Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  He leered at her, a silly grin on his face. “I’d rather have milk and cookies.”

  “Would you now?”

  “Yep. And afterward, I want you.” When he reached for her, she sidestepped him. “Ah, come on. Don’t be that way.”

  “Judd, you’re drunk.”

  “Just a little.”

  “No, you’re very drunk.”

  “Don’t be mad at me. You know why … Drowned my sorrows. Feeling no pain.”

  She glared at him. “Is that right? No pain. Sorrows all gone. Poor Judd.”

  He staggered toward her. “I’m sorry. I tried. I tried really hard.”

  She lifted her hand and patted his cheek. “I know you did.”

  “Don’t leave me, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Don’t you leave me, too.”

  She slid her arm around his waist and led him to the bed. “Sit down. I’ll help you get undressed.”

  He sat. When she unbuttoned his shirt, he grabbed her hand. “Thank you.”

  She offered him a forced smile, then continued removing his clothes until she had him down to his briefs. When she turned him around and pressed her hand against his chest, urging him to lie down, he didn’t fight her. She lifted the sheet and comforter and covered him.

  He gazed up at her. “Did I say thank you?”

  “Yes, you did.” She brushed the loose strands of his overly long hair away from his face, then leaned over and kissed his forehead.

  He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Within minutes, Judd was fast asleep.

  Lindsay went into the bathroom, changed into her nightshirt, then came back and crawled into bed beside him. She lay there looking at him, watching as his chest rose and fell with each breath.

  “God help him,” she said. “God help us both.”

  Griff sat alone on the sofa in his suite, his jacket off, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. With his feet propped on the coffee table, he stared at the television, catching a word or two of the CNN late night newscast while his eyelids drooped. It had been a long day. One that had started out with promise and ended on a sour note. At least for Judd and Lindsay.

  Ever since he had agreed to spearhead Lindsay and Maleah’s scheme to capture the BQ Killer, he’d had a great many second thoughts. Too many things could go wrong. Using Lindsay as bait put her life in danger. No two ways about it. No matter how meticulous the details …

  He knew why Lindsay wanted to do this. Everyone involved knew why. She hoped that capturing Jennifer’s killer and bringing him to justice would give Judd closure and allow him to move on with his life. A life with her.

  What would it be like to have a woman love me the way Lindsay loves Judd?

  Griff harrumphed.

  Love wasn’t for him. He didn’t want or need anyone. Certainly not some woman willing to sacrifice everything for him. He sure as hell would never …

  His cell phone rang. Who the fuck? It had to be past eleven.

  He felt on his belt for his phone, then remembered that he’d taken off his belt and laid it and the phone on the bed.

  Let it go to voice mail.

  You’d better get it. It could be important. Nobody calls without a good reason at this time of night.

  Griff got up, lumbered into the bedroom, and managed to answer one ring short of voice mail picking up. He didn’t bother checking caller ID.

  “Powell here.”

  “He’s killed again,” Griff’s D.C. contact told him. “A redhead in Parsons, Louisiana.”

  “His last kill was only days ago.”

  “This kill was different.”

  “How so?” Griff asked.

  “The lady was a dance instructor.”

  “So?”

  “So normally, he’d cut off her feet or chop off her legs.”

  “And this time, what did he do?”

  “He took off her feet and her legs. And then he hacked off her arms and her head and … Hell, Griff, he chopped her to pieces.”

  Chapter 31

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Maleah said. “Are you all right?”

  Lindsay’s intense focus on the road ahead—Interstate 59—combined with thoughts of those last moments with Judd this morning had kept her occupied since she and her fellow Powell agent left Birmingham around seven this morning, shortly after Judd left with Holt Keinan.

  “I’m okay. Just preoccupied.”

  “I know you wanted to go with him, but he’ll be okay. He’s doing a very brave thing, going into rehab.”

  “Yeah, I’m very proud of him. And so thankful that he’s finally asking for the help he’s needed. It’s just … I won’t be there to look after him, to protect him.”

