The Dying Game

by Beverly Barton

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Lindsay isn’t here,” Sanders said. “She’s in Knoxville.”

  Tension curled tightly around Judd’s gut. “Is she on an assignment with Griff?”

  “In a way,” Sanders replied.

  Judd glanced from Sanders to Yvette, then back at Sanders. “I want to know what you’re not telling me and I want to know now.” Judd practically growled the demand.

  Sanders hesitated. “I’m sorry, Mr. Walker…”

  Judd stormed across the room, an unknown fear clawing at his insides.

  “Stop.” Yvette’s calm yet commanding voice got through to him in a way a harsher tone wouldn’t have.

  “For God’s sake, what is it?” Judd looked pleadingly at Yvette.

  “Tell him,” she said to Sanders.

  “Are you sure?” Sanders asked.

  She nodded.

  Sanders explained about Lindsay and Maleah’s plan to trap the BQ Killer, giving Judd the condensed version, then continued speaking during Judd’s outbursts, completely ignoring his rage.

  “And Griff agreed to this? He enabled her? Damn it, what was he thinking, putting her out there like that, using her as bait?”

  “Griffin is protecting her,” Sanders said. “Lindsay is doing this for the same reason she has done everything else for the past four years—for you. She would have done it with or without Griffin’s cooperation.”

  “I never asked her…” Judd slammed his fist into the wall, bursting a hole in the Sheetrock. “This is all my fault. If anything happens to her…”

  “Griffin is close by, along with six Powell agents. Holt Keinan is a former SWAT sharpshooter. They set everything up a few hours ago. Lindsay will be surrounded by protection.”

  “Exactly where is this coming down and when?”

  “This evening,” Sanders said. “She’s meeting this man at six o’clock.”

  Judd checked his watch: Five-fifteen.

  “Where?”

  “Tell him,” Yvette said to Sanders. “But only—” she grabbed Judd’s arm “—only if you agree to let me go with you.”

  Judd glared at her. “Agreed.”

  Pinkie looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. He was years younger and pounds heavier than the real Allen Posey, but with the gray wig and mustache, he could pass for a man in his fifties. If only he could have gotten into the Woodruff Building last night, he could have prepared everything for tonight. But he had memorized the original blueprint and knew the perfect area. In the basement. She could scream her head off and no one would hear her. After removing the small vial from his pants pocket, he studied it for a moment, then replaced it, along with a plain, white cotton handkerchief. A couple of whiffs of this stuff and she’d be out like a light. Easy to lift and carry. If there was one thing he hated, it was a struggling victim. He patted his back, where a sheathed, nine-inch, hunting knife, attached to his belt, lay hidden beneath his lightweight overcoat. The knife was for the kill. The gun in his coat’s outer pocket was simply a precaution. Just in case there was any trouble.

  After the kill, he would return here to the motel, remove his disguise, shower, and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, he would fly straight to Louisiana, to Pudge’s plantation with evidence of his kill. Photos taken with his tiny digital camera.

  And then he would kill his cousin.

  Pinkie sighed.

  He truly hated the thought of killing Pudge. But rules were rules. He would allow his dear friend, his beloved cousin, to choose the method by which he wished to die. Poison? A single gunshot to the head? Strangulation?

  All decked out in her Paige Allgood garb, Lindsay arrived at the old Woodruff Building at precisely two minutes to six. Ms. Allgood had given her consent for the Powell Agency to use her Bentley, which was being driven this evening by Rick Carson, dressed as her chauffeur. When he pulled the car up to the curb, he surveyed the area around the front entrance.

  “He doesn’t seem to be here yet,” Rick said.

  “No, but he could be watching and waiting.”

  Rick got out, opened the backdoor, and helped Lindsay onto the sidewalk. “Be careful,” he whispered.

  She smiled, squared her shoulders and tilted her chin. A show of confidence or false bravado?

  Rick drove off, but Lindsay knew he would circle two blocks and then park in the alley behind the building and join Griff and the others inside.

