Fatal Game

by Linda Ladd

  “Won’t be as much fun without you bossing us around.”

  “True.”

  Black laughed and bent down to kiss her. Claire was all for meeting that sort of thing head on, and as often as possible. Black was one hell of a kisser. Nope, the marriage had not put out the fire crackling between them, not even a little bit. In fact, it had fanned the flames.

  “Ew, gross! Stop, you guys are always getting so mushy.”

  That was Rico, making his disgusted face. He had his Star Wars backpack in one hand and his iPod and ear buds in the other. Claire and Black broke apart and laughed at his freaked-out expression.

  “Okay, you two,” Claire said. “Better not get in trouble up in New York without me there to keep you in line.”

  “Black’s taking me with him to buy you a big present. It’s a good one, too. You’re gonna love it.”

  “Really? Do tell.” Claire looked at Black. “The big one? So, Rico, what is it?”

  “I’m not telling you because I promised Nick. But we can only get it in New York City.”

  “That’s boils down to pretty much anything and everything.”

  “All right, I guess we better get going before the snow starts up again,” Black said. “The chopper’s out there waiting to take us to the airstrip.”

  Claire kissed them both again, and then walked with them down the hall to Black’s office. While his private elevator took them down to ground level, she stood at his office windows and watched them walk out of the building and toward the helipad on the point. Halfway, Black turned around and waved at her. Her heart reacted to the sight of them together, walking and talking. Like a father and his son. It really seemed as if they were a real family now, a happy one. She just hoped nothing happened to mess that up. In her life, something usually came along and threw a wrench in her happy times.

  After the helicopter rose slowly and banked out over the lake, she turned around and headed back to the penthouse. Her day was already busy. First, she wanted to go to the hospital and make sure Bud was still doing all right. After that, she had to get to the office and do some paperwork on the case. The hit-and-run attack was being treated as the attempted murder of two police officers. Charlie was incensed at what had happened and said he was calling in help on the case. Before she got embroiled in the written reports, however, she needed to stop by and see Harve Lester.

  Right after she graduated from the LAPD police academy, Harve Lester had been her partner, her first mentor, and probably the best friend she’d ever had in law enforcement. He had always been there for her, no matter what. She loved him like a father. He’d given her a cabin on his private cove, the same one that Black was rebuilding, and at a time when she’d been down on her luck and had nowhere else to go. Harve had been her partner the night he’d been cut down in the line of duty and lost the use of his legs. Even the fact that he was confined to a wheelchair had never taken away his spirit for living. He had accepted his fate, as bad as it was, and slowly built up an Internet research and headhunter firm that he operated out of his home. Lately, however, he had been much more interested in playing nanny to Rico than working at his computers. They were already best buddies. Harve adored Rico, almost as much as Black did. And that was saying a lot.

  Claire made it out to Harve’s place around ten o’clock. He saw her coming from the glassed-in porch he used as an office and was opening the door by the time she reached it. He had a big, welcoming grin on his face, and the most scrumptious smell of goodies hit her the moment she crossed his threshold. Sugar cookies, had to be, and did they ever smell great.

  Claire blamed herself for Harve’s disability, because her ex-husband had gone crazy and opened fire on them both. Her ex had died that night, and so had poor little Zack. She quickly blocked out those thoughts. Harve was happy to see her so she had to be, too. She needed to concentrate on that. Right now, both their cups runneth over with good things.

  The first words that came out of Harve’s mouth were his concern for Bud. “How’s he doing today, Claire? I drove over to the hospital last night but he was still sedated. The doctor told me the surgery was a success, but that he’d be laid up a while. Have you seen him?”

  “He’s conscious now, not in too much pain. Still pretty woozy from all the drugs. He wants to go home, and he’s worrying about Brianna getting here because of the weather. Black’s going to send his helicopter over there to pick her up. He and Rico took the jet to New York early this morning.”

  Harve nodded. “Good. That boy’s got it bad for that girl. She’ll get here and start babying him, and he’ll like that well enough. You can quote me on that.”

