by Linda Ladd
“They’re downstairs. C’mon, we got to get him out the back. Help me get him up.” Oliver was already half-dragging Jonesy back into the shadows at the far end of the room. Still holding the knife in one fist, Claire turned to follow, but she heard somebody coming hard up the steps right behind her. She spun just as Lucky reached her. Claire slashed at him with the knife, but he was too quick. He tackled her low around the knees and took her down hard on the floor. She twisted desperately to free herself, but he sent his fist hard against her face. She evaded the blow but it landed on her shoulder, numbing one arm. She screamed in pain and started stabbing hysterically at his body, driving the sharp knife down hard into his back. He yelled and let her go, trying to twist away from the knife, but now Junior was right behind him on the steps. He got hold of Claire’s foot as she scooted back away from him and lunged out to stab Junior. She got him once in the arm, but he jumped down on top of her and started twisting the weapon out of her hands.
Behind her, Oliver had dropped Jonesy and run back to help her. He stopped in his tracks, his gun pointed at Junior, but Junior now had the barrel of his gun pressed up against Claire’s head. Nobody said anything for a moment, panting and groaning, but then a small voice came from right behind Oliver.
“Let her go, or I’ll shoot that guy down on the floor.”
That’s when Claire saw Rico. She couldn’t believe her eyes for a minute, but it was him. He stood about five feet away from them, her Glock 19 held in both hands and pointed straight at Lucky’s chest. “I’ll shoot him if you don’t let her go. I will. I promise I will.”
Before anyone else could move, Oliver opened up on Lucky where he lay on the floor, and Junior staggered toward the steps, his gun still hard against Claire’s head. “Die, you bitch!” he yelled, backing down the steps. That’s when Rico pulled the trigger. The retort was so loud, and the bullet went wide. Claire ducked down away from Junior and grabbed his arm before he could shoot Rico, but then more shots rang out from the room below. Junior fell forward hard, dropping his gun. It skittered across the floor, and Claire scrabbled on her hands and knees after it, but Junior was already down on the ground and not moving. Claire crawled toward Rico, and the boy dropped the gun and ran into her arms. She grabbed him and held on tightly as somebody downstairs cried out her name. It was Black. Then his footsteps were thundering up the steps, and she went limp with relief, with Rico still clutched in her arms. He was clasping his arms around her neck in a stranglehold.
“Okay, Rico, you’re okay now, don’t cry.”
But Rico was crying, and Claire felt like it, too, from the fear and the relief and the overwhelming rush of adrenaline. Black was at the top of the steps, his .45 in his hand. He pointed his weapon at Oliver Wood, who was back with Jonesy and trying to wrap up his wounds. Then Black headed straight for Claire and Rico. He dropped down on his haunches beside them. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“We’re okay,” Claire got out somehow, just relieved they were all still alive. It had been way too close this time. “Call an ambulance, Black. They cut up Jonesy pretty bad.”
“Booker’s already called 911 on the landline downstairs. What the hell happened here? How did they get you? You sure you’re all right?”
Claire nodded, but Rico couldn’t seem to stop crying so Black picked him up and held him tight, and then reached down and helped Claire to stand up. It was over, but it didn’t seem over to Claire. She was shaking like an oak leaf because she knew how close she’d come this time. They would have killed her. They would have put her on that waterwheel. And Rico, too. How did he even get there? He was so little, and he’d seen so much violence, violence from which she and Black had sworn to shield him. But he was okay, all of them were okay. That had to be enough right now. She couldn’t deal with anything else. She just wanted to go home and let somebody else handle it for a while. Booker and Oliver tried to take care of Jonesy, and Black kept one arm around her as he carried Rico outside. He wrapped them both in blankets, settled Rico on Claire’s lap inside the Jeep, and got the heater going. Then they all just sat there and waited for the cops to show up. They were all alive, that’s all that Claire could think about. They were still breathing. Maybe later, she’d figure out the rest, but right now, all she wanted to do was hold Rico close and make him feel safe.
Epilogue
On Christmas Eve, Claire was surrounded by all her family and friends. Even Bud had made it, limping around on crutches, with Brianna hovering at his elbow every minute. Black had planned the holiday party out in detail, and it was being held in the ballroom at Cedar Bend Lodge, in the same room where they’d been wed, with all his staff invited, along with their families. There were Christmas trees hugging the walls, all decorated and blinking with white lights. Claire took it all in, relaxed and happy again, but it was a sedate and thankful sort of happy this time.
