Damn! Damn!
This can’t be happening.
“I’m glad you made it so easy for me,” Mr. Holloway said. “I had wondered if there was a backroom where we could be alone.”
With a rush of adrenaline surging through her, Sandi tried to remember the basic self-protection tactics she’d seen on television. Go for the eyes. Go for the groin. Try to break the guy’s nose. Any of those would mean getting up close, which she really didn’t want to do. But it was going to happen. He was going to rape her unless she found a way to stop him.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he told her. “You’re thinking of ways to fight me, hoping you can escape.” His eyes narrowed into evil slits, his mouth twisting into a snarl. “The harder you fight, the worse it will be for you.”
“Don’t do this. Please.”
“Ah, Sandi, Sandi.” He moved slowly toward her. Not rushing. As if he had all the time in the world. “Don’t you understand. I have to. You’re worth twenty points and I really need those points if I’m going to win.”
Puzzled by what he said, she stared at him. “I don’t understand.”
He reached out and grasped a lock of her chin-length hair. Cringing, she tried to pull away, but he yanked on her hair. She yelped.
“You’re a redhead. Such beautiful auburn hair. That makes you worth twenty points.”
“Are you playing some sort of sick game?” Did he assign various scores to the women he raped according to their hair color?
When Donald Holloway laughed, the sound sliced through her like razor blades.
Their gazes locked in combat. Sandi decided right then and there that she was not going down without a fight. The fight of her life.
When he manacled his meaty hand behind her neck, she stood on tiptoe and head-butted him. Hollering in pain, he released her immediately. She slid around him and headed for the door.
“You’ll pay for that, bitch!” Just as she clasped the doorknob, he grabbed her by her hair. Yanking her backward, he dragged her across the room and slammed her into the wall. Her face hit the old plaster wall with a resounding thud, and she knew instantly that her nose was broken. Blood gushed from her nostrils.
Suddenly, without warning, he jerked her around and covered her bloody face with a foul-smelling rag. Within seconds everything went black.
By the time Sandi came to, Pudge had arranged everything in the back storeroom to his satisfaction. He had also locked the front door to the studio. How long would he have before Sandi was missed, before her husband got worried about her and came by to check on her? Thirty minutes? Forty-five? No matter, this wouldn’t take long.
She opened her eyes. When she saw him standing over her, staring down at her where she lay on the wooden table, she let out an ear-piercing scream. Back here, so far away from the street, no one could hear her, even if there had been anyone on the sidewalk in front of the studio. But there wasn’t. All of Main Street, except for an occasional vehicle passing through, was empty. Dead as dead could be.
Pudge stroked her flushed cheeks. “Aren’t you the spunky little fighter.”
She tried to get up, but quickly discovered that she was spread-eagled on the table, her arms and hands bound so tightly they were quite immobile.
“Just go ahead and rape me,” she told him. “Or have you already—”
“Rape you? Don’t be silly. I have no intention of raping you.”
“Then what are you…” Realization dawned. She screamed again.
“No one can hear you,” he told her.
“Please, dear God, please don’t kill me. I have three children…”
Drowning out her pitiful pleas with thoughts of the shiny new axe he had brought with him when he’d entered the studio, Pudge visualized hacking off her lovely feet. He had stored the axe in a large box, wrapped with twine, and set it near the front entrance. At present, that effective chopping tool rested against the foot of the table.
He walked around the table to the end, reached out, and caressed first one of her feet and then the other. She squirmed and whimpered.
“Such pretty little feet. A ballerina’s feet.”
He lifted the axe. Sandi’s eyes widened in fear. She opened her mouth, but only a hoarse wail came out.
As he clutched the axe and lifted it up, positioning it for the first strike, an incredible sense of power shot through him, like an instant high from drugs, only stronger and sweeter. So much sweeter.
He could all but taste Sandi’s fear. The sound of her whimpers, her cries, her pleading gave him a hard-on. He brought the axe down across her right ankle. The sharp, heavy blade severed her foot from her calf.
Sandi screamed in pain.
Pudge lifted the bloodstained axe and repeated the process, hacking off her left foot. Sandi screamed again. His muscles tensed. His nerve endings burned.
Pudge ejaculated.
As Sandi’s dying screams echoed in his ears, he shivered with release.
It didn’t happen all that often. He usually didn’t come when he killed a woman, only later, when he relived the moment looking at the photographs he always took at the scene.
Still clutching the blood-soaked axe, he stared at Sandi, who apparently had fainted from the pain. It wouldn’t take long for her to bleed to death.
Before he actually realized what he was doing, Pudge lifted the axe again and brought it down over Sandi’s left knee. It took three tries before he separated her calf from her thigh.
Excitement flooded through him. Then he took off her right calf at the knee.
God, what a feeling!
