The Dying Game (34 page)

“So, are you going to tell me or not?” Callie asked.

Lindsay took a sip of the smooth vodka, a deceptive liquor that could knock you on your ass before you knew you were drunk. “I’m a fool.”

Callie lifted her brows in an inquisitive manner.

Heaving a deep sigh, Lindsay confessed, “I’m still in love with Judd Walker.”

“That’s a given, honey. When you kept telling me in your e-mails and phone calls that you were finally over him, I knew you were lying to yourself.” Callie shook her head. “No, that’s not it. There’s something else. What is it?”

How could she tell her cousin about something she didn’t want to remember, something she wished she could forget?

“Late last summer, something happened between Judd and me.” Lindsay set her glass on the coffee table.

“I figured it had.”

“It made me hate him,” Lindsay said. “I walked away severely wounded, but I survived.” She scooted around on the sofa until she faced her cousin. “I spent several months in therapy with Dr. Meng, a psychiatrist friend of Griff’s.”

Callie studied Lindsay. “What happened? What did Judd do?”

“Other than breaking my heart?”

I will not cry. I can tell Callie about what happened without
falling apart. Judd has apologized. He’s genuinely sorry
.

“Judd knew I was in love with him. He wanted to scare me off and he did. At least for awhile. Half a year.”

“This doesn’t sound good.” After Callie set her glass on the table, she reached over and grasped Lindsay’s hand. “Tell me what he did.”

“He’s told me he’s sorry. He’s explained that he wanted to scare me off for my own good, that he wanted me to see him for the bastard he is.”

“If it’s too difficult to talk about, then—”

“Judd almost raped me.”

“My God!” Callie squeezed Lindsay’s hand tightly.

Tears gathered in Lindsay’s eyes. “We were alone together at his family’s old hunting lodge, the way we’d been together a dozen times before. I was trying to help him… trying to get him to go to bed so he could get some rest. You know there are nights when he can’t sleep at all.”

“I know. You’ve told me.”

Lindsay pulled her hand free and looked Callie right in the eyes. “Judd came on to me. He touched me. Kissed me. And I responded.” She could still feel his hands cupping her breasts, his lips pressed against hers, his tongue probing inside her mouth.

“He pulled me into bed with him and when we were both naked and … He said terrible things to me. Told me that I wasn’t the first woman he’d had since Jennifer died. That when he screwed me, he’d be thinking of her, pretending I was her, the way he had those other women.”

“Oh, Lindsay, honey … I’m so sorry.”

“I tried to get out of bed, tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t let me.”

“The man’s a real bastard.”

“He said things … did things …” Lindsay sucked in air, trying her best not to cry. “He frightened me. I thought he was going to force me to have sex with him. I fought him, crying like a baby the whole time. And just when I thought—” Lindsay swallowed her tears. “He rolled off me and shoved me out of bed. Then he laughed at me.”

Callie pulled Lindsay into her arms and held her.

It was what she needed.

Why had it taken her all this time to realize that she should have come to Callie sooner?
Because you weren’t
ready
, an inner voice told her. Now was the right time. Now that the wounds were not so fresh, now that she had forgiven Judd. Now that she knew she had to let him go. Somehow. Someway.

Crying softly, Lindsay didn’t respond when Callie asked, “Want me to take one of Jimmy’s rifles and hunt Judd Walker down?” Her humorous question instantly lightened the mood. Callie had always been able to make Lindsay smile.

Gulping down her tears, Lindsay lifted her head from her cousin’s shoulder and offered her a weak smile. It was the best she could do. “I don’t want you to shoot him. I just want him out of my life.”

“So, get away from him and stay away from him. You did it for six months. Do whatever you have to do to keep him out of your life.”

“I’m thinking about quitting my job.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, I’m serious. As long as I continue working for Griff, continue trying to help him find the Beauty Queen Killer, I’ll never be free of Judd.”

“Then quit. Do it tomorrow. Call Griffin Powell and resign.” Heaving another deep sigh, Lindsay faced Callie. “I can’t.”

“Oh, honey, why not?”

“I want Judd out of my life, but I can’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. I love him more than I hate him. I’m such a fool.”

