Fatal Game

by Linda Ladd

  Black glanced at the big clock on the far wall. Claire hadn’t made it home for lunch today, but she rarely ever did when she worked homicide. She loved solving crimes and putting bad guys in jail, and her mood had ratcheted up enormously since she’d gone off with Bud that first day back on the job. As long as Claire was happy and safe, Black was fine with it. Soon he’d have to curtail the endless drone so he could pick up Rico at school. He could ask Harve to do it in a pinch, or if time was a problem. Then maybe they could have dinner together and finally put up their Christmas trees. Most likely, they’d have to wait for Claire to drag home before they hung the ornaments. Or, if he was really lucky, she might saunter back in early. Probably not now, though, not with a sticky murder case slapped down on her plate—especially one with Jonesy Jax involved.

  His phone vibrated softly in his breast pocket, and he pulled it out in a hurry, hoping it was Claire telling him she was on her way home. It was Harve Lester. Black rose to his feet. Joshua Rhodes, the young physician in charge of his New York clinic, stopped his report in mid-sentence. “I’m sorry, Josh, but I’ve got to take this,” he told him. “It shouldn’t take but a few minutes.”

  The other physicians relaxed and murmured among themselves, as Black strode through the door that led into his private office, with its wall of windows overlooking the lake and the helipad out on the point. He punched on quickly. “Yeah, Harve? Everything okay?”

  “No, it’s not. You got your television on?”

  Black frowned. “No, I’ve been in a meeting. What’s going on? You okay? Is Rico okay?”

  “We’re both okay, but looks like Claire’s having a pretty rough day. Turn your set on KY3 out of Springfield.”

  “Is she hurt?” Black asked quickly.

  “I don’t know yet. I think she’s okay.”

  Alarmed, Black picked up the remote off his desk. A moment later, the news flashed on. Still holding the phone to his ear, he stared at the screen for a moment. Something was happening out in front of some kind of warehouse. There was an ambulance with its lights revolving, and cop cars parked everywhere. His heart stood still.

  “Is Claire down there? What happened, damn it!”

  “Keep watching. Sorry, Nick. You’re not going to like seeing this. I didn’t.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Harve, just tell me!”

  About that time, the on-site video loop started over. And there were Claire and Bud walking out of the store, one on each side of the FBI agent who’d paid Claire a call down in the lobby. They were holding onto his arms and pushing their way through a throng of reporters. The paparazzi were following them and yelling questions, and Claire looked angry and was trying to hurry Oliver Wood across the street to Bud’s truck. Then, while Black watched, a black Mustang came roaring out of nowhere right on top of them, speeding and swerving to hit them. After that, the camera started jerking around before righting itself again, and everything happened so quickly that Black couldn’t really tell exactly what had gone down. His eyes had been focused on Claire until she’d disappeared off camera.

  “Did the car hit her, Harve? Is she hurt?”

  “I think she’s gonna be all right. Hold on a second. They’ll run a second camera angle next. I have a feeling she’s gonna be sore, but not hurt too bad.”

  Then Black watched Claire on screen again, this time down on the ground in front of a parked car, trying to get up, unable to make it. It looked as if she was trying to get to Bud, who was lying on his back in the snow a good distance away. He wasn’t moving. A couple of photographers had been mowed down, too. “Oh God, where’d they take her?”

  “Canton County Medical Center, they said. They loaded them both in the same ambulance. That’s gonna come on in a minute.”

  Black’s phone buzzed again. This time it was Claire, thank God. His heart sped into overdrive. “She’s on the other line, Harve. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Hastily, he clicked off and answered her call. “Claire! Are you all right? Where are you?”

  “In our bedroom. Could you please come down here for a minute?”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Yeah, kind of.”

  It took him about ten seconds to get to the penthouse wing. Claire was sitting on the edge of the bed, quite calm, totally unflustered. She smiled at him. She had a white gauze bandage wrapped around her forehead.

  “Sorry I had to interrupt your meeting, Black, really, I am, but I need a good doctor who’s not gonna talk to the press or take pictures of me all bummed up like this. So that would be you.”

  Black hurried over to the bed. “I saw you go down on television. What the hell happened?”

  “Somebody tried to run us down with a car. Don’t know who yet. But I’m sure as hell gonna find out.”

  “Where’s Bud? Is he all right?”

  “They admitted him into the hospital. I just came from there. His thigh bone is broken, a compound fracture of the right femur, but they’ve already set it. He’s under sedation now, so I came on home for a while.”

  “No, you don’t. You took a hard fall. How bad is that head wound?”

  “Not so bad. Ten stitches in the ER. I banged my temple and ear against the front fender of a parked car, I guess. I’d probably be dead now if Oliver Wood hadn’t pushed me out of the way. Bud wasn’t so lucky.”

  “Yeah, let me see your hip. Looked to me like you landed pretty hard.”

  “It’s a bit bruised up, but I’ll live.” Claire unzipped her jeans and pulled them down so he could look.

