Fatal Game

by Linda Ladd

  At the moment, she was cold, and more than ready to make it upstairs where Black and Rico were probably waiting for her. She swiped her card through the sensor and let herself into a downstairs corridor that would take her to the private penthouse elevator. Since her sweetie pie new husband owned the hotel and everything in it, she received many a perk, and there were plenty to enjoy. Claire supposed it was her hotel now, too, since he’d readily put all his holdings in both their names. Not that she wanted to be saddled with all his stuff. She still didn’t feel comfortable with all that “what’s mine is yours” crap—not yet, anyhow. Pulling off her departmental brown knit cap and scarf and gloves, she headed down the deserted hallway, leaving a trail of snowy footprints on the expensive red carpet. Oh well, snow would melt. When she reached Cedar Bend’s rather lavish front lobby, she paused in the big archway and beheld enough Christmas cheer to knock one’s boots off.

  Cedar Bend Lodge had always been an unbelievably elegant, gorgeous five-star hotel, albeit in its own rustic sort of way. Today it was even more so. The row of giant crystal chandeliers fought off shadows cast by the heavy snow clouds building a gray shroud that hung low and threatening over the lake. At least a thousand crystal prisms sparkled bright pinpoints of light, and the bejeweled cut glass in the huge front doors reflected spots of color across the black and gold carpet. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows presented Black’s guests with a gorgeous view of Lake of the Ozarks, which at the moment looked dark and foreboding and restless—a black and white snow-frozen tableau. It was still beautiful, though not quite as much as its glittering blue sheen under the hot summer sun. Still a sight welcome to Claire’s eyes, though, after their long Hawaiian honeymoon.

  It was Christmas, after all, and did Claire ever love this time of year. Always had. Not as much as Black did, of course. Her guy had gone absolutely Christmas crazy this year. She stood back and beheld about fifty thousand blinking white and red and green and blue Christmas lights that covered just about everything not nailed down inside the lobby. It was a scene captured nearly everywhere else on the Cedar Bend grounds, too. Yep, nobody did Christmas like Nicholas Black. His holiday spirit made its appearance on nearly everything inside and outside of the hotel if he could find a way to attach it, and he usually did, by hell or high water.

  Festoons of pine and pinecones and holly berries and shiny gold Christmas balls lit up the mantels, the bannisters, the tables, the reception desk, and up the bannisters and across the balconies, with pine wreaths everywhere, all of which gave off the most delicious evergreen scent that wafted around in the heater currents and made her feel as if she lived deep in the magical Black Forest. He had ordered Christmas trees put up, all pines, because he loved pine trees. So pine trees of every size and shape imaginable were carried in and decorated, crowned off, of course, by the majestic, towering thirty-foot super tree dead center in the front lobby. Lights had come on and the holidays were sparkling everywhere, and when Black was giving the orders, that really meant everywhere.

  Claire stood a moment and smiled at the sheer joy of yonder old-fashioned and folksy Christmas, with all those lights and the twin giant rock fireplaces ablaze with huge logs and happy guests sitting around on leather couches and rocking chairs while sipping hot chocolate or warm apple cider, compliments of the hotel. Home sweet home it truly was, at least until her cabin on her own quiet cove across the lake was finished and ready for them to move back in. She missed the solitude of her place sometimes, no doubt about that, but it did not hold even a fraction of the Christmas cheer inside Cedar Bend Lodge, due to all those bottomless credit cards of her very own and dearly beloved.

  Claire was super glad to be home, but it had been great to see all her former colleagues at the sheriff’s office this past week. She had missed that kind of law enforcement camaraderie since she’d gone into private investigation with her partner Will Novak. The best part of this week was spending a ton of time with Bud Davis, one of her best friends in the world. Bud and Sheriff Ramsay both. Her badge was back in place, hanging around her neck on its chain. Her Glock 19 was snug in the shoulder holster under her brown winter parka, and her .38 snub nose was strapped in place on her right ankle. Just to be safe, of course. All of that felt familiar, and damn good, oh yes, sir, it did. The office had been so quiet, and nobody in Homicide was complaining. Zero murders or attempted murders were a pleasant thing in Claire’s book.

