The Dying Game (22 page)

“Hell will freeze over before I’ll ever let you give me lessons of any kind,” Nic told him quite adamantly. “But I’m sure Ms. Henson can’t wait for another
lesson
. You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“She’ll be okay without me for a few more minutes.”

Why didn’t he just get his ice and go back to the room? Why couldn’t he pass up this opportunity to ruffle Nic’s feathers?

Because she was so easy. All he had to do was look at her to piss her off.

Griff moved in closer until his ice bucket clinked against hers, neither of them moving aside to accommodate the other.

“Your intimidation tactics don’t work with me,” Nic told him.

He shrugged. “I’ve tried charm, reasoning, and intimidation without any success. So tell me, Nicole—” he lowered his voice to a whisper when he said her name, and leaned down just enough so that they were almost nose to nose “—what does work with you?”

Taking a deep breath, she stepped back, putting a little distance between them. “Respect works with me.”

“I respect you,” Griff said.

“I could care less how you feel about me personally. What I was referring to was respect for the law, respect for me as an FBI agent.”

“Respect works both ways you know. If you’d stop thinking of me as the enemy and start thinking of me as a friend—”

“If you wouldn’t interfere with my investigation every time there is a new murder, I might see you in a different light. You shouldn’t even be here in Tupelo.”

“If you’d cooperate with me just a little, I wouldn’t have to make a pest of myself. We’re on the same side, you know.”

“No, we’re not,” she said. “I’m a federal agent. I’m on the side of law and order. You’re a P.I., hired by a man who is obsessed with revenge.”

Griff focused his gaze on her and asked, “Can’t you understand why Judd is consumed with the need to find the man who killed his wife and bring him to justice?”

“He doesn’t want justice. He wants revenge.”

“So your motives differ from Judd’s,” Griff told her. “The bottom line is that your goal is the same as mine and Judd’s—to find this guy and stop him from killing.”

Just as Nic opened her mouth to respond, they heard a woman’s voice calling in a loud whisper, “Griff, honey, where are you?”

Glancing around the side of the alcove, he saw Brigit— with her midthigh-length robe loosely tied at the waist— coming up the corridor.

“You’re being summoned,” Nic said. “Apparently she couldn’t do without you for another minute.”

“Apparently.” Griff grinned.

Clutching her ice bucket, Nic snapped around, walked out of the alcove, and headed back up the hallway toward her room.

Brigit came up to him and slipped her arm through his. “Was that Special Agent Baxter?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t shoot you on sight.”

Brigit’s attempt at humor fell flat, but Griff forced a weak smile. “She got in a few shots during our conversation.”

Brigit looked at the empty ice bucket he held. “How much do you know about her?”

“Who?”

“Nicole Baxter, silly.”

“All I need to know.”

“Then you know about her husband.”

Husband? What husband?
“Yeah, sure.”

Brigit hugged up to him. “Forget the ice, honey.” She took the bucket from him and rubbed her breasts seductively against his chest. “I think I might like to lick my whiskey straight out of your navel … or maybe off your flat belly … or …”

After dinner together, Lindsay and Judd had parted company, each retreating to the privacy of their separate hotel rooms. She should be thankful that he had left her alone. Instead, she found herself repeatedly staring at the connecting door between her junior suite and the room Judd shared with Griff. She had done everything she could think of to get Judd Walker off her mind. Taking a warm shower, watching a couple of hours of mindless TV, reading several chapters in the latest Linda Howard novel, making a phone call to Sanders.

Now here it was going on eleven o’clock and she’d spent the past half hour in bed, tossing and turning. Her mind wouldn’t shut off. Sleep wouldn’t come.

She flung back the covers, got up, and walked over to the windows. After pulling back the edge of the drapes and peering out into the night, she heaved a deep sigh. Not much of a view.

Why had she flushed the remainder of those sleeping pills that Dr. Meng had prescribed for her months ago down the toilet? For several weeks six months ago, she had been unable to sleep without them.

