"It's almost unbelievable, but all four were living within easy driving distance of Mobile around the time of the murders."

"All four?"

"Yep. Dillon Carson worked for the Pascagoula little theater group last year. And Pascagoula, Mississippi, is just a hop, skip, and a jump from Mobile."

"Does Carson have a criminal record?"

"Several arrests," Teri said. "No convictions. Mostly petty stuff. A couple of DUIs; resisting arrest; a shoplifting charge that was dropped. And one a.s.sault charge. But the woman who accused him of beating her up changed her mind and withdrew the charges."

"Is that it on Carson?"

"That's all I have so far."

"Who's next?" Dallas asked.

"Royce Pierpont worked in an antique shop in Pa.s.s Christian, on the Mississippi gulf coast. That's an easy drive to Mobile."

"What about his record?" For his own perverse reasons, Dallas hoped the guy had a rap sheet as long as his arm.

"He's clean as a whistle. Not even a speeding ticket."

"Figures."

"I take it you've met the man."

"Actually, I've met all six men, as of this morning. They were all part of a search party the mayor of Cherokee Pointe formed."

"Ah, the second victim's husband put together his own little lynch party, huh."

"Luckily, they were easily managed, so they didn't turn into a mob."

"Okay, on to the next suspect. Reverend Haden Stowe. Seems he was preaching at a Congregational Church in Atmore, Alabama. It's a quick trip down I-sixty-five from Atmore to Mobile."

"I suppose the good reverend doesn't have any priors?"

"Not a one."

"What about Jamie Upton?"

"Upton's family owns a beach house in the Gulf Sh.o.r.es area. He was living there with a lady friend last year at the time of the five Mobile murders. Gulf Sh.o.r.es is practically a suburb of Mobile." Teri paused for an instant, then went on. "Before you ask, Jamie Upton has never been convicted of anything, but he's been arrested numerous time. DUIs, drugs, brawling, and a couple of rape charges that were dropped. Seems his family's money has been able to smooth over all of his crimes."

"Looks like Upton and Carson are the two primary suspects, but our killer could be any one of these four. No way to rule out any of them." Dallas concentrated on what he knew about the four men, trying to recall everything and anything that had been said about them.

"They could all be innocent," Teri reminded him.

"I know." Dallas didn't want to think that they were batting zero in the search for this killer, but knew it was a possibility.

"I'll start digging deeper, as soon as I can. I'll go back to three years ago in Hilton Head and see if any of our guys were in that area at the time of the murders there."

"I can't thank you enough for what you've done," Dallas said.

"Chet Morris called Rutherford. You did a good job of talking Sheriff Butler into asking for help. And now that there's been a third murder, I don't think Rutherford will deny approving agents to join the sheriff's task force."

"Rutherford hasn't wanted to see what was right under his nose because the guy doesn't like me. He never has. But despite his personal feelings about me, I have to admit he's been halfway decent about letting me bend the rules."

Teri chuckled. "Never let him hear you say that. Despite his good qualities, the guy can sometimes be a p.r.i.c.k and we all know it."

"Look, I wanted to tell you before I call Rutherford-I'm going to take a leave of absence. I've used up all my vacation and sick days."

"I understand. You think you're on the trail of Brooke's killer. You're doing what you have to do."

"Tell Linc to get that profile to us as soon as he can. If we could narrow down our four suspects to just one...." Dallas huffed loudly. "Dammit, we came so close to catching this guy. If we'd gotten there just thirty minutes sooner, we could have saved a woman's life and apprehended a monster. And because we have absolutely no evidence against any of our suspects, Butler didn't have any grounds to even question them, let alone check out their cars and homes. Besides, the last thing we want is to scare the killer off."

"Where did the sheriff get his information about the killer's whereabouts? If he has a source, someone who-"

"You aren't going to believe me when I tell you."

"I might. Give it a try."