Laughing from the sheer joy of possessing such godlike power, Pudge brought the axe down repeatedly, hacking away, taking off Sandi’s hands and arms. Blood soaked the table and dripped down onto the floor. And Pudge kept laughing as he swung the axe over and over again.
Chapter 30
Resting in the hotel bed, Lindsay stretched languidly, savoring the memory of Judd’s lovemaking. They were sharing a room at the Wynfrey, so Griff and the Powell agents all knew. So what? Everyone already knew she loved Judd.
When she turned over, expecting to see Judd lying next to her, she found an empty bed. Her heart skipped a beat. Where was he?
“Judd,” she called.
“Be right there.” His voice came from around the corner. He was either in the bathroom or out in the hall.
She heard the mumble of voices, then a soft click-clack. She felt around near the foot of the bed, searching for her nightshirt, but couldn’t find it. After shoving back the covers, she scooted to the side of the bed and looked at the floor. There it was. She reached down, grabbed her nightshirt, and pulled it over her head. Just as she got out of bed, Judd rolled a white-tablecloth-covered cart into the sitting area of their small suite.
“Breakfast is served.” Judd smiled at her.
“You ordered breakfast?” She padded across the floor. “Thank you. For some reason, I’m starving this morning.”
He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Vigorous lovemaking builds up an appetite.”
She looked at him, knowing full well that he could see all that she felt at that precise moment shining in her eyes. Love beyond reason. Mindless. Obsessive.
“Our being together is good for both of us, isn’t it?” That’s it, Lindsay, wear your heart on your sleeve. You’re practically begging Judd to confess his feelings.
He sat down in one of the two armless chairs in the room, then reached up, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her down into his lap. She put her arm around his neck and looked directly at him.
“It’s good for me, sweetheart, but I’m not so sure it’s good for you. Ever since we’ve known each other, I’ve been the taker and you’ve been the giver. That’s not fair to you. In the past or now.”
She dotted kisses all over his face. “I don’t mind being the giver, just as long as you’ll take what I offer. Love and friendship and understanding and—”
; He kissed her. She sighed, loving his mouth on hers.
“I’m going away for awhile,” he told her.
She felt as if all the air had been knocked out of her. “What? When?”
He caressed her hip, then took her right hand, brought it to his lips, opened her palm, and planted a kiss in the center. “This afternoon. Griff’s sending Holt Keinan with me back to Griffin’s Rest, then Dr. Meng will accompany me to the clinic. The rehab clinic.”
“When was all of this decided?” Without me? Why wasn’t I involved in the discussion and the decision?
“I spoke to Griff about it yesterday and then last night he told me Yvette had made the arrangements and I could check myself in whenever I was ready.”
“I’ll go with you,” Lindsay told him.
“No.”
“But why not? You need me. You—”
“I need you to let me do this without you.”
She looked away from him, not wanting him to see how upset she was.
“Lindsay?”
“Huh?”
“Stay with Griff. Be my eyes and ears during this investigation. You can do that for me, can’t you?”
She nodded.
“If I’m lucky, I’ll be gone only a few weeks.” He grasped her jaw, her chin cradled between his thumb and index finger, then forced her to face him. “I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober less than four days and I’ve wanted a drink the entire time.
“I can lick this thing on my own, but just temporarily. The clinic Griff found is the best in the South and after the first few days, they’ll allow Yvette to work with me, as my personal psychiatrist.”
“Judd, are you saying—?”
“I’m saying that I’ve needed grief-counseling ever since Jennifer died.” He laid his forehead against Lindsay’s and closed his eyes. “I’m finally going to get the help I’ve needed.” He whispered the next words against her lips. “Because of you.”
His admission filled her heart. A timid joy. Accepting. Nondemanding. Realizing that he couldn’t tell her that he loved her. Not yet. But someday. If she were patient.
“Can I call you while you’re in rehab?” Lindsay asked.
“Probably not the first week,” he said, opening his eyes and lifting his head. “But I’ll call you as soon as they’ll let me.”
She cuddled in his embrace.
While you’re fighting your demons, I’ll be laying a trap for Jennifer’s killer and hopefully catching him. It will be my gift to you. Closure.
Griff called in his troops that afternoon—all four Powell agents and Judd. He hadn’t told them anything except to be in his suite at two-thirty. Everyone would be on time, if they knew what was good for them. Griff hated tardiness. It was one of his pet peeves.
Lindsay had spent part of the morning devising what she and Maleah believed was a very persuasive plan to present to Griff. If they could get Paige Allgood to agree for Lindsay to assume Paige’s identity—temporarily—then Lindsay would move into Paige’s home and Maleah would pose as her personal maid.
Judd had spent most of the morning making his plans to go to the rehab clinic near Atlanta. Phone calls to his attorneys, one to Yvette, and another to his old friend Camden Hendrix. He had told her that Cam had been surprised to hear from him, but that they had talked about fifteen minutes and agreed to meet once Judd came out of rehab.
