Authors: Beverly Barton
Jazzy rol-led her-self off the co-uch, hit-ting the wo-oden flo-or with an ago-ni-zing thud. Pa-in ra-di-ated thro-ugh her who-le body, every mus-c-le and bo-ne and ner-ve en-ding scre-aming. For a se-cond, she al-most pas-sed out aga-in. With sup-re-me ef-fort and de-ter-mi-na-ti-on born from a will to sur-vi-ve, she ma-na-ged to roll over se-ve-ral ti-mes, each ti-me a tor-tu-ro-us or-de-al. But she was clo-ser to the pho-ne now. Six fe-et away.
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Come on, you can do it. She rol-led over a co-up-le of ti-mes. Oh, God, the pa-inl She clut-c-hed her belly and felt fresh blo-od oozing from her wo-und.
Don't gi-ve up now. You're clo-se, so clo-se. Re-ac-hing out, she co-uld al-most to-uch the te-lep-ho-ne cord. Al-most. One mo-re roll, just hal-f-way, over on her si-de. That sho-uld do it What was that so-und? Jaz-zy won-de-red, then re-ali-zed that so-me-one was sin-ging-hum-ming ac-tu-al-ly.
Mar-go was hum-ming. Jaz-zy glan-ced back to-ward the open bed-ro-om do-or and pra-yed for just a few mo-re mi-nu-tes. She held out her hand. Her fin-ger-tips gra-zed the pho-ne cord. She in-c-hed her way clo-ser, grab-bed the cord, and yan-ked. The re-ce-iver jer-ked off the ba-se and ca-me tum-b-ling down to the flo-or, ma-king a rat-her lo-ud thump. Jaz-zy held her bre-ath and wa-ited. Mar-go kept hum-ming, as if she hadn't he-ard an-y-t-hing. Thank you, God!
Jazzy pla-ced her fa-ce clo-se to the to-uch-to-ne di-gits on the re-ce-iver, then tri-ed to use her no-se to punch a num-ber. It didn't work. Okay, so try so-met-hing el-se. She used her ton-gue. That didn't work eit-her. Now what? Te-eth! She tri-ed to fo-cus on the num-bers, but her vi-si-on blur-red.
Hell, just punch in so-me num-bers-any num-bers.
Just as Jaz-zy used her te-eth to press what she ho-ped was 911, Mar-go ca-me out of the bed-ro-om. Jaz-zy glan-ced over her sho-ul-der. Damn! But Mar-go se-emed ob-li-vi-o-us to Jaz-zy and to La-ura as she gli-ded ac-ross the ro-om to whe-re Ce-cil wa-ited-ra-bj-ect ter-ror on his fa-ce when she ap-pro-ac-hed him.
What the hell was Mar-go hol-ding in her arms? Was that a doll of so-me kind? It was. The crazy bitch was hol-ding a li-fe-si-ze baby doll, wrap-ped in a pink blan-ket.
Margo knelt on the flo-or be-si-de Ce-cil and held out the doll to him. "Isn't she pretty? Lo-ok at her, Ce-cil. Our lit-tle La-ura."
Cecil didn't res-pond; he simply lay the-re, stun-ned and suf-fe-ring.
She lo-oked at the doll and smi-led. "Daddy's be-en very, very bad and we ha-ve to pu-nish him. He tri-ed to gi-ve you away to that aw-ful wo-man. But you mustn't worry. You're with yo-ur re-al mommy now. And no one will ever ta-ke you away from me aga-in."
"Margaret." Her na-me cro-aked from Ce-cil's thro-at.
"Yes, Ce-cil, what is it?" 'That-that isn't La-ura," he sa-id. "That's a doll. Lo-ok at it. Can't you see it's not a re-al baby? La-ura-our La-ura-is a grown wo-man. That's her, over the-re." He in-c-li-ned his he-ad in the di-rec-ti-on of the cha-ir whe-re La-ura sat bo-und and gag-ged.
Gazing lo-vingly down at the blan-ket-wrap-ped bun-d-le, Mar-go sa-id, "She is a doll, isn't she? So pretty. She lo-oks li-ke me, don't you think?"
Margaret, ple-ase… lis-ten to me. La-ura is an adult. She's twen-ty-fo-ur. Lo-ok over the-re at that yo-ung wo-man. She's our da-ug-h-ter. Lo-ok at her ca-re-ful-ly and you'll see that she has yo-ur blond ha-ir and-"
"Shut up! Don't talk to me. I ha-te you!" Mar-go whir-led aro-und and lo-oked from La-ura to Jaz-zy and back to La-ura. "Who are you?" she as-ked La-ura.
