The Dying Game

by Beverly Barton

  Griff glanced at Lindsay. “I’ve got things to do.” He inclined his head toward Judd. “You keep Happy Jack here on a leash.” He glowered at Judd. “If you give Lindsay any trouble, I’ll—”

  “He won’t,” Lindsay said.

  Griff sighed heavily. “Gale Ann’s sister found her minutes after the attack.”

  “Then I want to talk to the sister,” Judd said.

  “Not tonight,” Griff told him.

  “Why not tonight?”

  “Damn, Judd, the woman just lost her sister.”

  “Yeah, and that makes her victim number what? Twenty-nine? Thirty? If I’d found Jenny only minutes after the attack, I…” Judd’s voice trailed off. He clenched his teeth tightly and squinted his eyes as he looked at Griff. “Can she ID the guy?”

  Griff clasped Judd’s shoulder. “Here’s the deal. I want you to leave the hospital. Lindsay will book you a local motel room for the night, or I can get Carson to drive you straight back to Tennessee right now. Or if you can behave yourself, you can come to Griffin’s Rest tomorrow and meet Gale Ann’s sister Barbara Jean.”

  Two thoughts instantly flashed through Lindsay’s mind: One, she hadn’t known that Griff had brought Powell agent Rick Carson to Kentucky; two, why had Barbara Jean Hughes agreed to spend a few days at Griff’s home?

  “Ms. Cain’s sister is going to be staying with us?” Lindsay asked. How on earth had Griff managed that? By using his powerfully persuasive charm, she told herself. That’s how. Griffin Powell most certainly had a way with the ladies.

  “I’ll bet Nic Baxter is hopping mad that you’ve whisked her eyewitness right out from under her nose,” Judd said. “I’m sure she demanded that you back off and leave protecting a witness to the FBI.”

  The corners of Griff’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement in the expression. “Special Agent Baxter explained to Ms. Hughes the benefits of allowing the FBI to safeguard her. But when I offered her not only the security of my home and my protection, but a job, too, Barbara Jean agreed that my offer was more acceptable to her.”

  Lindsay wondered just what sort of job Griff had offered the woman. Apparently, providing her a position with the Powell Agency had tipped the scales in his favor. Knowing Griff as she did, she had no doubt that he would create a position for Ms. Hughes if that’s what it took to secure her safety within the Powell compound. And an added bonus would be one-upping Special Agent Baxter. Even though Curtis Jackson hadn’t been happy to encounter Griff and his agents at every turn during the past three years, he and Griff had managed to remain cordial to each other. But with Nic Baxter and Griff, cordiality didn’t come into play. Lindsay wondered how Griff would react if she suggested he allow her to deal with Nic during this case and for him to steer clear of the lady.

  “Just answer one question for me—did the sister see the killer?” Judd asked.

  Griff grimaced. “She’s not sure.”

  “What do you mean she’s not sure?”

  “Look, this is not the time or the place to have this discussion.”

  Judd shrugged off Griff’s grasp. The two men stood almost eye to eye. Judd did have to glance up a bit to make direct eye contact since Griff was a couple of inches taller.

  “If you didn’t want me here, why send your Girl Friday to fetch me?” Judd’s upper lip curled in a snarl.

  “Damn it!” Griff cursed under his breath. “If you want to take an active part in this investigation, then shape up, stay sober, and treat the people who are trying to help you as if they have feelings.”

  Lindsay’s cheeks warmed. Griff was talking about her and they all knew it.

  “And if I really just don’t give a damn anymore?” Judd’s tense stance eased slightly.

  “You give a damn,” Griff told him. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. So listen up—stop wallowing in self-pity and start acting like a civilized human being.”

  Judd bristled. Lindsay could all but hear the thundering roar of anger rushing through his body. She braced herself for the worst.

  Without warning, the sound of soft weeping caught their attention, and for a split second Lindsay was grateful that something—anything—had diffused the mounting tension between the two men. The last thing she wanted was to have to put herself between Griff and Judd.