Dallas took a deep breath. "Butler has a psychic who's helping him. She's worked with the Sheriff's Department and the Police Department around here before, but never to catch a serial killer."

"Are you kidding me? A psychic? h.e.l.l, Dallas, I thought you said all psychics were phonies."

"Yeah, that's what I believed, until...Genny's different."

"Genny?"

d.a.m.n, he'd said too much; Teri would want to know more. "Genevieve Madoc. She's Butler's cousin. Everyone who's known her all her life swears she possesses powerful sixth-sense abilities."

"What do you believe?"

"I'm not sure." Why was he lying to Teri? Or was he simply lying to himself? "Genny's unique. She's definitely got something special going for her. h.e.l.l, she could actually be psychic."

"Will wonders never cease."

Dallas hated the humor in Teri's voice. She was having a good mental laugh-at his expense.

"Is she pretty?" Teri asked.

"What's that got to do with-"

"She's not just pretty, is she? She's beautiful, this woman named Genevieve who you think might really be psychic."

"It's not what you're thinking."

"Oh, yes, my old friend, it's exactly what I'm thinking. You've gone and fallen for a woman who claims she's psychic."

"I haven't fallen for anybody."

"If you say so."

"We're changing the subject right now," Dallas informed her.

"No problem. Look, I'll see if I can get Linc to work all night on that profile. And I'll start digging into info on your four suspects that will take us back to the time frame of the Hilton Head murders."

"Thanks, Teri."

"Take care of yourself."

"Yeah, you too."

Dallas slipped his phone back into its holder and walked down the hall. He paused outside Genny's room, then eased open the door and checked on her. She was still sleeping.

He stood there watching her for several minutes. Admit the truth, he told himself. You have fallen for Genny. You're confused and bewildered. You've gotten yourself so tangled up in Genny's life, in her mystic powers, in your desire for her, that you don't know whether you're coming or going. You came to Cherokee Pointe in search of Brooke's killer, and somewhere along the way Genny has become a major part of that scenario.

A peculiar thought formed in Dallas's mind. A thought he couldn't seem to shake. It was as if fate had sent him to Cherokee County specifically because Genny was here, because Genny needed him, needed his protection.

All three televisions in Jasmine's were tuned to the local station, WMMK. The noon news had just come on, but during the entire morning the news team had broken into regularly scheduled programming to issue updated bulletins about the murders in Cherokee County. And all the customers who had come in, from breakfast to lunchtime, had talked of nothing else.

Being one waitress short, and with the others in shock about Misty's brutal death, Jazzy took over the hostess duties during the lunchtime hours. And since one of her waitresses, Sandie, had gone home in a nearly hysterical emotional state, Jazzy would, if necessary, wait on tables as well as bus them.

After hearing on the early morning news that local psychic Genevieve Madoc had been on hand when Misty Harte's body had been found, Jazzy knew Genny had used her talent to help locate Misty. That meant Genny was totally wiped out. Jazzy had called twice to check on Genny, and Dallas had rea.s.sured her both times that Genny was sleeping. She couldn't say exactly why, but she trusted Dallas to take care of her best friend. There had been something in his voice that told her plainer than any words how much Genny meant to him.

As she cleared away dirty dishes from one of the front booths, Jazzy heard the newscaster mention an interview with Sheriff Butler. Her gaze traveled to the nearest television just in time to see a taped segment, showing Jacob at the scene of the third murder. The reporter, Matt Newton, stuck a microphone right up in Jacob's face. Good G.o.d, Jazzy thought, Newton must have a death wish. If the guy only knew how dangerous it was to prod a raging bull, he'd have steered clear of Jacob.

"Sheriff, what can you tell us about your department's failure to save Misty Harte's life? And why is it that with three horrific murders in our county, you have been unable to come up with even one suspect?"

