Free The Last to Die by Beverly Barton Page A

ow-ned in the me-an-ti-me.
    Why she was sha-king li-ke a le-af?
    Shock. She was in shock. That had to be it.
    A lo-ud rap-ping on the dri-ver's si-de win-dow ga-ined her im-me-di-ate at-ten-ti-on. When she lo-oked thro-ugh the win-dow, she gas-ped when she saw the fa-ce of a dark-skin-ned sa-va-ge, with black ha-ir down to his sho-ul-ders, and a set of slan-ted gre-en eyes pe-ering at her. May-be she'd hit her he-ad and didn't re-mem-ber. Su-rely she was hal-lu-ci-na-ting. This man co-uldn't be re-al.
    Suddenly the dri-ver's si-de do-or ope-ned and the hal-lu-ci-na-ti-on spo-ke to her. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
    Reve gul-ped as she ca-me fa-ce-to-fa-ce with the most bru-tal-ly mas-cu-li-ne man she'd ever se-en Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    in her en-ti-re li-fe. A big, fi-er-ce war-ri-or, with an angry lo-ok in his moss gre-en eyes, re-ac-hed out and be-gan run-ning his hu-ge hands over her he-ad, neck, sho-ul-ders, and arms.
    "What the hell do you think you're do-ing?" she cri-ed. "Get yo-ur hands off me."
    He ce-ased his in-s-pec-ti-on and wit-h-d-rew his hands. "I was trying to check you for inj-uri-es, sin-ce you didn't res-pond. If you're all right, let me help you get out and up the hill to my truck. I'll call a wrec-ker and-"
    "Who are you?" She sta-red at the guy, no-ting that al-t-ho-ugh he spo-ke with aut-ho-rity, he wasn't we-aring any type of uni-form. For all she knew he was a se-ri-al ra-pist who just hap-pe-ned to be in pos-ses-si-on of a flas-hing blue po-li-ce light.
    "Sheriff But-ler," he told her.
    "You're the she-riff?" In-s-pec-ting him fur-t-her, she re-ali-zed he was Na-ti-ve Ame-ri-can, at le-ast part Na-ti-ve Ame-ri-can. Of co-ur-se half-bre-eds and qu-ar-ter bre-eds pro-bably we-ren't all that un-com-mon in this area, which wasn't that far from the Che-ro-kee re-ser-va-ti-on just over the sta-te li-ne.
    "I no-ti-ced you ha-ve a Ha-mil-ton Co-unty tag," he sa-id. ‘'You vi-si-ting so-me-body he-re or you just pas-sing thro-ugh?"
    "Just pas-sing thro-ugh," she rep-li-ed.
    He re-ac-hed over and un-did her se-at belt. "Think you can ma-na-ge to get out, or sho-uld I help-"
    "I can get out wit-ho-ut any help, thank you very much."
    After grab-bing her pur-se off the ot-her buc-ket se-at, she sho-ved the she-riff asi-de and ma-na-ged to exit the Jag, but the mi-nu-te her high he-els hit the soft, une-ven gro-und, she lost her ba-lan-ce. He grab-bed her aro-und the wa-ist, the ac-ti-on unin-ten-ti-onal-ly brin-ging her body up aga-inst his rock-hard chest. She gas-ped, then lo-oked up at him as her he-ar-t-be-at drum-med lo-udly in her ears. The-ir ga-zes loc-ked in-s-tantly.
    "Well, I'll be dam-ned," he sa-id as he sta-red at her, his mo-uth slightly par-ted.
    'Take a pic-tu-re, She-riff, it'll last lon-ger."
    "Sorry." He apo-lo-gi-zed, but con-ti-nu-ed sta-ring at her. "You re-mind me of a fri-end of mi-ne.
    The two of you co-uld be-" 'Twins," Re-ve fi-nis-hed his sen-ten-ce for him.
    "Yeah, how'd you know?"
    "Just a wild gu-ess." She pul-led away from him and tri-ed to walk up the ste-ep em-ban-k-ment, but three-inch he-els we-ren't ma-de for mo-un-ta-in clim-bing.
    Sheriff But-ler ca-me up be-si-de her, put his arm aro-und her wa-ist, and all but ha-uled her up the hill. How to-tal-ly de-mo-ra-li-zing, she tho-ught. Up un-til this mo-ment in ti-me, she'd ne-ver had so much as a par-king tic-ket. And he-re she was be-ing drag-ged away from the sce-ne of an auto ac-ci-dent she had ca-used by her rec-k-less dri-ving. Well, not rec-k-less, just spe-edy.
    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    When they re-ac-hed, the si-de of the ro-ad, the she-riff re-le-ased her in-s-tandy, as if he had no mo-re de-si-re to to-uch her than she had for him to ha-ve his hands on her. The-re was so-met-hing un-ner-ving abo-ut the man, so-met-hing abo-ut him that sent off war-ning sig-nals in her bra-in. And what dis-tur-bed her