  Straightening the fur-trimmed cashmere sweater she wore, Lindsay walked toward the front door, pausing every few steps to glance around, the way anyone would if they were expecting to meet another person.

  When she reached the double entry doors, she turned and faced the street. Glancing at Paige’s heavy eighteen-karat gold watch on her wrist, Lindsay noted that it was now one minute past six.

  Act normal. Keep a pleasant expression on your face. Don’t appear to be worried. If he’s watching, he might pick up on the least hint of anxiety.

  But how could she act naturally when she knew that very soon she would come face to face with a brutal murderer? Do the best you can, she told herself. Remember, not only will catching this bastard save lives in the future, but it will help Judd put the past to rest.

  Five minutes later, still waiting, Lindsay twisted the gold bangle bracelets on her right wrist. God, how did Paige Allgood stand these damn things? Stay calm. Just because he isn’t punctual doesn’t mean he isn’t going to show.

  She glanced up the street, left, then right. There he was! Her pulse raced as a man of medium height and medium build came up the sidewalk, drawing closer and closer. His hair was steel gray, neatly styled, and she knew immediately that it was a really good hairpiece. With only streetlights and the interior lights from the Woodruff Building’s marble-floored foyer for illumination, Lindsay wasn’t able to see the man’s face clearly at a distance.

  “Ms. Allgood,” the man called when he was a couple of yards away.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Are you Mr. Posey?”

  “That I am, my dear.”

  She met him halfway, each of them pausing when only a couple of feet separated them. They stared at each other. He smiled. She returned his smile.

  There was something familiar about his face. His eyes. Not the color, but the expression. And the mouth. Did she know this man? Had they met at sometime in the past? Even with the gray hair and mustache, she could tell he was not fifty, nowhere near it.

  He grasped her arm gently, his fake smile unsettling her.

  The instant he touched her, every nerve in Lindsay’s body came to full alert.

  Don’t panic. Go inside with him. You won’t be alone. Griff has Powell agents stationed throughout the building. You’re as safe as you can possibly be—on the arm of a serial killer.

  “I’m eager for you to see the potential in this building,” Lindsay said. “And if after the tour, you’re still interested, I’ll bring along my architect’s plans for the renovation when we go for dinner later. I have a copy of the plans in the office here.”

  “And as eager as I am to tour the building and take a look at the architect’s plans, I’m even more eager for us to have dinner together,” he told her. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve made early dinner reservations, so we can dine first and then come back here later for the grand tour.”

  Lindsay knew instantly that something had gone wrong. Why had he changed their plans? Why had his grip on her arm tightened significantly? And why was he hauling her closer to his side?

  He had walked right into a trap! How could he have been so stupid? No, he wasn’t stupid. How could he have known?

  Although she resembled Paige Allgood, this woman was not the former Miss UT that Pinkie had met on several occasions over the years.

  He knew this woman, but she wasn’t Paige.

  She was Lindsay McAllister. A very special Powell agent.

  He had seen her with Griffin Powell a few times in the past three years.

  If he
walked into the Woodruff Building with her, what would be waiting for him? Griffin Powell? Judd Walker? Powell agents, all with weapons loaded and aimed right at him? And if he tried to run away? No, running wasn’t an option.

  She knew something was wrong. The moment he changed plans on her, she had become suspicious. Getting her into his car on the pretense of going to dinner probably wasn’t going to work.

  Think, damn it, think! Think fast. Get yourself out of this mess any way you can.

  Was he truly in a no-win situation?

  There had to be a way out.

  And if not?

  He had no intention of going down without a fight. He might be able to outsmart his opponents. But if all failed, then, by God, he would go out in a blaze of glory. And he wouldn’t go alone.

  “I have my car waiting,” Pinkie said. “Shall we go, my dear?”

  The fake Paige replied, “I’m sorry, but I really prefer showing you the building now and going out for dinner later, as we originally planned.”