“I’ve lost too much these past few years,” Judd had told her. “Jenny was taken from me. The rest, I threw away.”
Lindsay and Judd arrived at Griff’s door only a couple of minutes before Holt Keinan, a long, lean cowboy from Texas, who wore boots and a Stetson, and had the manners of an old-fashioned gentleman.
When they entered the suite, they found Maleah and Rick already there.
Griff motioned for them to enter. “Come on in.”
Once they were all seated around the dining table, standard in the VIP suites, Griff placed a small cassette player in the center of the table.
“Is that what I think it is?” Lindsay asked.
“If you think it’s a copy of the tape from LaShae Goodloe’s purse the night she was murdered, then you’d be right,” Griff replied.
“I would ask how you got hold of it, but I assume palms were greased and money exchanged hands,” Lindsay said.
“Quite a bit of money,” Griff admitted. “I haven’t listened to the tape since Rick brought it to me, so we’ll all be hearing it for the first time together.” He eyed Judd. “If you’d rather not listen to it…”
“Play it,” Judd said.
Griff hit the Play button.
The room went quiet and still.
They listened, first hearing a woman’s voice—obviously LaShae Goodloe—and then a man’s voice, soft, low, almost hushed. Timid.
“I’d very much like for you to come on my show and talk about what happened to you,” the woman said. “Even if you don’t want to name your rapist—”
“Reverend Boyd Morrow,” the man blurted out.
Griff stopped the tape. “My guess is there is no Reverend Morrow, but we’ll check out the name to make sure.”
He restarted the tape.
“I know how much courage that took—to tell me the man’s name. If you decide to press charges against this Reverend Morrow, I and WBNN will stand by you and help you in every way possible.”
The conversation continued with the man asking her to promise not to desert him.
She promised.
A few minutes later, the man asked, “Are you all right?” To which she replied, “Yes, I–I think so. I feel odd. A bit dizzy.”
“The son of a bitch drugged her,” Rick said.
“He probably put something in her Coke,” Maleah added.
For several minutes, they heard no more conversation on the tape, only faint noises, nothing really identifiable. Then, sounding as if it came from across the room, a man’s voice said, “Don’t fret, my lovely LaShae. You’ll never grow old and ugly. I’m picking you before you wither, while you’re still fresh and beautiful.”
Lindsay’s gut clenched. She looked at Judd. He’d gone ashen, his eyes glazed, his jaw tight. She knew what he was thinking. Wondering if the killer had spoken similar words to Jennifer the night he killed her.
The man’s voice continued, “I’ve been practicing, so I should be able to take off your head with one powerful chop. I don’t want you to suffer.”
Lindsay reached between them and grabbed Judd’s hand. Cold as ice. And trembling.
As they continued listening, hearing only the man’s voice, Griff made an observation. “Apparently he had her gagged. All I’ve heard are her whimpers.”
“There’s music in the background,” Rick said. “There are no radios in the motel rooms at the Triple Eight. Our guy must have provided his own musical accompaniment to murder.”
“If you lie still, it will be easier for me to take off your head with one chop. If you keep squirming, it might take several tries. We don’t want that, do we? You don’t want to suffer and I don’t want you to suffer.”
Judd squeezed Lindsay’s hand so tightly she almost cried out. But she didn’t say anything. Dear God, the pain he must be suffering.
“I’ve never chopped off a head before, but I decided that since time was running out and the game would soon end, that I should try it. On a human, that is. I’ve practiced numerous times on various animals. Cats and dogs mostly.”
Judd released Lindsay’s hand abruptly, jumped up, knocking his chair over in the process, then ran toward the door.
Griff shut off the tape. Lindsay shoved back her chair and stood.
No one said a word when she rushed out the door after Judd.
She caught up with him where he had stopped and doubled over, about halfway down the hall. When she reached him, she didn’t touch him, just stood nearby.
“Judd?”
“Leave me alone.” No hostility, just overwhelming sadness.
“I shouldn’t have let y
ou listen to that tape.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me.”
“I should have tried.”
He lifted his head and glared at her through damp eyes.
My God, he actually had tears in his eyes!
“I need to be alone,” he told her.
“Judd, please, let me help you.”
“You can’t. Not right now.”
She desperately wanted to put her arms around him.
“I’m sorry. I…” He turned around and walked away.
“Judd!”
He was going to the nearest bar. Liquor could dull the pain, if only for a few hours. Go ahead, drink until you pass out. Do whatever you need to do to stop the pain.
Startled when a big hand came down on her shoulder, she gasped and jumped, then looked over her shoulder and up into Griff’s ice-blue eyes.
“I’ll send Holt to find him and stay with him,” Griff told her.
“We shouldn’t have let him listen to that tape.”
“He had to listen to it.”
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.”
The Dying Game Page 34
