Fatal Game

by Linda Ladd

  “What the hell’s going on with you, Black?”

  He spun around, still frowning massively, his face flushed with anger. Slightly shocked by that alone, she returned his glare. It appeared he was acting like a giant baby. As incomprehensible as that was, it was certainly something she’d never seen before. Nicholas Black? Petulant? Never in a million years. She could barely believe it was happening. Maybe she should just enjoy his childishness while she had the chance. Oh yes, he did so love to remind her that she should always resort to positive energy and self-control when she was furious and ranting about something. To quote the good doctor: “Remaining calm is the best way to handle one’s problems. Anger never helps anybody right a wrong.” Blah, blah, blah, and more stupid blah. She liked anger. It burned away the hard knots that had a tendency to lump up inside her chest. Better than holding everything inside. Yeah, right. Shrink platitudes. Let’s hear that from you today, my furious love, she thought.

  Black’s face was forebodingly dark, probably from unbridled wrath. Or maybe it was embarrassment. He was pretty much perfect, but he could still feel humiliated at times, when Claire took it upon herself to point out a shortcoming. “Well, it’s about time you got back,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes. “I need to talk to you. Where have you been so long?”

  Okay, now that just went all over Claire. She had never been one to let something stupid pass without comment. “Excuse me? Who the bloody hell do you think you’re talking to here? Hey, I know what. I’m going to clear out of here and go back to the sheriff’s office and let you be ignorant all by yourself. Just like everybody else has already done, including Rico.”

  Black’s face immediately changed. Uh oh, overplayed my ire, he was no doubt thinking. It took a few seconds for him to get himself back in control. Wow, he really was super angry. He just stood there, staring at her, obviously working hard to calm his overheated engines. Claire watched and waited without comment. He was highly perturbed and didn’t mind showing it. Now he displayed the usual telltale signs, gritting teeth and clenching jaw. He knew better than to jump her case any more than he already had, but his next words didn’t sound all that conciliatory. “Okay, so I’m sorry, Claire, but you apparently don’t know what’s going on here.”

  “Yeah, you got that right, Black. That’s what everybody I met told me, too. So how about you quit acting like a big jerk and fill me in. Nobody else wanted to tell me what has you so pissed. So go ahead, get it off your chest.” Claire tossed her jacket over the back of the couch, not taking her eyes off his face. Then she sat down on the sofa, crossed her legs, and waited for him to spring whatever horrible news was making him go nutcase. It would be the first catastrophic thing that had happened to them in quite a while. Since last summer, in fact. Once Black had slipped that wedding ring on her finger and they’d both remained alive and well after their wedding, he had been the picture of masculine contentment. But not anymore, it appeared. This display of temper was pretty much “Nicholas Black and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day,” or so it seemed. Claire crossed her arms and waited, now a trifle edgy herself.

  Black took a minute to tamp down more rage, but his voice was still tight with anger. “Sweetheart, go ahead, sit there and look all calm and relaxed. But let’s see if you stay that way after you get a load of these magazines. Then we’ll see if I’m overreacting.”

  Scooping up a magazine off the floor, he strode quickly across the room and tossed it onto her lap. Presenting him with a withering stare so he would realize that he was really grating on her nerves, she picked it up. It was the latest edition of People magazine. The cover displayed a full-length body shot of Black. He stood on a beach, wearing white swim trucks, sporting a dark tan, hands on his hips, black hair slicked straight back, his six-pack as molded as steel coils. His bluer-than-blue eyes were gazing out to sea, and he had a smile on his face, all his killer dimples dug in deep and alive and sexy as hell. For a moment she just enjoyed the view, because he was her husband now, after all, and quite the catch. Then she realized the photo had been taken on their honeymoon beach in Kauai. Belatedly, the headline across the top of the page registered in her mind. Psychiatrist Nicholas Black. Sexiest Man Alive.

