She yanked the charger from the socket and rolled it loosely before picking up the computer. With the thought of opening the newest email from the killer hammering her relentlessly, she stormed out of the kitchen. Barely checking the urge to slam the computer onto her desk, she dropped into the comfortable desk chair in the corner of the living room. The chair was still new enough that the smell of leather enveloped her, bringing an odd, unexpected wave of comfort. If she could think clearly, maybe she could figure this out.
Sighing, she took a moment to massage her pounding temples, then plugged the computer in, opened it and returned to the dreaded email. With the sounds of dishes clattering in the sink, water running and cabinets opening and closing as background music, she clicked on the subject line marked The Final Victim.
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and counted to ten. Okay. She could do this. She braced herself, opened her eyes and read the one-line message.
The game is on.
“What does that mean?”
She screamed and jumped from the chair, smacking the top of her head on Jace’s chin.
“Ouch.” He scowled and rubbed his jaw.
Holding her head, she glared at him. “What is wrong with you?”
“Me?”
“How could you sneak up on me like that? You scared me nearly to death.” She leaned a hip against the desk and held a hand to her chest, hoping to keep her heart from jumping out, and shot him a scowl. “Why are you looking over my shoulder, anyway?”
“I promised Connor I’d keep you alive until he got here.”
She took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. “Please, could I have a few minutes alone?”
He propped his hands low on his hips. He hadn’t shaved, and the stubble darkening his cheeks, combined with the hardness in his eyes, gave him a dangerous appearance. “Sure thing.”
Her computer screen went dark, pulling her attention back to the problem at hand. She sat and scooted her chair in, trying to regain her composure as she lit the screen back up. The message had come from another unfamiliar email address, different from the first two. Only four words. The game is on. Four words that held the power to destroy her. She closed the message and scrolled through the rest of her inbox. Several messages from Ron, even more from her publicist. She ignored them. She’d answer them later when she could think more clearly. Right now, a more pressing matter needed her attention.
* * *
“What are you doing?” Her voice shook.
Jace stood in front of a bookshelf, one of two that lined the walls on either side of the stone fireplace, scanning titles on the spines of what had to be close to a hundred books. “Looking for something.”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He couldn’t imagine what kind of pain she must be dealing with.
“I snapped at you, and I didn’t mean to.”
Giving up on the books for a moment, he turned to face her. “First off, I startled you, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t blame you for snapping. And second, well, you’re dealing with a lot right now. I just hope you’ll begin to trust me at some point.”
She lowered her gaze.
Sooner or later, he’d gain her confidence, but for now, he returned his attention to the shelves. The Final Victim. Ah...bingo. Alphabetized by author, just like the rest of the books. He pulled out the hardcover copy and flipped to chapter one.
“You’re going to read my book?” She lifted a skeptical brow.
“I need answers. Who knows? Maybe they’re in here somewhere.” Taking the book with him, he flopped onto the couch, facing the wall of windows overlooking the yard, and propped his feet on one of the ottomans in the center of the pit.
She sighed and perched on the edge of the couch, choosing a corner as far from him as possible, looking ready to bolt with the slightest provocation. “Why do you need answers if you’re going to walk away as soon as Connor gets here to relieve you?”
Good question. Too bad he didn’t have an answer. “Curiosity. What can I say? I love a good whodunit.”
People were dying. How could she think he wouldn’t at least try to help? What did she take him for? Oh, right, a criminal. She’d already made that clear. Hadn’t she ever heard, Judge not lest ye be judged? She had no idea what he’d been through, no idea what doing the right thing had cost him—
First, his career, when Maris’s article had hit the stands and he’d finally realized what his partner was doing. He’d tried to do the right thing, and cooperated fully with Internal Affairs, but he hadn’t known anything, therefore had no proof. With no one to back him up, he’d failed miserably, giving Brandon the opportunity to set him up to take the fall. And Jace had been left with no choice but to resign.
His self-respect was another casualty, when he’d turned to alcohol rather than God to alleviate his anger and resentment.
The worst thing about it all was losing Jennifer, a woman he’d vowed to honor, love and protect. Jennifer had been killed in their apartment by an intruder who was never caught, though he suspected Brandon had a hand in her death. But at the end of the day, that was no one’s fault but his own. If he’d gone straight home that night, rather than stopping off at the bar for a few drinks that had turned into more than a few while he spent over an hour wallowing in self-pity, he’d have made it home before she died. The coroner’s report had proven that the time of death was only half an hour before he’d walked in. Could he have saved her? Maybe. And maybe not. But he’d never know, because he’d been too busy feeling sorry for himself to go home to the wife who’d stood by his side through everything, who’d believed in him, who’d trusted him. Obviously, her trust had been misplaced.