  “Do I ever know it. He’s so nuts about her.” They shared a smile, both envisioning Bud’s face with the beauteous and leggy Brianna hovering over him night and day. He’d be in hog heaven, all right.

  “What about the hit-and-run driver, Claire? You ID him yet? Any sign of him?”

  “Assuming it’s a him. No, but we’ve got a BOLO out statewide, and law enforcement personnel at the airports and train stations watching for the Mustang. We found out that it’s not a rental, so he’s probably hiding it in a garage somewhere. He might have tried to get out of state, but if he goes that route he’ll be picked up by the Missouri Highway Patrol. Same thing with Oliver Wood. Can’t be too upset with him, though, since he saved my life. Shoved me clear of that car, or I would’ve been in that hospital alongside Bud. That takes the edge off him fleeing the scene, but I’m going to find him, trust me. He knows more about this case than he’s letting on.”

  “I saw him shove you out of the way on TV. He saved your bacon, all right.”

  “Yeah, Black and I watched that again. And I have a giant purple bruise to prove it.”

  “Looks like you’re still up on your feet and working, despite that limp. That’s an encouraging sign. Sometimes it doesn’t happen this fast.”

  “I’m pretty sore, and I’ve got a fierce headache that comes and goes. But nothing serious. Hey, how about giving me one of those cookies that smell so good. Can’t stay long, though. Charlie wants me down at the office to fill him in. Apparently, he’s back at work, flu be damned.”

  “Well, first you gotta see the tree that Rico helped me decorate. Actually, he did most of it.”

  Smiling at his indulgent doting, Claire trailed him into the living room. Rico had a tendency to cheer people up. He was just a little piece of sunshine, that’s all there was to it. And Harve was right about the tree. “That looks fantastic, Harve. I haven’t seen strings of popcorn and cranberries since I was a kid.”

  “Rico wanted to string that stuff. Said his grandparents out in California always did that when he was a little fella and let him help.” He looked at her. “Guess you haven’t found them yet, huh?”

  “No luck so far. They don’t appear to be in California anymore. At least, not at their prior address. Black’s trying everything in the book to locate them. He’s got John Booker on the case, too, and he’s trying to run them down. Nothing so far. Looks like they just pulled up stakes, never to be heard from again. Have you found anything on them?”

  “No. You’re right, it’s as if they never existed. It’s really peculiar. Rico insists they do, of course. He’s not saying much lately. He’s a pretty happy kid now, here with you guys.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “No, he didn’t have to. He changes the subject when I mention his grandparents. But he’s worried about them, I can tell. I told him that we’d find them.” Harve’s serious expression changed to a smile. “How about some hot chocolate with those sugar cookies? Got time for that?”

  “You bet. I skipped breakfast.”

  Harve motored his wheelchair into the kitchen and then showed up a few minutes later with a tray of cookies and two mugs of steaming cocoa. He sat the tray down on the table and Claire grabbed a cookie as big as a saucer.
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br />   Harve handed her a mug. “That’s hot, so watch it. What about the case? Anything helpful turn up yet?”

  “We were making some progress until that car tried to run us down. We had Oliver Wood with us and were headed in for interrogation. He could very well be the killer—I’m just not sure what to think about him yet.”

  “I’ve been researching murders associated with games, like you asked, and trying to pinpoint anything remotely connected to game tokens left behind at murder scenes.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Actually, I have uncovered a couple of interesting things.”

  “Great, we need the help. Tell me.”

  “I can’t say whether they’ll apply to your case. They seem a bit far flung to be connected. One is a murder that happened down in Mexico. Some guy was hung by a rope in his home. They found a small metal piece stuck up into the roof of his mouth. It was one of those coiled rope weapons out of a Detection game.”

  Claire shot him an interested look. “Sounds like it might be the same guy. Maybe he leaves the tokens in different parts of his victims’ bodies. When did that murder happen?”

