As Good as Dead (32 page)

"Like what?" Dallas smiled like a proud papa whose son had just become a man.

"She and Reve have hired the top private investigation man in Tennessee to search for their birth parents. What if somebody in Cherokee County doesn't want the twins to learn the truth? What if whoever tried to kill them when they were babies is still around?"

'’If that's the case, then neither Jazzy nor Reve will be safe until the truth is revealed."

Five days after her surgery, Jazzy remained in a coma. Everything possible was being done for her. Reve had called in the most renowned specialists, sparing no expense to fly in the leading neurologists. Every available test had been done, except those the doctors deemed either unnecessary or too risky at this point. An MRI and a CT Scan, which looks at the structure of the brain, were followed by other diagnostic testing, most of which Re-ve couldn't remember. The local neurologist, Dr. Behel, and his colleague from Vanderbilt, Dr. Alfred Cornelius, had agreed not to run a SPECT Scan, despite the fact the results of both the MRI and the CT Scan were normal, and yet Jazzy had not awakened. In patients of reproductive age, the SPECT Scan procedure was used judiciously.

Dr. Cornelius had said, "If Ms. Talbot's condition doesn't change in the next few weeks, I suggest moving her to Nashville, to Vanderbilt, where we can run a PET Scan, and if we feel it necessary at that time, we'll discuss running the SPECT Scan."

Although Reve hadn't lived at the hospital 24/7, as Caleb had, even when she wasn't there, she got little sleep or rest.

She had remained at the hospital for the first thirty-six hours, as had Genny; then Dallas had driven them to Genny's home in the mountains and placed an officer outside to guard them. She had stayed with Genny a couple of days, the two making the trip to the hospital together daily. But yesterday morning, Lacy Fallon had phoned her and asked what should be done about managing both Jazzy's Joint and Jasmine's. It seemed that Jazzy, being a bit of a control freak, hadn't trained anyone to take over in case of an emergency. Even though both establishments were continuing business as usual, if someone didn't take charge soon, both would have to close. So Reve had moved into Jazzy's upstairs apartment and, using her basic business skills, took over the reins of her sister's two establishments. After all, there was little she could do for Jazzy just sitting in the ICU waiting room, but by taking charge of her sister's business affairs, she'd be doing something useful.

The policeman who'd parked outside the apartment last night had been replaced by a sheriff's deputy this morning. Moody Ryan had followed her to the hospital and come up on the elevator with her.

"I'm going to be here for at least an hour." Reve stopped outside the waiting room and turned to the young deputy. "Why don't you go down to the cafeteria and eat breakfast?"

"I had breakfast before I came on duty, ma'am."

"Then go get a cup of coffee."

"Ma'am, I'll stay out of your way. You won't even know I'm here. But my orders are to keep you under constant surveillance."

"And those orders came from?"

Moody's lips twitched. "Sheriff Butler."

"I sincerely hope Sheriff Butler doesn't expect you to go to the ladies' room with me."

Moody blushed. "No, ma'am, I'm sure he doesn't."

Giving up on trying to escape her shadow, Reve opened the door and entered the small ICU waiting room. Moody, Ryan came in behind her. On the solitary sofa nestled against the back wall, Caleb lay curled up in an awkward position, a hospital-issue blanket wrapped around him from armpits down to the top of his booted feet. The poor guy looked li-ke hell. He'd been cleaning up in the bathroom, but he hadn't shaved and the brown stub-ble on his face was turning into a beard. If she'd ever seen a guy madly in love, that guy was Caleb McCord. If, God forbid, Jazzy didn't make it, Reve didn't think Caleb would either.

She turned to Moody. "Look, if I promise not to leave this room, would you go to the snack bar and get a cup of fresh coffee and a sausage biscuit?"

Moody stared at her questioningly.

"I'm sure Caleb hasn't had a bite to eat since sometime yesterday. I want him to have breakfast, but I see no point in both you and I going to the snack bar."

"Yeah, I guess it would be okay for me leave you, if you promise to stay right here with Caleb."

Just as Moody headed out of the waiting room, Caleb roused and gazed bleary-eyed at Reve. He threw up a hand and waved.

"Morning," she said.

