The Dying Game (43 page)

Blinking the tears from her eyes, she whipped around and faced Griff. “You know what he was thinking, what he was feeling, what he was seeing inside his mind.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m going after him. Tell Holt—”

“Damn it, Lindsay, don’t go. Let him do whatever he’s going to do. If you get in his way, he could wind up hurting you.”

“I don’t care.” Tears trickled from her eyes.

Griff grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. She fell apart, sobbing, clinging to him.

* * *

In the end, Holt had gone to find Judd and Lindsay had gone back into Griff’s suite. Rick and Griff had made themselves scarce for a while, leaving Lindsay alone with Maleah.

Did Griff think she’d open a vein and bleed all over the place, just because Judd had walked out on her? Did he think she needed another woman to talk to? Or maybe to guard her?

As she paced back and forth, Lindsay mumbled to herself. “Go ahead and kick something,” Maleah told her. “Or break something. Then when you’ve worked off a little of your frustration, do something positive.”

Lindsay stopped and glared at Maleah.

“It’s obvious you want to do something for Judd, so do what you can—talk to Griff about our plan.”

It took Lindsay a few seconds to wrap her mind around what Maleah had said: Do something positive. She couldn’t help Judd right now by going after him and trying to stop him from drinking. But if she could give Judd his wife’s killer …

“You’re right. I can’t stop Judd from getting drunk. I can’t make him want me with him. But I can use myself as bait to lure Jennifer Walker’s killer into a trap.”

“That a girl.”

“Where’s Griff?”

“I’m not sure where Mr. Powell and Rick went, but I’ll call Mr. Powell’s cell phone and tell him we need to talk to him.”

Thirty minutes later, while Judd was God-only-knew where, doing God-only-knew what, Lindsay and Maleah presented their plan to Griff, who listened patiently, a scowl on his face.

“No way in hell,” Griff told them.

“Don’t be unreasonable,” Lindsay said.

“I’d be with her all the time, posing as her maid,” Maleah added.

“If you’re with her all the time, our killer won’t show up,” Griff said. “He’s not an idiot.”

“He wouldn’t know I was there. We can figure out a way to make him think Lindsay is all alone and yet we’d be keeping an eye on her.”

Griff grunted. “The FBI has already tried this ploy twice and the BQ Killer didn’t take the bait. What makes you two think he’ll—?”

“I need to do this,” Lindsay said.

“Hell, why don’t I just put a gun in your hand and help you hold it to your head and pull the trigger?” Balling his big hands into fists on either side of his body, Griff snorted. “There’s no guarantee our guy will take the bait. And if he does and anything happens to you, what do you think will happen to Judd?”

She stared at Griff, startled by his question.

“You hadn’t thought about that, had you?”

“Nothing will happen to me. We’ll work out all the details and then put our plan into motion. The BQ Killer is smart, but not so smart that we can’t outwit him.”

“And if I refuse to be a part of this?” Griff asked.

Lindsay and Maleah exchanged glances.

“Yeah, I know,” Griff said. “You’re going to try to pull this off, with or without my help.”

“Then help me. Please.”

He didn’t say anything for several minutes, just stood there frowning as he studied her. “I’ll work out the plan.” He glanced from Lindsay to Maleah. “And you both will follow my orders to the letter. Understand?”

“We understand,” they replied simultaneously.

* * *

Shortly before ten that evening, someone knocked on Lindsay’s hotel room door. Hurrying barefoot across the room, she peered through the viewfinder and saw Judd and Holt Keinan standing in the hallway. She flung open the door.

“I’ve been drinking.” Judd walked into the room. “But I’m not drunk, at least not drunk enough.”

“I tried to get him to sleep in the other bed in my room,” Holt told her. “But he insisted on coming back here to you.”

“Thanks, Holt,” Lindsay said. “You can go on now. I can take it from here.”

“Yeah, you can go now, Holt, old buddy.” Judd waved him away. “Lindsay will take good care of me. She always does.”

“Are you sure?” Holt asked her.

“I’m sure.” Lindsay walked Holt to the door, then turned around and marched back to Judd. “Would you like some coffee or hot tea or maybe another drink? Scotch? Bourbon? Name your poison.”