“You can’t waste your life wanting a man you can never have. You’re too good for him. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know, but …”

“What about Nathan? I had hoped things would work out for you two.”

“Oh, Lord. Nathan’s another story entirely.”

“You blew it with him, didn’t you?”

Lindsay picked up her glass and took a sip of the sweet vodka. “Oh, yeah. I blew it big time. It’s over between Nathan and me. Permanently over.”

“Well, we’re just going to have to find you another man. Someone who can make you forget Judd Walker.”

“The man doesn’t exist who can do that,” Lindsay said.

Callie picked up her glass, tucked her legs beneath her on the sofa and said, “What you need is an extended vacation. You’ve always wanted to go to Italy, to Tuscany. You should go. Take a leave of absence from Powell’s and fly to Europe. Who knows, you might meet some delicious Italian guy who’ll sweep you off your feet.”

“That happens only in the movies.”

“Sometimes movies are based on real life.”

“Real life sucks, at least for me.”

Callie sipped the vodka. “Okay, enough—let’s pretend we can fix this problem and get down to the honest-to-God truth. You don’t want to go to Italy right now. You don’t want to take a leave of absence from Powell’s or quit your job. You don’t want to wash your hands of the BQK case and you certainly don’t want to leave Judd Walker.”

“I do want to leave him. I want him out of my life.”

Waving her index finger back and forth, Callie said, “You’re lying to yourself if you really believe that.”

“Damn it, Callie, what am I going to do? I love him so much it hurts. And the worst part of it is that I know he cares about me. He admitted that he did.”

“Merciful Lord, gal, what are you doing here with me? You should go to Judd and—”

“He cares about me, wants me sexually, but he still loves Jennifer.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Yeah, I know. The man I love will always love his dead wife. So what do I do?”

“That depends,” Callie said.

“Depends on what?”

“On whether you’re capable of sharing him with her memory, of letting him love both of you.”

* * * 

Judd woke at dawn, after maybe three hours of sleep. He had fought the desire to take his father’s old Mercedes out of the garage and drive to the nearest liquor store. He had needed a drink last night. Needed one now. His stomach churned. His hands shook. His head ached. His skin crawled.

He flung back the covers, sat up, and put his feet on the cold, wooden floor.
Damn, it’s freezing in here
. Since he kept the gas heat turned low at night, the old lodge felt ice-box cold. Outside, the wind moaned, its northeastern force flapping the old shutters and scraping nearby towering tree branches against the roof. March had come in like a lion. Roaring with blustery strength.

Naked and sporting a morning hard-on, he got out of bed and padded barefoot toward the bathroom down the hall. After taking a leak, he turned on the shower and waited for the water to go from cold to hot before stepping under the warm spray. He lathered and rinsed his hair, then soaped his body, his hand lingering over his erection.

Flashes of Lindsay zipped through his mind. The way she had looked lying beneath him, flushed, aroused, and ready to give herself to him.

Damn it, why hadn’t he just taken what she offered and had sex with her? God knows he’d wanted her, wanted her so badly that even now, six months later, thinking about it made him painfully hard.

Judd circled his penis, closed his eyes, and thought about screwing Lindsay. As he jerked off, he imagined what it would feel like to be buried deep inside her. Within a couple of minutes, he came.

Taking deep, shuddering breaths, he pressed his forehead against the tiled shower wall. Why was he fantasizing about Lindsay and not Jennifer? In the years since his wife’s death, when he’d jerked off or had sex with a woman, Jenny had been in his heart, in his thoughts. Then six months ago, everything had changed. More and more often, sexual thoughts of Lindsay had replaced his thoughts of Jenny.

That doesn’t mean you love Lindsay. You want her. You
need her. But you don’t love her
.

Judd hurried through his shower, then returned to his bedroom and dressed quickly in old jeans, thermal undershirt, and flannel shirt. Once in the kitchen, he put on a pot of coffee and checked the time. Five-thirty. Too early to call Griffin’s Rest. As he waited for the coffee to brew, he walked out onto the back porch and breathed in the fresh, frigid morning air.

I don’t need a drink to get through the morning. I can live
without it
.