  Black should be upstairs, waiting for her, with all the fireplaces in the penthouse roaring. Yep, Black liked his real log fires as much as his Christmas trees. They had enjoyed a long and lovely leisurely honeymoon on the island of Kauai, but she loved the lake more, and just about everything that went with it, so she was in highly content at the moment. Couldn’t possibly be happier, in fact. The lake was her true home now, her own private and peaceful haven, and its beautiful wooded hills protected her from the outside world and all the evils that she’d found there. So all was good and fine and beautiful, and she was definitely a happy camper on this lovely snowy day.

  Claire took a moment to shrug off her parka and kick snow out of her boot treads. That’s when she first espied the horror awaiting her at the other end of the lobby—a large throng of paparazzi. They congregated near the bar and the fancy Two Cedars restaurant. She quickly ducked back out of sight. The last thing she needed was for them to see her and give chase. Her high good cheer zoomed down to the floor and lay prostrate, groaning. Good grief, there were cameras everywhere, already attached to tripods, microphones tested and clutched tightly in grubby little annoying hands. Damnation. What the hell was going on?

  Those bloodsuckers had not been at the hotel when Claire left that morning for work, but she guessed she shouldn’t be surprised. Photographers had been dogging her and Black since their wedding day, due to the fact that he was the Nicholas Black, the handsome shrink to Hollywood stars and other rich and famous ilk, including philandering politicos. Not to mention the super big and life-threatening trouble he’d gotten himself into last summer. That had been the serious kind, which had delayed their wedding and whipped up the media into pure hysteria, a journalistic furor like you wouldn’t believe.

  The same creepy gaggle of photographers had trailed them out into the mid-Pacific and drifted around in boats off the private villa where she and Black had attempted to enjoy a nice, quiet time alone so they could lick their collective wounds. After the newlyweds spent a couple of weeks inside, off of their lovely private honeymoon beach, most of the reporters had given up and hightailed it home for their next celebrity stakeout, thanks be to God. Now, however, they were back in force, and she didn’t like it. Hated it, in fact. Black was gonna like it even less. He’d had it up to his very sky-blue eyes with publicity and the way both of them had been hounded night and day.

  Claire slipped into her parka again and flipped up the hood. She averted her face so the tabloid vultures wouldn’t recognize her. There had to be at least fifty of them milling around. Yep, like the hyenas they were, circling a wounded gnu; Claire, of course, being that gnu. But why now? What the hell had happened? And this close to Christmas? Jeez, she loathed them all right, each and every one, no exceptions. Seemed as if they’d been chasing her forever for one reason or another, but her life had pretty much been a super terrible horror story from birth, so she could understand their macabre interest.

  Still, she just wanted them to go away, disappear, never to return, and good riddance. They were disturbing Black’s guests and the holiday magic he’d worked so hard to provide for them. Black wasn’t going to like that much, either, and that was not good. He had been in one hell of a great mood since they’d gotten married, and he’d managed to push down the memories of the terrible things done to him last summer. In fact, since they’d recited their vows, he’d been as happy as a first-time kid at Disney World.

  What’s more, he had a trip to Disney World planned for New Year’s Eve so that Rico could have some fun. Rico
was a ten-year-old boy they’d rescued last summer during that horrendous fiasco with the Soquet family of criminal monsters, and he was the only good thing to come out of their Sicilian dark adventure from hell. Rico was living with them now, and Claire was happy he was. He had become an orphan last summer in one terrible moment, and they had brought him home with them. Black was trying to find any of the boy’s remaining living relatives, but secretly both he and Claire hoped he could just stay with them. So far, so good on that count. Another thing that brought out lots of Black’s big, happy, dimpled-up smiles, something that she did so like to see.

  Right now, however, she wasn’t so sure what the hell was going on. Something big must have happened to draw these creeps back into their lives. Lake of the Ozarks was not exactly a hot spot for paparazzi or celebrities preening for cameras, unless said celebrities had come to Cedar Bend for secret shrink attention at Black’s clinic. Unfortunately, each and every reporter in the lobby looked way too agog and excited for something as simple as that. Never a good sign in Claire and Black-ville. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to know what brought them running, either. Usually when the media showed up and created havoc it meant incoming big-time trouble for her and Black, and everybody associated with them. So now the trick was to escape upstairs before they caught sight of her. She kept her head down and walked swiftly toward the penthouse elevator.