  Nic Baxter escorted an auburn-haired, wheelchair-bound woman out of the ICU waiting room. Barbara Jean Hughes held her head high as she patted her damp cheeks with a handkerchief that Lindsay instantly recognized as one of Griffin Powell’s. The large embroidered black “P” on the edge of the expensive linen was a dead giveaway.

  As the FBI agent and the victim’s sister approached, Lindsay studied Barbara Jean. Attractive, but not classically pretty. Neat. Slender. Delicate. Probably in her early forties.

  In contrast, Nic was tall—very tall—with an Amazonian, hourglass-shaped body, and was a decade younger than the other woman. One thing for sure, no one would ever use the word delicate to describe Special Agent Nicole Baxter.

  “That’s the sister, right?” Judd said, and before anyone realized his intentions, he stepped directly in front of Barbara Jean’s wheelchair and confronted her. “Did you see him? Can you can give us a description of the man who killed your sister, the same man who killed my Jenny?” Judd leaned down, grasped the arms of her wheelchair and demanded, “If you don’t help us now, he’ll kill another woman before we can stop him. Is that what you want?”

  Reacting immediately, Nic Baxter came around the side of the wheelchair, straight toward Judd. But before she could reach him, Griff clamped his hands down on Judd’s shoulders and yanked him away from Barbara Jean. She stared wide-eyed and mouth agape at the man who had accosted her.

  Judd jerked free, barreled around, and lifted his fists to attack Griff. Acting purely on instinct, Lindsay stepped in between the two big men. From out of nowhere, Rick Carson appeared behind Griff. Apparently, he had been only a few steps behind Nic and Barbara Jean.

  Griff bristled. The skin tightened over his sharp cheekbones and his ice blue eyes squinched with anger.

  Judd froze to the spot and glared at Lindsay, her intervention acting as the deterrent she had hoped it would. Apparently, Judd wasn’t so far gone that he would actually resort to hitting her.

  “Get Mr. Walker under control or I will,” Nic told Griff.

  Griff motioned for Lindsay to move, then when she did, he locked his fierce gaze to Judd’s. “Is that what you want? You want to be taken into custody by the FBI?”

  Judd didn’t respond verbally, simply loosened his tightly fisted hands and relaxed his battle-ready stance.

  Observing Judd’s withdrawal, Griff spoke to Lindsay, “Carson will take over and get him out of here. You’ll fly home with me.”

  When Rick Carson came forward, Judd backed away, and Lindsay feared another confrontation. But Rick made no move to touch Judd, who seemed more than ready to cause an even worse scene in the hospital corridor.

  Lindsay moved closer to Griff in order to speak privately with him. “Let me take care of Judd. He’s less likely to resist going with me than he is if you try to send him with Rick.”

  “It’s obvious that Judd’s emotional and mental stability has worsened,” Griff said. “He’s dangerous now.”

  “I know,” she replied. “But he’s more dangerous to himself than to anyone else.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She had never lied to Griff, and she wasn’t actually lying now. She wanted to believe that Judd did not pose a physical threat to her, despite knowing that he still possessed the power to destroy her emotionally.

  Griff nodded. “Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Griff then turned to Barbara Jean Hughes, bent down on his haunches, and clasped the woman’s hands. “I’m sorry about what happened. That man is the one I told you about, my old friend who’s been half out of his mind since the Beauty Queen Killer murdered his wife almost four years ago.”
<
br />   Meek as a lamb, Judd left the hospital with Lindsay. His submissive attitude worried her far more than if he’d been openly belligerent. She tried to think of something to say to him, but she came up blank. When they walked outside, the cold night air blasted them the minute the hospital doors closed behind them. She paused long enough to button her coat before heading to the parking deck.

  Judd lifted his face to the wind, as if he liked the feel of the bitter cold. “So, what now, my little savior?” he asked, the tone of his voice strangely amicable.

