The Dying Game

by Beverly Barton

  Things would never be the same again when this game ended. Pudge would be gone and he’d be left all alone.

  Why oh why had they decided to make the end of this game so final—for one of them? It had been Pudge’s idea, hadn’t it? Or had it been his? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember. They’d been discussing the rules, making them up as they went along, not deciding definitely on everything until after the first few kills. And it had been almost a year into the game before they’d added that one last stipulation.

  “To keep us on our toes,” he remembered saying.

  “To keep the game from becoming dull,” Pudge had countered.

  Pinkie’s eyelids grew heavy. He yawned. Sleep. He needed sleep.

  But how could he rest, when his mind wouldn’t shut off, wouldn’t let him stop thinking. If you must think, think about more pleasant things than the fact that the end of our five-year game is near. Think about how much fun you had at the dinner dance last night. You mixed and mingled with everyone of any importance in Knoxville, a few of them even old friends from out of town and out of state. You even had a conversation with Griffin.

  Pinkie chuckled to himself, loving the irony. Griffin Powell had spent almost four years searching in vain for the Beauty Queen Killer. If only the man knew how many times their paths had crossed, how many times they’d shaken hands and indulged in idle conversation.

  Too bad you’ll never know that I’m the man you’re seeking. You’d be so surprised.

  Lindsay parked her Trailblazer in the garage, used her key to the backdoor, hurriedly tapped in the security code, and closed the door behind her. She rearmed the system and quietly walked through the kitchen. The silent stillness assured her that no one was awake, that neither Judd nor Griff would meet her and ask for explanations. Where have you been young lady? What are you doing coming home at this hour of the morning?

  Making her way through the house, down the hallway toward the staircase, she breathed a sigh of relief. Almost home free. If she could make it upstairs to her room, no one would know what time she had arrived home.

  It wasn’t Griff that concerned her, although she knew he worried about her. Like a big brother. He had encouraged her to start dating and had approved of Nathan. But he’d also had reservations about her rushing into a commitment, even a temporary one. Now, she realized that Griff had been right to have concerns.

  If she could make it to her room, no one would know that she hadn’t spent most of the night with Nathan.

  Admit it, you don’t want Judd to know.

  And just why is that?

  Because her personal life was none of Judd’s business.

  That’s not the reason.

  Okay, so she wanted Judd to think she’d had sex with Nathan, that she’d spent the entire night in another man’s bed.

  When Lindsay was only a few feet from the foyer and the stairs that led up to the privacy and safety of her bedroom, she made the mistake of glancing into the dark living room. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the black silhouette of a man standing by the expanse of windows, his body illuminated by the distant security lights outside along the lakeshore. It wasn’t Griff. The shadow wasn’t tall enough to be Griff, nor was it short enough to be Sanders.

  “Judd?”

  She didn’t realize she had said his name aloud until the dark shadow turned around and faced her.

  “Hello, Lindsay.”

  Damn it, Judd, what are you doing up at this time of night, alone down here in the living room?

  Say good night and go to bed, she told herself. Instead she walked into the living room. Just a few feet. Don’t go any farther. Keep a safe distance away from him. But it was already too late. She had deliberately entered the danger zone.

  He came toward her, a few hesitant steps at a time.

  Run like hell. Now!

  “You didn’t stay all night,” Judd said, his voice deep, low, and frighteningly soft.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Silence.

  He took several more steps toward her.

  Her heartbeat accelerated.

  “I don’t usually stay the night when I go home with Nathan,” she lied.

  “Why not?”

  Her erratic pulse pounded so loudly inside her head that she barely heard his succinct question.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, not a single word. After all, what explanation could she give him that wouldn’t ring false?

  Judd moved closer until only a few feet separated them.

  Thank God, I can’t see him clearly and he can’t see me. If he could see her eyes, the expression on her face, he would know the truth. Over the years, Judd had learned to read her, as if she were an open book. No mysteries. Nothing hidden. All revealed.

  “Is he a good guy?” Judd asked. “Does he make you happy?”

  She swallowed hard. “Nathan is a very good guy. He’s kind and considerate and caring.”

  “You deserve someone like that.”

  “Yes, I know I do.”

  “Then he does make you happy, doesn’t he?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  Judd moved in for the kill. Odd that she thought of it that way, but that’s how she felt when he stood directly in front of her, so close that their breaths mingled.

  “He’d probably make a good husband…a good father.” Judd spoke quietly, but there was a surly gruffness in his tone.

  “Why all the interest in Nathan?” she asked boldly.

  Despite the darkness, Lindsay could tell that Judd was looking right at her.

  Please, don’t touch me. If you do, I’ll crumble into pieces.

  “I’m interested in Dr. Klyce because I want you to be happy, and I don’t think he can make you happy.”

  Clenching her teeth in a determined effort neither to cry nor lash out at Judd, Lindsay stood there glaring at him, her body quivering with anger and pain.

  “Lindsay?”

  She couldn’t reply. Not without crying. Not without flying into a rage.

