Amnesia (48 page)
Thanks to Michael Speltz, Reserve Inspector with the
Shelby County Sheriff’s Department, with thirty-plus years
of service and a lifelong resident of Memphis and
Germantown, Tennessee. Mike’s assistance in doing
research for this book proved invaluable.
A special Thank You to Mike’s wife, Pat, owner of Pat
Speltz Media Consultant in Germantown, Tennessee, who
drives writers in the Memphis and Jackson, Tennessee,
Oxford, Mississippi, and Blytheville, Arkansas, area. Pat
also helped with research on this book.
And to Mike’s brother-in-law, Ben Payne, retired captain of
the Memphis Police Department, whose assistance is
greatly appreciated.
An avid reader since childhood, Beverly Barton wrote her first book at the age of nine. Since then, she has gone on to write well over sixty novels and is a
New York Times
best-selling author. Beverly lives in Alabama in the U.S. For further information on Beverly Barton, visit her website at www.beverlybarton.com
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Close Enough to Kill
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THE DYING GAME
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The intensely bright lights blinded her. She couldn’t see anything except the white illumination that obscured everything in her line of vision. She wished he would turn off the car’s headlights.
Judd didn’t like for her to show houses to clients in the evenings and generally she did what Judd wanted her to do. But her career as a realtor was just getting off the ground, and if she could sell this half-million-dollar house to Mr. and Mrs. Farris, her percentage would be enough to furnish the nursery. Not that she was pregnant. Not yet. And not that her husband couldn’t well afford to furnish a nursery with the best of everything. It was just that Jennifer wanted the baby to be her gift to her wonderful husband and the nursery to be a gift from her to their child.
Holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the headlights, she walked down the sidewalk to meet John and Katherine Farris, an up-and-coming entrepreneurial couple planning to start a new business in Chattanooga. She had spoken only to John Farris. From their telephone conversations, she had surmised that John, like her own husband, was
the type who liked to think he wore the pants in the family. Odd how considering the fact that she believed herself to be a thoroughly modern women, Jennifer loved Judd’s old-fashioned sense of protectiveness and possessiveness.
When John Farris parked his black Mercedes and opened the driver’s door, Jennifer met him, her hand outstretched in greeting. He accepted her hand immediately and smiled warmly.
“Good evening, Mr. Farris.” Jennifer glanced around, searching for Mrs. Farris.
“I’m sorry, something came up at the last minute that delayed Katherine. She’ll be joining us soon.”
When John Farris raked his silvery blue eyes over her, Jennifer shuddered inwardly, an odd sense of uneasiness settling in the pit of her stomach.
You’re being silly
, she told herself. Men found her attractive. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t do anything to lead them on, nothing except simply being beautiful, which she owed to the fact she’d inherited great genes from her attractive parents.
Jennifer sighed. Sometimes being a former beauty queen was a curse.
“If you’d like to wait for your wife before you look at the house, I can go ahead and answer any questions you might have. I’ve got all the information in my briefcase in my car.”
He shook his head. “No need to wait. I’d like to take a look around now. If I don’t like the place, Katherine won’t be interested.”
“Oh, I see.”
He chuckled. “It’s not that she gives in to me on everything. We each try to please the other. Isn’t that the way to have a successful marriage?”
“Yes, I think so. It’s certainly what Judd and I have been trying to do. We’re a couple of newlyweds just trying to make our way through that first year of marriage.” Jennifer nodded toward the front entrance to the sprawling glass and log house. “If you’ll follow me.”
“I’d be delighted to follow you.”
Despite his reply sending a quiver of apprehension along her nerve endings, she kept walking toward the front steps, telling herself that if she had to defend her honor against unwanted advances, it wouldn’t be the first time. She knew how to handle herself in sticky situations. She carried pepper spray in her purse and her cell phone rested securely in her jacket pocket.
After unlocking the front door, she flipped on the light switch, which illuminated the large foyer. “The house was built in nineteen-seventy-five by an architect for his own personal home.”
John Farris paused in the doorway. “How many rooms?”
“Ten,” she replied, then motioned to him. “Please, come on in.”
He entered the foyer and glanced around, up into the huge living room and to the right into the open dining room. “It seems perfect for entertaining.”
“Oh, it is. There’s a state-of-the-art kitchen. It was completely gutted and redone only four years ago by the present owner.”
“I’d like to take a look,” he told her. “I’m the chef in the family. Katherine can’t boil water.”
Feeling a bit more at ease, Jennifer led him from the foyer, through the dining room and into the galley-style kitchen. “I love this kitchen. I’m not much of a cook myself, but I’ve been taking gourmet cooking lessons as a surprise for my husband.”
“Isn’t he a lucky man?”
Jennifer felt Mr. Farris as he came up behind her. Shuddering nervously, she started to turn and face him, but suddenly and without warning, he grabbed her from behind and covered her face with a foul-smelling rag.
No. No…no, this can’t be happening
.
* * *
Had she been unconscious for a few minutes or a few hours? She didn’t know. When she came to, she realized she was sitting propped up against the wall in the kitchen, her feet tied together with rope and her hands pulled over her head, each wrist bound with individual pieces of rope that had been tied to the door handles of two open kitchen cabinets.
Groggy, slightly disoriented, Jennifer blinked several times, then took a deep breath and glanced around the room, searching for her attacker. John Farris loomed over her, an odd smile on his handsome face.
“Well, hello, beautiful,” he said. “I was wondering how long you’d sleep. I’ve been waiting patiently for you to wake up. You’ve been out nearly fifteen minutes.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice a ragged whisper.
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“What do you think I intend to do?”
“Rape me.” Her voice trembled.
Please, God, don’t let him kill me
.
He laughed. “What sort of man do you think I am? I’d never force myself on an unwilling woman.”
“Please, let me go. Whatever—” She gasped, her mouth sucking in air as she noticed that he held something shiny in his right hand.
A meat cleaver!
Sheer terror claimed her at that moment, body and soul. Her stomach churned. Sweat dampened her face. The loud rat-a-tat-tat of her accelerated heartbeat thundered in her ears.
He reached down with his left hand and fingered her long, dark hair. “If only you were a blonde or a redhead.”
Jennifer swallowed hard.
He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me with that meat cleaver. He’ll chop me up in little pieces
…
She whimpered.
Oh, Judd, why didn’t I listen to you? Why did I come here alone tonight?
“Are you afraid?” John Farris asked.
“Yes.”
“You should be,” he told her.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
He laughed again. Softly.
“Please…please…” She cried. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
He came closer. And closer. He raised the meat cleaver high over her head, then swung it across her right wrist.
Blood splattered on the cabinet, over her head, and across her upper body as her severed right hand tumbled downward and hit the floor.
Pain! Excruciating pain.
And then he lifted the cleaver and swung down and across again, cutting off her left hand with one swift, accurate blow.
Jennifer passed out.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
AVON
A division of HarperCollins
Publishers
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London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in the U.S.A by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
New York, NY, 2006
Copyright © Beverly Barton 2006
Beverly Barton asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
ISBN-13: 978-1-84756-001-8
ISBN-10: 1-84756-001-6
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