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.”
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 ifteen 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 you 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.”
Lindsay stopped and glared at Maleah.
“It’s obvious you want to do something for Judd, so do what you can—talk to Griff about our plan.”
It took Lindsay a few seconds to wrap her mind around what Maleah had said: Do something positive. She couldn’t help Judd right now by going after him and trying to stop him from drinking. But if she could give Judd his wife’s killer …
“You’re right. I can’t stop Judd from getting drunk. I can’t make him want me with him. But I can use myself as bait to lure Jennifer Walker’s killer into a trap.”
“That a girl.”
“Where’s Griff?”
“I’m not sure where Mr. Powell and Rick went, but I’ll call Mr. Powell’s cell phone and tell him we need to talk to him.”
Thirty minutes later, while Judd was God-only-knew where, doing God-only-knew what, Lindsay and Maleah presented their plan to Griff, who listened patiently, a scowl on his face.
“No way in hell,” Griff told them.
“Don’t be unreasonable,” Lindsay said.
“I’d be with her all the time, posing as her maid,” Maleah added.
“If you’re with her all the time, our killer won’t show up,” Griff said. “He’s not an idiot.”
“He wouldn’t know I was there. We can figure out a way to make him think Lindsay is all alone and yet we’d be keeping an eye on her.”
Griff grunted. “The FBI has already tried this ploy twice and the BQ Killer didn’t take the bait. What makes you two think he’ll—?”
“I need to do this,” Lindsay said.
“Hell, why don’t I just put a gun in your hand and help you hold it to your head and pull the trigger?” Balling his big hands into fists on either side of his body, Griff snorted. “There’s no guarantee our guy will take the bait. And if he does and anything happens to you, what do you think will happen to Judd?”
She stared at Griff, startled by his question.
“You hadn’t thought about that, had you?”
“Nothing will happen to me. We’ll work out all the details and then put our plan into motion. The BQ Killer is smart, but not so smart that we can’t outwit him.”
“And if I refuse to be a part of this?” Griff asked.
Lindsay and Maleah exchanged glances.
“Yeah, I know,” Griff said. “You’re going to try to pull this off, with or without my help.”
“Then help me. Please.”
He didn’t say anything for several minutes, just stood there frowning as he studied her. “I’ll work out the plan.” He glanced from Lindsay to Maleah. “And you both will follow my orders to the letter. Understand?”
“We understand,” they replied simultaneously.
* * *
Shortly before ten that evening, someone knocked on Lindsay’s hotel room door. Hurrying barefoot across the room, she peered through the viewfinder and saw Judd and Holt Keinan standing in the hallway. She flung open the door.
“I’ve been drinking.” Judd walked into the room. “But I’m not drunk, at least not drunk enough.”
“I tried to get him to sleep in the other bed in my room,” Holt told her. “But he insisted on coming back here to you.”
“Thanks, Holt,” Lindsay said. “You can go on now. I can take it from here.”
“Yeah, you can go now, Holt, old buddy.” Judd waved him away. “Lindsay will take good care of me. She always does.”
“Are you sure?” Holt asked her.
“I’m sure.” Lindsay walked Holt to the door, then turned around and marched back to Judd. “Would you like some coffee or hot tea or maybe another drink? Scotch? Bourbon? Name your poison.”
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.”