The Dying Game. Beverly Barton

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ placed her cup on the counter behind her, then turned back to Judd, and grabbed his wrist. He flung her off him so forcefully that she toppled backward and landed against the refrigerator. Her back hit the fridge with a resounding thud. Judd shot up out of the chair and glared at her.

      She stood there, straightening herself to her full five-four height, her gaze riveted to his as he came toward her. When he reached her, he spread his palms out flat against the refrigerator, on either side of her head, and brought his face down to hers so that their noses almost touched.

      “I know why Griff sent you here,” he said. “What I don’t know is why you came.”

      Chapter 4

      Lindsay hunched down just enough to slip under Judd’s outstretched left arm, managing to escape his searing glare and his big, hovering body. Sucking in several deep breaths and mentally warning herself not to participate in Judd’s manipulative game-playing, Lindsay psyched herself up for the inevitable battle of wills. Chuckling as if he found her actions amusing, Judd turned around to face her. She hated that cold, insincere grin he had perfected over the past few years. There was something disturbing about a smile that projected misery instead of mirth.

      “What’s wrong, Lindsay—afraid you can’t resist me?”

      She clenched her teeth, a scathing comment on the tip of her tongue. He’s baiting you. He wants an outraged reaction. Don’t give it to him.

      “If you plan to go with me to Kentucky, you’ll have to take a shower and—”

      “I’m not going.”

      He’s still playing his little game, she reminded herself.

      “Fine by me,” she said. “I’m just Griffin Powell’s messenger.” She reached for the cell phone clipped to her belt. “I’ll call him and tell him—”

      “Why did you come here? Really?”

      “My boss sent me to share some information with a client we couldn’t reach any other way.” That’s it, Lindsay, you tell him.

      Judd studied her, his gaze raking over her insultingly. “Are you sure you didn’t come back for a repeat performance?”

      She felt the heat as it rose up her neck and flushed her cheeks. An involuntary reaction that she could not control. Pink-cheeked embarrassment. The curse of blondes with fair skin.

      Don’t tell him what you think of him. Do not give him the satisfaction of knowing what happened between the two of you the last time you saw each other devastated you. You’ve worked through it, have come to terms with the humiliation, convinced yourself that you never actually loved Judd.

      “I’m heading back to Knoxville. I’ll call Griff and tell him you no longer have any interest in the Beauty Queen Killer.” Lindsay turned and headed out of the kitchen.

      “Wait!”

      Keeping her back to him, she paused.

      “If she doesn’t die…if she can give Griff a description…let me know. Okay?”

      “I’ll pass along the message.”

      “You hate me now, don’t you?”

      He’s still playing you. Never forget that you cannot trust Judd. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, for me to hate you?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Sorry, but no, I don’t hate you. I feel sorry for you.”

      She walked straight down the hall and to the side door leading to the porch.

      “Lindsay!”

      She opened the door and went outside, increasing her pace, wanting nothing more than to get away, to escape from this place and the man who still had the power to rip out her heart. A part of her did hate Judd, hated him as much as she loved him. And yes, damn it, she did love him. She probably always would. The heart wants what the heart wants, even if it wants something cruel and destructive.

      After sitting down on the soft, gray leather seat inside her Trailblazer, she closed her eyes and willed herself under control. No tears. Not one. She had cried her last tear over Judd Walker. As far as she was concerned, he could rot in hell.

      She made a quick call to Sanders for an update on the situation in Kentucky and was told she needed to contact Griff before bringing Judd to Williamstown. No point now. She inserted the key into the ignition and started the engine, then made the mistake of glancing through the side window at the lodge.

      Judd stood on the front porch. Watching her.

      Crap!

      She hit the button to lower the window and called out to him. “Gale Ann Cain’s sister discovered her in time to keep her alive until the paramedics arrived. The sister caught a glimpse of a man in a trench coat and sunglasses leaving the apartment building just as she arrived. He could have been our Beauty Queen Killer.”

      When Judd came down the steps, Lindsay’s pulse raced. He walked over to the car and leaned down so that they were eye to eye.

      He didn’t say anything for several minutes, just stared right at her. As she reached for the electronic button to roll up the window, Judd said, “If you’ll give me thirty minutes, I’ll clean up before we head out for Kentucky.”

      Lindsay realized that somewhere buried deep inside him, Judd still felt something. Even if it were nothing more than an undying thirst for revenge, that was an emotion, wasn’t it?

      “All right. You go ahead. I’ll phone Griff, get an update, and tell him we’re on our way.”

      Pinkie was beginning to worry. He had neither read nor heard anything new about the murder in Williamstown, Kentucky—not in local or national press coverage. A few hours after the paramedics arrived on the scene, a spokesman for the Williamstown Police Department had issued a statement that a young woman, a former Miss USA named Gale Ann Cain, had been brutally attacked and her body discovered by her sister, who had immediately called 911. That had been over forty-eight hours ago. Why hadn’t the local law enforcement called in the FBI? Surely they knew that Gale Ann’s death could be attributed to the Beauty Queen Killer. Wasn’t his signature all over the murder scene? The victim had once won a beauty contest. Her talent in the contest had been lyrical dance, so he had cut off her feet. She was a redhead, so he had left behind a yellow rose. He had used the same nylon rope to bind her hands as he always used. Were the local yokels too stupid to recognize the work of a genius?

      Many criminals returned to the scene of their crime. Not Pinkie. He was far too smart to do something so stupid. But unless he could somehow find out what was going on in the Gale Ann Cain murder case, he might have no choice but to make a trip back to Williamstown. He could always come up with some legitimate reason to visit. To purchase a horse. To visit an antique mall where he would buy something outrageously expensive. Or he could simply be driving through on his way to somewhere else. Or he could simply wear a disguise and use a fake ID.

      He had tried his best to dismiss a disturbing thought, one that had plagued him since the evening he had killed Gale Ann. Just as he was leaving the apartment building using the stairs, he had noticed that a woman in a wheelchair was entering through the front door. Had she seen him? Probably not. After СКАЧАТЬ