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Unable to spe-ak, La-ura sho-ok her he-ad. Mar-go qu-ickly tur-ned her at-ten-ti-on to Jaz-zy.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Jaz-zy Tal-bot." God, ple-ase, ple-ase help us!
"Do I know you?"
"No, not re-al-ly." So-on, God. Re-al so-on.
"What are you do-ing he-re? Did you co-me with Ce-cil?" Mar-go gas-ped. "You're her, aren't you?
You're Ce-cil's lo-ver. You want to ta-ke my baby away from me."
"No!" Jaz-zy cri-ed. "I'm not Ce-cil's lo-ver. I don't even know him. And I don't want yo-ur baby. I swe-ar!"
Margo star-ted cro-oning to the bun-d-le in her arms and on-ce aga-in to-tal-ly ig-no-red Jaz-zy and La-ura as she me-an-de-red back to the bed-ro-om.
The pho-ne, damn it, the pho-ne!J-az-zy sco-oted just eno-ugh to be ab-le to pla-ce her ear over the re-ce-iver. She lis-te-ned. No 911 res-pon-se. Just the re-pe-ti-ti-ve vo-ice of a ta-ped mes-sa-ge tel-ling her to hang up and try aga-in. Okay, try aga-in, she told her-self, but be-fo-re she co-uld do mo-re than adj-ust her he-ad, Mar-go ca-me flying out of the bed-ro-om, bran-dis-hing two lar-ge, shiny kni-ves.
Laura wrig-gled and mo-aned, her eyes wi-de with fright Ce-cil mum-b-led sof-tiy and Jaz-zy re-ali-zed he was pra-ying. Go-od idea, she tho-ught.
Okay, God, lo-oks li-ke it's now or ne-ver. So
how abo-ut ma-king it now? How abo-ut put-ting me in to-uch with Genny? Ye-ah, that might
work. We used to be ab-le to con-nect men-tal-ly when we we-re kids. Co-uld you help us do that
aga-in?J-ust this on-ce?
Genny. Can you he-ar me? If you can, let me know. I ne-ed help. I ne-ed help now.
Caleb ap-pro-ac-hed the Eag-le's Nest ca-bin with ca-uti-on. If Mar-go Ken-ley was Mar-ga-ret Ben-dey and she was hol-ding Jaz-zy, La-ura, and Ce-cil pri-so-ners, the last thing he wan-ted to do was alert her of his pre-sen-ce. A non-des-c-ript ol-der mo-del Ford Ta-urus was par-ked in the dri-ve, so that me-ant so-me-body was pro-bably he-re. Ca-leb crept over to the car and chec-ked the right back do-or. Un-loc-ked! He eased open the do-or and lo-oked aro-und in-si-de, ab-le to see the in-te-ri-or fa-irly well sin-ce the ve-hic-le was par-ked un-der the bright se-cu-rity light to the si-de of the dri-ve-way. Im-me-di-ately his ga-ze pa-used on the red stre-aks sme-ared ac-ross the be-ige cloth bac-k-se-at. He wi-ped the red with his fin-gers and bro-ught them to his no-se. Blo-od. Par-ti-al-ly dri-ed blo-od. Fa-irly fresh. Jaz-zy's blo-od!
He clo-sed the do-or and ma-de his way to-ward the si-de of the ho-use, his ac-ti-ons si-lent and vi-gi-lant. Af-ter re-mo-ving the pis-tol he'd tuc-ked be-ne-ath the wa-is-t-band of his je-ans, he le-aned for-ward just eno-ugh to pe-ep thro-ugh the front win-dows. The ro-om lay in sha-dows, lit only by the ro-aring fi-re in the fi-rep-la-ce and a lo-ne lamp bur-ning on a cor-ner desk. His ga-ze tra-ve-led spe-edily over the ro-om. A man whom he was pretty su-re was Ce-cil Wil-lis lay on the flo-or, na-ked
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and spre-ad-eag-led- and co-ve-red in blo-od. To the man's right, La-ura Wil-lis sat bo-und and gag-ged. Ca-leb's he-art po-un-ded lo-udly in his ears, his pul-se ra-cing, swe-at bre-aking out on his fo-re-he-ad. Jaz-zy? Whe-re was Jaz-zy?
