don't rush off on my account," Dallas said. "I came by to ask for Genny's help."

"What sort of help? You haven't come for a reading, have you? Because if that's why you're here-"

"Hush up!" Genny called out. "You're saying too much."

She had to make Jazzy stop talking. Dallas Sloan didn't believe in psychics, didn't think people possessed a real sixth sense. She didn't want to scare him off before he got to know her. He needed a chance to fully connect with her, to trust her, before he would be able to believe in her.

Dallas and Jazzy turned around and stared at Genny.

"I'm sure Dallas didn't come here for that. He's not interested in anything vaguely connected to sixth-sense abilities." Genny rushed down the hallway, but the quick movement made her dizzy. She staggered, then reached out and placed her hand on the wall to steady herself.

"Are you all right?" Jazzy asked.

Dallas bolted past Jazzy, straight to Genny. His big hands came down on her shoulders. "What's wrong? You look like you're going to faint."

She gazed up into his blue, blue eyes and smiled. "I was dizzy there for a moment. I'm fine now."

"You haven't had another one of those visions, have you?" he asked.

She shook her head. He eased his hands across her shoulders, down her arms, and to her wrists, then released her.

Jazzy cleared her throat. "I'm going to get my coat and head out."

"Promise me you'll talk to Jacob," Genny reminded her.

"I promise."

Genny turned to Dallas. "Would you care for something to eat? I have plenty left over from supper."

"No, thanks. I've eaten already. At Jasmine's."

"Best place in town," Jazzy called out, then closed the front door behind her.

Genny laughed. Dallas smiled.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"I need your help."

"In what way can I help you?"

"You can help me find a serial killer before he kills again."

Chapter 12.

What the h.e.l.l was he doing here? Dallas asked himself as he removed his hands from Genny's slender shoulders and backed away from her. He'd tried his best to talk himself out of coming here, but, heaven help him, he'd been drawn back to this woman in a way that made absolutely no sense to him. For all he knew, she was a total crackpot. Dammit, you idiot, she believes she's psychic. The woman has visions. And her friends and relatives actually believe she possesses these weird powers. But he knew better. She was a fraud-she had to be-just like all the other phonies who professed to be blessed with unusual talents like ESP.

Genny stood there, her black eyes staring at him, as if penetrating far beyond what the normal human eye could see. Dallas glanced away from her and cleared his throat.

"It's all right," she told him.

"What are you talking about?" She hasn't read your mind, he told himself. She simply made an a.s.sumption and guessed right.

"You can be as skeptical as you'd like, and it doesn't change anything."

"It's no secret that I don't believe in your hocus-pocus stuff." Dallas shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. "Look, it was probably a mistake my coming here. I just thought that maybe..." Reaching up with his right hand, he raked his fingers through his thick blond hair, grumbled incoherently under his breath, then said, "h.e.l.l, I don't know why I'm here."

"Yes, you do. You told me yourself. You want my help to find the serial killer who murdered your niece."

"I know what I said, but I don't see how you can help me. Not really. Just chalk this visit up to a guy having the hots for you."

"Do you have the hots for me, Special Agent Sloan?"

His gaze collided with hers. She was smiling.

Dallas grinned. "You don't seem surprised. Don't tell me you saw, in your crystal ball, my coming here tonight and acting like a fool."

Genny's smile wavered slightly. "I don't use a crystal ball."

"What is it about you, lady? We have absolutely nothing in common. My life is a holy mess. I have only one goal and that's to find Brooke's killer. So unless I'm just in bad need of getting laid, there's no reason for my being here tonight."

Genny's smile disappeared. "Are you in bad need of getting laid?"

Had he actually said that to her? d.a.m.n! Shrugging, Dallas grunted. "I didn't mean it as an insult. It's just that you need to know I'm not the kind of guy who makes commitments, who gets involved. I'm not a man you can count on for the long haul."

"Are you warning me off?"

"Do you always ask so many questions?"

"Yes, when the answers are important."

"We'd mix like oil and water, you know."

Say good night and leave, he told himself. You aren't getting any p.u.s.s.y from Genny Madoc. She's not the one-night-stand type. You knew that before you showed up on her doorstep.

"Oil and water, huh?" She took a tentative step toward him. "I was thinking more along the lines of a stick of dynamite and a lit match."

Dallas drew in a deep breath as images flashed through his mind of Genny lying beneath him, her long, black hair spread out over a white pillow and her slender limbs wrapped around him.

"Lady, you know how to hurt a guy."

She took another step toward him. He didn't move, although his brain warned him to run. If she came any closer, he'd probably grab her and yank her into his arms.

She halted. "How about some apple pie and coffee?"

"Huh?" Her hospitable offer took him as much by surprise as the subject change.

