The Fifth Victim Read online

  THE NEXT TO DIE

  “What is it?” Genny asked. “What did Teri tell you about me?”

  “Teri has searched through every bit of information she could find about the fifth victim in each series of murders,” Dallas said. “Linc Hughes believes that all the other victims, the first four in each case, might have simply been chosen at random, but the fifth victim was somehow different.”

  “Different in what way?”

  “Through some intensive research, Teri has found something that all four of the fifth victims had in common,” Dallas said. “Barbara James, who was the fifth victim in Mobile, had a rare talent. According to her family, she was clairvoyant.”

  Genny closed her eyes.

  “The first fifth victim, Kim Johnson, entertained her friends with telekinetic tricks. Daphne Alaire worked part-time as a medium. Lori Wright was telepathic. Apparently the friends and families of the fifth victims hadn’t bothered mentioning their unique talents because they hadn’t thought that information had anything to do with their murders.”

  “I’m the reason he’s come to Cherokee County,” Genny said, certainty in her voice. “He intends for me to be his fifth victim….”

  Books by Beverly Barton

  AFTER DARK

  EVERY MOVE SHE MAKES

  WHAT SHE DOESN’T KNOW

  THE FIFTH VICTIM

  THE LAST TO DIE

  AS GOOD AS DEAD

  KILLING HER SOFTLY

  CLOSE ENOUGH TO KILL

  MOST LIKELY TO DIE

  THE DYING GAME

  THE MURDER GAME

  COLD HEARTED

  SILENT KILLER

  DEAD BY MIDNIGHT

  DON’T CRY

  DEAD BY MORNING

  DEAD BY NIGHTFALL

  DON’T SAY A WORD

  JUST THE WAY YOU ARE

  THE RIGHT WIFE

  (available as an e-book)

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Table of Contents

  THE NEXT TO DIE

  Books by Beverly Barton

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at The Last to Die by Beverly Barton.

  Teaser chapter

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2003 Beverly Burton Beaver

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use. Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington sales manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018, attn: Sales Department; phone 1-800-221-2647.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4104-6

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-4104-8

  First Zebra mass market paperback printing: April 2003

  Revised Zebra mass market paperback printing: January 2008

  First Pinnacle mass market paperback printing: March 2018

  21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Pinnacle electronic edition: March 2018

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4108-4

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-4108-0

  To my precious niece, Ja’Net Horton, who is as beautiful inside as she is outside. I remember the first time I saw her when she was a little beauty of eight and I was dating her uncle. I knew then that I wanted a little girl who looked like her—blond curls, blue eyes, and sweet smile.

  Prologue

  Dark. Cold. Predawn quiet. Wind whipped through the tall, ancient trees in the forest. Soon the sun would ascend over Scotsman’s Bluff. He was prepared, ready to strike the moment the morning light hit the altar. Once the deed was done, once he had sacrificed the first victim, the ritual would begin anew. As soon as he tasted her sweet life’s blood, he would no longer feel the winter’s cold. Her blood would warm him, empower him, prepare him for the others who would lead him to the most important transposition of his life. All these years he had diligently searched for perfection, for the most powerful, all the while building his strength, bit by bit, with lesser mortals.

  He gazed down at the naked girl tied to the wooden altar, her long blond hair flowing about her angelic face as the frigid wind caressed her luscious body. Her eyelids fluttered. Good. That meant the drug he’d given her was wearing off and she would be awake for the ceremony. He loved to see the look on their faces—the shock and horror—when they realized what was about to happen to them.

  Flinging back his dark cape, he smiled. There was no need to hurry. He could take his time afterward, savor the kill for as long as he liked. No one in their right mind would be out in the woods at dawn in January. Only he and the girl.

  He laid the ornately carved wooden case atop the girl’s trembling body, opened it and removed the heavy sword, then placed the case on the ground. Gazing up at the sky, he waited.

  She whimpered, but the gag in her mouth kept her from doing more. He glanced down at her, ran his hand over her naked breasts and lifted the sword toward the heavens.

  A pale pink blush spread out over Scotsman’s Bluff, only a hint of color in the dark sky.

  “Soon, my little lamb. Soon.”

  Languidly, with tendrils of light reaching farther and farther into the sky, the sun welcomed the dawn of a new day. He jerked the gag from her mouth. She screamed. He brandished the sword and spoke the sacred words in an ancient tongue.

  From the depths of hell, hear me and do my bidding. Let this sacrifice please thee. I bid thee to accomplish my will and desire.

  He brought the sword down, down, down. From throat to navel, he split her open. Her sightless eyes stared up at the towering treetops overhead.