  One of Black’s security people, a huge ex-Marine by the name of Isaac Ward, was standing in front of the elevator. He was as tough as hell and massive, with lots of hard muscles, and probably one of the nicest guys Claire had ever met. When he saw her coming, he pushed the button to open the doors, apparently also aware of the crowd of morons buzzing around in the lobby.

  “Thanks, Isaac. What’s with all the reporters out there? I thought we shook them off months ago.”

  Isaac grinned. He was a handsome man with ebony skin, and he was pretty damn intimidating whenever the occasion called for it. Truth be told, he was a real teddy bear under all that gruff, a guy who loved to play video games with Rico. But that sweetness only showed if he really liked somebody. Fortunately, he liked Claire. He said, “I take it you haven’t talked to Nick yet.”

  “Well, I did have some delicious blueberry pancakes and whipped cream with him and Rico this morning. Everything was all good and dandy and smiley then. What happened?”

  Isaac shook his head, smiling again, rather devilishly this time, as she entered the elevator. “Uh-uh. No way I’m gettin’ caught up in this thing. You’ll see. Word of warning, though. Nick is in one helluva foul mood.”

  “No way, Isaac. He’s been in a fantastic mood, ever since we got back home.”

  “Like I said, I’m not sayin’ nothin’. You ask him. Just beware the dragon.”

  Claire had to smile. “Well, thanks for the warning. Maybe I ought to go hide at my cabin until he gets over his miff, whatever the hell it is.”

  Isaac kept his mysterious expression. All righty, now Claire’s curiosity was indeed piqued. Black had been absolutely ecstatic and happy-go-lucky for months now, especially since they got home and he was seeing patients and ramrodding all his clinics and hotel properties around the country. And especially now that they were legally married, which was what Black had always wanted. The icing on the cake? A certain little Rico, who was running around the penthouse, always available for Black to dote on and shower with Star Wars junk. Things at the lake had finally gotten back to normal, if anything about their lives had ever been normal. News coverage had died down about their wedding, and about Black being held prisoner by those three maniacs. He was happy. She was happy. Rico was as happy as any child could be after having watched his parents gunned down. The boy still had nightmares, and so did Black because of a tiny bit of lingering PTSD, but it was rare now. He was good. They were both good. Black had even been in favor of her going back to work at Homicide, which he usually hated. Life was damn good. She wasn’t gonna let anything get in the way of that. Not today. Not any day.

  When the doors of their penthouse apartment slid open with a whisper of well-oiled efficiency, Claire stepped out and nearly collided with Black’s longtime personal assistant, Miki Tudor. The young woman looked spooked, but somehow still managed to come off lovely and put together in a pink designer suit and matching high heels. Ms. Miki never had ruffled feathers. She was much too efficient and organized to let anything discombobulate her. Today, however, she was definitely rattled. There was even one loose lock hanging out of the smooth chignon coiled at her nape. Not a good sign, that.

  “I’m calling it a day until Nick calms down,” she told Claire breathlessly, pushing past her and stepping into the elevator. “I’ll be back in the morning. I’m taking some comp time. I’m caught up, though, so don’t worry about things getting behind.”

  Claire sure as hell wasn’t worried about that. “What the devil, Miki? What’s going on around here?”

  “You don’t know yet?”

  “Well, I guess not. I’ve been holed up at the sheriff’s office all day. Tell me.”

  “Oh no, I’m staying out of this. Ask your husband. But be forewarned: ask him gently.”

  Claire turned quickly when she heard somebody running down the hallway behind them, boots clacking loudly on the marble tiles. It was Rico, and he looked glad to see her. Their little white poodle, Jules Verne, was right on his heels, yapping like crazy, his claws clicking and sliding on the shiny floor as he tried to keep up. Boy and dog had become inseparable since Rico had come to live with them. Rico stopped long enough to give Claire a quick hug around the waist. He was tall for his age, with energy to burn. He was smart as could be, a handsome kid with an unruly mop of curly dark hair and big, expressive brown eyes.

