The Dying Game Read online

  PLAYING THE GAME

  After he unlocked the backdoor and eased it open carefully, he stepped inside, and shut the door behind him. Quietly.

  Listening for any sound to indicate that his entrance might have alerted her to his presence, he placed the axe against the wall, then patted his soggy jacket pocket. Ah, yes, it was still there, coated with raindrops, but otherwise unharmed. He removed the long-stemmed pink rosebud, then took the tiny key-ring flashlight from his other jacket pocket and used it to search the room. Taking hesitant steps, not wanting to bump into anything and make a noise, he paused as he passed the kitchen table and laid the rose there for safekeeping. He would need it later. A tribute. One lovely flower for another.

  He felt inside his pants pocket, checking on the small digital camera. An important part of the game was photographing the kill.

  The house was middle-of-the-night quiet…. Sonya was probably sound asleep. She had made this almost too easy for him, as if she were asking for it. But she would never suspect a mysterious stranger would use the key she thought was so cleverly hidden to enter her home.

  In the dead of night.

  With the intention of killing her…

  Books by Beverly Barton

  AFTER DARK

  EVERY MOVE SHE MAKES

  WHAT SHE DOESN’T KNOW

  THE FIFTH VICTIM

  THE LAST TO DIE

  AS GOOD AS DEAD

  KILLING HER SOFTLY

  CLOSE ENOUGH TO KILL

  MOST LIKELY TO DIE

  THE DYING GAME

  THE MURDER GAME

  COLD HEARTED

  SILENT KILLER

  DEAD BY MIDNIGHT

  DON’T CRY

  DEAD BY MORNING

  DEAD BY NIGHTFALL

  DON’T SAY A WORD

  JUST THE WAY YOU ARE

  THE RIGHT WIFE

  (available as an e-book)

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2007 Beverly Beaver

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use. Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington sales manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018, attn: Sales Department; phone 1-800-221-2647.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4328-6

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-4328-8

  First Zebra mass market paperback printing: April 2007

  First Pinnacle edition: April 2019

  18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10

  Printed in the United States of America

  Pinnacle electronic edition: April 2019

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4331-6 (e-book)

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-4331-8 (e-book)

  Dear Reader,

  Many of you have contacted me to tell me that you enjoy reading books with connecting characters and are interested in learning about Knoxville P.I., Griffin Powell. Griff has appeared in several of my novels as a secondary character. From the moment I first introduced him, I found him fascinating and knew he had a horrible secret past. In The Dying Game, I gave you glimpses of the man he is now and hints about those ten missing years of his life, hopefully whetting your appetite for his book. You were reintroduced to Sanders, Griff’s mysterious right-hand-man, and introduced to the exotically beautiful Dr. Yvette Meng, each a dear friend from Griff’s lost years. And you met FBI Special Agent Nic Baxter, one lady who hasn’t succumbed to Griff’s irresistible charm. In fact, Nic intensely dislikes Griffin Powell, both professionally and personally. And the feeling is mutual.

  As you know, Pudge still remained on the loose at the end of The Dying Game. That’s because he’s going to be back in The Murder Game, ready to play a deadly new game— a game of murder. As the clever Game Hunter Killer, Pudge specifically chooses his victims—all women who are both physically and mentally superior. In his sick game, he is the hunter and they his prey. Having outsmarted the FBI and the Powell Agency once before, Pudge finds it amusing to play catch-me-if-you-can with Nic and Griff. When he contacts each with clues and dares and threats, they have no choice but to join forces in order to stop him from killing again and again. But no one knows just how personal the killer’s game will become for Nic and Griff—not until it’s too late.

  Warmest regards,

  Beverly Barton

  To Tyrone Power, Loretta Young, Sonja Henie, Richard Greene, John Payne, Maureen O’Hara, John Wayne, Errol Flynn, Olivia De Havilland, Alice Faye, Don Ameche, Bette Davis, Barbara Stanwyck, Henry Fonda, Anne Baxter, James Stewart, Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Greer Garson, Clark Gable, James Cagney, and countless other movie stars who shined so brightly in black and white on the old silver screen and brightened my childhood, filled my with life with romance and magic, and ignited my innate creativity.

  Thank you, Daddy, for sharing your love of classic movies with me.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  For their research assistance, a special thank you to:

  Steven L. Romiti, M.D.