He leered at her, a silly grin on his face. “I’d rather have milk and cookies.”

“Would you now?”

“Yep. And afterward, I want you.” When he reached for her, she sidestepped him. “Ah, come on. Don’t be that way.”

“Judd, you’re drunk.”

“Just a little.”

“No, you’re very drunk.”

“Don’t be mad at me. You know why … Drowned my sorrows. Feeling no pain.”

She glared at him. “Is that right? No pain. Sorrows all gone. Poor Judd.”

He staggered toward her. “I’m sorry. I tried. I tried really hard.”

She lifted her hand and patted his cheek. “I know you did.”

“Don’t leave me, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Don’t you leave me, too.”

She slid her arm around his waist and led him to the bed. “Sit down. I’ll help you get undressed.”

He sat. When she unbuttoned his shirt, he grabbed her hand. “Thank you.”

She offered him a forced smile, then continued removing his clothes until she had him down to his briefs. When she turned him around and pressed her hand against his chest, urging him to lie down, he didn’t fight her. She lifted the sheet and comforter and covered him.

He gazed up at her. “Did I say thank you?”

“Yes, you did.” She brushed the loose strands of his overly long hair away from his face, then leaned over and kissed his forehead.

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Within minutes, Judd was fast asleep.

Lindsay went into the bathroom, changed into her nightshirt, then came back and crawled into bed beside him. She lay there looking at him, watching as his chest rose and fell with each breath.

“God help him,” she said. “God help us both.”

Griff sat alone on the sofa in his suite, his jacket off, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. With his feet propped on the coffee table, he stared at the television, catching a word or two of the CNN late night newscast while his eyelids drooped. It had been a long day. One that had started out with promise and ended on a sour note. At least for Judd and Lindsay.

Ever since he had agreed to spearhead Lindsay and Maleah’s scheme to capture the BQ Killer, he’d had a great many second thoughts. Too many things could go wrong. Using Lindsay as bait put her life in danger. No two ways about it. No matter how meticulous the details …

He knew why Lindsay wanted to do this. Everyone involved knew why. She hoped that capturing Jennifer’s killer and bringing him to justice would give Judd closure and allow him to move on with his life. A life with her.

What would it be like to have a woman love me the way
Lindsay loves Judd?

Griff harrumphed.

Love wasn’t for him. He didn’t want or need anyone. Certainly not some woman willing to sacrifice everything for him. He sure as hell would never …

His cell phone rang. Who the fuck? It had to be past eleven.

He felt on his belt for his phone, then remembered that he’d taken off his belt and laid it and the phone on the bed.

Let it go to voice mail
.

You’d better get it. It could be important. Nobody calls
without a good reason at this time of night
.

Griff got up, lumbered into the bedroom, and managed to answer one ring short of voice mail picking up. He didn’t bother checking caller ID.

“Powell here.”

“He’s killed again,” Griff’s D.C. contact told him. “A redhead in Parsons, Louisiana.”

“His last kill was only days ago.”

“This kill was different.”

“How so?” Griff asked.

“The lady was a dance instructor.”

“So?”

“So normally, he’d cut off her feet or chop off her legs.”

“And this time, what did he do?”

“He took off her feet and her legs. And then he hacked off her arms and her head and … Hell, Griff, he chopped her to pieces.”

Chapter 31

“You’re awfully quiet,” Maleah said. “Are you all right?”

Lindsay’s intense focus on the road ahead—Interstate 59—combined with thoughts of those last moments with Judd this morning had kept her occupied since she and her fellow Powell agent left Birmingham around seven this morning, shortly after Judd left with Holt Keinan.

“I’m okay. Just preoccupied.”

“I know you wanted to go with him, but he’ll be okay. He’s doing a very brave thing, going into rehab.”

“Yeah, I’m very proud of him. And so thankful that he’s finally asking for the help he’s needed. It’s just … I won’t be there to look after him, to protect him.”

“No, but you will be doing something that could help him more than anything else. Finding this murdering son of a bitch will help Judd and everyone else who has lost a loved one to the BQ Killer find closure.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you having second thoughts about—”

“No.” Lindsay cast a quick glance at Maleah. “I’m fully prepared to step into the role of Paige Allgood first thing tomorrow.”