  “Nick’s really mad, but not at me, so I’m going down to the sweet shop to get some candy canes to hang on our tree,” he told her, but didn’t elaborate further as he scooped up the dog and raced into the elevator with Miki. The door slid shut with no explanation.

  Claire looked down the hall toward Black’s office wing. Okay, enough was enough. Guess it was up to her to calm the raging beast. Great. And the day had been so peaceful thus far—except for the media hounds downstairs. But if Black was raising Cain over something, enough that Rico and Isaac and Miki were scattering like spooked chickens, then she was going to have to make him stop with the drama and take a couple of deep breaths. She headed toward his office, walking at a fast clip, now intrigued more than anything else.

  Chapter 2

  This kind of childish behavior from her newly designated husband was downright unheard of. Black rarely ever got angry. Or at least, he didn’t show it openly. After all, he was a crack clinical and forensic psychiatrist. He didn’t do furious or knock-down-drag-out much. Never, in fact. On the rare occasions he became livid, usually with her, he didn’t show it outright, except for a mighty grinding of teeth and flexing of jaw. Other than that, he was pretty much Mr. Sangfroid of the Universe. Yep, he was all kinds of calm and studied reserve, no matter how angry he got, and that was a penchant that at times bugged the absolute hell out of Claire, especially when she was highly aggravated about something. He had been trained not to react to anything his psychologically challenged patients threw at him, but to remain calm, calm, and even more calm. It was irritating, really.

  Even when they had their up-close-and-personal disagreements, which were few and far between, it was Claire who got all bent out of shape and lost her temper and yelled, not Black. Never him. It was infuriating how he could just sit and watch her pace and jump his case and fume without it getting under his skin. And he was overly generous to his staff, too, and they all loved him and were dedicated and loyal. So that meant whatever this thing was, it had to be quite a slam-bam, explode-in-your-face, awful kind of deal. Black was the most in control human being she’d ever met. Otherwise, he couldn’t put up with her. Truth be told, she had never really seen him rage aroun
d, even when he was furious. When he was exasperated with her, he got real slow, his movements got deadly and his blue eyes glowed intense with anger, but he never let it loose on anyone. Especially over something business related. He just made a thoughtful decision and told somebody to make it happen.

  So chances were this wasn’t going to be a fun evening decorating the tree, smiling and smooching. Maybe the honeymoon was now over, and she was going to see his dark side that he had kept hidden until he put a ring on it. And if sweet little Rico, who was now the absolute apple of Black’s eye, if that kid was heading for the hills with the family dog, something was definitely amiss in their happy little penthouse home.

  Before she reached Black’s office, Claire heard something crash to the ground. Great. Now what? Black was throwing things? Seriously? Come on. Get real. Black’s office door was standing wide open, and Claire stopped in the threshold. Black was standing in front of the fireplace, his back to her, staring down into the dancing flames, completely motionless, the absolute picture of his usual unruffled self. Just like always. Serene and looking smokin’ hot as hell, of course. He had on a black pinstriped business suit, a crisp white shirt, and, no doubt, a silk tie straight out of Hong Kong. She had snagged a sexy guy, all right. She looked around and found that the room was not destroyed. Black’s weird Picasso was still hanging on the wall behind his desk, its one bulbous eye staring back at her. Lord have mercy, she hated that ugly thing. His lamp and blotter sat undisturbed atop his desk. Lots of magazines and newspapers were spread around on the desktop and coffee table, which was unusual but certainly no catastrophe. Black was a neat person, took care of his stuff. Maybe his crazy fit of anger had been exaggerated. Maybe he was waxing serene again. Then, while she watched, he suddenly turned around, leaned against the desk, and hit the desktop with both fists before swiping all the magazines and papers off with one swipe. They all landed on the floor, with pages rustling and fluttering, and Black let loose a string of low Cajun curses that would make a prison guard blush. Whoa. Okay, something was indeed amiss in paradise. Claire stepped inside the room and shut the door. She put her hands on her hips and stared at his back.