  Philip L. Edney, Public Affairs Specialist, FBI

  Stephen Kodak, Federal Bureau of Investigation

  Prologue

  The intensely bright lights blinded her. She couldn’t see anything except the white illumination that obscured everything else in her line of vision. She wished he would turn off the car’s headlights.

  Judd didn’t like her to show houses to clients in
the evenings and generally she did what Judd wanted her to do. But her career as a Realtor was just getting off the ground and if she could sell this half-million dollar house to Mr. and Mrs. Farris, her percentage would be enough to furnish the nursery. Not that she was pregnant. Not yet. And not that her husband couldn’t well afford to furnish a nursery with the best of everything. It was just that Jennifer wanted the baby to be her gift to her wonderful husband and the nursery to be a gift from her to their child.

  Holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the headlights, she walked down the sidewalk to meet John and Katherine Farris, an up-and-coming entrepreneurial couple planning to start a new business in Chattanooga. She had spoken only to John Farris. From their telephone conversations, she had surmised that John, like her own husband, was the type who liked to think he wore the pants in the family. Odd how, considering the fact that she believed herself to be a thoroughly modern woman, Jennifer loved Judd’s old-fashioned sense of protectiveness and possessiveness.

  When John Farris parked his black Mercedes and opened the driver’s door, Jennifer met him, her hand outstretched in greeting. He accepted her hand immediately and smiled warmly.

  “Good evening, Mr. Farris.” Jennifer glanced around, searching for Mrs. Farris.

  “I’m sorry, something came up at the last minute that delayed Katherine. She’ll be joining us soon.”

  When John Farris raked his silvery blue eyes over her, Jennifer shuddered inwardly, an odd sense of uneasiness settling in the pit of her stomach. You’re being silly, she told herself. Men found her attractive. And it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t do anything to lead them on, nothing except simply being beautiful, which she owed to the fact that she’d inherited great genes from her attractive parents.

  Jennifer sighed. Sometimes being a former beauty queen was a curse.

  “If you’d like to wait for your wife before you look at the house, I can go ahead and answer any questions you might have. I’ve got all the information in my briefcase in my car.”

  He shook his head. “No need to wait. I’d like to take a look around now. If I don’t like the place, Katherine won’t be interested.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not that she gives in to me on everything. We each try to please the other. Isn’t that the way to have a successful marriage?”

  “Yes, I think so. It’s certainly what Judd and I have been trying to do. We’re a couple of newlyweds just trying to make our way through that first year of marriage.” Jennifer nodded toward the front entrance to the sprawling glass-and log house. “If you’ll follow me.”

  “I’d be delighted to follow you.”

  Despite his reply sending a quiver of apprehension along her nerve endings, she kept walking toward the front steps, telling herself that if she had to defend her honor against unwanted advances, it wouldn’t be the first time. She knew how to handle herself in sticky situations. She carried pepper spray in her purse and her cell phone rested securely in her jacket pocket.

  After unlocking the front door, she flipped on the light switch, which illuminated the large foyer. “The house was built in nineteen-seventy-five by an architect for his own personal home.”

  John Farris paused in the doorway. “How many rooms?”

  “Ten,” she replied, then motioned to him. “Please, come on in.”

  He entered the foyer and glanced around, up into the huge living room and to the right into the open dining room. “It seems perfect for entertaining.”

  “Oh, it is. There’s a state-of-the-art kitchen. It was completely gutted and redone only four years ago by the present owner.”

  “I’d like to take a look,” he told her. “I’m the chef in the family. Katherine can’t boil water.”

  Feeling a bit more at ease, Jennifer led him from the foyer, through the dining room, and into the galley-style kitchen. “I love this kitchen. I’m not much of a cook myself, but I’ve been taking gourmet cooking lessons as a surprise for my husband.”

  “Isn’t he a lucky man.”

  Jennifer felt Mr. Farris as he came up behind her. Shuddering nervously, she started to turn to face him, but suddenly and without warning, he grabbed her from behind and covered her face with a foul-smelling rag.

  No. No…no, this can’t be happening.

