Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  Judd headed for the door, then paused and called to Griff, “See you at supper.”

  Griff looked up, stared at him for half a second, and returned to his conversation with Rick. Judd closed the office door behind him, then went through the kitchen to the backstairs. He really didn’t understand why he’d invited Lindsay to take a walk with him. The words were out of his mouth before he realized he really did want her company.

  He had gone to his motel room, changed into a nondescript gray jogging suit, gray wool cap, and white athletic shoes, then driven back to Pine Crest Estates. He parked his car several blocks from Sunrise Avenue and jogged up the side of the street, nodding and speaking to those who acknowledged him. He figured that in a housing development as large as this one, most people probably thought he was just a new neighbor that they hadn’t met. Most wouldn’t even remember him. He didn’t slow down as he passed 322, but he noted that Sonya Todd’s boyfriend was back. If that big oaf wound up staying the night, he’d have no choice but to alter his plans. He hated when things didn’t go to suit him. But he was not going to leave Tupelo without earning those fifteen points he so desperately needed.

  If not tonight, then tomorrow night.

  After dark, he’d come back, take a good look around her house and figure out a plan of action.

  Sweaty and slightly winded, he got back in his car, wiped the perspiration off his face with a towel he’d borrowed from the motel and revved the Taurus’s motor. Just as he reached for the gearshift, his cell phone rang out a familiar tune.

  Who the hell?

  Only one person had this cell phone number.

  He lifted the phone from the cup holder where he’d stashed it.

  Why is he calling me?

  Don’t answer it.

  As the Miss America Pageant theme tune kept playing, he stared at the phone in his hand. His mind recited the words, “There she is, Miss America.” When the game had begun nearly five years ago, he had chosen this particular music for his cell phone ring after his first kill. Such an appropriate tune. In a couple of months, when the game ended, he would choose a different ring, perhaps something to celebrate his victory.

  Lindsay walked alongside Judd down the gravel road that went through the woods and ended at an old boathouse on the lake. Griff didn’t use that dilapidated boathouse, but hadn’t bothered with tearing it down. He’d also left an old, shabby, weathered barn on the property. Except for the new road that led from the highway to his house and the house itself, little had been altered since he’d purchased the acreage.

  The crisp winter breeze shimmied through the treetops, swaying them gently, as it assaulted Lindsay’s pale cheeks and nose. They were probably pink from the cold, a curse for anyone such as she with an extremely fair complexion. Her guess was that the temperature hovered somewhere around forty, but once the sun went down, it would quickly fall into the thirties, probably to freezing before daylight tomorrow.

  She’d been an outdoor girl all her life and had spent many happy tomboy hours fishing and camping out with her dad. She could remember several times when it had snowed enough in Chattanooga so that they could build a snowman. And there was enough snow or ice at least every other year, for them to take her dad’s childhood sled out of attic storage and sail down a steep hill near their house.

  Happy memories.

  Even though she had lost both of her parents before their time, at least she had grown up in a home filled with love and laughter. Someday, she would like to have children of her own and give them the kind of happy and secure childhood she had known.

  But before she could think about marriage and children, she had to stop loving Judd Walker.

  Neither of them had said a word for the past fifteen minutes. She had kept in step with his long strides and had occasionally stolen sidelong glimpses of him. Why was it that no other man affected her the way Judd did? Although no great beauty like Jennifer Mobley Walker, Lindsay had always been popular and well liked. And she’d had boyfriends ever since kindergarten. But she’d never been madly, passionately, insanely in love until Judd entered her life.

  Strong emphasis on the word insanely.

  Her love for Judd bordered on the insane, didn’t it?

  If any other man had done to her what he had, she not only would have hated him forever, she probably would have stuck his butt in jail. But loving Judd the way she did, she had forgiven him for being such an ass. And in a way. she understood why he’d treated her so badly. He had wanted to scare her off; and he’d accomplished just that, at least temporarily.

  During the past six months, she had tried to put the incident out of her mind, tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. By staying away from Judd, she’d been able to deal with the situation and even started dating Dr. Nathan Klyce. She really needed to end things with Nathan before it became serious. It wasn’t fair to lead him on, not while she was still in love with another man.

  Fool!

  Any woman in her right mind would run like hell from a renegade like Judd, a man teetering precariously between sanity and madness. And that same smart, sensible woman would pursue a relationship with a great guy like Nathan, a stable, dependable, sweet man.

  She supposed that made her neither smart nor sensible. And probably emotionally unstable.

  But what can you do when you can’t stop loving a man who is bad for you?

  If what happened six months ago couldn’t bring her to her senses, apparently nothing could. Late last summer, after he’d spent two weeks here at Griffin’s Rest during the heat of the investigation into the most recent beauty queen murder, Judd had asked her to drive him home to the hunting lodge, as she’d done numerous times in the past. And like in the past, she had spent the night. But that night turned out to be different in ways that haunted her, in ways that disturbed her, in ways that broke her heart.

  Don’t think about it.

  It hadn’t really changed anything between Judd and her, at least not on a permanent basis.

  “Is it safe to go inside?” Judd asked as he paused in front of the boathouse.