  Claire was stunned. Didn’t take long, though, for her to see the humor in the situation. She looked up at him and laughed, which turned out to be a trigger.

  Black muttered a foul word under his breath but didn’t throw anything or slap her. Lucky for him. “I cannot believe that you find this amusing, Claire.” He shook his head and paced a few steps toward her. “How can you laugh? This is not only embarrassing for me, it’s ridiculous. I’m a psychiatrist and a businessman. That picture makes me look like some kind of…some kind of…I don’t know what. But I don’t like it. And I don’t like it being plastered out in public.”

  Claire tried but couldn’t stop grinning. “C’mon, Black, get a grip here. It’s not as if they are accusing you of murder—which has happened in the past, if you recall. This is an honor, I guess, sort of. Look at the bright side. If you are the sexiest man alive, thousands—I mean, millions of women will be panting after you.”

  “Ha, ha.” Black leveled his intense gaze on her. “And you’re telling me you like that idea? Women panting after me?”

  Now that he brought it up, Claire decided she didn’t like it so much. Huh uh. But, oh well. She tried not to crack a smile. It was hard not to. “It’s done now. Nothing you can do about it. And you are the sexiest man alive. Oh, and by the way, the lobby is now full of impatient paparazzi wanting to talk to Mr. Sexpot, I presume. It’s like they’re having a convention down there. Why don’t you put on those white swim trunks and go down and talk to them?”

  Another string of low curse words that she luckily couldn’t hear. “I can’t believe you’re okay with that ridiculous article. I do not want that stupid title, whatever the hell it even means. They did not ask my permission to publish my picture on their cover. My private life is just that: private. And you know why. That’s the way I like it. That’s the way I want it. We do not need this complication, Claire. I’m going to sue the hell out of them.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re going to ignore it and pretend it didn’t happen. For Pete’s sake, Black, you are really getting bent all out of shape over nothing. It’s just the cover of a stupid magazine. You’re not nude or anything. You do have on a swimsuit.” Claire looked down at the magazine again and thought back to the honeymoon, how they did have some rather romantic fun in the surf a couple of times. She looked back at him, becoming a mite concerned herself. “Do you think they have one of us? You know, out in the water?”

  “Oh my God, can this get any worse? I do not need to be the laughingstock of the AMA, of which I am now vice president, if you’ll remember. You and I have both had enough publicity in the past, most all of it bad. Strike that—all of it was bad. Hell, they’re still publicizing our wedding pictures, and they have to go and do this?”

  “Yes, but we gave permission on the wedding photo thing, and donated the money to your mental health charities. We only gave them a couple, and we’ve got all our clothes on in them, so all’s good on that front.” Claire stopped, realizing that he really was über-upset and not getting over it. Time to be sweet and understanding. “Okay, listen, Black, I get it. I don’t blame you for being furious about this. I wouldn’t like it, either. Truthfully, I don’t like it. But you know what? You are overreacting to this, big time, in a way that I’ve never seen you do before. Maybe you should take one of those little white anxiety pills that you prescribe to me when I get all crazy and bent out of shape. Not that I’ve ever taken them.”

  “Oh really? And I guess you’re okay with the pictures of you, too?”

  Claire stiffened. “What do you mean? What pictures of me?”

  It was Black’s turn to laugh, but he wasn’t amused and he turned it off pretty damn fast. He walked back to the desk and pic
ked a newspaper up off the floor. “Take a good look at this cover and see if you think that’s nothing to be concerned about. Let’s just see how you feel when it’s you out there for everybody and their dog to see.”

  Alarmed, Claire jumped up and followed him. He turned around and held up a newspaper. “This, sweetheart, is the latest National Enquirer, and guess who made the cover? Know what else? Sexy Lady Magazine is offering you a million dollars to pose in the nude for them.”