The events of the past week weighed heavily on her heart. Both of the psychotic killers were dead, thank God, but they had left behind a long line of victims through many years of killing rampages, people who suffered horribly and would never take a breath again. The real Special Agent Bob Brady had paid with his life for his long quest to hunt them down and kill them, and the Bureau had opened an investigation into his death. Jonesy was in the hospital, but he was in pretty bad shape. Still, the prognosis was good. Oliver Wood was there in the ballroom with them, but not smiling so much. He had cut down his own brother for killing his mother after many years searching for him. After the holidays, he was going to visit his father just down the road in Columbia and then start another deployment in Afghanistan. But he was a new and dear friend to Claire, one who had helped save Rico’s life, and she would always be thankful to him for that.
The newspapers were going absolutely berserk with what they knew about the story so far, Black and Claire and Jonesy prominent in their lurid headlines, and the photographers were still out in force. Half of them were staked out down at the hospital now, so the crowd outside the hotel wasn’t quite as bad.
Rico was okay, at least she hoped he was, and that was the most important thing to her. Black had talked with him at length about everything that had gone down, and the sad truth was, that terrible night in the mill wasn’t half as bad as what that poor child had faced on the island. Black promised Claire that Rico’s kidnapping had not affected Rico psychologically as much as he’d first feared. The boy had just suffered through so much, though, that he now considered this just another awful thing he’d had to endure. Black told her that Rico’s experiences on the island had prepared him for the darkness in the world, and that they just needed to make sure he had more love and light and laughter to make up for the things he’d seen. That’s why the festive party around her had not been cancelled.
Black had gifted all their friends in attendance free vacations to any of his luxury hotels, transportation included. Everyone was more than happy with that, to be sure, and people all around her were laughing and thanking each other after the gift exchange. Claire was trying her best to put the darkness behind her as Rico seemed to have done so easily. She wasn’t having as much luck. Of course, Black had noticed her mood, because he always noticed everything about her.
“You okay?” he asked once more, coming up and kissing the top of her head.
“Yes, I do believe I’m getting there.”
“Good.”
“Have you talked to the Hammonses yet, about taking Rico back home with them?”
“They want to, and I think it might be best. Maybe they can protect him better than we can. I let him down this time; I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
Claire glanced over at Warren and Sally Hammons, where they were laughing with Rico beside one of the Christmas trees. “No, you didn’t. How could you have known? How could either of us had known? He doesn’t want to leave us. He told me.”
“I know. He told me the same thing. His grandparen
ts said he could make the decision, and they’d abide by it.”
Claire took a deep breath. “Has he?”
“Not yet. But here he comes. Probably to tell us what he wants to do. You ready to hear it?”
“I don’t think so.”
Rico came bounding up and grabbed Claire around the waist. “You gotta come and open your presents from me and Nick, Claire. You’re going to like what he bought you. It’s a big apartment in New York City so we can go ride in the taxis and go to the big toy stores anytime I want to.”
Claire hugged him. “Well, that sounds good. Maybe a trifle extravagant, Black. I mean, seriously? But maybe we can go there for New Year’s Eve and watch the ball drop in Times Square. Would you like that, Rico?”
Rico simply beamed. “That’d be awesome, but Disney World would be even better. I do get to stay here with you, don’t I? Memo and Papa said it’s up to me, and I want to be with you. I’ll go see them and stuff in the summer, but I want to live here. That’s okay, isn’t it?” He looked up at her with his big, dark, questioning eyes. “Is that okay? You still want me to stay here, don’t you? I’ll be good, I promise.”
Claire just looked up at Black and laughed. “Oh yeah, yes, sir, Rico, we want you with us, all right. More than just about anything I can think of.”
“Then come on and open your presents. I got you a necklace with the Statue of Liberty thingy hanging off the chain. I got it in New York, too.”
Claire laughed again, and Black heaved a huge sigh of relief as the boy ran back to the tree to get Claire’s present. “Well, thank God,” he breathed out.
“That’s the understatement of the year,” Claire said. She couldn’t stop smiling.