Raking his ga-ze from right to left, from ce-iling to flo-or-the flo-or! Jaz-zy lay on the flo-or, her hands ti-ed be-hind her, her fe-et bo-und. As best he co-uld ma-ke out, she ap-pe-ared to be un-con-s-ci-o-us. Ple-ase, de-ar God, let her be ali-ve. The tho-ught of lo-sing Jaz-zy ren-de-red him tem-po-ra-rily im-mo-bi-le. Snap out of it! Get mo-ving!
While he stu-di-ed the si-tu-ati-on and his mind wor-ked to form a hasty plan of ac-ti-on, a small, blond wo-man ro-se from the fi-rep-la-ce and lif-ted a red-hot po-ker in her hand. This must be Mar-go Ken-ley, who might be Mar-ga-ret Ben-dey. At this pre-ci-se mo-ment, her na-me didn't mat-ter, didn't me-an a damn thing to Ca-leb. He wat-c-hed i hor-ror as she wal-ked over to Ce-cil Wil-lis and stuck t'
po-ker in-to his na-vel. The man scre-ec-hed in agony. Sal bi-le ro-se up from Ca-leb's sto-mach. He wi-ped the pe spi-ra-ti-on from his fa-ce with his palm, then aimed Big Jim's 9mm. But be-fo-re he co-uld get off a shot, his targ mo-ved stra-ight to-ward Jaz-zy, the po-ker she'd used o Ce-cil still bur-ning hot. Mar-go pun-c-hed Jaz-zy with h fo-ot. Jaz-zy didn't res-pond. The bit-ter, salty li-qu-id re-ac-hei Ca-leb's mo-uth. He tur-ned his he-ad and spit.
Using her fo-ot, Mar-go rol-led Jaz-zy over and aimed the tip of the po-ker to-ward Jaz-zy's fa-ce.
Ca-leb re-po-si-ti-oned him-self and to-ok aim aga-in. Just as the po-ker ca-me down… down…
ne-arer and ne-arer Jaz-zy's be-a-uti-ful fa-ce, Ca-leb fi-red his we-apon. The bul-let blas-ted thro-ugh the win-dow, sa-iled thro-ugh the li-ving ro-om, and en-te-red the si-de of Mar-go's he-ad. Blo-od spur-ted from her right tem-p-le. She drop-ped to the flo-or li-ke a le-ad we-ight sin-king in-to the ri-ver.
Caleb rus-hed to the front do-or, gras-ped the knob, and flung open the un-loc-ked do-or. Mar-go lay hal-f-way on top of Jaz-zy, the wo-man's blo-ody, tat-te-red he-ad and slen-der sho-ul-ders res-ting on Jaz-zy's legs. When he re-ac-hed them, he rol-led Mar-go over and out of the way. She was de-ad.
She wasn't go-ing an-y-w-he-re, wasn't go-ing to do an-y-t-hing. Kne-eling, he re-ac-hed out and felt for Jaz-zy's pul-se. It was we-ak and thre-ady, but she was ali-ve. He exa-mi-ned her from he-ad to toe and fo-und the blo-ody bul-let wo-und in her belly. She ne-eded me-di-cal at-ten-ti-on and she ne-eded it now!
After rip-ping open Jaz-zy's blo-use, he tri-ed his le-vel best to re-mem-ber his first aid tra-ining as he exa-mi-ned the entry wo-und, then he se-ar-c-hed but didn't! find an exit wo-und. That me-ant the bul-let was still in-si-de her.
* * *
The light hurt her eyes.
Turn it off. I'm trying to sle-ep
. But no one res-pon-ded. Jaz-zy's eye-lids flut-te-red.
"Wake up, be-a-uti-ful. You've be-en as-le-ep way too long."
She re-cog-ni-zed that vo-ice. "Ca-leb?"
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He squ-e-ezed her hand. "Ye-ah, ho-ney, it's me."
When she ope-ned her eyes, she ba-rely re-cog-ni-zed him. "You lo-ok li-ke hell," she told him.
He grin-ned. "Gu-ess I do lo-ok pretty ro-ugh. I ha-ven't sha-ved in a co-up-le of days and I've be-en ta-king a who-re bath in the men's ro-om down the hall."
"Why…" She glan-ced aro-und and re-ali-zed she was in the hos-pi-tal. Pa-le gre-en walls, whi-te she-ets, and a strong me-di-ci-nal smell we-re su-re signs, not to men-ti-on the nur-ses she saw at the the-ir sta-ti-on just out-si-de her do-or. "Am I in ICU?"
