Beg To Die. BEVERLY BARTON

      “Just fine. How about you?”

      “Better than I’ve been in a long time. Thank you for asking.”

      When Jazzy turned toward the door leading out into the alley, Erin asked, “Are you leaving for the night?”

      “Going next door to Jazzy’s Joint to check on things there.”

      “See you around.” Erin studied Jazzy briefly, then returned to her table in the restaurant.

      Jazzy had sensed rather strange vibes coming from Big Jim Upton’s mistress. It was as if she’d wanted to say something personal to Jazzy but thought better of the idea. Maybe Erin Mercer knew all about Jazzy and Jamie’s troubled love affair. Hell, who didn’t? Maybe Ms. Mercer thought the reason Jazzy was leaving her restaurant so early in the evening was to get away from Jamie, his fiancée, and her parents, who had so obviously come to Jasmine’s tonight so that Jazzy could witness the celebration. Did Ms. Mercer see her as a kindred spirit? Did she believe Jazzy would eventually become Jamie’s mistress?

      What difference did it make what anyone thought? She’d been damned for so many sins during her twenty-nine years that she couldn’t remember which ones she was guilty of committing and of which she was innocent. Once a woman gained a bad reputation in a small town, deserved or undeserved, there was very little she could do to change people’s opinions. The task was as impossible as reclaiming your virginity once you’d had sex.

      Jazzy slipped out into the dark alley behind the adjoining establishments and hurried down the uneven brick walkway that led to the back entrance of the honky-tonk she owned. The nippy night air pinked her cheeks and sent a chill through her body. Even though the lids were closed, the large trash cans at the back of the restaurant emitted an unpleasant garbage odor and the nearby Dumpster reeked with the waste from all the businesses along the street.

      Unexpectedly, a noise up the alleyway alerted her that she wasn’t alone. Although Cherokee Pointe didn’t have many vagrants, from time to time some homeless bum would rummage through the trash cans looking for food and other items of interest. She glanced left. Saw nothing. Looked right and caught a glimpse of a dark shadow that disappeared so quickly she wondered if she had imagined seeing it.

      A shiver that had nothing to do with the weather shimmied up her spine. Jazzy rushed in through the back door. If it hadn’t been a fire exit, she would have locked the door. Don’t overreact, she told herself. You’re being silly. Just because you thought you saw someone in the alley doesn’t mean there are bogey men lurking around every corner. And it certainly doesn’t mean you are personally in any danger.

      She rushed past her office in Jazzy’s Joint and went straight out front, where the action was. The place was jumping tonight. Filled nearly to capacity, the smoky interior pulsated with a let-the-good-times-roll rhythm. Tonight Jazzy felt quite susceptible to the rowdy ambience practically jarring the roof off the place. Yes, tonight she was in the mood for something wild…and maybe just a little dangerous. After all, she wanted to celebrate her liberation from years of emotional bondage.

      Glancing around the room, from the pool tables in back to the dance floor up front, she searched for any sign of Caleb. Not finding him, she made her way toward the bar. That’s when she noticed him standing at the end of the bar, his back to her, apparently talking to someone. When she approached the bar, Lacy Fallon motioned to her. Jazzy leaned across the bar so that she could hear Lacy over the din of music, talk, and laughter.

      “We’ve got ourselves a kid with a phony ID,” Lacy said. “When I refused to serve her, she got belligerent. She kept demanding a drink, so Caleb’s talking to her.”

      “Is she somebody we know?” Jazzy asked. “Should we call her parents?”

      “Never seen her before, but from the looks of her clothes and her hoity-toity attitude, I’d say she comes from money. And I’d say she’s definitely hot to trot. The minute she got a good look at Caleb, I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts that she creamed her pants. She can’t seem to keep her hands off him, and he looks like it’s making him damned uncomfortable.”

      “Maybe I should intervene.” Jazzy couldn’t hear what Caleb was saying to the young woman, but she noticed him shaking his head and sensed the tension in his broad shoulders.