  Claire was so shocked that for a moment she could only stare at him. Then she snatched the paper out of his hand. There she was all right, on that same beach in Hawaii, and apparently she was the person that Black was smiling at in his cover photo. She was wearing the tiny little yellow string bikini that he had bought her early on in their relationship. Claire’s stomach did a forward roll. Mainly because she knew what she and Black had done on that beach a little bit later. “Do you think, do you think they could possibly…”

  “Oh, yeah, I think they probably could. But if they dare publish anything like that, or anything else at all, I will rain hell down on them in litigation.”

  “Who took this? Oh my God. Look at me. I’m nearly naked!”

  “Oh yeah. And you haven’t even looked inside at the rest of their pictures, or read the article. There’s a whole damn layout of you in there, all in that bikini I bought you. Every single one of them. Why the devil do you think I’m so upset? About me being on People? My God, every man in the country will see these pictures of you.”

  Claire quickly flipped the pages until she found the article, and then nearly died of humiliation when she saw the photos of them together, embracing, kissing, in the waves, lying on the beach. Luckily, that was the extent of what they’d done out in the open, thank God. How could they have been so stupid? But the whole estate was supposed to be private. They hadn’t seen any boats out on the water that day. They’d looked. So where had the photographer been hiding? What else did he get? Her stomach lurched again, and she really did feel sick.

  “Don’t see you laughing now, sweetheart.”

  Finally Claire got mad. “Hell no, I’m not laughing. They had no right to print this, or offer me money to pose in the nude.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. Damn them.”

  Then Claire realized that Black was probably jealous. He did that sometimes. But hell, this was pretty grim. She heaved in some deep cleansing breaths and tried to tamp down her agitation. Once the initial surprise faded some, she counted their blessings. She had her clothes on in the picture, and so did Black. “Okay. You know, Black, that’s a lot of money they’ve offered me. There’s a whole lot of good that I could do around here with a million dollars. You’d never have to pick up the tab at dinner again.”

  “Not funny, Claire. Not funny at all. This is serious. You need to treat it that way.”

  Truth was, though, Claire thought it was funny, because she was already over the anger. If somebody wanted to see them cavorting around on their honeymoon, so what? Who cared? They were happy. They had on bathing suits. “No, it’s not funny, I guess, but don’t worry. As soon as they pull in with a close-up and see all my bullet wounds and that big hatchet scar on my shoulder, they’ll change their minds about wanting me in a centerfold.”

  “Oh God, what else can happen?” Black shook his head. He was not coming down quickly.

  “Like I said, what’s done is done. These magazines are already out on the shelves. Nothing we can do about it now. Best thing is to just ignore the whole thing. Think of it this way: you’ll only have to be the sexiest man alive for three hundred and sixty-four more days, and then somebody else will take over.”

  “I don’t like the fact that a sleazy magazine is publishing pictures of my wife and another one is offering to pay her to take off her clothes.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re the only guy who’ll ever see my scars.”

  Black’s face molded into what closely resembled a stone mask, so Claire moved up close, put her arms around his waist, and pressed herself against him. “Forget it, Black. It doesn’t mean anything. Nothing’s going to come of it. Who cares if people see us in our swimsuits? It’s Christmas. Let’s be happy.”

  Black’s arms came around her and hugged her in closer. “I can’t help it. I don’t want those pictures of you out there. And Rico was there with us. He shows up in a couple of photos on the beach. I don’t like that, either.”

  Time for the old change of subject tactic. “I know, but this’ll all die down. We’ll simply ignore it and it’ll all go away. Besides, everything’s going well otherwise. I’m enjoying working homicides again. It’s good to partner up with Bud and see all the other deputies.”

  Black was coming down a little. “Well, that’s good. So everything went okay again today?”

  “Couldn’t be better. Just like old times. Except there were no murders to investigate.”

  “Maybe I should just send somebody out to buy all the magazines around the lake.”

  Claire laughed at him. “Like I told you, who cares? We’re home and we’re together and it’s Christmas. So let’s decorate the tree tonight. Rico’s dying to put it up.”