  “No, but you will be doing something that could help him more than anything else. Finding this murdering son of a bitch will help Judd and everyone else who has lost a loved one to the BQ Killer find closure.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you having second thoughts about—”

  “No.” Lindsay cast a quick glance at Maleah. “I’m fully prepared to step into the role of Paige Allgood first thing tomorrow.”

  “I still can’t believe that Mr. Powell was able to set things up so quickly.” Maleah talked with her hands, which moved constantly when she spoke. “In less than twelve hours, he not only persuaded Ms. Allgood to go along with our plan, but as we speak, there are people pulling everything together for us at her home and the building she’s renovating for a theater. And she’s off to Paris for three weeks, going there incognito.”

  “Money talks.”

  “Is he as rich as people say he is?”

  “Probably richer,” Lindsay said.

  “I wonder why a guy that rich would want to head up a P.I. firm in Knoxville, Tennessee?”

  “You’d have to ask him.”

  “Never. Mr. Powell intimidates the hell out of me.”

  Lindsay smiled. “Griff is definitely a take-no-prisoners type, but I truly believe that he’s one of the good guys.”

  “You really like him, don’t you?”

  “I like him. I respect him. But I don’t really know him. I don’t think anyone does, other than Sanders. And possibly Dr. Meng.” Lindsay maneuvered her Trailblazer through the interstate traffic into the far right lane.

  “You know there are rumors about you and Mr. Powell,” Maleah said. “You’re the only Powell agent who lives at Griffin’s Rest full time and—Crap! I’m talking too much. I’ll be quiet now.”

  Silence.

  “Lindsay, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I’m afraid I’m the inquisitive type. Actually, I’m just plain nosy.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind telling you since there’s no truth to any of the rumors. Griff and I are friends. Nothing more.”

  “That’s what I thought. I mean it’s obvious you’re in love with Judd Walker.” Maleah groaned. “God, why don’t I just shut up!”

  “Stop apologizing all the time,” Lindsay said as she steered the SUV into the lane that connected I-59 to I-24. “We’re going to be spending a great deal of time together for the next few weeks, so we’ll have to adapt to each other’s personalities. And if you say anything that offends me, anything I don’t like, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Maleah released a deep breath. “I promise I’ll be quiet now.”

  Lindsay kept her eyes on the road ahead as her mind replayed once again those final moments this morning when she said good-bye to Judd. No tears. No pleas to go with him. Only heartfelt hope. And a tender kiss.

  “I wish you would keep talking,” Lindsay said. “It helps keep my mind off other things.”

  “Oh. Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

  “Anything other than Judd, Griff, and the BQ Killer.”

  “Well, let’s see. I hear hemlines are shorter for spring, doctors now say both coffee and chocolate are actually good for us, and there’s a possibility that George Clooney will eventu
ally run for president.”

  Lindsay laughed. “Oh, yes, you and I are definitely going to be good friends.”

  Griff and Rick Carson had flown into Parsons, Louisiana, early in the morning. While Griff had checked them into a local B & B, taking over the entire ten-room establishment, Rick had set to work checking out the lay of the land. Rick’s first phone report came in at eight-thirty.

  “Nic Baxter and her task force haven’t arrived yet. They’re due in any time now. It seems there was some initial confusion at first as to whether or not this latest murder was a BQK case, so that delayed things.”

  “And why was that?”

  “The woman’s entire body was chopped to pieces, which was not our guy’s MO.”

  “Was there a rose left at the scene?”

  “Yeah. A yellow one. Sandi Ford was a redhead. But it seems the rose wasn’t found right away. It wasn’t on or near the body, which was lying on a table.”

  Griff parked the rental car a block over from Main Street, then walked to Sandi’s Dance Studio. A swarm of police, reporters, and curious townsfolk blocked his view. He checked his watch: Ten after nine. Scanning the crowd, he searched for Nic and Josh. No sign of either.