So why did he feel as if a freight train were running through his body right now? Why did he want to ram his fist through the wall? Why did he want a drink so badly?

Cursing himself for allowing alcohol to get such a powerful hold on him, Judd went back inside, poured himself a cup of black coffee, and downed the entire cup, all the while staring at the telephone.

He’d had the service to both his landline and his cell phone disconnected a couple of months ago. But while he’d been at Griffin’s Rest, Lindsay had had both reconnected.

He continued staring at the phone.

Call for help
.

He hated asking anyone for anything. It went against his basic nature. He’d always been self-sufficient, the one in charge, never needing help from anyone.

But that was who he’d been before Jennifer died.

After her murder, he had begun to believe that love was a weakness. Why hadn’t he realized sooner that loving Jenny hadn’t been his weakness. It had been his grief that had come damn near close to destroying him. Grief that had manifested itself in uncontrollable rage and an unquenchable thirst for revenge.

He had rejected help from his friends, and had turned Lindsay away time and again. And why? Because he’d been afraid of caring about someone.

I’m sorry, Lindsay. I’m so very sorry
.

After pouring himself a second cup of coffee, he yanked the phone off the base and dialed Griffin’s Rest. He had a lot of fences to mend—starting with Griff and Lindsay. But first, he needed help.

Sanders answered on the fourth ring. “Powell residence.”

“Sorry if I woke you,” Judd said. “Is Griff up yet?”

“No, Mr. Walker, he is not.”

“What about Dr. Meng?”

“She has not come downstairs this morning.”

“Would you ask her to call me as soon as possible.”

“Is it an emergency?” Sanders asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yeah, kick my butt.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Judd chuckled. He wanted to ask to speak to Lindsay. He needed to hear her voice. But not yet. Not until he’d gotten his act together. Not until he could ask her to give him one more chance.

“Just give Dr. Meng my message,” Judd said.

“Certainly.”

When Judd started to hang up, Sanders said, “Wait just a moment, Mr. Walker.” Then Judd heard the muffled sound of a conversation, as if Sanders had put his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece while he talked to someone else. “Dr. Meng can speak to you now.”

Before he had a chance to say thank you, he heard Yvette Meng’s voice, “Good morning, Judd. What can I do for you?”

Tell her the truth. Just say it
. “I may need help to stop drinking.”

“Would you like for me to arrange for you to enter a clinic or—”

“Isn’t there any other way?”

“You could come back to Griffin’s Rest and put yourself under my care for the next few weeks.”

“I’d rather not involve Lindsay in this.”

“Lindsay isn’t here,” Yvette said. “She is on a temporary leave of absence.”

“Where did she go?” Before Yvette could reply, he added, “Forget I asked. I know that wherever she is, she went there to get away from me.” When Yvette made no comment, he said, “I’m going to try for a few days to do this on my own. If I can’t make it solo, I’ll come to Griffin’s Rest by the end of the week.”

Just as Griffin kept former FBI profiler, Derek Lawrence, on retainer, he also kept a talented sketch artist, Wade Freeman, on retainer. Wade was actually a painter and sculptor who lived in Maryville. He had an art studio in the downstairs of an old 1920 craftsman house and lived upstairs. Griffin owned several of Wade’s paintings and bronze statues, some displayed at Griffin’s Rest, others in the Powell Agency offices in downtown Knoxville.

Wade had arrived at seven this morning and had eaten breakfast with Griff and his other guests. Afterward, Yvette had joined Wade in the sunroom, so they could work together on the sketch of the man Barbara Jean had seen leaving her sister’s apartment only moments after Gale Ann had been attacked.

Griff and Yvette had agreed not to tell Barbara Jean anything about either Yvette’s unique ability or that Wade Freeman was a sketch artist. For all Barbara Jean knew, Wade was simply an old friend who was visiting for the day.

During the first few hours after breakfast, Griff made several phone calls, the last one to his personal contact in D. C. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a conscience, that he didn’t know how often he bent the rules, and occasionally broke the law. But sometimes the end did justify the means. At least, that was the way he saw things. Money was power. He’d always known that fact, but after becoming rich himself, he had realized exactly what money could buy.