The Fifth Victim. BEVERLY BARTON
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roadside, then hoisted himself up and onto the road. He moved carefully down the road, continuously wiping the snow from his eyes so that he could see. After going no more than thirty feet, he caught a glimpse of the house sitting high above the road. The porch light burned brightly, like a beacon in the night. Within minutes he reached the driveway leading up to the big white clapboard farmhouse. Damn, but it was a steep climb. How the hell could he climb an iced-over drive that appeared to go straight up? Suddenly he noticed the bright red mailbox a good eight or nine feet from the drive.
Steps! Stone steps led from the mailbox upward, hopefully all the way to the front yard. If he had to, he would crawl up those steps. When his feet touched the first stone-covered niche, he saw the long iron railing that ran the length of the primitive stairway. Hallelujah!
Good thing he was in prime physical condition, otherwise he would have been huffing like a steam engine by the time he reached the expansive front yard. He couldn’t remember when anything had looked as welcoming as that porch light. But why would anyone have a light on this late at night, unless they were expecting someone or unless they were gone? He sure hoped the people who lived here were at home; if not, he’d have no choice but to do something illegal—break in.
The moment he set foot on the porch, he shook the snow from his head and brushed it off his overcoat. After a couple of seconds searching for a doorbell, he realized there was none, so he lifted his hand and knocked. Instantly the sound of deep, rumbling growls alerted him that there was a dog in residence. From the sound of its powerful bark, a very large dog.
The door swung wide open. His gaze bounced back and forth from the massive dog, who vaguely resembled a wolf, to the small, black-eyed woman standing beside the animal, one hand tenderly stroking the fierce beast’s head. The howling wind blocked out soft sounds, so when the woman spoke to him he couldn’t quite make out what she was saying.
He leaned forward. The dog bristled and bared his sharp teeth. The woman soothed the animal with words Dallas couldn’t understand.
She motioned to Dallas to come inside, which he did immediately, entering to the woman’s left, since her pet stood guard on her right.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Dallas said as he waited just inside the doorway. “My car skidded off the road not far from here and my cell phone isn’t working, so—”
She slammed the door closed, bent down and whispered something to the dog, then turned and looked directly at Dallas. “Please, come into the living room by the fire and warm yourself.”
Dallas stared at her, into the darkest, most hypnotic eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes the color of rich, black earth. Why was this woman not afraid of him? Did she think her dog could protect her from any and all harm? Surely she knew there was a killer on the loose in Cherokee County. Perhaps he should identify himself and put her totally at ease, just in case she had any qualms about having a perfect stranger in her house.
“I’m Special Agent Dallas Sloan, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” He unbuttoned his overcoat and reached inside his sports jacket for his ID and badge, then held it up so she could inspect it.
She glanced at his ID, then smiled. “You’re the agent who called Jacob, aren’t you?”
“Jacob?”
“Sheriff Jacob Butler.”
“Yeah, I’m the one who called him. You know the sheriff?” He supposed in a rural area like Cherokee County everybody knew everybody else.
“Jacob is my cousin, but we’re more like brother and sister.”
She smiled. A warm, soft expression that radiated gentleness. Dallas studied her, from her long, free-flowing black hair, down her small, delicate body covered in denim jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt, to her booted feet. She was an exotically beautiful creature, with skin the color of rich café au lait. Full, naturally pink lips, slender nose, and almond-shaped eyes completed the package.
When he realized he was gawking at her, he looked away abruptly. “Is your phone working?” he asked gruffly, aggravated at himself for allowing her extraordinary beauty to affect him. “I can call a wrecker service or maybe a taxi—”
She giggled, the sound like tingling wind chimes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not laughing at you. My phone is still working, for the moment. But no one will venture up the mountain on a night like this. Besides, I’m afraid Cherokee Pointe has no taxi service. Old John Berryman ran the only taxi in town, and when he died, no one took over his business. Just not enough calls for a taxi in these parts.”
Huffing, Dallas ran his hand over his face and found his beard stubble rough against his palm. “Are you saying I’m stuck here?”
“Yes. At least until the storm passes and the roads clear. The county will send out a crew in the morning and begin clearing the roads.”
“Would I be imposing if I—”
“You’re welcome to stay here,” she said without a moment’s hesitation. “I have plenty of room. It’s just Drudwyn and me in this big old house.”
“Ma’am, you shouldn’t tell a stranger who has invaded your home that you live alone.” She simply looked at him and smiled. “I’ll be out of here first thing tomorrow. Just as soon as I can get a—”
“Not tomorrow morning,” she said. “The plows won’t make it out this far before afternoon. You should be able to get into Cherokee Pointe by sometime late tomorrow. That is, if the storm lets up by morning, and I believe it will.”
“But I can’t stay here that long. I have to talk to Sheriff Butler as soon as possible.”
She reached out and placed her hand on his. Every nerve in his body reacted to the touch of her small hand atop his. He felt as if he were on fire.
“Call Jacob and let him know you’re here, with me. You can discuss whatever you need to discuss with him over the phone.”
“How’s he going to feel about a man neither of you know spending the night here with you?”
“He’ll no doubt warn you to behave yourself, but he won’t really worry about me. He knows I can take care of myself. And he knows Drudwyn would kill anyone who tried to harm me.”
As if understanding his mistress’s words, the huge dog growled menacingly.
Dallas held up his hands in a “stop” gesture. “All right, boy, I get the picture. I’m not here to harm her.”
“I’ve told him,” she said. “He knows you mean me no harm, but I’m afraid he’s a bit jealous. You see he thinks of himself as the alpha male around here and he senses that you, too, are an alpha male, one who is trespassing on his territory.”
“I won’t have to worry about him ripping out my throat while I sleep tonight, will I?” Dallas asked, only halfway joking.
“Please, may I take your coat and gloves?” she asked. “I’ll hang your coat up and it should be dry in a few hours.”
He shed his overcoat, ripped off his gloves, and handed both to her. “Thanks.”
She took the garments, then waved an outstretched hand toward the room to the left. “Go on into the living room and take a seat by the fireplace. I’ll put these away and bring you some tea, and if you’d like, a sandwich, too.”
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.” Talk about Southern hospitality. This woman would win first prize in the perfect hostess contest.
“No trouble,” she replied and disappeared down the hallway. Thankfully, Drudwyn followed her. Then she called out, “There’s a telephone in the living room. Feel free to call Jacob. Try the Sheriff’s Department and if he’s not there, I can give you his home number.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll give him a call.”
Dallas glanced around the room and suddenly felt as if he’d stepped