  Looking over the parking lot in front of them, an area reserved for doctors and VIPs, Lindsay succinctly explained her plan. “We’re going to find a decent restaurant and eat supper. Then we’re getting a couple of rooms at a local motel for tonight. Come morning, we’re going back to Tennessee.” She removed her gloves from her coat pocket and slipped them on. “I can either drive you back to the hunting lodge and dump your sorry ass off, and leave you to drown in self-pity…” She paused, expecting a snide remark of some type. When he didn’t respond, she continued, “Or if you can behave yourself, I’ll take you to Griff’s and you can be part of our investigation again, the way you were in the beginning.”

  “Either or, huh?”

  “Take it or leave it.” Uncertain what Judd would do, she headed toward the two-level parking deck on the west side of the hospital.

  He caught up with her before she reached her Trailblazer parked on the bottom level. “I’d like a big, juicy steak for supper. How about you?”

  Lindsay released a deep breath. She hadn’t known for sure how he would react to her issuing orders and giving him an ultimatum. Relieved by the normalcy in his voice, she replied, “A steak sounds great.”

  When she clicked the unlock button on the remote device attached to her key chain, Judd came around to the driver’s side and opened the door for her. His gentlemanly action surprised her, so much so that she gasped and then glanced over her shoulder.

  “I’m just showing you that I can be a good boy,” Judd said, smiling. But his smoky topaz eyes remained void of any real emotion.

  She nodded. “If I take you home with me to Griff’s place—”

  “I’ll behave myself.”

  “If you don’t…” No, don’t issue him another warning. Just tell him exactly what’s what. “Griff’s your friend, or at least he’s tried to be. But you haven’t made it easy. If you screw up this time, it will be the last time as far as Griff is concerned. You’ve used up all your second chances with him.”

  “What about you? Are you ready to wash your hands of me, too?”

  Lindsay got inside her SUV, slid behind the wheel, and glanced up at Judd, who stood by the open door. “If you want me to help you one more time, let’s not make it personal.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want.”

  He nodded, then closed the door, rounded the back of the vehicle, and got in on the passenger side. Once seated and belted, Judd said, “It should never have gotten personal between us. You’re too nice a girl to get hung up on a guy like me. I’ve got nothing to offer you and I never will. You know that, don’t you?”

  Lindsay started the engine. Clutching the steering wheel with white-knuckled force, she closed her eyes for a millisecond, then said, “I know. You’ve made it abundantly clear, more than once.”

  She backed out of the parking place and headed the Trailblazer into the late evening traffic.

  Griff had told Rick Carson to stay in Williamstown and stick close to Lindsay, to be prepared to move in and protect her from Judd if it became necessary. Although he’d known Judd a lot longer than Lindsay had—and maybe because he had—he didn’t trust his old friend’s emotional and mental stability these days. Despite enduring everything he’d put her through during the past three and a half years—like a real trooper—Lindsay couldn’t take much more. When everyone else had given up on Judd, she hadn’t. And now, once again, she’d persuaded Griff to give the guy another chance to straighten up and fly right.

  God, he hoped her faith in Judd wasn’t misplaced.

  “We need to talk,” Nic Baxter said, as she came toward Griff, a scowl on her face. A really pretty face. Too bad all that feminine lusciousness was wasted on a hard-as-nails, completely unlikable bitch.

  The woman was relentless. She had followed them to the airport. What part of Barbara Jean’s I’m-going-with-Mr. Powell statement didn’t she understand?

  Give her some slack, he told himself. Baxter’s just doing her job. Curtis Jackson would be doing the same thing. He’d keep trying to persuade Barbara Jean to accept FBI protection instead of flying off in the night with the owner of a private security firm. It wouldn’t have mattered to Curtis any more than it mattered to Nic that Griff could provide twenty-four-hour-a-day protection for Barbara Jean, as well as give her a job to keep her occupied and her mind off the fact that she was a key witness.

  “Give it up, Baxter,” Griff said as Nic approached him. “Ms. Hughes has made her decision.”

  With a hint of pink in her cheeks—a sign of her barely controlled anger—Nic huffed loudly. A very unladylike sound.