Jacob glared at Newton but didn't reply. Undaunted by Jacob's evil glare, Newton continued. "We understand that not only was the third victim, Misty Harte, the sister of one of your deputies-Bobby Joe Harte-but that you had a personal relationship with her. Is that true? Were you and Misty Harte lovers?"

Jacob walked away from Newton. The idiot followed him, hara.s.sing the h.e.l.l out of him.

"Sheriff, the good people of Cherokee County, who elected you, want some answers. If you don't respond to my questions, people will think you have something to hide," Newton said, all but running to keep up with Jacob as he strode toward a sheriff's car parked along the roadside.

Jazzy held her breath, knowing what was about to happen. And knowing as surely as she knew her name that Brian MacKinnon had ordered Matt Newton to lean hard on the sheriff.

Jacob paused by the car, but didn't turn to face Newton. Not until the reporter asked, "How did it feel, Sheriff, to see your lover sliced open like a ripe watermelon?"

Holy s.h.i.t!

Jazzy focused on the TV screen, watching Jacob Butler whip around like a flash of lightning and land a hard blow to the side of Matt Newton's face. The microphone the reporter held sailed up in the air, then nose-dived and came down beside Newton as he hit the ground with a resounding thud.

The cameraman who'd been filming the entire incident had apparently fled at that precise moment, because the taped interview with the sheriff ended abruptly.

The noon news anchor commented, "We've heard that our sheriff has been accused of having a short fuse. I'd say after witnessing this incident, we can all verify that Jacob Butler's temper has, in all likelihood, gained him and the Sheriff's Department a lawsuit. And in my opinion, Butler should be brought up on charges."

"Butler should receive an award for not killing that idiot reporter," Caleb McCord said.

Not having heard Caleb approaching, Jazzy gasped and jumped when he spoke. "d.a.m.n, you should have let me know you were there. You scared the s.h.i.t out of me."

"Ooh...just what I like-a woman who talks dirty."

"Put a sock in it, McCord."

"You seemed mesmerized by the noon news."

"The whole town is mesmerized," Jazzy said as she finished cleaning the tabletop, then lifted the square metal pail that held the dirty dishes. "There have been three murders in only a few days. People are scared and confused. And having our local TV, radio, and newspaper all ridiculing Jacob isn't helping any. He's doing his very best. n.o.body is more determined to find and stop this killer."

"Sounds like you and Sheriff Butler are good friends."

Jazzy lifted the metal pail onto her hip. "We're d.a.m.n good friends. You won't find a more honorable man anywhere."

"Lovers?" Caleb asked.

"That's none of your business." Jazzy shoved past him and headed toward the kitchen.

When she thumped the swinging door open with her hip, then moved into the kitchen, the door stayed open. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Caleb following her. She set the pail of dirty dishes down on a countertop, turned, put her hand on her hip and glared at him.

"What?" she asked.

"We had a date for noon today, didn't we?"

"A date? No, I don't think so." She jerked a paper towel from an overhead rack, wiped her hands, and tossed the crumpled towel into the garbage. "I offered you a job and gave you until noon today to accept it."

"Ah, so we're keeping this all business, huh?"

"Strictly business." She wasn't going to fall for this man's easy charm. She'd learned her lesson-the hard way-with Jamie Upton.

"I'll take the job," he said.

"Before you know any details? Like hours, salary, benefits-"

"I don't have a job. I need one to pay my bills. You're offering me what I need. Hours don't matter to me. I figure you have to pay at least minimum wage, and any benefits will be a bonus."

"How long can I count on you staying in Cherokee Pointe?"

"Depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On how well I like it here."

"Then I suppose we should both consider this a temporary arrangement. Right?"

He nodded. "So, boss lady, do I have the job?"

"I'll give you a trial run, starting tonight. Come by here around five and fill out the paperwork. And free supper comes with the job. You'll work from six till midnight weeknights and from six till two on Friday and Sat.u.r.day nights. You're off on Sundays."

"I take it that the "blue law" is still alive and well in Cherokee County?"