  “What?” The fact that he’d spoken after such a long silence startled her.

  “I’ve walked out this way a couple of times before, but I’ve never gone inside the boathouse. If we go inside, it won’t fall in on us, will it?” He inclined his head toward the rickety building.

  “I don’t think so,” she told him. “But why do you want to go inside?”

  He shrugged, lifting and dropping his broad shoulders clad in his battered brown leather jacket. “Just something to do.”

  When he jangled the hinge and lifted the heavy wooden latch, she watched him. And when he opened the door and went into the dark interior, she hesitated. The last time they had been alone in the dark …

  “Are you coming in?” he called to her.

  “Sure.” Garnering up her courage, she walked into the boathouse, then paused several feet past the entrance.

  Soft afternoon sunlight shot through the numerous cracks in the loose wooden walls and crumbling cedar shingles on the roof. Lindsay inspected the empty interior, noting the galaxy of shimmering cobwebs and taking in the damp, musty scent that permeated the air.

  “It doesn’t look like anybody’s been inside for years,” Judd said.

  “It’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?” Feeling oddly chilled, Lindsay crisscrossed her arms and hugged herself.

  Judd turned around and stared at her. “Is it the place that’s rattled you or is it being alone like this with me?”

  “I’m not afraid to be alone with you.”

  When he came toward her, it took every ounce of her willpower not to back away from him. Instead, she stood her ground, and when he stopped less than a foot from her, she tilted up her chin and looked him right in the eyes.

  Judd laughed. “You remind me of a little Chihuahua who thinks she’s a Rottweiler.”

  Lindsay bristled. “Don’t make the mistake of letting my size fool you.”


  Judd closed the minuscule gap between them, coming so close that they were almost touching.

  Steady, girl, Lindsay warned herself.

  He lowered his head until his breath fanned her mouth and mingled with her breath. “I swear that I will never again do anything intentionally to hurt you.” He lifted his head and took a step back.

  Lindsay released the chest-aching breath she’d been holding. Forcing back the tears that threatened to dispel the tough image she was trying to project, she swallowed hard and nodded. It was all she could manage at the moment.

  “I’m a rotten bastard, and I don’t deserve friends like you and Griff.”

  Answer him, damn it! “You’re right, you don’t. But you need us.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  “Griff talked to you, didn’t he? Was the apology his idea?” she asked. “Did Griff make it one of the stipulations of your being allowed to stay here at Griffin’s Rest and take part in the investigation?”

  Before she realized his intentions so that she could sidestep his move, Judd reached out and ran the back of his hand across her cheek. “The apology was sincere.” He eased his hand away from her face. “But don’t read too much into it. It was only an apology, not a declaration of love.”

  Just when she thought nothing he said or did could hurt her, he proved her wrong. But this time, the wound had been inflicted unintentionally.

  “I understand,” she told him. “The apology was more than I expected.”

  Chapter 10

  The next day, Judd sat in on another meeting. This time, he tried to act as if he was paying attention, as if he thought going over the same old information might actually prove useful. It wasn’t Griff’s fault that the Beauty Queen Killer hadn’t been apprehended. God knew the Powell Agency had used every resource available—legal and slightly illegal—to track down the man who had killed Jenny. Neither Powell nor the FBI had been able to pick up the madman’s trail, although both had extensive profiles that narrowed down suspects. But that was the problem—they didn’t have any suspects.

  In the past three and a half years, Judd had learned more about serial killers than he’d ever wanted to know. He could easily recite the rhetoric. Memorized facts and figures. Eighty-five percent of American serial killers are male, eighty-two percent are white, eighty-seven percent are loners, and most range in age from twenty-two to fifty.

  While Judd did his best to stay focused on the conversation taking place, Griff explained how he had three Powell agents in Williamstown, Kentucky, right now, keeping track of everything that the local law enforcement and the FBI were doing. “These men have built a professional rapport with the police department, and the chief has been very cooperative, despite Nic Baxter’s disapproval.”

  “Does anybody involved in Gale Ann Cain’s murder case have even one tiny lead?” Judd asked. “Other than Barbara Jean, who either cannot or will not give a detailed description of the possible killer.”

  “We’ve been here before,” Griff said. “Our guy is nomadic. Once he kills, he leaves town. He either moves often or he travels a lot. And because this type of killer isn’t stationary, doesn’t kill in just one area, he’s more difficult to catch than one who stays close to home.”

  “And until now, he’s been invisible,” Lindsay said. “He manages to kill and disappear without anyone seeing him. Except this time, Barbara Jean saw him.”

  “We believe she saw him,” Griff corrected. “We can’t be certain the man she saw is our killer.”

  Propping one elbow on the desk, Judd leaned forward. “Okay, let’s say she can ID him and finally agrees to work with a sketch artist. What happens then?”

  “We share the sketch with the FBI,” Griff said. “And that sketch will be sent to every local law enforcement agency in the country. Sooner or later, somebody will see the sketch and recognize our guy.”

  “Then for God’s sake, use your powers of persuasion on Barbara Jean.” Judd’s gaze collided with Griff’s. “While you’re giving her time to come around on her own, this guy is out there plotting another murder. Tell her that her fear and uncertainty could very well cost another woman her life.”