  She wasn’t buying it, which meant she must know he wasn’t the real Allen Posey. Pinkie eased his hand into his overcoat pocket, gripped the 9 mm and shoved it into her side. “I’m afraid there’s been a drastic change in our plans, Ms. McAllister.”

  Chapter 34

  Ms. McAllister. Ms. McAllister. Lindsay’s own name reverberated inside her head. This man, whoever he was, knew her. Knew her name.

  Snapping her head around, she stared at him, trying to figure out who he was, where she’d seen him.

  His sneering smile seemed vaguely familiar.

  “I’m afraid I can’t oblige you by walking into Griffin’s trap,” he told her.

  Don’t panic, Lindsay. Stay calm and as much in control as possible. He’s not going to shoot you here and now. He knows what awaits him once he walks into the Woodruff Building, but he has to realize that he can’t run. You’re his hostage, his only bargaining tool. He has to keep you alive.

  At least for the time being.

  It’s not as if Griff doesn’t know what’s going on. That’s the reason he made you wear a wire. Just in case something went wrong.

  So what now? Play dumb? Pretend not to know what this guy was talking about? Buy Griff some time to figure out how to handle the situation?

  Barely managing to constrain the panic gripping her, Lindsay asked, “What’s wrong with you, Mr. Posey? I’m Paige Allgood, not someone named McAllister.”

  “You are not Paige Allgood. Although the real Allen Posey has never met Paige, I have. Several times.”

  Lindsay’s heart stopped. Crap!

  “I can’t imagine why you’d think such a crazy thing,” she said, hoping she could bluff her way out of this. “I most certainly am Paige Allgood.” She jerked on her arm, but he held steadfast. “If you’ll release me, I can show you my driver’s license, my credit cards, my—”

  He chuckled, the sound so eerily maniacal that it sent shock waves through Lindsay. “I must admit that there is a resemblance, though only superficial. If you and I had never met, I probably wouldn’t have realized so quickly that you weren’t Paige, and Griffin’s little trap might have worked.”

  Lindsay swallowed. “You and I have met before? When? Where?”

  He eyed her speculatively. “Are you wired, my dear?” He surveyed her from neck to knees. “Of course you are. Which means you can hear me, can’t you, Griffin?” He chuckled. Cold chills raced through Lindsay. This man knew he now had nothing to lose.

  “There is no way out for you,” she said. “No matter what you do to me, you can’t escape.”

  He pressed his mouth against her ear and whispered softly, “Before Griffin can turn his sharpshooters on me, we’re going to take cover. If you fight me, I’ll kill you instantly. Do you understand? Just nod. Don’t say anything.”

  She nodded.

  He pulled her along with him toward the corner of the building, which faced a side street. “Down!” he ordered when they reached a row of concrete steps that led below street level to what had once been an entrance to offices housed in the basement.

  Lindsay realized that he held her in a protected area, out of range of any sharpshooter, with only two ways to reach them—either through the basement door or directly down the steps leading from the sidewalk. Either way, her captor would be able to kill her before being overtaken.

  Not allowing his personal feelings for Lindsay to immobilize him, Griffin instantly issued orders, taking into consideration the fact that even if they had the Beauty Queen Killer trapped, Lindsay’s life was too high a price to pay for capturing him. And yes, his decision to cooperate—up to a point—with the killer was a decision based on the fact that he loved Lindsay.

  Griff kept two men inside the building, on the mezzanine level, able to see anyone entering or leaving. He sent one to the basement to secure the area, the others outside, with Holt Keinan in charge of finding Lindsay and her abductor’s location.

  “If there’s anyway you can take him out, do it,” Griff ordered. “I want Lindsay safe. Understood?”

  Griffin couldn’t allow his concern for Lindsay to cloud his judgement, but at the same time her safety was of paramount importance. If he contacted the local authorities, their very presence might push the BQ Killer over the edge. He had set this sting operation into motion and it was up to him to see it through to the end.

  Lindsay, damn it, why did I let you talk me into this?

  Heaven help us all if Judd loses you to the same maniac who killed Jennifer.