  “About eight or nine years ago. And there were a few more similar murders. One happened out in Aspen. Police records show that they also found a game piece. The knife this time. Cause of death was a slashed throat. Victim was cut up pretty bad, too. Game piece was in her mouth, as well. A lawyer in Santa Clarita, California, was murdered with a Beretta, and the game token of a pistol was forced down his throat.”

  “Man, that’s brutal, but not as brutal as what he did with our victim. This guy has to be a serial. I’ve thought that since we found the girl’s body posed up on that balcony bannister.” Claire cringed inside as she thought about it. Here it was, Christmastime. Having a brutal serial killer running around the lake was not going to be conducive to peace and goodwill and belting out Christmas carols. They already had one dead angel on their hands.

  “All three of these cases I dug up? Police said the bodies looked posed. Some more than others.”

  “It keeps getting worse, I guess.”

  “You and Bud turn up anything down at that game store?”

  “Still looking for something that’ll help us. Mainly just the Jonesy Jax connection so far, like I was telling you on the phone last night. The victim is his long-lost daughter, and that can’t just be some strange coincidence, not in my book. With the murder going down inside his house? Huh uh. But it’s Oliver Wood who’s bugging me, big time. He sought me out. And I can’t figure out for the life of me why he’d come to Cedar Bend and put on that weird show for Black and me the way he did. It’s strange. He’s strange. The whole damn case is strange.”

  “What’s Jonesy Jax say about it?”

  “Bud and I hadn’t interviewed him yet. We were planning to head back to Cedar Bend to talk to him after we finished interrogating Wood, but the car got us first. Guess I’ll go interview him by myself after Charlie gets done with me. See if he wants me to go it alone or assigns me a new partner. I don’t see how there’s anybody left at the office to help me. Everybody’s out sick.”

  “I’ll keep searching.”

  “Sounds good to me. We need to get the killer off the streets.”

  “I’ll keep looking for relevant cases. I’m like you, though: I think it’s safe to say this perp is a serial murderer who’s been doing this for a long time. He’s made it into some kind of game that gives him a thrill. Or, he could be throwing in those game tokens as misdirection.”

  “Yeah, I thought of that. If he’s smart he’d do that, but this guy seems to get off on leaving a real dramatic production behind. Like he’s some kind of movie director or something—which also fits with Jax. Talk about a publicity hog.” Claire sighed and took a sip of the chocolate. “Okay, I guess I better get going. I can’t be late or Charlie’ll hit the roof. He’s already pissed off that he got sick. He thinks he’s above illness.”

  Harve laughed. “I know the feeling. I was down with the flu last year. It ain’t exactly fun.”

  Thirty minutes after bidding Harve adieu, Claire pulled her new dark blue Range Rover into Bud’s parking space in the lot behind the sheriff’s office. She turned off the ignition, climbed out, and headed with a pronounced limp for Charlie’s office. When she got there, she nixed the limp and took on the pain, for fear he’d take her off the case and put her on sick leave.

  After one look at the sheriff, she was glad Black had talked her into getting a flu shot right after they’d returned from Kauai. Charlie looked awful. In fact, he looked like death warmed over. He should not have come in. He should not have gotten out of bed. Last time he called Bud, he’d sounded horrible and hacked a rumbling cough all through their conversation. He should’ve let her run the case and keep in touch by telephone. But nobody on staff ever argued with Charlie about anything—not if they were smart. She sure wasn’t going to jump his case. He didn’t look as if he was in a stellar mood.

  Charlie Ramsay’s bark was always worse than his bite, but he had been known to take a chunk out of somebody’s hide a time or two. Especially if they’d done something stupid or reckless. Claire had been on the receiving end herself and had not enjoyed the reaming out. The sheriff was a stocky man, usually flushed in the face, with his trusty black pipe stuck in one corner of his mouth. He wasn’t always in a good mood. He usually wasn’t, in fact. He wasn’t now, either. His door stood wide open. Madge, his tiny, efficient, birdlike secretary, had taken the day off, also sick with the flu. It was like an infirmary around the building. Claire hoped to hell her shot kept working. Charlie motioned her inside with a sharp jerk of his hand. He did not look happy, but he rarely did, so she was not alarmed. Yet.