  He hated cheap motel rooms, but staying in an inexpensive place where he could pay cash and the clerk probably wouldn’t remember him the next day made sense. It would be foolish to flash his money around, to say or do anything that might make him stand out and cause someone to remember him. Keep a low profile was the number one rule in this game. Victories were not for public celebration. They were to be savored privately.

  Early this morning, long before daylight, while Sonya had entertained her boyfriend, he had taken the opportunity to check out the houses on either side of and across from hers. He had inspected her backyard. No fence. No large shrubbery. Exposed on all four sides to the prying eyes of neighbors. His best course of action was to enter her home late tonight, when there was less chance of anyone being awake and peeking out the window. He didn’t think she had a security system. There were no signs posted and ninety-five percent of people with private security posted warning signs. And quite a few people without security systems stuck stickers on their doors or signs in their yards as a deterrent to thieves.

  Of course, the one thing that would make entering Sonya’s house as easy as taking candy from a baby was the fact that she, like a lot of other idiots, kept a key “hidden” under a fake rock in her front yard. He’d taken that key around one this morning, while he’d been examining the layout of her house and yard.

  He clutched the brass key in his hand and smiled as he drove into downtown Tupelo to look for a decent restaurant, preferably a crowded establishment. He would eat a good supper, go back to the motel, and think about the night that lay ahead, a night of horrible pain for Sonya and unforgettable pleasure for him.

  Sometimes he found a suitable weapon in the woman’s home, but he never left anything to chance. He always went prepared. He had a bright, shiny new axe that he had bought at a Wal-Mart in Monroe, Louisiana, lying under a plastic painter’s tarp in the trunk of his rental car.

  * * *

  Judd paced back and forth in the two-story living room that spanned the width of the house. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and three sets of French doors dominated the back wall; the doors opened onto a deck that overlooked the lake.

  Although when Griffin was at home, dinner was usually served at seven, it was five past seven and Griffin hadn’t shown up nor had Sanders announced dinner. After the end of their afternoon meeting, Lindsay had stayed on in Griff’s home office and gone over the most recent reports from the agents in Williamstown. She hadn’t seen or talked to Griff since then, and until they had met in the living room ten minutes ago, she hadn’t seen Judd either.

  Judd moved around the room like a caged animal searching for an escape route. Whenever he paused, he stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and stared out into the darkness; then as if jolted by an electrical prod, he would start moving again. Edgy. Unsettled. Nervous energy.

  Lindsay knew the signs. She had seen them all too often. Judd was restless. He had little patience, expected immediate action, and was the type who snapped his fingers and thought everyone should jump. Perhaps, in part, that came from having been reared in the lap of luxury, accustomed to issuing orders and having them instantly obeyed.

  With each murder case, Griff and the FBI had gathered information. Sometimes, it was nothing more than an insignificant tidbit that didn’t further the investigation one iota. Other times, it was info that helped them add to, build on, or alter the profile of the Beauty Queen Killer. But it all seemed meaningless to Judd because compiling information and building a profile had not produced results. While the Powell Agency, local law enforcement agencies in various cities, and the FBI investigated, the man who had murdered Jennifer Walker continued killing. Woman after woman after woman.

  “Want to play cards or chess or watch a movie after dinner?” Lindsay rattled off a list
of possible temporary cures for Judd’s restlessness.

  “You don’t have to babysit me,” he told her. “I’m not going to do anything stupid, like drown myself in the lake … or corner Barbara Jean.”

  “You gave Griff your word about not pressuring Barbara Jean, didn’t you? That’s good enough for me.”

  Judd harrumphed. “You shouldn’t be too trusting. There was a time when I was a man of my word. That man doesn’t exist anymore.”

  Before she had a chance to think of an appropriate response, Griffin entered the living room; but he was not alone. He escorted an exotic woman with luminous black eyes and blue-black hair cut in a shoulder-length pageboy style. She wore cream white slacks and an oversized matching sweater. Diamond and gold hoops dangled from her small ears.

  “Dr. Meng.” Lindsay walked across the room to greet their guest, an old and dear friend of Griff’s. “How wonderful to see you again.” Lindsay shook hands with the woman Griff had first brought into her life six months ago. She had no idea how old Dr. Meng was, but if she were to guess, she would say late thirties, although she looked younger.

  “How are you, Lindsay?” Dr. Meng asked. “Quite well?”

  “Yes, quite well, thank you.”

  Judd approached them, but kept his distance, a leery glint in his eyes, as if he suspected Dr. Meng was his enemy.

  “Judd, come over and meet Yvette Meng,” Griff said.

  Judd took several tentative steps forward, but didn’t come close enough to shake hands with Dr. Meng.

  “Yvette, this is Judd Walker,” Griff told her. “Lindsay and I have mentioned him to you on several occasions.”

  “Mr. Walker.” Yvette nodded cordially, but respected Judd’s wariness and made no move to approach him.

  “Almost perfect English, which means you were probably not born and raised here,” Judd said. “Yvette Meng.” He examined her as if she were a specimen under a microscope. “Eurasian?” he asked.