Black took her hand and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and pressed his mouth into her palm. Claire smiled up at him and let him lead her back across the room to the heart of the festivities. It was going to be a very good year, after all. Thank God they’d all made it out alive and well, because she had a fabulous one-of-a-kind present for Black this year, too. Something he’d never had before, and he was going to love it. Oh, was he ever. It was something she knew he had wanted all his life, more than just about anything in the world, and now she could give it to him. She allowed herself a secret little smile, watching him presenting a New Year’s toast to all their friends. He was just going to die of happiness when he found out.
Truth be told, so was she.
If you enjoyed Fatal Game, be sure not to miss Linda Ladd’s
SAY YOUR GOODBYES
SAY YOU’RE DREAMING
When a scream wakes Will Novak in the middle of the night, at first he puts it down to the nightmares. He’s alone on a sailboat in the Caribbean, miles from land. And his demons never leave him.
SAY YOUR PRAYERS
The screams are real, though, coming from another boat just a rifle’s night scope away. It only takes seconds for Novak to witness one murder and stop another. But with the killer on the run and a beautiful stranger dripping on his deck, Novak has gotten himself into a new kind of deep water.
BUT DON’T SAY YOUR NAME
The young woman he saved says she doesn’t know who she is. But someone does, and they’re burning fuel and cash to chase Novak and his new acquaintance from one island to the next, across dangerous seas and right into the wilds of the Yucatan jungle. If either of them is going to live, Novak is going to need answers, fast—and he’s guessing he won’t like what he finds out . . .
A Lyrical Underground e-book on sale now.
Meet the Author
LINDA LADD is the bestselling author of over a dozen novels, including the Claire Morgan thrillers and the Will Novak thrillers. Linda makes her home in Missouri, where she lives with her husband and beloved beagle named Banjo. She loves traveling and spending time with her two adult children, their spouses, and her two grandsons. In addition to writing, Linda enjoys target shooting and is a good markswoman with a Glock 19 similar to Claire Morgan’s. She loves to read good books, play tennis and board games, and watch fast-paced action movies. She is currently at work on her next novel featuring Claire Morgan. Learn more at lindaladd.com.
LOST GIRL
She was last seen in New Orleans. Her father, a rich, powerful arms dealer, believes she was abducted. For ransom. For revenge. For reasons too horrible to imagine.
LOST INNOCENCE
Claire Morgan, recent former cop turned private investigator, and her new partner begin their search at the girl’s school, where a violent junkie attacks Claire with scissors, raves of “demons and devils,” and then takes her own life.
LAST RITES
Sinister clues lead Claire on a twisted trail through the bars and bayous of New Orleans to a bloodstained altar in Paris. Vast, secret, and powerful, it is a world that few enter or escape. And Claire is going in—the devil be damned . . .
BAD OMEN
Homicide detective Claire Morgan has a bad feeling when a man’s body is found in a Missouri state park. The crime scene is buried in snow. The corpse is frozen in ice. And nearly every bone has been broken, shattered, or crushed . . .
BAD BLOOD
Claire’s suspicions only get worse when the body is thawed and identified. The victim was an ultimate fighter on the cage-match circuit. His wife blames her ex-husband, a Russian mafioso. But Claire knows this is no mob-style execution. This is something worse. Something evil . . .
BAD BONES
Raised from childhood to inflict pain, the killer uses rage as a weapon. Punishing without mercy. Killing without conscience. Upholding a dark family tradition that is so twisted, so powerful, it destroys everything in its path. And Claire is about to meet the family . . .
MOSTLY FEAR
She suffered a terrifying coma. She survived a serial killer’s obsession. Now homicide detective Claire Morgan hopes to forget the nightmare of her Missouri past in the city of New Orleans. But when a body is discovered near her home, her darkest fears come rushing back . . .
MOSTLY SUPERSTITION
Surrounded by candles and skulls, the victim is bound to an altar like a human sacrifice. More disturbing to Claire is the voodoo doll in the woman’s hands. A doll pierced with pins and wearing a picture on its face. A picture of Claire Morgan . . .
MOSTLY MURDER
Claire doesn’t believe in voodoo. But she does believe in the power of superstition to warp a person’s mind and feed a killer’s madness. It is here, in the muddy bayous where it festers, that Claire must face her fear head on—and meet the man who’s marked her for death . . .