He kicked off the blanket, sat up and stretched. "What time is it?"

"A little after eight. I sent Moody down to the snack bar to get you something to eat."

Caleb rubbed the back of his neck. "They don't make these couches for sleeping."

"You really should go home, take a shower and sleep in your own bed for a few hours."

Caleb stood, picked up the blanket, folded it unevenly and laid it across the arm of the sofa. "I'm not leaving this hospital until Jazzy comes out of that damn coma."

"That could be weeks," Reve reminded him.

"Don't waste your breath. I'm not going anywhere until she opens her eyes and looks at me."

Reve nodded, then went over and hugged him. "You keep your vigil here at the hospital, and I'll make sure her business interests are taken care of. When she recovers, I'll turn things back over to her in tip-top shape."

Caleb eased back and took Reve's hands in his. "She's going to come out of the coma and recover completely."

Caleb had stated his hopes confidently. Too confidently? No. They shouldn't expect the worst. They should remain cautiously optimistic. Hadn't Dr. Cornelius told them that using the standard Glasgow Coma Scale, which estimated a patient's chances of living and recovering by assigning numbers ranging from three to fifteen, Jazzy had a chance for a full recovery? The higher the number, the better the odds. Jazzy's case was a ten, and a ten was on the high end of the mid-range.

"With patients scoring eight to ten, twenty-seven percent will die," the doctor had explained frankly. "But the good news is that sixty-eight percent will have a good recovery, with moderate disabilities."

"You're absolutely right," Reve said to Caleb. "Jazzy's a fighter. She'll wake up any ti-me now, and when she does, she'll do whatever it takes to recover. And we'll be here to help her. If she needs her own personal physical therapist, I'll hire the best. She may not be ready for that Christmas wedding y'all planned, but-"

"Then maybe a New Year's wedding," a female voice said.

Reve and Caleb looked around to see who'd spoken. There stood Miss Reba and Big Jim. She carried a small overnight case, and he held a garment bag.

"Any change in Jazzy's condition?" Big Jim asked. "No change," Caleb replied.

Reve noted a genuinely sad expression on Jim Upton's race. A strong, handsome face, she thought, especially for a man of seventy-five. Although handsome in his own right, Caleb didn't resemble his grandfather and wasn't quite as tall. But there was a strong hint of Miss Reba's beauty in her grandson's attractive features.

"We've brought some toiletries and a change of clothes." Reba marched into the waiting area. Though a petite woman, her presence filled the entire space. "And your grandfather has arranged for you a room on this floor, directly down the hall." She kissed Caleb's cheek. "Now you run along with Jim and get freshened up, then go down to the cafeteria for breakfast. I'll stay here with Reve until you return."

"I can't-"

Big Jim grabbed Caleb's arm. "Nobody's asking you to leave the hospital, son. But if you don't take better care of yourself, you're not going to be able to help Jazzy when she comes out of that coma."

"I don't know how your grandfather managed to commandeer a hospital room for you,"

Reve said, her eyes wide in astonishment, "but you should take advantage of this opportunity. If Jazzy sees you looking like this, she won't know you."

"How did you get them to give me a room here?" Caleb asked.

"The Uptons are major contributors to every charity in Cherokee County. Everybody knows how generous we can be," Jim replied. "I just called in a few favors."

"And twisted a few arms," Reba added, then winked at her grandson as she handed him the overnight case.

"Okay, I'll take a shower and change clothes," Caleb said. "But Reve's already sent Moody Ryan to the snack bar for something to eat so I won't need to go to the cafeteria."

Jim put his arm around his grandson's shoulders and guided him out of the room. Once alone with Reve, Miss Reba turned to her and smiled.

"How are you, my dear?"

"I'm doing okay."

"You're keeping tabs on Jazzy's business concerns, I hear."

"Yes, ma'am."

"If there's anything you need from Jim or me-"

"I'd like to ask you something, and I'd appreciate a completely honest answer."

The fact that Miss Reba had come to the hospital every day and had encouraged Caleb's hopes that Jazzy would live and recover completely hadn't escaped Reve's notice.

Whether Miss Reba's sentiments were sincere was another matter entirely.

"Let's sit down." Reba indicated the sofa.