  Black stared at the huge dark bruise that covered her entire hip and the side of her upper thigh. “Good God, Claire, that looks awful. Did they take x-rays?”

  “Yes, of course. I didn’t think it was really necessary, but they insisted. Nothing’s broken or cracked or anything, just that big, bad bruise. It hurts like the devil when I walk or move much, I can guarantee you that.”

  “Why didn’t you call me when it happened?”

  Claire hitched a tiny shrug. “I was okay. No need to interrupt your work. And I didn’t want another herd of press following you down to the hospital. I bet they’ve all already seen the news.” She sighed heavily, and then she smiled up at him. “What I really need is a handful of some serious painkillers. That’s where you come in, sweetie pie.”

  “Well, I’m going to examine you first. That fall you took was a hard one. Who took care of you in the ER?”

  “Just the emergency room guy. I don’t remember his name. He was good enough, I guess. And they gave me a very thorough examination, you can trust me on that.” She stopped there and looked away from his searching eyes. He wondered if she was hiding something from him—and why. “I’m fine, Black, really. I was lucky as the devil. If you want to worry, worry on Bud’s leg. They said he’s going to be laid up for a while.”

  “You bet he is. Nothing else is wrong with him, I hope.”

  “No, just the leg. Some of the photographers said the car knocked Bud up into the air, and he came down hard, with his leg twisted up under him. They got that on film, too. I called his mother in Atlanta from the hospital, and she’s on her way up here. Brianna’s in the air. She’s supposed to land tomorrow. You’ll send your chopper to St. Louis to pick her up, won’t you? I told Bud that you would.”

  Black couldn’t believe Claire was worrying about that stuff. “Of course, I’ll send the helicopter. I’m more concerned about you at the moment. You should stay in bed this afternoon. Now lie back and let me take a look at you.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere for a couple of hours, at least. Not without some mighty potent magic pills filched out of your medical bag.”

  Black was not amused. “You could’ve been killed if you’d hit your head any harder. I thought we were done with trips to the emergency room. Guess I was wrong.”

  Claire gave him a
look. “Like I said, Black, I’m fine. Just a little sore here and there, and suffering a giant headache from hell. We owe Wood a thank you for my ability to live and breathe. Too bad he disappeared right after he told me to call 911. Just melted away into the crowd of paparazzi and was gone.”

  “Forget him. Can you walk at all?”

  “Of course. I got here, didn’t I? I’m perfectly fine, Black, quit panicking and making a big deal out of this. I’m limping some and sore as heck. That’s it.”

  “How did you get home?”

  “I sneaked out of the rear entrance and called for an Uber. I made it upstairs without being seen, thank God. I guess the paparazzi are still down at the hospital, enjoying their feeding frenzy. There were tons of them at the ER entrance when I sneaked out.”

  “Tell me everything that happened, from the beginning.”

  “C’mon, Black. I just did.”

  “Tell me again, and don’t leave anything out.”

  Claire spun the story, impatiently, as she was wont to do when annoyed. Black felt along her arms and legs, probing gently for breaks or sprains or residual pain. He removed the bandage from her head and examined the stitches. He could’ve done them better, but they would have to suffice. Then he applied a clean bandage, got her the painkillers she needed and a glass of water.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at her. “Well, here we go again, Claire.”

  “Yeah, that guy tried to kill us, all right,” she said, sighing heavily as she relaxed back against the pillows. “Or maybe he was just after one of us, and the other two were collateral damage. Personally, I think his target was Oliver Wood, not Bud and me. What do you think?”

  “I think you were damn lucky to come out of this alive.”

  “Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah,” she said, as cavalier as ever about her injuries. Then she smiled up at him, apparently trying to disarm him. That ruse usually worked. Not today.

  Exasperated for about the millionth time since he’d first laid eyes on Claire Morgan, Black shook his head. He’d be glad when this damn day ended. Hell, it could not get any worse—he hoped. Claire groaned some when he helped her undress and slip into a nightgown, and then she lay back down and settled onto her uninjured side. He applied some salve on the bruise. “That should take away some of the soreness, but trust me, sweetheart, it’s going to hurt like hell for a few days. You may not be able to walk tomorrow when the stiffness settles in. If that’s the case, you are taking a sick day.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Undoubtedly, Claire could be infuriating. Especially when it came to her work. She wasn’t going to listen to him, no matter what he said, not when it came to a murder case. He knew that full well, so he changed the subject. “And you have no idea who was driving that car?”

  “They got the car’s description. The reporters around me said it was a late-model Mustang. I saw it was black, but it all happened so fast. I’m hoping they got a shot of the license plate. I called in a hit-and-run and officer-down from the scene, and they’ve got patrol officers down there interviewing the media. A BOLO’s out all over the state now, but I hope they locate the car before it leaves the lake area.”

  “I saw it hit you. It happened quickly on camera, but it was a Mustang, all right. A sports coupe, I think. There are probably hundreds around here, and this guy’s going to dump it or hide it, trust me.” Black heaved a deep breath. “God, I hate it when you get hurt, Claire.”