  Being a large man, his size alone intimidated others, so he had no problem making his way past the horde to reach the yellow crime scene tape where a police officer stood guard. The young man wasn’t a day over twenty-one.

  “Who’s in charge here?” Griff asked.

  “Chief Crowell,” the officer replied.

  “Is he here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’d like to speak to him.” Griff whipped out one of his business cards and handed it to the boy, who took it, looked at it and grinned. “Hey, I’ve heard of you. You used to play for UT. And you’re some big hotshot P.I. now, aren’t you?”

  Griff grinned.

  “Look, the chief’s sort of been expecting you. He said that you show up at all the Beauty Queen Killer murders and he’d lay odds you’d show up here in Parsons today.”

  “He was right,” Griff said. “So, would you mind telling him that I’m here and I’d appreciate a few minutes of his time.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Powell.”

  Within five minutes, Griff was having coffee with Chief Crowell at the bookstore/coffee shop three doors down from Sandi’s Dance Studio.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” the chief said. “Worst goddamn slaughter you could imagine.” He shook his head. “That poor woman. A wife and mother. A good Christian woman.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me, unofficially, of course? I understand you weren’t sure at first if this was the work of our BQ Killer.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. From what I knew, the BQ Killer didn’t chop his victims into pieces.” The chief swallowed. “Sandi Ford had been butchered. And nobody noticed the rose at first. Apparently, it had fallen off the corpse and onto the floor. One of the first officers at the scene actually stepped on the damn thing and left bloody footprints all over the place.” The chief’s gaze met Griff’s. “That’s definitely an unofficial statement. Stuff like that makes the department look bad.”

  Griff nodded. “Who found the body?”

  Crowell huffed. “The husband. The poor guy had been at Wednesday night church services with his three kids and when he got home and his wife wasn’t there, he came downtown to the studio to see what was keeping her.”

  “Then the husband called the police?” Griff asked.

  “Actually, one of their kids did. It seems Earl Ray Ford came out of the studio screaming hysterically. One of their daughters called nine-one-one. When the officers arrived on the scene, they found the wife’s body.”

  “Then what?”

  “I was contacted immediately. Something like this has never happened in Parsons.”

  “I understand.”

  “I called in the state boys immediately. I knew we weren’t equipped to handle a murder case, especially one like this. Hell, we haven’t had a murder in Parsons in five years.”

  “So the state took over the case? That’s their people working the crime scene?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. But I was informed this morning that the FBI would be handling the investigation here on out, as soon as they show up.”

  Since Griff and Chief Crowell sat at a table in the front of the coffee shop, near the front door, Griff couldn’t miss seeing the door swing open and a woman enter. He grinned.

  “I believe they’ve just arrived,” Griff said.

  “Huh?”

  Nic Baxter marched toward the table, hell’s fury in her dark eyes. She stopped, planted her hands on her hips and looked directly at Chief Crowell. “I hope you haven’t been discussing Sandi Ford’s murder with this man.”

  A puzzled expression crossed the chief’s face. “Ma’am?”

  “Chief Crowell, let me introduce you to Special Agent Nicole Baxter,” Griff said. “She heads up the FBI’s BQK task force. In other words, she’s the man in charge.”

  Nic whipped around and glared at Griff. “I don’t have to remind you that this man is a private detective.” Although she was speaking to Chief Crowell, she was looking at Griff. “He is not, in any way, a part of the official investigation. If he has used persuasion or coercion to obtain information from you, I need to know right now.”

  Chief Crowell shoved back his chair, stood, and tapped Nic on the shoulder. She froze momentarily, then turned to face him.

  “Ma’am, I know I’m just a small town police chief, but I’m not an idiot. Mr. Powell here has been nothing but a gentleman. There’s been no persuasion or coercion going on this morning. We were just sitting here having us some coffee and talking about football.”

  Griff barely managed to hold in his laughter.

  Nic bristled. “Very well. Thank you.” Ignoring Griff completely now, she focused on the chief. “As soon as you’ve finished your coffee break with Mr. Powell, I’d like to speak to you. Privately.”