  He wiped the sword with a soft cloth
and returned the weapon to its bed, then stuffed the bloodstained cloth into a plastic bag and dumped the bag into the case. With her blood still warm, he lowered his head until his lips touched the gaping wound. He licked, then sucked, filling his mouth with her blood and energizing himself with her life force before it escaped.

  Genevieve Madoc woke with a start, sweat drenching her body, soaking her flannel gown. Her heart beat at a dangerously accelerated pace as she shot straight up in bed.

  “Oh, God! Oh, God!” she moaned as she recalled her dream, a shadowy, terrifying vision of death.

  Uncontrollable tremors racked her body. She hated these moments directly following a revelation, when she was weak and vulnerable. Drained of all energy, barely able to move. She fell backward; her head hit the pillow. She would call Jazzy for help once she regained enough strength to reach out to the nightstand for the telephone. But for now she would lie still and wait. And pray the images would not return. Sometimes the sight came to her in dreams, but just as often she experienced it while wide awake.

  Rising from the handwoven rug in front of the fireplace, Drudwyn’s keen eyes searched the darkness, seeking his mistress. He uttered a concerned whimper.

  “I’ll be all right,” she told him, her voice a delicate whisper. Then she spoke to him telepathically, assuring him that she was in no danger. The big, mixed-breed animal lumbered to the side of the bed, then slumped to the wooden floor. She sensed his mood and knew his protective instincts had automatically kicked in. The dog she had raised from a mongrel puppy considered himself her bodyguard. Like she, Drudwyn’s heritage—the results of a wolf having mated with a German shepherd/Lab-mix mutt—made him unique. Her ancestry, comprised of Scots-Irish, English, and Cherokee might not be all that uncommon in these parts, but the gift of sight she had inherited from her grandmother was.

  As she lay in bed, waiting for her strength to renew, she couldn’t help thinking of the vision she’d had. Out there somewhere, a young woman had been murdered. Genny knew it as surely as she knew her own name. She had not seen the girl’s face, only her flawless naked body and the huge sword that had sliced her open as if she were a ripe melon. Bile rose from Genny’s stomach and burned a path up her esophagus to her throat.

  No, please, I can’t be sick. Not now. I don’t have the strength to crawl out of bed. She willed the nausea under control.

  Who could have committed such a heinous crime? What sort of monster would sacrifice a human being?

  Her cousin Jacob had mentioned that there had been several animal sacrifices in the area—four since Thanksgiving. Had those been nothing more than a precursor to the killing of a human?

  After she called Jazzy for help, she would call Jacob. It would be too late for him to do anything to help the woman, but as the county sheriff, it would be his job to investigate the murder.

  What will you tell him? Genny asked herself. If you explain that you’ve had another vision, only this one far more gruesome than any you’ve had before, he’ll understand. He’s your blood-kin. He won’t dismiss your vision as nothing more than a dream.

  Fifteen minutes later, Genny forced herself to ease to the edge of the bed. She lifted the telephone receiver and dialed Jazzy’s number. The phone rang five times before a harsh voice answered.

  “Who the hell’s calling at this ungodly hour?”

  “Jazzy?”

  “Genny, is that you?”

  “Yes. Please—”

  “I’m on my way. Just stay put.”

  “Thank you.”

  The moment she heard the dial tone, Genny punched in Jacob’s home phone number. He picked up on the second ring. Always an early riser, as was she, her cousin was probably in the middle of preparing his breakfast.

  “Butler here,” he said, his voice gruff and deeply baritone.

  “Jacob, it’s Genny. Please, come to my house… now.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve had a dream…one of my visions.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “No, but I will be. I’ve called Jazzy. She’ll be here soon. But I must tell you…” Her voice suddenly failed her.

  “Tell me what?”

  She cleared her throat. “Someone has been murdered. A young woman. I’m sure you’ll find her body in Cedar Tree Forest, not far from here. I saw…through the killer’s eyes …I saw—” She sucked in a deep breath. “He watched the sunrise over Scotsman’s Bluff.”

  “Are you sure, Genny? Are you positive it wasn’t just a nightmare?”

  “I’m positive. It’s too late to save her, but you can find her body and perhaps find some evidence of who killed her—if you can get there soon. I think I can guide you to the exact spot.”

  “Ah, shit…” Jacob murmured under his breath.

  “Jacob?”

  “Hmm?”

  “He tied her to an altar of some sort and sacrificed her. I—I think he drank her blood.”

  “God damn son of a bitch!”

