The Fifth Victim by Beverly Barton Read Free Book Online Page B

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 back in time. He doubted there was anything in here that wasn’t at least fifty years old, most of it probably a lot older. The walls were paneled halfway up in an aged wood that looked like pine to him, mellowed to a rich patina that glistened in the soft lighting from the two table lamps flanking the sofa and from the firelight. The furniture looked like museum pieces, except it had a well-used appearance that came only from generations of continuous service. The floor beneath his feet consisted of wide planks, spotlessly clean and waxed to a glossy finish.
    The modern portable telephone on the open antique secretary caught Dallas’s eye. Thank goodness something in this place was up-to-date. He picked up the phone, then sat down in one of the two wing chairs near the fireplace. The warmth seeped through his damp clothing. He sighed. He had driven here in a damn storm and might have been forced to stay in his stranded vehicle had it not been for fate. Fate had sent him into a warm, inviting home.
    As he made himself comfortable, he pulled out a small black notepad and flipped it open. He repeated aloud the number he’d scrawled down before leaving D.C. earlier this evening. He’d caught the first available flight, which had taken him into Knoxville, instead of waiting for a morning flight that would