by Robin Caroll
Thanks to my agent, Steve Laube, who not only respects my business decisions, but is always looking out for me. Thank you so much for all that you do, especially when I’m on a tangent!
This book was so much fun to write. I enjoyed delving into the research of New Orleans and bringing the past, no matter how unattractive, to the present.
Once again, a big thanks to fellow author Pam Hillman, who was the best sport on our research trip to New Orleans. She let me drag her through cemeteries, the French Quarter, and on tour buses. I’m so glad I didn’t have to go alone!
Thank you to my mom, Joyce Bridges and dear friend, Rosemary Troquille who helped fill in some of the research holes with tracing the facts of the real Axeman and the homes for the children. Thank you, Carrie Stuart Parks for stepping in with research answers when I wrote myself into a corner.
Thanks to Brian Sparks, who sent me the Death Investigator Handbook to help with my research. Thank you to FACES in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, who provides a wealth of information on their website alone. Thank you to Dr. Sharon Kay Moses, who answered my questions regarding forensic anthropology.
I’m forever grateful to my amazing prayer partners, beta readers, and encouragers: Pam Hillman, Heather Tipton, Tracey Justice, Ronie Kendig, Dineen Miller, Cynthia Ruchti, and Cara Putman. You ladies don’t let me get away with anything or take any shortcuts, and I appreciate each of you for that!
To my immediate family, who help me brainstorm, plot, and cause havoc in my poor characters’ lives: Casey, Remy and Bella— thank you for taking the active part in my stories. I can’t tell you how much it means to me for y’all to rock the fiction process with me.
Lots of love for my extended family’s encouragement. I so appreciate your continuous support: Mom, my grandsons—Benton and Zayden, Bubba and Lisa, Wade (because you are more family than not).
Special thanks to my hubby, Casey, who keeps me going when I want to quit, makes me laugh out loud, and understands the craziness that is me. I love you!
Finally, all glory to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
Also by Robin Caroll
Stratagem
Darkwater Inn Series
Darkwater Secrets
Darkwater Lies
Darkwater Truth
Companion Cookbook: Recipes from the Darkwater Inn
The Evil Series
Deliver Us from Evil
Fear No Evil
In the Shadow of Evil
Hidden in the Stars
Torrents of Destruction
Weaver’s Needle
The Bayou Series
Bayou Justice
Bayou Corruption
Bayou Judgment
Bayou Paradox
Bayou Betrayal
Bayou Blackmail
Dead Air
Justice Seeker Series
Injustice for All
To Write a Wrong
Strand of Deception
The Christmas Bell Tolls
For Middle Grade/YA Readers
Samantha Sanderson At the Movies
Samantha Sanderson On the Scene
Samantha Sanderson Off the Record
Samantha Sanderson Without A Trace
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Enjoy reading about New Orleans? Try out this sample of STRATAGEM
“According to your estimation, she has eight minutes to figure out she can’t open the door unless her employee uses the key he got in the last room.” Pam leaned back in the chair and tilted her head toward the live feed. Her brightly dyed hair shimmered with the movement.
The woman on the screen stumbled around in the room. Her breathing came out labored—harsh in contrast to her platinum-blond hair that caught the dim light. She ran to the only visible exit and turned the knob. Her body slumped against the locked door.
“They’ll get it.” Grayson was rarely off by more than a few minutes at most. His job was to study the financial, medical, background, and psychological reports on each of the game participants to find their weaknesses and strengths, then use it all against them. To break them to the point where they couldn’t escape the game—win—unless they worked as a team. That was the whole purpose of the games, and why they signed waivers.
“I think you read her wrong.” Pam tapped the monitor and took a sip of her white mocha. “I bet they won’t escape according to your time frame.”
Grayson grinned at his collaborator. “Wouldn’t be the first time I misjudged.” He stared at the blond woman, now on her feet again, running her hands over the walls. “But I don’t think that’s the case with this one.”
“Twenty bucks says you’re wrong.” Pam dug a bill out of the back pocket of her jeans and slapped it on the long desk they shared.
He shook his head. “Why must you bet on every single game we run?”
“Adds to the excitement.” Grinning, she shrugged. “Are you going to put your money where your calculations are, hotshot?”
“Of course.” He laid a twenty on top of Pam’s and stared at the woman on the monitor.
“Six minutes.”
The blond woman’s hands fisted at her side. Grayson could almost feel her frustration as he gave the computer command that opened the sliding hidden passageway. The woman’s employee all but fell into the room. The blond rushed to him.
Grayson smiled as the woman helped the man stand. Just as he’d predicted, her nurturing instincts kicked in. He pressed another button, and a recording of a child crying out for her mother filled the room. One of the woman’s greatest fears was being unable to protect her child.
The woman pounded on the door. Her employee eased in front of her and rammed his shoulder against the door. His protective instinct came right on time, as Grayson had estimated.
“Four minutes.” Pam leaned forward, closer to the monitor.
It might be close.
The woman sobbed, shoulders shaking as she hung her head.
“She’s freaking.” Pam rubbed her hands together and pushed the button to increase the volume on the child’s wails.
The woman slumped against the wall beside the door—defeated.