When Reba sat, Reve moved Caleb's blanket to a nearby chair and joined his grandmother. She faced the woman and from her expression suspected Miss Reba knew what she intended to ask.

"You've been wonderfully caring and supportive of Caleb these past five days," Reve said. "No grandson could ask for a more loving, concerned grandmother."

"And you want to know if those feelings of care and support extend to his fiancée."

"Yes, I do. Because when Jazzy comes out of the coma-"

"You mean if she comes out of the coma."

"Is that what you're hoping for? You hope she-"

"What I want does not matter," Miss Reba said. "But to answer your question-no, I don't want Jazzy to die or remain in a coma. Am I thrilled that she's going to one day be my grandson's wife? No. Have I accepted the inevitable? Yes."

"And what does that mean exactly?"

"You've become very fond of Jazzy in a relatively short period of time, and I believe it's not simply because she's your biological sister, is it?"

'Jazzy is not what she seems to be," Reve said. "She puts UP that bad-girl front, even does things to perpetuate her reputation. But Jazzy isn't bad. She has a big heart, a good heart. And believe this, Miss Reba, if you don't believe any-flung else about her-she loves Caleb."

Yes, I think she does. I know he worships her. And that's the reason that as soon as Jazzy is well enough, I intend to give Caleb and her the biggest, fanciest wedding Cherokee County has ever seen."

"I'm surprised. Pleasantly surprised." Reve believed that Miss Reba meant exactly what she'd said.

"Well, my dear, you see, I've learned from my mistakes. 11 will never do anything to jeopardize my relationship with Caleb, and if that means welcoming Jazzy Talbot into 01

family with open arms, then that's what I intend to do."

Dallas removed the faxed documents the moment they came out of the machine, scanned them quickly and then handed them to Jacob. The two men had been holed up in Dallas's office since six that morning and it was now nearly noon. Despite as thorough an investigation as their combined forensics teams could do, the end results were that whoever had attacked Jazzy was still on the loose and they were no closer to solving the mystery of Jeremy Timmons's murder than they were the night Amber Chaney found his body.

Dallas had arranged to send the evidence collected in each case to his old FBI friend Chet in Knoxville, who would use the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation's more sophisti-cated equipment to examine everything. And Dallas had contacted a former colleague, Teri Nash, now engaged to FBI profiler Line Hughes, and asked for her help in collecting data on any similar murders in and around northeast Tennessee in the past quarter cen-tury. The faxes in Jacob's hands were the results of Teri's week-long search.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Jacob said.

"It means somebody has been getting away with murder for the past twenty-five years.

And not just one or two murders, but over twenty murders, possibly more."

"He could have killed other women whose bodies were never found." Holding the papers tightly in his right hand, Jacob slapped the faxed documents against his left palm.

"It's got to be the same guy. It's the exact same MO. All the victims were redheads. Either prostitutes or reputed to be bad girls. They were all raped, strangled with a black braided ribbon-left around their necks-and their naked bodies dumped in either a river or a lake or a creek."

"When I spoke to Teri, she said that with the evidence she's compiled, the Bureau will definitely want to become involved, but she's giving us twenty-four hours to get our act together before she reports what she's found."

"Did she get Line to come up with a profile of this killer?"

"Yeah. And Line says our guy is definitely the organized type," Dallas said. "High IQ, possibly college educated. Could have been a mama's boy or at least the family favorite.

And there's a good chance he suffered some type of either physical or mental abuse as a child. And Terry said that Line suspects some traumatic experience involving a red-haired woman was the catalyst that brought out his killer instincts. In Line's opinion, this guy is probably a psychopath."

Jacob studied the facts in the documents he held, then shook his head. "Some of these murders were a year or two apart, then less than a year and most recently, about every six or seven months. Until Becky Olmstead. It had been less than a week since he'd killed Kat Baker when he murdered Becky."

"Which means he will probably kill again soon." "J-just hope to hell it isn't in Cherokee County." 'Whether it is or not, we're involved now. We're all look-l«g for the same guy."

Becky Olmstead's murder case doesn't belong to us," Jacob said. "And since we're pretty sure Timmons's murder and Becky's are connected, you're right-we're looking for the same person that Sheriff Floyd is. If one case is solved-"