  Had she been unconscious for a few minutes or a few hours? She didn’t know. When she came to, she realized she was sitting propped up against the wall in the kitchen, her feet tied together with rope and her hands pulled over her head, each wrist bound with individual pieces of rope that had been tied to the door handles of two open kitchen cabinet doors.

  Groggy, slightly disoriented, Jennifer blinked several times, then took a deep breath and glanced around the room, searching for her attacker. John Farris loomed over her, an odd smile on his face.

  “Well, hello, beautiful,” he said. “I was wondering how long you’d sleep. I’ve been waiting patiently for you to wake up. You’ve been out nearly fifteen minutes.”

  “Why?” she asked, her voice a ragged whisper.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “What do you think I intend to do?”

  “Rape me.” Her voice trembled.

  Please, God, don’t let him kill me.

  He laughed. “What sort of man do you think I am? I’d never force myself on an unwilling woman.”

  “Please, let me go. Whatever—” She gasped, her mouth sucking in air as she noticed that he held something shiny in his right hand.

  A meat cleaver!

  Sheer terror claimed her at that moment, body and soul. Her stomach churned. Sweat dampened her face. The loud rat-a-tat-tat of her accelerated heartbeat thundered in her ears.

  He reached down with his left hand and fingered her long, dark hair. “If only you were a blonde or a redhead.”

  Jennifer swallowed hard. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me with that meat cleaver. He’ll chop me up in little pieces…

  She whimpered. Oh, Judd, why didn’t I listen to you? Why did I come here alone tonight?

  “Are you afraid?” John Farris asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You should be,” he told her.

  “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

  He laughed again. Softly.

  “Please…please…” She cried. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

  He came closer. And closer. He raised the meat cleaver high over her head, then swung it across her right wrist.

  Blood splattered on the cabinet, over her head, and across her upper body as her severed right hand tumbled downward and hit the floor.

  Pain! Excruciating pain.

  And then he lifted the cleaver and swung down and across again, cutting off her left hand with one swift, accurate blow.

  Jennifer passed out.

  Chapter 1

  There are some things far worse than dying. Judd Walker knew only too well the agony of simply existing, of being neither dead nor truly alive. For the past three years, eight months, and two days, he had lived in a world without Jennifer. In the beginning, the pain had been unbearable. His anger and rage had nourished him, keeping him breathing, allowing him to continue from one day to the next in a fog of torment. And then a few months after his sweet Jenny’s funeral, the fog had lifted and his one goal in life had become clear—to find and destroy his wife’s killer.

  A part of him—some far removed, distant part—still loved Jennifer. Except for that faint, lingering emotion, he felt nothing, only a goddamn, blessed numbness. Even the anger and rage had burned out, leaving him little more than subhuman, caring for nothing and no one. Wanting—needing—only one thing from life: Revenge! His goal of tracking down his wife’s killer had become his only reason for living.

  Judd dropped to his knees beside the snow-covered grave. He hadn’t wanted to come here, had tried his best to stay away; but the overwhelming need to be near Jennifer on
their anniversary controlled his actions. February the fourteenth. Valentine’s Day. Jennifer had been a hopeless romantic, a trait that he’d thought silly in other women, but had found utterly charming in the woman he loved.

  The woman he loved…

  Judd reached out and ran a shaky hand over the chiseled letters on his wife’s headstone. She had been laid to rest here in the Walker private cemetery, in Hamilton County, alongside his parents, his older sibling who’d died as an infant, and countless noteworthy ancestors who were a part of southeastern Tennessee history.

  As his father before him, Judd had been one of the most sought-after bachelors in the state. A real catch. A former Chattanooga district attorney with a reputation as a man who genuinely cared about the welfare of the citizens of his county. The only surviving child of parents who had each inherited an ungodly fortune, Judd had known wealth and privilege all his life. But he’d wanted more—more than being Judge Judson Walker IV’s son, more than being Senator Nathaniel Chisholm’s grandson. And more had been expected of him. He had been brought up to believe that he was, and always would be, one of the good guys, a man destined to help his fellow man.

  “Why you, Jenny? Why did it have to be you?” Judd shivered as the damp and cold seeped through his jeans, the slushy, wet snow dampening his knees. The winter wind whipped through the old, battered, leather jacket he wore.

  In his mind’s eye, he could still see Jennifer, the way she had looked the last time he’d seen her alive. Beautiful. Vibrant. Happy.