The Dying Game. Beverly Barton

Gale Ann was able to tell us that much before she died.”

      “Son of a bitch.” Information swirled through Lindsay’s mind. She discarded some facts and categorized others. “The roses! A yellow rose for each redhead. A pink rose for each blonde and a red rose for each brunette. We figured that out about a dozen murders ago. Now we know he’s using a point system. Twenty for redheads. How much for a blonde? For a brunette? Oh, God, Griff, how many points was Jennifer Walker worth?”

      Judd ordered a large breakfast—three scrambled eggs, a stack of pancakes, hash browns, and both bacon and sausage. He ate ravenously as if he were starving to death. Lindsay picked at her French toast while she watched in fascination as her companion devoured his meal. The local Waffle House had been the closest restaurant that served breakfast and since the place suited Judd, it suited her. She mostly wanted some strong black coffee. She hadn’t slept more than three hours last night, so it was either prop toothpicks under her eyelids to keep them open or get a wake-up boost from caffeine.

      “You’re not eating.” Judd eyed her plate.

      “I need to ask you something.”

      Judd sliced off a hunk from his stack of pancakes, put them in his mouth and chewed, then washed the food down with a big gulp of coffee. He looked right at Lindsay. “So ask.”

      “How badly do you want to be part of the Powell Agency’s investigation into the Beauty Queen Killer murders?”

      Judd shrugged.

      “I’m serious. If you want to go to Griffin’s Rest with me, you have to convince me that we can trust you not to come unraveled.”

      Judd chuckled.

      The cold, unemotional sound chilled Lindsay.

      “Griffin believes, if given enough time, once she feels completely safe, Barbara Jean Hughes can work with a sketch artist to identify the man she saw coming out of her sister’s apartment.”

      Judd gripped his fork so fiercely that he actually bent it half in two. As if suddenly realizing what he’d done, he dropped the fork. It fell from his hand onto the floor, clanging against the tiled surface.

      “She cannot be pushed,” Lindsay told him. “She can’t be bullied. Do you understand?”

      His dark eyes glazed, his mind only God knew where, Judd nodded.

      “There’s more,” Lindsay said.

      “Tell me.”

      “Before she died, Gale Ann was able to tell Griff that killing is a game to this man.” She checked Judd’s face for a reaction. Deadly calm.

      “Go on.”

      “Gale Ann said that killing her was worth twenty points to him because she had red hair.”

      Silence.

      Judd stared at her—not really at her but through her—his jungle cat yellow gaze transfixed on something he could see only in his mind’s eye.

      “Judd?”

      He didn’t respond.

      She reached out to touch him at the same moment the waitress came over to refill their coffee cups.

      “Either of you need a refill?” the middle-age woman asked.

      The waitress’s question apparently snapped Judd out of his mental fog. He pulled away from Lindsay’s approaching touch, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of her hand on his.

      “Yeah, thanks,” Judd told the waitress. “Fill ’er up.”

      As soon as the waitress finished refilling their cups and moved on to the customers in the next booth, Lindsay asked, “Are you all right?”

      “Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

      He wasn’t all right, and they both knew it.

      “Do you want to go to Griffin’s Rest with me and become an active member of the team again?” Lindsay asked. “If you do, then you have to promise me you can act like a civilized human being.”

      “Did Griff leave the decision up to you about whether to take me at my word or not?”

      “Yes.”

      “And if I swear to you that I can behave myself, that I won’t run around like a madman and scare the bejesus out of Ms. Hughes, will you believe me?”

      “Yes. If you’ll be completely honest with me about something else, too.”

      “What?”

      “Tell me where your mind went, what you were thinking there a few minutes ago when I told you that killing was a game to this guy and that he was using some sort of insane points system.”

      “You know what I was thinking.”

      “Say it out loud.”

      “How many points was my Jenny worth to him?” Judd glared at her. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

      “Yes.”

      Judd wiped his mouth with his napkin, crumbled it in his fist, and tossed it atop his empty plate. “Can we go now?”

      “Sure.” She picked up the tab, left a generous tip, and headed for the cash register.