  Black finally smiled. “Okay. Rico and I went out to the cabin this morning after you left and cut down a couple more trees. I want to make Rico’s first Christmas here special, so I got one for his bedroom, too.”

  “He’ll like that. Along with the five hundred gifts you’ve got hidden in Miki’s office closet.”

  “There’s something for you there, too.”

  “Best news I’ve heard all day. Hope it’s a new AR15. Why don’t you quit with all the frowning and kiss me until I’m weak and helpless.”

  Black usually took her up on offers like that, whether he was mad as hell or not. He did this time, too. He pulled her up onto her toes and got the job done in high fashion, with plenty of panting and groping under her sweatshirt. But that’s as far as they got before they heard Bud Davis calling out Claire’s name from the hallway. A moment later, he walked into the room. They broke apart, still a bit breathless. Bud smiled and shook his head.

  “Still the newlyweds, I see. Hey, have you two seen the National Enquirer?” Bud grinned, but his eyes were absolutely gleaming with his usual mischief. Her former partner was tall and nice-looking and pretty much slayed women with his big ash-gray eyes and sexy southern drawl. He was poking fun at them, but she wasn’t sure Black was in the mood for that quite yet. She was right.

  Black stiffened and then he frowned. “Yeah, I’ve seen it, and they’re going to be sorry they printed it.” Then, good for him, he attempted to shake the attitude off. “C’mon in, Bud. How are you? Claire was just telling me things have been pretty quiet.”

  “Not anymore. We just pulled in a homicide. Charlie wants us to take it. Thought I’d just drop back by and pick you up. I was still near here, anyway.”

  Black had settled down big time, had even harkened back to his rational self. On the other hand, every time Claire visualized those scantily clad pictures of her she cringed inside. But he didn’t need to know that. His weren’t so bad. He even got a good title. Hers just looked sleazy and nasty.

  “What do you have on this murder?” she asked Bud.

  “Not much yet, don’t have any details, but it’s not gonna be good. Never is.”

  Claire felt a tiny surge of excitement, just like she always did when a case came up. She wanted to go after the killer, bring him in. She couldn’t wait to get him behind bars, no matter who he was. It was in her DNA. “Okay, let’s go. See you later, Black.”

  Black didn’t look thrilled. “Okay. We’ll wait on you to decorate the trees. Have any new private cases come that I can help you with? Booker’s available.”

  John Booker was Black’s best friend and a highly capable private investigator. “We don’t have cases pending right now. Will Novak’s still down in Belize
with his friend Jenn. By the way, the last time he called, he said she’s doing much better. But he’s staying on for a while until she gets back on her feet. So everything’s under control.”

  “Okay, I’ll just stay right here and burn all the magazines in town while you’re gone.”

  Bud laughed. Black smiled, too, a little, and it appeared his Christmas spirit was creeping back in, slowly but surely. “Good deal. I’ll probably be back in time for a late dinner. If it gets too late, you and Rico go ahead. Just keep my plate warm.”

  Black leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Be careful. Duck and weave, you know the drill.”

  “Will do. And you just keep on being the sexiest man alive, you hear? That’s the important thing around here.”

  “Claire…” Black warned, narrowing his eyes.

  Bud was laughing again; the dire mood had been broken. Black was back to himself, but still ready to call in his team of litigators, she suspected. All the frightened employees could slink back to work tomorrow and finish their day without getting their heads bitten off. Claire was on the job again and heading out to solve a murder. Screw those tabloids, she was excited. It had been too long since she’d worked homicide, and it made her feel as if she was home again and exactly where she belonged. Back in her comfort zone. She had missed Bud and Charlie and Joe McKay and all her other friends at the lake. This was going to be her Christmas present to herself: justice for the victim’s family. She felt another spark of eagerness. Except for those National Enquirer photos, she felt unbelievably content. But she didn’t have to think about that problem—Black would worry about it enough for the both of them.