The Watcher. BEVERLY BARTONЧитать онлайн книгу.
picked up the phone, checked the caller ID, and realized she didn’t recognize the number. Not that many people had her cell number, so unless it was a wrong number …
She flipped opened the phone. “Hello, you’ve reached Nicole Baxter’s—”
“Hello, Nicole Baxter. How very nice to hear your lovely voice.”
“Who is this?”
“A man who admires you for your beauty and your brains.”
“How did you get my cell number?”
“I have my ways.”
“I’m going to hang up. Don’t ever call me again.”
“Don’t hang up. Not yet. Not before I tell you the good news.” He paused for effect. “There’s a new game afoot.”
Nic’s heartbeat went wild. “What did you say?”
Laughter. Sinister and chilling.
A shiver of foreboding tiptoed rapidly up Nic’s spine.
“Now, aren’t you glad you didn’t hang up?”
“What kind of game?” Nic asked, all the while knowing the answer. Fearing the answer.
“What do only you and I and Griffin Powell know about the Beauty Queen Killer?”
Nic barely managed to stifle her gasp. “Cary Maygarden did not act alone. There were actually two killers.”
“Very astute of you, my dear Nicole. Now, I’m going to allow you and Griffin to play my new game with me. And here’s your first clue—Ballinger, Arkansas. Yesterday.”
“What kind of clue is that?”
Silence.
The son of a bitch had hung up on her.
Nic flipped her phone closed, curled her fingers around it, and clutched it tightly.
My new game.
Damn it. Did this mean he planned to start a new killing spree? After five years and more than thirty murders, Cary Maygarden had been shot in the head and stopped forever. After his death last year, Nic had tried her best to convince the powers-that-be at the bureau to investigate further, but without any real proof that there had been two Beauty Queen Killers instead of just one, the case had been closed and her concerns had been put on the back burner.
During the past year, she had moved on to other cases. Unfortunately, a nagging certainty lingered in the back of her mind, a certainty she shared with only one other person. They both believed that Cary Maygarden had worked with a partner in a series of murders in which each death represented a certain number of points and at the end of the game, the loser lost not only the game but also his life.
Nic paced the floor. The last person on earth she wanted to see ever again was Griffin Powell. The billionaire playboy owner of Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency was a swaggering, macho asshole. And because Griff was the only other person who believed as she did, Nic now realized that fate had a really warped sense of humor.
She would rather eat glass than contact Griff, but her gut instincts told her that this guy—whoever the hell he was—knew that she and Griff believed in his existence. So, the odds were he either had or would call Griff.
Suck it up and do what you have to do.
Damn it, had she kept Griffin Powell’s cell number on her list or had she, after the Beauty Queen Killer case had been closed, deleted it?
She flipped open her phone and scanned her personal phone book. His number was still there. Why she didn’t know. She should have deleted it last year.
Hesitating for a moment, she glanced outside as the summertime storm washed across the mountainside. High winds and a torrential downpour. But no more thunder and lightning.
Stop procrastinating. Call him. Do it now.
Nic hit CALL and waited as the phone rang.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite FBI agent calling.” Griffin Powell’s voice was a deep, gravelly baritone and sandpaper rough.
“Did he call you?”
“Did who call me?”
“Stop jerking me around and just tell me. Did he or did he not call you?”
“He did. Not five minutes ago. When did he call you?” Griff asked.
Nic swallowed hard. “Just now.”
“We were right.”
“Yeah, I know, but I wish we’d been wrong.”
“Did he tell you that he’s already begun playing his new game?”
Nic groaned. “Yes, so that means he’s already killed again.”
“Did he give you a clue?”
“Yes. Did he give you one?”
“Stillwater, Texas.”
Nic shook her head. “The clue he gave me was Ballinger, Arkansas.”
“Son of a bitch. He’s already killed twice. One woman in Texas and another in Arkansas.”
“We need to find out for sure,” Nic said.
“Any chance the bureau will—”
“Not without some sort of evidence.”
“Then I’ll handle things.”
“Not without me, you won’t.”
Griff grunted. “Are you suggesting we work together?”
It pained Nic greatly to reply, “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”
“Do you want me to come to you or do you want to—?”
“I’m not at home,” Nic told Griff. “I’m in a cabin in Gatlinburg.”
“Alone?”
“That is none of your business.”
Griff smiled to himself. He pictured the look of indignation on Nicole Baxter’s pretty face. Such a shame that a woman so attractive tried so hard to prove to the world that she was the equal of any man. Not that he didn’t think of women in general as equals, but he was old-fashioned enough to like women who enjoyed being utterly feminine. If that made him a male chauvinist, so be it.
“Since you’re not far from Knoxville, why don’t we make plans for you to come to my house?” Griff suggested. “I’m not at home either, but I can head out soon and be there in about three hours.”
“Won’t she object to your leaving?” Nic asked sarcastically.
Griff chuckled. “I’ll drop Lisa Kay off on the way home. We’re outside Whitwell, near Chattanooga, at Lindsay and Judd’s.”
Silence.
“You still there?” he asked.
“I hadn’t thought about how this would affect them,” Nic said. “If they find out that there were two Beauty Queen Killers—”
“There’s no need for them to know, now or ever.”
“This guy has started a new game and has probably killed two women already.”
“Unless his MO is the same and he’s picking up where he and Cary Maygarden left off last year, then there’s no way to connect him to the BQ killings.”
“So