  Judd!

  Yvette had phoned him ten minutes ago to apprize him of the situation, that she and Judd were on their way to the Woodruff Building. Griff had bristled at the news, his angry why-the-hell-did-you-tell-him? question met with Yvette’s trademark calm.

  “You have always trusted my instincts,” Yvette had said. “Trust them now. I believe Judd needs to be there.”

  Griff flipped open his cell phone and called Yvette.

  When she answered, he said, “Keep Judd away from here. We have a problem. The BQ Killer realized we had set a trap for him. He’s taken Lindsay hostage.”

  The moment Yvette closed her phone and turned to Judd, he knew it was bad news. “What?” he asked.

  She hesitated, her dark eyes focused on him, but said nothing.

  Glancing back and forth from her face to the downtown street traffic, he swallowed hard.

  “Please, stop the car,” Yvette said. “Pull off the road as soon as possible. We must talk.”

  A foreboding sensation gripped Judd, tightening his muscles and creating a buzzing hum inside his head. Within minutes, he turned into the first parking area he saw, this one adjacent to a local bank. Leaving the Porsche’s engine idling, he looked directly at Yvette.

  “Do you trust me?” she asked.

  What did him trusting her have to do with anything? “Yeah, sure. As much as I trust anyone.”

  She reached over, grasped his arm and said, “The trap set for the BQ Killer…”

  Judd closed his eyes as emotional pain radiated through him. “What went wrong? Is Lindsay…?”

  Yvette squeezed his arm. “You will not lose another woman you love to this evil man.”

  Judd’s eyes flew open. He glared at Yvette. “You really can read minds, can’t you?” He flung off her arm. “Just tell me. Now!”

  “The BQ Killer somehow realized he had walked into a trap. He has taken Lindsay hostage.”

  Judd couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Agony so intense he felt as if he were dying consumed him completely.

  “Damn Griff for letting her put her life on the line!”

  “Griffin wants us to stay away and wait. Can you do that?”

  “No way in hell. I can’t just wait.”

  Yvette nodded. “Griff loves her, too, and will do all within his power to save her.”

  “Griff may love her, as a friend, as a sister, but she isn’t his life,” Judd said.

  “And she is yours. I un
derstand.”

  “You can’t get away,” Lindsay told him. “There’s nowhere to run.”

  He smiled at her, his expression eerily sinister. “Perhaps you’re right, but before I’m captured or killed, I can kill you.”

  “Killing me would serve no purpose. You need me. I’m all that is standing between you and a firing squad. If you think for one minute that Griffin Powell will allow you to live if you kill me—”

  His deranged laughter echoed all around her, in her, through her. A death knell warning her of impending tragedy.

  “Do you know how many women I’ve killed?”

  She understood the question was rhetorical and required no response.

  “I admit that simply shooting you would give me little pleasure, but…” He glanced at the closed door behind them, an exterior entrance to the basement. He whispered in her ear again, so that the wire she wore wouldn’t transfer his voice directly to Griff. “If I can get that door open and we can find a little privacy inside, I can show you exactly who you’re dealing with, who you thought you could so easily ensnare in your trap.”

  “The door’s locked,” Lindsay told him, loud and clear. She had no idea if the door was locked or not, but if he managed to take her inside, she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure there would be a Powell agent on the other side, waiting to rescue her. After all, she didn’t know if Griff knew exactly where she was. “And if you risk moving closer to the basement door—”

  He slapped her soundly across the face. Reeling from the force of the blow, Lindsay staggered backward and might have fallen against the concrete wall behind her if he hadn’t held onto her with his other hand. By the time her ears stopped ringing and she licked the blood from her busted lip, he had the gun pressed into her ribs again.

  Using his free hand, he reached up under her cashmere sweater, grasped the wire taped to her chest and ripped it from her flesh. Groaning, she glared at him, her mind shifting into overdrive. She couldn’t wait for Griff and the other agents to rescue her. She had to act now, before it was too late.