  “I understand that you want to nail this guy every bit as much as I do, but you have to know that your interference creates problems,” Nic said. “I can’t name a specific, but what if your involvement—your agency’s involvement—somehow has already jeopardized this case? Why can’t you just back off and let us do our job?”

  “My agency has done nothing to jeopardize your case,” Griff said. “I’ve made sure of that. Besides, there have been a few instances when we’ve actually helped you, given you information you didn’t have.”

  Nic rolled her big brown eyes. “If anything happens to Barbara Jean—”

  “Nothing will happen to her.”

  “You can’t be sure of—”

  “Neither could you. But I think she’d much prefer living and working on my estate to being hidden away in a safe house somewhere.”

  “That was the clincher—the job offer. Money talks, doesn’t it, Mr. Powell?”

  “Is that why you dislike me so much—because I’m rich?”

  Nic grunted. “I dislike the fact that you use your money to get what you want.”

  “No, that’s not it. You dislike me, not my money and power.”

  “Off the record, just between the two of us?” She eyed him hostilely.

  “Off the record, tell me exactly what you think.”

  “I think you are an annoying, know-it-all, arrogant bastard.”

  Griff chuckled. “And, off the record, Nicole Baxter, you’re a self-righteous, irritating, wish-you-were-a-man bitch.”

  She simply stared at him for a full minute, then smiled. Her smile took him by surprise. There was something damned appealing about her when she smiled, something blatantly feminine.

  “When Barbara Jean is ready to work with a sketch artist—” Nic said.

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Before or after you hire your own sketch artist?”

  “After,” he admitted. “Of course, if you were willing to share with me the way I share with you, it wouldn’t be necessary.”

  “You know it’s against the rules.”

  “And you never break the rules?”

  “No. Never.”

  Griff leaned down so that they were eye to eye and whispered, “Never say never, honey.”

  Pinkie had rented a late model Chevrolet, something inconspicuous so that hopefully no one would remember either him or his car. And he’d dressed in a pair of jeans, a plaid shirt, and a quilted jacket he’d bought at Wal-Mart. He hoped he looked like an average Joe.

  He needed to learn the reason why there had been no recent updates in the local or national news about the vicious attack on Gale Ann Cain; so he had decided the best thing he could do was find out for himself by coming to Williamstown. Incognito.

  Where better to pick up local gossip than the town’s Waffle H
ouse? When he’d parked outside, he’d seen a police car and hesitated coming inside. But after reminding himself that he had nothing to fear from the local lawmen, he entered the greasy spoon as if he were just a regular guy passing through town. As luck would have it, he managed to find a booth directly behind the two patrolmen who were eating a late dinner.

  A tall, skinny waitress with chopped-off blond hair, streaked with purple and pink, refilled the two cops’ coffee cups, then stopped at his table.

  “Want coffee?” She eyed his overturned cup.

  He quickly righted the cup, smiled at her, and said, “Yes, please.”

  After filling the cup to the rim, she said, “Do you know what you want?”

  “Uh…” He glanced around and saw the menu was on the table. “What would you recommend?” He smiled at the girl whose name tag read Tammy.

  “Depends. Do you want breakfast, a sandwich, or a regular dinner?”

  “Breakfast. Maybe bacon and eggs.”

  “Sure thing. Toast, too? Wheat or white?”

  “White.”

  “Scrambled eggs?”

  He nodded.

  When she left to place his order, he added creamer and sugar to the dark coffee as he listened to the roaring hum of human voices mingling with the clatter of dishes and meal preparation. No doubt the food here would be horrible, nowhere close to his usual standards, but if he could pick up even a tidbit of local gossip about the recent murder, it would be well worth him having to go slumming.

  The two policemen were discussing basketball, something Pinkie knew absolutely nothing about. He had always hated sports. Physical Education had been his least favorite subject in Hobart Military School.

  The waitress returned to the booth where the policemen sat, two dinner plates in her hands. She placed the hot meals in front of the cops, but instead of leaving, she lingered, apparently flirting with the one she called Mike.

  “So, has it been a quiet night?” she asked.