She had disposed of the pills because she wasn’t the type who liked to use medication as a crutch any longer than necessary. She’d actually thought of the sleeping pills as a sign of weakness, but Yvette Meng had made her realize that sometimes even the strongest people needed help.

“Be as kind and understanding with yourself as you would be with a friend. With Griffin or with Sanders,” Dr. Meng had said.

Lindsay flopped down on the sofa, stretched out, and stared at the tiny light on the fire alarm above the door.

I wonder if Griff is back yet? Probably not. He’ll drag in
here around daylight
.

Lindsay smiled to herself. Brigit Henson was a lucky woman tonight. Griff had his pick of women and he’d chosen her.

If Lindsay was the type who went in for brief, meaningless flings, she might risk her job for one night with Griff. But God help her, she was the one-man woman type. And Griffin Powell was not that man.

A loud, unnerving yell startled Lindsay. Jerking when she heard the unexpected sound, she listened carefully.

Silence.

Then another cry, not as loud. A mournful, terrified voice coming from the next room.

Judd!

She shot up off the sofa and raced to the connecting door, unlocked it, and flung it open. She shoved on the door leading into the adjacent room. To her surprise, the second door gave way. Apparently, Judd had not locked it from his side. After entering the dark room, she paused at the foot of the one occupied bed—the other empty, the covers undisturbed—and saw Judd thrashing about as if he were fighting someone in his sleep.

He cried out again, but this time he uttered a name.

“Jenny!”

Lindsay froze to the spot.

Judd mumbled several incoherent words.

Lindsay forced herself to take a few tentative steps toward the bed.

Obviously, he was having a nightmare about his dead wife. Should she wake him or let him wrestle with his subconscious thoughts of Jenny?

“No, God, no!” Judd moaned, then began to weep in his sleep.

Lindsay’s heart ached for him.

And for herself.

How could she have ever thought that he would eventually get over Jenny, that someday, somehow, someway, he might be able to love again?

It had been nearly four years since that tragic night, and it seemed plain to Lindsay that Judd would never recover from losing his wife.

“Lindsay.”

When he growled her name, she shivered, then as if her feet had a mind of their own, they carried her across the dark room, illuminated only by the light seeping in under the door from the well-lit hallway. She went straight to the side of his bed.

She sat beside him, reached out and caressed his face. “Judd. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

His hand shot up lightning fast and manacled her wrist. Startled, she inhaled sharply and struggled to free herself.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. “Let me go, Lindsay.”

What was he talking about? He was the one holding her, not she him.

“Judd, are you all right?”

He yanked her down on top of him so that they lay face-to-face. Her breathing quickened. “Damn you, why wouldn’t you let me go?”

“I don’t understand … what are you—”

He reached up and circled her neck with both hands. When his fingers tightened, biting into her larynx, Lindsay gasped for air.

What the hell was wrong with him? Was he trying to choke her?

His deadly grip around her neck loosened. He eased one hand to the back of her neck and forced her head down to his while he placed his other hand on the small of her back and pressed her lower body against his erection.

“Judd?”

He took her mouth hungrily.

Don’t let him do this again. Stop him now before it goes
any further
.

But she could no more stop herself from responding than she could prevent the sun from rising in the morning. Pure feminine instinct ruled her as she opened her mouth for his invasion.

He kissed her until she was breathless. Then he shoved her aside, almost toppling her off the bed as he stood up and walked across the room. With his naked back to her, he said, “Get out. Go back to your room.”

“Judd?”

“I’m sorry.” His broad shoulders slumped. “I was dreaming. When you touched me, I was half-asleep. I thought you were Jenny.”

No, you didn’t
, she wanted to scream.
You called my name.
You knew you were kissing me. Why lie about it?

“Yeah, sure,” she said, then turned and ran back to her suite, hurriedly closing her door and locking it.

He had driven from Tupelo to Jackson before stopping for the evening. He had left his rental car parked at the airport, changed clothes in the men’s room, and taken a taxi to the closest Holiday Inn Express. No one would pay any attention to just one more businessman staying overnight. He had paid cash for his room, explaining to the desk clerk that his credit card had been stolen and he was waiting for a new one to be issued.