And now here was Addison. Was she his chance at redemption? An opportunity to atone for at least some of his sins? He’d already made his peace with God, after finding Phoenix on his doorstep and being given the chance to take care of another being despite how badly he’d failed. Had God placed him in Addison’s life to help save her from this killer? How could he walk away without finding out?
Besides, somehow Connor was involved in all of this, and no matter what their differences—traitor or not—the man was still like a brother. Just a long-lost brother he didn’t talk to anymore.
“Fine.” She held his gaze a moment longer. “Ask whatever you want to know.”
He lowered the book to his lap, keeping it open to the first page. “Okay. Let’s start with the email I saw on your computer. The game is on. That’s the first phrase I planned on skimming through the book for, because I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll find those exact words in here. Probably fairly close to the beginning of the story.”
She pulled her knees to her chest, curling into the corner. Her brow furrowed. “The killer sends the lead detective a note after the second murder. ‘The game is on.’ She doesn’t understand it at first.”
He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his interest piqued. “But you do?”
“Like I told you earlier, it’s all a game to him—a head game with the lead detective. But the stakes are life and death.” She hugged one of the many throw pillows close to her. “Over time, the killer lays out the rules. One rule after each murder.”
“Okay. So you have the advantage.”
She shook her head and frowned at him as if he’d lost his mind. “How do you figure?”
“Theoretically, you already know all the rules. You don’t have to wait for another murder.”
“I don’t understand how that helps.”
He shifted to ease some of the pain in his side and to keep his waistband from rubbing against the bandaged wound. “Tell me more about the game. How does someone win?”
“I told you before—they live.”
“Elaborate.”
“The winner lives. The
game doesn’t end until one of them dies.”
“Does he have a death wish?”
“No. He thinks if he kills the lead detective, he’ll be able to stop killing because he’d have won.”
“He won’t, I take it?”
She shot him a look. “Of course not. He’s just telling himself that. He tries to kill her several times throughout the book. The first attempt is right after the second murder, before he sends the note telling her about the game. Because she was able to elude him, he viewed her as a worthy adversary and started giving her rules. Clues, kind of.”
“Let me guess, he breaks into her house and tries to shoot her.”
“No, actually.” She frowned. “He tries to run her down with his car, but her partner pushes her out of the way. Odd, don’t you think, that he’d deviate from the story there when he stuck so rigidly to the murder scenes?”
“Maybe not. He had a lot of time to plan and control the murder scenes. He couldn’t be sure he could get you where he needed to follow the story line when he came after you. Plus, someone did try to run us off the road. The killer? Probably. What kind of car did he drive in the book?”
“A silver...” She paled. “Sedan. I didn’t give a make or model.”
“Just like the one that tried to run us off the road. Who knows? Maybe he never meant to kill you when he broke into your house last night but planned to flush you out, chase you into the night so he could run you down.” He didn’t know what to make of that, or where to go from there, so he put it aside for the moment after making a mental note to check car rentals in the area around Addison’s house. He doubted the killer would have bought the car, but if he did, they’d need an entire team of experts to hunt down every silver sedan sold on Long Island and in the surrounding areas. “So, theoretically, either the lead detective or the killer will be the final victim. Or, in this case, you or the killer, since he seems to have cast you in the lead detective’s role.”
She nodded but didn’t elaborate.
He changed tactics. No need to make her any more frightened than she already was. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
She got up and went to her desk.
He closed his eyes, just for a minute, to ease some of the strain. The puzzle pieces tumbled through his mind, rearranging themselves over and over in search of the way they best fit together. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that having a puzzle to solve again felt good. It stimulated something in him that had been too long dormant. It had been a long time since he’d applied his mind to a problem. He’d had a good amount of savings, and after resigning from the force and losing Jennifer, he’d supplemented it by taking odd jobs here and there, most often as a bouncer at some club or another, where liquor had been readily available.
“Here.”
He jumped, startled and rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes.
She held out a spiral notebook and pen.
“Oh, thanks.” Sliding forward, he dropped the notebook onto the ottoman, opened it and leaned over. “I need to know everything you can tell me about each of the victims in the book. We’ll see if we can narrow any of them down. If we can figure out who he’s going to kill ahead of time, maybe we can stop it. Is there anyone in particular you can think of who matches the description of one of the victims?”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth and nodded but made no move to sit. “Only the last person he kills in book one...”
“The detective’s sister?”
She nodded and paced between the couch and the fireplace a few times, one arm crossed tightly over her stomach while she chewed on the thumbnail of the other hand.
No wonder Connor was in such a panic.
Jace had spent the last five years loathing Maris, the woman who’d ruined his life, destroyed his career and stolen his best friend, all because she’d written a story without being 100 percent certain her facts were accurate, with absolutely no regard for whom she might hurt. He’d searched his heart for forgiveness and come up short time and time again. And now he had already taken a bullet to protect her sister.