“That’s almost cheating.” Grayson leaned forward, his nose nearly pressing against the monitor.
This was the most intense part of the game, the flipping of personalities. The employee saving the employer served a twofold purpose: the employee built confidence in himself as a vital part of the company team, and the employer learned that the company can accomplish nothing without the input and dedication of its workers.
The woman shook herself and turned to beat on the door, almost in hysterics. She twisted the knob, rattling the lock.
“One minute.” Pam rubbed her hands together.
Come on, man. Figure it out. Grayson locked his jaw, concentrating on the monitor.
“Thirty seconds.”
The more frantically she turned the knob, the louder the lock rattled. The man hesitated in his ramming.
That’s right. The key. It’s in your pocket.
“Twenty.”
Slowly, the man pulled the key from his jacket pocket and thrust it at his
boss.
“No!” Pam glanced at the timer. “Ten seconds.”
The woman turned the knob, and she and the man both slipped through the door.
Grayson stared at the timer. “With four seconds to spare.” He grabbed both twenties.
Pam shook her head but grinned. “You make me sick, you know that, right?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “When are you going to learn not to bet against me?” Grayson stood as the monitor flipped to the “recovery room” where the man and woman were taking bottles of water from Grayson’s congenial business partner, Colton York.
Pam stood as well. “One of these days, Grayson Thibodeaux, you’re going to lose.”
Some days, it felt like he’d already lost all that he’d held dearest, but he shook his head at his assistant anyway. “I think I’m gonna call it a day.”
“Sure, take the money and run.” Pam laughed as she shut down the monitors.
“See you tomorrow.” Grayson headed down the hall to his office, ready to grab his laptop and head home.
“As usual, my timing is perfect.”
Every hair on the back of Grayson’s neck stood at attention. No mistaking that voice. He turned. “Hello, Anna Belle.”
“Don’t ‘hello’ me.” She marched around the receptionist, who threw Grayson an apologetic look. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
He sighed. No use trying to shut up his ex-wife or even get her to speak with him privately. Nothing would work until she had her say. He knew. All too well. “Find out what, Anna Belle?”
“About your dad’s duck hunting gig in Plaquemines Parish. You failed to mention that in our divorce, and it’s worth over one point five million dollars. I was entitled to half that amount in the settlement.”
“My father didn’t own that. It’s a hunting lease. I was accepted as a legacy.” He caught a flash of Pam’s lavender-pink hair from the corner of his eye. Humiliation would come later.
“Which is still worth a very healthy amount of money and was passed down to you. You didn’t declare it, Grayson.”
“But I can’t sell the land because I don’t own it. That’s why it wasn’t addressed in the divorce settlement, Anna Belle. It’s not something I own.”
“I’m entitled to half what the lease is worth.” She popped her hands on her hips and tightened her lips into a firm line.
At one time, that move would have made him reverse his stance.
That was then; this was now. “I don’t care what you think you’re entitled to, Anna Belle. I suggest you call your lawyer if you have a problem with the divorce settlement because I really don’t—”
Her slap brought a stinging to his eyes. He grabbed her wrist. Held it. “How dare you, Anna Belle? To come to my job and assault me?” Grayson ground his teeth so hard it was a wonder he didn’t crack a couple.
Pam was beside him in a flash, her hand on his forearm. “Don’t bother, Grayson. She isn’t worth it.”
He let go of his grip on Anna Belle with a jerk.
“You should leave. Now.” Pam’s voice shook with the hatred she felt for Anna Belle.
“This isn’t over, Grayson.” Anna Belle spun away from him, her long, blond hair flung over her shoulder as she marched toward the front door, her spike heels tapping angrily against the cool tiles.
“Everything okay out here?” Colton stood in the hallway, his embarrassed-for-someone-else look planted firmly on his face.
“We’re fine. Just leaving for the day.” Pam took Grayson’s arm and turned him toward the back door.
The mortification had already wormed its way into Grayson’s chest. No telling how many people just saw the exchange. Pam, Colton, Jackie the receptionist, and possibly clients. He didn’t need his assistant or his business partner to take up for him with his ex-wife. Every time he saw Anna Belle, the pang of her betrayal nearly strangled him. He didn’t want to hate her, prayed daily that his heart would be softened to forgive her, but she still stopped him cold.
He cleared his throat. “I need my laptop.”
“Not tonight, boss. Take the night off. Read a book, watch a game, do whatever you need to do to unwind. You’ve earned it.” Pam had that look in her eye, the one that said it was easier just to do what she wanted because she could be almost as relentless as Anna Belle.
Almost, but in a much better way.
He gave a curt nod and dug his keys from his jeans pocket. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She rested her hands on her hips, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.
Grayson had one thought when he headed to his truck: he desperately needed a vacation. Soon.
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About the Author
Best-selling author of more than thirty novels, ROBIN CAROLL writes Southern stories of mystery and suspense, with a hint of romance to entertain readers. Her books have been recognized in several awards, including the Carol Award, HOLT Medallion, Daphne du Maurier, RT Reviewer’s Choice Award, and more. Robin serves the writing community as Executive/Conference Director for ACFW.
For More Information
www.robincaroll.com