  And then he did the unthinkable. He touched her. God help her, he eased his fingertips across her cheek and down her neck to her shoulder.

  Lindsay trembled.

  “You slept with him tonight to hurt me, didn’t you?” His hand tightened around the side of her neck, his thumb biting into her jaw. “Well, you got what you wanted.”

  “You’re lying.” The words rushed out of her. Hot and angry. “Why would you care if I slept with Nathan or a dozen other men? You’re not jealous. You have to care about someone before you can be jealous.”

  “Do you honestly think I don’t care?” He lowered his head enough so that his lips hovered over hers.

  She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “Please, don’t do this to me.”

  He yanked her close, so that her breasts pressed against his chest. “I want you so much I hurt.”

  Tears misted her eyes. How could he do this to her?

  “I swear that I’ll never hurt you again.”

  He kissed her. Gently. Tenderly.

  And she was lost.

  Her traitorous body melted into his, surrendering without putting up even a token resistance. When she lifted her arms up and around his neck, he wrapped her in a possessive embrace and deepened the kiss.

  He kissed her hungrily, devouring her, ravishing her mouth; and all the while she gave him all he asked for and more. As hungry for him as he was for her.

  When they were both breathless, they broke apart. Judd pressed his forehead against hers.

  “I care too much about you,” he told her in a hushed tone. Soft. Almost loving.

  He lifted his head. “I’m no good for you, sweetheart. I’m no good for anyone.”

  Lindsay felt as if she’d been doused in ice-cold water. “Judd?”

  “The best thing I can do for you is leave you alone. It’s not what I want, but it’s what you need. If I stay—”

  “Shouldn’t I be the
one to decide what’s best for me?” She clung to him, her words and actions desperately pleading.

  He shoved her gently away from him. “I’m leaving later this morning, going home to the hunting lodge.”

  “No, Judd, please…”

  He walked past her, then paused and glanced back. “Don’t settle for anything else but the real thing.”

  He disappeared into the dark hallway, leaving her alone in the living room. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “You’re the real thing, Judd,” she whispered. “You and no one else.”

  Chapter 21

  At his request, Lindsay joined Griff in the Powell Agency office at Griffin’s Rest that Sunday. Business, no doubt. But also something to keep her busy, to help her not think so much about the fact that Judd was leaving today, going home to the hunting lodge. To be alone. To escape from human emotions. To hold on to what was dearest to him in the whole world—the memory of Jennifer.

  Carrying a small pot of coffee and a mug on a silver tray, Sanders had knocked on her door at eleven-fifteen this morning. When she had answered the door wide awake and fully dressed, Sanders hadn’t seemed the least bit surprised. He had carried the tray over to her desk, set it down, and said, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” she’d replied.

  “Griffin would like to see you in the office at noon.”

  “All right. I’ll be there.”

  He had simply nodded.

  “Have you seen Judd this morning?”

  He’d given her a blank stare and said, “No, I haven’t seen him.”

  Sanders had then made a hasty retreat.

  Lindsay checked her watch. Twelve noon on the dot. She opened the office door and walked in. Griff sat alone at the head of the conference table, a slew of papers scattered about, an ink pen in one hand. When he heard her enter, he glanced up and motioned to her.

  “Come on in. I want to go over some facts with you.”

  She sat on the right side of the table, in the chair closest to him. “Is there something new?” she asked as she turned one of the many sheets of paper around so she could see it. “This is a computer printout of all the Beauty Queen Killer’s victims.”

  “Yes, it is. And to answer your question—no, we’re not working with any new information. I just want to look back at some basic facts and filter them through what we’ve learned about our killer in the past few weeks.” Griff picked up another sheet and handed it to her. “Take a look at this.”

  She scanned the page quickly. “Okay, so what am I supposed to see? Am I looking for something in particular?”

  “Look at the dates of each murder.”

  She ran her gaze over the dates, top to bottom, beginning almost five years ago on—“April first,” she said. “There has been a murder every April first for the past four years. And we’re less than a month away from April the first this year.” She shrugged. “But this is old news. Last year, we noted that the one and only recurring date for any of the murders is April first.”

  “We can be pretty sure he’ll kill again this April first.”

  “I realize that, but what good does that information do us? We don’t know where he’ll strike or who his victim will be. So the date is useless to us.”

  Griff handed her another sheet of paper. “Check this out. Note the dates, the year to be specific, that corresponds with the victim’s description.”

  Once again, Lindsay scanned the page. “Blondes, brunettes, and redheads, with fewer redheads.”

  “Look closer.”

  She did, then gasped. “Starting nearly five years ago, he has killed various numbers of blondes and brunettes per year but only two redheads each year.” She looked at Griff. “Why only two redheads when we now know they’re worth twenty points?”

  “One of the rules of the game?” Griff suggested.

  “He limits himself to two redheads a year, but blondes and brunettes are fair game, no limit on either.”

  “And he limits himself to women who live in the South,” Griff said. “Anywhere from Texas to Florida, from North Carolina to Arkansas.”

  “Derek surmises that he lives somewhere in the South and either moves around a lot or travels extensively.”