  Chapter 1

  FBI Special Agent Teri Nash glanced at the fax in her hand. A letter and a photograph. While waiting for Dallas to shower and shave, she’d sat down at his cluttered desk in the corner of the living room. The fax had come in while she’d been relaxing with a gin-and-tonic. Dallas and she hadn’t dated in several years, and she was actually involved with a profiler at the Bureau, but she still considered Dallas a good friend. Since his niece’s death eight months ago, she’d tried to keep tabs on her old lover. Although he’d handled Brooke’s brutal murder as he did everything else—with little emotion and iron control—she’d seen past his steely facade to the pain beneath. Once he’d returned to FBI headquarters in D.C. after Brooke’s funeral, he’d begun a personal search for any information that might lead him to his niece’s killer. Using the Bureau’s vast resources for unofficial use had become a bone of contention between Dallas and the assistant director of the Criminal Investigation Division. Although Dallas and Tom Rutherford disliked each other personally, Tom had allowed Dallas a lot of slack. Teri wondered for how much longer?

  She read the fax for the third time. The message was in response to a letter Dallas had sent out to local law enforcement officials nationwide. This was the seventh such response in the past few months, but she had a sinking feeling that this was the one he’d been waiting for ever since Brooke’s murder. Teri didn’t want to look at the faxed photo again. Once had been more than enough. It wouldn’t be easy forgetting the sight of the young blond girl with her body sliced wide open. Teri shivered.

  The sheriff of Cherokee County, Tennessee, had reported what appeared to be a sacrificial killing in his county early this morning. The details of her death were practically identical to those of Brooke’s horrific murder in Mobile, Alabama, in May of last year.

  As Teri finished scanning the information again, she shook her head and sighed. The minute Dallas saw this fax, he’d be off and running. On some sentimental, protective level, she wished she could just dump the fax in the garbage and pretend it didn’t exist. Even though her love affair with her fellow agent had been short-lived and had ended three years ago, she still had strong feelings for him. The poor guy had been through enough, had followed too many dead-end leads these past few months. She hated to see him go off on another wild-goose chase, searching for an elusive serial killer. That is, if there was a serial killer. Dallas had come up with his own theory that there was a barbaric serial killer on the loose. Besides, she wasn’t sure how many more vacation days he could take before he used them all up. Or how much longer Rutherford would put up with Dallas’s absenteeism.

  Dallas Sloan, his dark blond hair damp from his shower, emerged from the bathroom adjacent to the small bedroom in his three-room efficiency apartment. Teri sucked in a deep breath. Damn, the guy still took her breath away. Wearing nothing but his white briefs, he exposed his tall, lean body for her perusal. A dusting of brown hair covered his legs and arms and created a V over the center of his muscular chest. Teri
forced her gaze from his body to his face. He grinned at her. Wickedly.

  “Just enjoying the scenery,” she told him. “Not buying the property.”

  “What have you got in your hand?” he asked as he stared point-blank at the fax.

  “This?” She held up the two sheets of paper as if they were a trophy. “It’s a fax.”

  “Lusting after my body is one thing, honey, but reading my mail is something else altogether.” Dallas rummaged around in his closet, pulled out a pair of well-worn jeans, put them on, then removed a cream knit sweater from the chest of drawers and yanked it down over his head. “Who’s the fax from?”

  Teri walked over to where he’d sat on the bed and was putting on his socks. “It’s from Sheriff Jacob Butler in Cherokee County, Tennessee.”

  Dallas slid his feet into his boots, tied the laces, and then glanced up at Teri. “Is it about—”

  “He’s had what appears to be a sacrificial killing in his county.” Teri held out the fax. “This morning.”

  Dallas grabbed the papers out of her hand, scanned them quickly, then cursed under his breath. “I need to call him—now.” Dallas stood. “Look, honey, why don’t you go on and meet the others. If this is what it appears to be, I’ll be taking a flight out tonight for Tennessee.”

  Teri grabbed his arm. “Are you sure you want to do this again? So far, none of the reports you’ve received turned out to be—”

  “This is different. I can tell the similarities to Brooke’s death are obvious just from the fax.”

  “Even so, with all the old reports on sacrificial killings you’ve compiled, none of the victims had even one thing in common, nothing to link any of them to one specific killer, other than they were all sacrificed.”

  “There’s a link,” Dallas said. “We just haven’t figured it out yet. Linc only started work on a profile for me last week, and since he’s doing it on his own time and trying to keep Rutherford off his back, it’ll take time.”

  “Do you have any vacation or sick days left?” She knew better than to continue arguing with a man who couldn’t be persuaded.

  “Three.”