  Claire took his hand and squeezed it. “I know you’re worried, but it really is nothing this time. I lucked out. I should’ve been more aware, anyway. It’s just that we were trying to get away from the cameras and take Wood down to the office for questioning.” She sighed. “I guess we need to send some flowers to Bud. He’s out for the count, I’m afraid. At least, for a couple of weeks. He’s going to be so ticked off that somebody actually ran over him.”

  “A hell of a lot more than a couple of weeks. So tell me: Where does that leave you? You’re not planning to work this murder alone, are you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. The sheriff’s big-time shorthanded. That’s why I’m out there, remember?”

  “Well, you’re in awfully good spirits after almost being killed by a hit-and-run driver, I’ll give you that. Has your headache let up yet?”

  “It’s getting a little better.”

  “You need to stay in bed and try to relax that hip.”

  “Bud doesn’t need to be by himself at the hospital. I’ve got to go down there in a little while and make sure he’s okay.”

  “He’s not alone. He’s got the entire hospital staff to take care of him. He’ll probably sleep through the night, anyway, if he’s just out of surgery and sedated.”

  “That’s what they told me, too. Look, I’m fine, Black, quit staring at me like I’m about to die or something.”

  “Hate to break this to you one more time, but you’re not going anywhere today. Sorry, but those pills I gave you? They were rather strong sedatives.”

  Claire closed her eyes, the pills beginning to take effect. “I knew I couldn’t trust you. You always take advantage now that we’re married and I can’t storm off.”

  “Why, oh why, Claire, do things like this keep happening to you?”

  Claire’s voice was already becoming slurred. “Maybe it’s because we’re chasing a real psycho who forced a dog tag down into that poor girl’s stomach.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” She told him about the autopsy findings. Black just sat there beside her, listening in disbelief. He would have been incredulous by the killer’s cruelty if he hadn’t studied his share of sociopaths. Claire had met up with more than her share, too.

  “It was probably him who hit you. Again, you were damn lucky you’re not hurt worse than you are—or lying dead on the side of the road.”

  Claire opened her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Sunshine, please stop with the gloom and doom. I already feel bad enough.”

  “How about putting in an emergency call to Will Novak? He could be back in the States in a matter of hours. You need a helping hand on this case. We are talking about a crazed killer.”

  “I’m not going to bother Novak with this. He’s unavailable, and for good reasons. You know what happened to Jenn in Mexico. He’s helping her get through it.”

  “Then I’m going to put John Booker on this killer. Don’t ask me not to. Let’s see what he can find out. Maybe I could tag along with you until you get him.”

  Booker was Black’s best friend and his go-to private investigator. He was a good one, too. Claire gazed up at him, her eyelids heavy now. “Great. I’m gonna need all the help I can get. You’re too busy to take on anything else, though. Like I said, I don’t think I was the target. Oliver Wood is in this thing up to his neck. I find him again, I get a lead on the killer. Mark my words.”

  “KY3 obtained a good shot of him slipping away from the scene.”

  “He did check on me and Bud first, though, before he disappeared. I’ll give him that. He waited until he saw that I was conscious and trying to stand up.”

  “Sounds like you’re making excuses for him.”

  “He saved my life. I owe him. You do, too.”

  “I do. But he’s also your prime suspect, and his behavior in the lobby was unprofessional.”

  “Maybe. But I think he’ll contact me again. He’s still insisting that he’s FBI.”

  “Laurie Dale told you that she couldn’t find any record of him.”

  “I know, and I believe her.”

  Black didn’t want to argue with her anymore. She was drifting off, and he wanted her to lie still and rest that hip. “All right, just stay off your feet and try to relax and get some sleep. We’ll talk about this later. I’m going to put some ice packs on that bruise. Can you wiggle your toes on that leg?”

>   “Of course. You’re getting all worked up for nothing.”

  “Okay, just do me a favor and stay in bed for a while. I’ll be back soon, and we’ll see if you can walk. You need anything else before I go?”

  She smiled a little. “Are you pissed off? You look pissed off.”

  “No, I’m not pissed off. But you should have called me from the scene so I could’ve helped you, and you should’ve let the hospital admit you for observation.”

  “Why should I spend my hard-earned money on hospital bills when I’ve got my own personal doc waiting at home to lecture me on the hazards of my job?”

  “Not funny.”

  “Thank you so much for being so sweet and taking such good care of me.”

  “I hoped to God this kind of thing would never happen again.”

  “Yeah, I know, but police work is dangerous.”

  “Thus, the joys of PI work.”

  “That’s dangerous, too.”

  Black let that go, along with some of his frustration. “Well, excuse me, but I don’t like seeing my wife run down by a speeding vehicle on my flat-screen television.”

  Claire didn’t open her eyes, just murmured her answer: “Yep, that’s always a bummer.”

  Black couldn’t help but smile, but he didn’t like anything about this. “He could’ve killed you.”

  “I’ve always been hard to kill. You know that. Maiming was a possibility.”

  “Don’t particularly like the idea of you getting maimed, either.”