"Don't go," she told him. "And it doesn't take a sixth sense to figure out that you're on the verge of running from me. Stay, have some pie and coffee, and we'll talk. About the serial killer. About Brooke. About whatever you need to talk about. I have a feeling you need someone to listen to you, to talk things over with, to care about what you care about, far more than you need to get laid."

She was right. He did need someone to talk to, someone to listen. Teri had been a real friend during the past eight months, and he'd relied on her to be his sounding board after Brooke's murder. But he'd soon realized he was taking advantage of the feelings she still had for him. He'd backed off. She deserved better. He'd wanted her to have her chance with Linc, and as long as she thought he needed her, she wouldn't move on. He'd allowed her to help him with his unofficial investigation and to drag Linc into the mix because he was desperate for help. But he'd quickly severed the emotional bond Teri had tried to rebuild between them.

Now here was Genny offering to be a shoulder to cry on, and he was d.a.m.n tempted to accept her offer.

"I appreciate your offering to be my confidante. And you're right about my needing somebody to listen and to care. But you're sadly mistaken if you think a little hand-holding will satisfy me more than our f.u.c.king would."

Genny gasped. "Are you deliberately trying to scare me off?"

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

She nodded. "Yes, but it isn't working." She motioned for him to follow her. "Come on into the living room while I get the coffee and pie."

"You know I want to take you to bed and you're still inviting me to stay?"

"Yes, I want you to stay. You need me." She turned and walked away from him. When he followed her, she paused and glanced over her shoulder. "You won't be taking me to bed. Not tonight."

Coming as a total surprise, the innuendo in her comment sucker-punched him. She hadn't said not ever, no way, no how. She'd said not tonight.

"I'll settle for coffee, pie, and talk. For tonight."

Jazzy's Joint had a wild side, but it wasn't showing that boisterous, rowdy side tonight. Since it was a weeknight in midwinter, only a couple of the usual crowd were at the bar, and a few more were scattered at various tables throughout the establishment. Jazzy had learned it didn't pay to hire a live band during the winter months, except on weekends. But the loyal patrons kept the old jukebox she'd found several years ago at an antique fair in Knoxville blasting out the oldies. The drone of half a dozen drinkers talking and two guys shooting pool did little to interfere with the loud music. Fats Domino's rendition of "Blueberry Hill" pumped out a steady beat.

When she'd bought this building and turned the downstairs into a bar, she had wanted a place with a little atmosphere. Something more than just loud music, liquor flowing like water, and a smoke-clouded interior. Although the place possessed those three qualities in abundance, the decor combined sleek modern with a hint of country. The bar, tables, and chairs had a clean-cut line, with chrome neatly edging the light wood and gla.s.s. The refinished hardwood flooring was beginning to show some wear and tear. A pair of large chrome light fixtures hung over a couple of pool tables placed at the back of the room. Cherokee Indian artifacts-including ceremonial pipes, handmade pottery and baskets, and carved masks-graced the walls, as did Native American pictures. Three fascinating paintings hung along the entrance wall, one being a portrait of Austenaco, a Cherokee chief in the eighteenth century; another being Robert Lindneux's rendering of Sequoyah, who had created the Cherokee alphabet; and the third a portrait of George Lowery, a prominent Cherokee leader of mixed blood who had been a delegate to the 1827 Const.i.tutional Convention.

With Cherokee Pointe situated so close to the Smoky Mountains, and the Cherokee lands held by the natives who had escaped the Trail of Tears, anything Native American appealed to the tourists. In order to make sure that nothing she did was offensive to Genny and Jacob, who were both a quarter Cherokee, Jazzy had asked Genny to help her decorate the place.

Jazzy entered from the back of the bar. Her office at Jasmine's had a door that opened up to the storeroom of Jazzy's Joint, making it easy for her to go back and forth and keep a check on both of her establishments. She nodded to her bartender, Lacy Fallon, a middle-aged brunette with a smoker's gravelly voice and deep lines in her face. Lacy motioned for Jazzy to approach.

As Jazzy eased up on a bar stool, she asked, "What's up, Lacy?"

"Bert didn't show up tonight," Lacy said.

"Did he bother to call?"

Lacy shook her head. "This is the fourth time since Christmas that he's missed work without calling or without a halfway decent excuse when he does show up. I'd say it's time you found yourself a new bouncer."

Jazzy let out an exasperated huff. "This hasn't been a good day for my employees. First Misty is a no-show over at Jasmine's and now Bert. I'll give Misty another chance since she doesn't make a habit of laying out, although today makes twice for her this month. But Bert's paycheck will be waiting for him when he does show up."

"Let's hope we don't have any problems tonight."

Jazzy glanced around at the slim crowd. "Looks pretty tame to me. But any decent honky-tonk needs a good bouncer. I'll call the Cherokee Pointe Herald tomorrow and put an ad in the paper." As Jazzy continued scanning the evening's clientele, her gaze stopped at the pool table where Dillon Carson, the guy who ran the little theater, and a stranger were engrossed in their game.