  “Derek’s profile suggests that our killer has money and education, probably a job that pays well and entails traveling or—”

  “Or he has accumulated a fortune in some way—work, marriage, or inheritance.”

  Griff reared back in the swivel chair in which he sat, lifted his arms, and cupped his hands behind his head. “Yvette thinks Barbara Jean is on the verge of remembering more about the man she saw leaving her sister’s apartment.”

  “If anyone can help her remember, Dr. Meng can.”

  “I want you to talk to Yvette this afternoon,” Griff said.

  Lindsay eyed him questioningly. “For any specific reason?”

  “Judd left this morning. Around eight.”

  A tight fist solidified around Lindsay’s heart. “Oh. I—I knew he was going home. I just didn’t realize he would leave before I could say good-bye.”

  “Talk to Yvette.”

  “I don’t need to talk to her. I’m fine.”

  Narrowing his gaze, Griff studied her. “Talk to her anyway.”

  Lindsay huffed. “This meeting to hash over facts about the Beauty Queen Killer case was just a ruse, wasn’t it? You wanted to check me out, see if I was holding it together, help me cope with Judd running back to his solitary misery.” She shoved her chair from the table and stood. “I need a few days off to decide what I want to do with my life. I’ve wasted nearly four years trying to help you track down a phantom and believing I could help Judd stop loving a ghost. I’ve failed on both counts.”

  Griff got up, walked over to her, and placed his arm around her shoulders. “Take a few days, take a week.” He hugged her. “But before you go, talk to Yvette.”

  “Damn it, Griff, I told you that I don’t need to—”

  “Humor me,” he said. “If you talk to Yvette before you leave, I won’t worry as much about you while you’re gone.”

  After blowing out an aggravated breath, she acquiesced. “Oh, all right. I’ll talk to Dr. Meng.”

  At her invitation, Rodney had joined them for church this morning and had followed them home after the services for a midafternoon lunch. Before their separation, Sundays had usually been the only day of the week LaShae and Rodney spent together, the two of them with little Martin. But often, after things became so strained between them, Rodney had slipped away after lunch and stayed in his home office until bedtime.

  In the beginning of their marriage, they had been happy. Working together, planning their future, having a baby. And then Rodney had become obsessed with his job, determined to succeed at all costs. She had been lonely, had felt neglected. And had eventually turned to another man.

  But Ben wasn’t just any man. He was the man she loved. And the man she could never have, except for stolen moments in motel rooms.

  “Auntie Carol, that was a delicious meal,” Rodney said. “Pork chops are my favorite and nobody can fix them the way you do.”

  “Ah, go on with you.” Carol beamed with pride. “I had help with dinner today. Would you believe that LaShae actually baked that chess pie. She used her mama’s recipe.”

  Rodney focused on LaShae, offering her a warm smile. “The pie was very good. If I wasn’t so full—” he patted his flat belly “—I’d ask for a second piece.”

  “I want another piece,” Martin piped in. “I like pie.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “We know you like pie,” Rodney said. “You like anything sweet.”

  “Just like his mama. When LaShae was little she would have eaten dessert for every meal and left off everything else.”

  Martin cocked his head to one side and looked at LaShae. “Mama, when were you a little girl?”

  “Years ago,” she told her son.

  “Before I
was born?”

  They all laughed again.

  Rodney shoved back his chair, stood, and walked over to Martin. “It’s about time for your nap, isn’t it, son?”

  “Do I have to take a nap today?” Martin whined.

  “You most certainly do, young man,” Aunt Carol told him as she stood and held out her hand. “You come along with me.” She glanced at Rodney and smiled. “Why don’t you help LaShae clear off the table. Just put everything in the kitchen and I’ll load the dishwasher later.”

  Once her aunt had taken Martin out of the room, LaShae started stacking dirty dishes. “In case you didn’t figure it out, Auntie Carol made herself scarce so we could be alone.”

  Starting at the other end of the table, Rodney picked up the used silverware. “I appreciate your inviting me for lunch today. I miss Martin.” He paused, then added, “I miss you, too, LaShae.”

  “I miss the way things used to be,” she told him. “If we could go back…But we can’t.”

  “We could try.”

  She carried a load of dishes toward the kitchen. With his hands full of silverware, Rodney followed her. While she placed the dishes in the sink, he came up behind her and laid the silverware on the counter. When she turned to go back into the dining room, she found Rodney blocking her path.

  “I’m not ready to give up on our marriage,” he said. “I still love you.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m not giving up on our marriage, but we need a little time apart.”

  He scowled. “You need time apart.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because of Ben Thompson?”

  LaShae gasped.

  “Did you think I didn’t know?” Rodney glared at her.

  “Ben is leaving Birmingham. He’s moving his family to Mobile in a couple of weeks. He’s turning in his resignation tomorrow.”

  “Is he leaving you or did you send him away?”

  “I–I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about…Please, Rodney. I’m sorry. I never meant for you to find out.”

  “Do you love him?”

  Oh, dear God!

  “Let’s not do this,” she said. “Not now. Not today.”