Maybe God was tired of waiting for him to do the right thing and had given him a nudge in the right direction, despite the fact he’d lost faith for some time and turned to alcohol instead. Jace could take a lesson in forgiveness.
“So the title The Final Victim isn’t actually referring to the last woman he kills but to whomever loses the game the killer is playing.”
She nodded again.
“Okay. How many people die in the book? Five, you said?”
“Yes.” She curled back into the corner of the couch and closed her eyes. After a few minutes, her breathing evened out, and he thought exhaustion might finally have claimed her. When she spoke, her voice was racked with pain. “How do you forgive yourself when you feel responsible for the death of another?”
If only he could answer that question.
FIVE
Jace still sat on the couch, where he’d spent the entire afternoon immersed in her book, scribbling frantically in the notebook he’d already half filled.
Phoenix lay on the floor at Jace’s feet. He lifted his head and cocked it to the side, studying her.
She’d always wanted a dog, but Brandon had been adamant. No animals in the house. She should have gotten one right away after she moved out, had even thought of getting one for companionship and protection, but decided against it. If Brandon found out about it, he’d have found a way to take it from her. She didn’t want to risk an innocent animal getting hurt. Seemed she was doomed to a life devoid of love.
She glanced at Jace, and for just an instant, the thought of him as something more flashed into her head. She squashed it before it could fully form. If Brandon would have taken a dog from her, she couldn’t even imagine what he’d do if she tried to have any kind of relationship with another man, a good man, a man she might be able to trust, to confide in, to share her life with. Was Jace all of those things? He’d come in the middle of the night to save her at Connor’s request, no questions asked, even though there were obviously issues there. Did that make him a good person? Dependable, for sure, but good? Maybe—if his association with Brandon really had been as innocent...and naive...as her own. Jace didn’t strike her as naive. Either way, now certainly wasn’t the time to pursue her interest in finding out.
“Do you want coffee?”
Jace jerked his head up. “I’m sorry?”
She couldn’t help the small surge of satisfaction. He’d obviously been fully engrossed in her story. Either that, or he’d fallen asleep while reading. “I’m going to make coffee. Would you like some?”
He turned her book over on the table and frowned. “What time is it?”
“Around two, maybe two thirty.”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked the screen.
“You won’t get good service up here. I have satellite internet, which is slow enough, but the cell phone service is spotty at best.”
He rubbed a hand over his heavy five-o’clock shadow. “We’re going to have to go into town. I used the last of the coffee this morning, and I need more dog food, anyway.” He stood from the couch and winced, favoring his injured side. “Phoenix, come.”
“We’re going now?”
The big dog trotted to his side. “May as well. I have to check for messages, anyway, see if Connor called. I’m just going to check the yard with Phoenix, then we’ll go. I’ll be right back.”
She dropped into the desk chair, where she’d spent most of the afternoon staring at a blank screen and thinking, then opened a dialogue box. Ron usually kept his instant messaging open when he was in the office. Hey Ron, you around?
His response popped up almost immediately. Is something wrong?
He had to be kidding. She refrained from any smart remarks. I was thinking...
&nb
sp; Now to find a tactful way to phrase her request so as not to send him into a snit. She lowered her gaze to the pristine keyboard, missing the quirks of the laptop she usually used, and clasped her hands over the back of her head. Did she really want to do this? She’d worked so hard on these books, invested years during her marriage, while her husband was running around with other women and engaging in a myriad of illegal activities. Maybe if she’d emerged from the writing cave now and then, she’d have seen what was going on without Maris having to shove it under her nose. But probably not. Writing was one of the few escapes Brandon had allowed her during the years she’d been chained to him, though he’d put his foot down about writing romance. Brandon Carlisle didn’t come second to any man, not even a fictional one.
The ding of a new message pulled her focus back to her current dilemma. You still there?
Blowing out a breath, she started typing before she could change her mind. See if my pub will pull the books.
WHAT?! Are you crazy?
An image of him, red-faced and fully focused on his computer screen, jumped into her head. Oh, well. There was no other choice. He’d have to get over it.
I want them to pull the book and delay or cancel the release of book 2. I’ll pay back the advance, including your commission.
Though it would mean selling the cabin she’d come to love. No matter. She stood and stretched her back. If she knew Ron, which she did, it would take him a little while to respond. He’d carefully craft and recraft his response for maximum impact, to make her see things reasonably. It wouldn’t work. She didn’t feel like being reasonable. She was trapped in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, unable to contact anyone—although who she’d contact if she could was beyond her.
Her parents were long gone, both having died when she was a child, and it had been years since she’d spoken to her only sister, whose father had raised her after her mother’s death but hadn’t ever really loved her. And Brandon had made her cut ties with any friends she’d had soon after they were married. By the time the divorce was final, Addison no longer trusted anyone enough to pursue friendships. And now it seemed her writing was being taken from her, as well. The one thing that had kept her sane through her marriage, her divorce, the investigation...
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