He put on a pot of the god-awful hotel coffee before he showered. He preferred not to sleep the night after a kill. He liked staying up all night and recalling every delicious moment. Of course, part of the fun of reminiscing was in sharing the details with his cousin.

Naked, freshly bathed, and cleanly shaved, he yanked the spread off the king-size bed and draped it over the armchair by the windows. He lifted his jacket from the foot of the bed and removed the cell phone from the pocket. After sitting in the chair, he dialed Ruddy’s home phone.

Ruddy answered on the second ring. “Hello.”

“Call me back at this number.” He rattled off the cell phone number.

Whenever they shared information about their latest victim, they always used disposable prepaid cell phones. Little if any chance of ever being traced. The main rule of their little game was don’t get caught.

In less than two minutes, his phone rang.

“She was a blonde,” he told his cousin. “Sonya Todd. A violinist.”

“Fifteen more points for you,” Ruddy said.

“We’re neck and neck now, aren’t we, Cousin?”

“It seems we are.”

He chuckled. “Have you chosen your next pretty flower? Remember, she can’t be a redhead. You’ve already had your redhead for this year.”

“I won’t need another, but you need one desperately, don’t you, Pudge?”

He could hear the laughter in Ruddy’s voice.
Let him
laugh now, but in the end I’ll have the last laugh. No way in
hell will I let him win our little game
.

“I wouldn’t say desperately, but yes, I rather think the next pretty flower I pick will have to be a redhead.”

“All I need to win our game is one more brunette and one more blonde.”

Pudge didn’t reply. His cousin Ruddy was right. The only way he could win was if he found a redheaded former beauty queen as quickly as possible, then be ready to move in for the kill within hours after Ruddy took his turn next.

“So, are you going to tell me about her?” Ruddy asked. “Did she put up much of a fight? Did she suffer a great deal before she died? Tell me. Tell me. And don’t leave out anything. I want to hear every gruesome detail.”

Chapter 15

Griffin joined Lindsay in the junior suite for coffee. She didn’t ask what time he’d gotten back to his room because it was none of her business. He certainly didn’t look any worse for wear. His short platinum hair appeared to be slightly damp, probably from a recent shower. As usual, his appearance was impeccable. Navy blue suit, white linen shirt, and maroon and navy striped tie. His suit alone probably cost more than her monthly salary. And he was always clean-shaven. She’d known him to shave twice a day, often enough that she’d wondered if he had some sort of hangup about it.

“I don’t have time for breakfast this morning,” he said. “I have an early meeting with Johnson Rivers.”

“The technician at the crime lab?”

“Yeah. He’s nervous about talking to me, so I agreed to meet him outside of town where we’re less likely to be seen together.”

Lindsay handed Griff a cup of black coffee, then the two sat down facing each other. She took a sip from her second cup of the morning. She doubted Griff had gotten any more sleep than she had, but for an entirely different reason.

He looked great. A new conquest always seemed to agree with him. She, on the other hand, had dark circles under her bleary eyes, hadn’t showered or put on any makeup and wondered if Griff could tell she’d cried herself to sleep.

He took a sip of coffee, checked his watch and said, “I’ve got ten minutes before my rental car arrives, if you want to tell me what happened last night.”

“What is it with you? Are you psychic or something?”

He shook his head. “Nope, not my thing. If you want a psychic reading, you’d better call Yvette.”

“Yeah, like she’d give me one.” They smiled at each other, then Lindsay cleared her throat. “You seem to have a knack for making pretty good guesses.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out something happened between you and Judd. When I got in an hour ago, I met him on his way out. He was going for a run and didn’t say two words to me. And all I have to do is look at you to tell you had a rough night.”

“Before you make any wrong assumptions—”

“You don’t have to give me any details,” Griff told her. “All I need to know is if I need to send Judd home.”

“No, you don’t need to do that.” Lindsay took another sip of coffee, then held her cup between her open palms. “Long-story-short, Judd had a nightmare about Jenny. I went to check on him when I heard him hollering, and he kicked me out of his room.”