“I still can’t believe that Mr. Powell was able to set things up so quickly.” Maleah talked with her hands, which moved constantly when she spoke. “In less than twelve hours, he not only persuaded Ms. Allgood to go along with our plan, but as we speak, there are people pulling everything together for us at her home and the building she’s renovating for a theater. And she’s off to Paris for three weeks, going there incognito.”

“Money talks.”

“Is he as rich as people say he is?”

“Probably richer,” Lindsay said.

“I wonder why a guy that rich would want to head up a P.I. firm in Knoxville, Tennessee?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“Never. Mr. Powell intimidates the hell out of me.”

Lindsay smiled. “Griff is definitely a take-no-prisoners type, but I truly believe that he’s one of the good guys.”

“You really like him, don’t you?”

“I like him. I respect him. But I don’t really know him. I don’t think anyone does, other than Sanders. And possibly Dr. Meng.” Lindsay maneuvered her Trailblazer through the interstate traffic into the far right lane.

“You know there are rumors about you and Mr. Powell,” Maleah said. “You’re the only Powell agent who lives at Griffin’s Rest full time and—Crap! I’m talking too much. I’ll be quiet now.”

Silence.

“Lindsay, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I’m afraid I’m the inquisitive type. Actually, I’m just plain nosy.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind telling you since there’s no truth to any of the rumors. Griff and I are friends. Nothing more.”

“That’s what I thought. I mean it’s obvious you’re in love with Judd Walker.” Maleah groaned. “God, why don’t I just shut up!”

“Stop apologizing all the time,” Lindsay said as she steered the SUV into the lane that connected I-59 to I-24. “We’re going to be spending a great deal of time together for the next few weeks, so we’ll have to adapt to each other’s personalities. And if you say anything that offends me, anything I don’t like, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

“Okay.” Maleah released a deep breath. “I promise I’ll be quiet now.”

Lindsay kept her eyes on the road ahead as her mind replayed once again those final moments this morning when she said good-bye to Judd. No tears. No pleas to go with him. Only heartfelt hope. And a tender kiss.

“I wish you would keep talking,” Lindsay said. “It helps keep my mind off other things.”

“Oh. Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything other than Judd, Griff, and the BQ Killer.”

“Well, let’s see. I hear hemlines are shorter for spring, doctors now say both coffee and chocolate are actually good for us, and there’s a possibility that George Clooney will eventually run for president.”

Lindsay laughed. “Oh, yes, you and I are definitely going to be good friends.”

Griff and Rick Carson had flown into Parsons, Louisiana, early in the morning. While Griff had checked them into a local B & B, taking over the entire ten-room establishment, Rick had set to work checking out the lay of the land. Rick’s first phone report came in at eight-thirty.

“Nic Baxter and her task force haven’t arrived yet. They’re due in any time now. It seems there was some initial confusion at first as to whether or not this latest murder was a BQK case, so that delayed things.”

“And why was that?”

“The woman’s entire body was chopped to pieces, which was not our guy’s MO.”

“Was there a rose left at the scene?”

“Yeah. A yellow one. Sandi Ford was a redhead. But it seems the rose wasn’t found right away. It wasn’t on or near the body, which was lying on a table.”

Griff parked the rental car a block over from Main Street, then walked to Sandi’s Dance Studio. A swarm of police, reporters, and curious townsfolk blocked his view. He checked his watch: Ten after nine. Scanning the crowd, he searched for Nic and Josh. No sign of either.

Being a large man, his size alone intimidated others, so he had no problem making his way past the horde to reach the yellow crime scene tape where a police officer stood guard. The young man wasn’t a day over twenty-one.

“Who’s in charge here?” Griff asked.

“Chief Crowell,” the officer replied.

“Is he here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d like to speak to him.” Griff whipped out one of his business cards and handed it to the boy, who took it, looked at it and grinned. “Hey, I’ve heard of you. You used to play for UT. And you’re some big hotshot P.I. now, aren’t you?”

Griff grinned.

“Look, the chief’s sort of been expecting you. He said that you show up at all the Beauty Queen Killer murders and he’d lay odds you’d show up here in Parsons today.”