"You're in SI-CU. Sur-gi-cal In-ten-si-ve Ca-re." He le-aned over and kis-sed her fo-re-he-ad. "Do you re-mem-ber what hap-pe-ned?"
Did she re-mem-ber? Flas-hes of a wo-man hol-ding a doll. Frag-ments of me-mory abo-ut so-me-one sho-oting her. Then it all ca-me back, one hor-ri-fic in-ci-dent at a ti-me. "That crazy bitch tri-ed to kill me. And La-ura and Ce-cil Wil-lis, to-ol"
"Calm down, ho-ney. She's de-ad. Mar-go Ken-ley, who-se re-al na-me was Mar-ga-ret Ben-dey, is de-ad. She won't ever hurt an-yo-ne aga-in."
How… who?" Jaz-zy wan-ted to know de-ta-ils.
"Laura Wil-lis is all right, physi-cal-ly. She's in the psychi-at-ric unit of the hos-pi-tal he-re."
"And Mr. Wil-lis?"
Caleb re-ma-ined si-lent for a mi-nu-te, then he-aved a de-ep sigh. "I'm af-ra-id he didn't ma-ke it.
The doc-tors sa-id he suf-fe-red a mas-si-ve he-art at-tack."
"That po-or man."
Caleb nod-ded. "It se-ems Mar-go was on-ce Ce-cil's wi-fe and was La-ura's bi-olo-gi-cal mot-her.
She was in-sa-ne, of co-ur-se. Spent most of her li-fe in a men-tal in-s-ti-tu-ti-on.''
"Poor La-ura. Oh, God-Jamie."
"Yeah, Mar-go pro-bably kil-led him be-ca-use she tho-ugt she was pro-tec-ting La-ura."
So-me-one cle-ared the-ir thro-at. "Is she awa-ke?" Genny as-ked from the do-or-way.
Caleb glan-ced over his sho-ul-der. "Ye-ah, our girl's awa-ke. Co-me on in."
"I've got Dal-las and Jacob and Sally and Lu-die pu he-re with me," Genny sa-id.
"All of you, co-me on in he-re."J-az-zy tri-ed to lift he he-ad, but fo-und she didn't ha-ve the strength.
Not yet.
Within a mi-nu-te, her bed was sur-ro-un-ded and one of the SI-CU nur-ses ca-me in and scol-ded them for bre-aking the ru-les. Two vi-si-tors at a ti-me. Jacob wal-ked the lady out, re-min-ding her that he was the she-riff. Jaz-zy co-uld he-ar the RN in-for-ming Jacob that his aut-ho-rity didn't ex-tend to
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her do-ma-in.
"You're damn lucky Ca-leb fo-und you when he did," Sally told her. "He shot that crazy wo-man right in the he-ad. One shot."
"Sally!" Genny scol-ded.
"Hell, gal, our Jaz-zy ain't no hot-ho-use flo-wer who ne-eds to be shi-el-ded from the truth. She's got a right to know who sa-ved her li-fe."
Jazzy lif-ted her hand and dis-co-ve-red just how dif-fi-cult that sim-p-le task was for her. Ca-leb le-aned over her. She ca-res-sed his scruffy fa-ce. "Is that right? Are you my whi-te knight?" 'You bet he is," Lu-die ad-ded her opi-ni-on.
"We're so gra-te-ful that you're all right" Genny's ga-ze went to Jaz-zy's si-de, the si-de ban-da-ged be-ne-ath her hos-pi-tal gown.
Jazzy lo-oked at Ca-leb and saw te-ars in his gol-den eyes. "I gu-ess I am lucky to be ali-ve."
"Got that damn right," Sally ag-re-ed.
Jazzy kept sta-ring at Ca-leb, de-eply to-uc-hed by his te-ars, kno-wing how un-li-kely it was that a man such as he cri-ed easily or of-ten. 'Thank you for sa-ving me," she sa-id qu-i-etly, then ad-ded, Tm so glad you ca-me in-to my li-fe."
Caleb cle-ared his thro-at, then swal-lo-wed. ''The-re's so-medhng I want you to know," he told her.
"So-met-hing I want yo-ur fa-mily and fri-ends to he-ar. It's so-met-hing I pro-mi-sed myself I'd tell you, if you… if you li-ved. Ac-tu-al-ly, I swo-re to God that if he kept you ali-ve, I'd tell you exactly how I fe-el. As a mat-ter of fact, I tri-ed ma-king all kinds of bar-ga-ins with the Lord if he'd just let you li-ve."