  Once inside, the alarm hit real quick—at warp speed, in fact. There was a second man sitting in front of Charlie’s desk. He had a big grin on his face that had no legit cause to be there, not that Claire could ascertain. She had never seen the guy before. Dressed in an expensive black suit with a black-and-white-striped tie, he appeared composed and fully at ease. Happy, considering his no-good-reason smile. He looked tall, with long legs that were crossed and short blond hair gelled up by some fine barber and what looked like a lot of muscles underneath his sharp clothes. He was pretty good-looking, and seemed to know and like that about himself. He kept up with the good cheer, his dark eyes lingering way too long on her face.

  Claire broke eye contact. She was pretty sure she was going to despise him. More problematic, she was afraid to consider what he was there for. A bad feeling seeped into her mind. Charlie was quick to make the introduction. “Okay, Claire, thank you for coming in. Please sit down. This is Special Agent Bob Brady. Brady, this is Detective Claire Morgan.” He paused. “Should I put Black on the end of that? Or are you being modern with that hyphenated thing?”

  Claire looked at Charlie. “I’ve been using my maiden name professionally, sir.” He already knew that, she was pretty sure. More of interest to her was why there was an FBI agent sitting there and what it had to do with her. And what it had to do with Oliver Wood. She was pretty damn sure he was there to horn in on her case. She did not want that to happen. No way, and never ever in one million years.

  “Special Agent Brady is here to help us out. I suspect you can use him, what with Bud in the hospital and the fact that this case appears to be going nowhere fast.”

  Claire just stared back at him with earnest and pleading eyes. She did not want some egotistical Fed trying to take over her case.

  “He’s been working other cases that seem to be associated with this one. He would like to join your investigation and help you solve this mess, and I told him that would be very helpful since we’re short-handed.” He stopped breathlessly and then succumbed to a horrible fit of hacking that sounded downright painful to what was left of his lungs.

  Claire turned to the new self-satisfied guy. “You’re the se
cond FBI agent who wants to be involved with this case. You have a partner here at the lake that you’re working with?”

  “No, I’m assigned down here solo. Nobody else came with me.”

  “I thought you Feds always traveled around in twosomes.”

  His smile widened. “Not always. Not today. Not this case. We have flu in Kansas City, too.”

  Claire frowned. “Aren’t you interested in the other guy’s name? You know, in case he’s an impersonator?”

  “I have to say that’s a rare occurrence in my experience. But okay. What’s his name?”

  “He said he was Special Agent Oliver Wood, but I’m not sure I believe that. He’s showing up at a lot of places where I happen to be, including yesterday when my partner was run down.”

  The man looked interested, but his reply didn’t verify it. “Right. The sheriff told me about what happened to your partner. I’m sorry to hear it. Glad neither of you were killed.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Then he smiled again. Claire was not quite sure if he was mocking her or not. She had a feeling he was. “Have you ever heard that name before?”

  “Oliver Wood? Yes, I know who he is, and I’ll be happy to fill you in on him when we discuss the case. He’s not from our office, I can assure you of that.”

  “How about filling me in now?”

  “Better to wait until we have time to discuss him in detail.”

  Apparently, Claire was going to have to be patient. “And you hail from K.C.?”

  “Yes, I do. As far as I know, he’s not affiliated with the FBI at all.”

  “My FBI contact said he’s been lying to me about being an agent.”

  “I agree. That’s a federal offense. Maybe we can team up and go after him together and find out what he’s up to. We don’t like people impersonating our agents.”

  “I should think not.” Claire did not want to work with this guy, or any other FBI agent. Somebody like this Brady guy would be pompous and annoying. Heck, he already was. Self-confidence and bureau superiority oozed out his pores. She wished Charlie could see that. But at the moment, he was noticing her lengthy hesitation and frowning about it. Then he had another coughing spasm. Thank God, he coughed into his shoulder.