  “I don’t know what happened to me,” Pudge said. “I swear, it was as if someone else was hacking away at her, as if I were watching it being done.”

  All the while Ruddy listened to his cousin telling him about how he’d gone berserk when he had killed Sandi Ford, he kept thinking about the fact that Pudge had scored twenty points and they were now neck-and-neck, heading toward the finish line.

  “It was the most exhilarating experience of my life,” Pudge said. “The whole thing was surreal, but utterly glorious.” Ruddy knew he had to move fast to get ahead. He couldn’t allow Pudge to score more points. The consequences would be deadly. Although he strongly suspected that Pudge had cheated and chosen Sandi Ford as his next victim before Ruddy had killed LaShae Goodloe, he hadn’t pressed the issue, hadn’t called foul. No, instead, he’d done a little cheating of his own. He had already found a lovely blonde, a former Miss Memphis, who had been a twirler. A baton twirler. Now, there was a talent for you.

  “By the time I finished, I was bathed in blood.” Pudge sighed. “If I hadn’t been concerned that someone might see me that way, I wouldn’t have washed off there in the rest room at the studio. I rubbed her blood into my hands and my face. It was like a satiny smooth lotion.”

  Ruddy thought about how he would kill the blond-and-beautiful Sara Ann Stewart. Cut off her hands? Chop off her arms?

  Even after listening to Pudge’s exuberant retelling of Sandi Ford’s murder, Ruddy knew he would not derive a similar pleasure from butchering a victim. Of the two of them, Pudge was by far the more brutal, bestial type of killer. Ruddy preferred being less dramatic, but equally effective. After all, dead was dead.

  Why not beat her to death with a baton? a wicked inner voice with a sense of humor suggested.

  Absolutely divine idea. And so appropriate. Something new and unique.

  “Our game has gone on far too long,” Pudge said. “Admit it, you had become as bored as I had with doing the same old things time and again. Chopping
little Miss Sandi into pieces invigorated me.”

  “I’d think knowing we’re in the last days of our game would create enough excitement for both of us,” Ruddy replied.

  “Getting worried, Cousin?”

  “Not at all. I have every confidence in myself. But if you’re concerned, I’m willing to renegotiate terms.”

  Pudge’s laughter irritated Ruddy in a way it never had. “You find that amusing?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. You see, dear cousin, I know you’re concerned that I shall be the winner and you the loser. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be all but begging me to change the rules this late in the game.”

  “I was not begging. I was simply offering to give you a way out.”

  “What’s wrong—you aren’t afraid of death, are you?”

  “No more than you are.”

  Chapter 32

  Today was March thirty-first. The end of the month, the end of the week. And the Beauty Queen Killer had struck four times in the past sixteen days. Sara Ann Stewart in Memphis, Tennessee. A blonde. Beaten to death with a baton. Audrey Smallwood, Macon, Georgia. Hacked to death as brutally as Sandi Ford had been. A brunette. Kalindy Naramore, Columbus, Mississippi. Hands cut off. Another brunette. Whitney Webster, Bowling Green, Kentucky. A blonde. Doused with kerosene and set afire.

  Every other murder gruesome to the extreme.

  How many points had each woman been worth to him?

  “He’s on a killing spree,” Griff had said. “It’s as if he’s gone into a murderous frenzy right before April first.”

  Derek Lawrence had advised Griff that it was highly possible that the killer planned to end his game on April first and knowing the end was near, he was murdering as many women as he possibly could, as quickly as he could.

  Why hasn’t he come after me? After Paige Allgood? Lindsay had been living the other woman’s life for a couple of weeks now, wearing a platinum, shoulder-length wig, contact lenses, and expensive designer clothes she hated. However, it was the jewelry that created the biggest problem for her. In every photograph of the wealthy former Miss UT, she was wearing several bracelets, heavy gold necklaces, a broach on her lapel or collar, and two sets of earrings dangled from the twin holes in each ear.