Dying To Play

Chapter 6

How did one top one’s best effort?

The Gamekeeper knew how.

He smiled. It had been so easy. He’d reinvented himself, and his adversary had no idea. Not just yet. He laughed out loud, the sound satisfying, exhilarating. He just kept getting better and better. Closer and closer to his ultimate goal. Closer than anyone suspected.

He was so very clever…so absolutely perverse. This new game was perfect. A unique and unparalleled original creation. No one had ever done anything this magnificent before.

Agent Callahan had not been victorious two years ago, as he so arrogantly thought. The Gamekeeper had been the triumphant one in the end. He gritted his teeth against the bad thoughts. Held them at bay. It wasn’t time. Not yet. The pain had been almost unbearable. Weeks of agony had followed that fateful night. The tremendous mental anguish that had accompanied the immense pain had been cleansing and at the same time intoxicating. He’d loved it. Baptized himself in it and was reborn.

The Gamekeeper closed his eyes and relished the triumph of rising again. Just like Christ himself. No mere man could keep the Gamekeeper down.

Certainly not Agent Trace Callahan.

He was right where the Gamekeeper wanted him. He felt giddy with the knowledge that the plan had worked so quickly. The danger of getting closer and closer, drawing his enemy deeper into the game, made each calculated move all the more thrilling.

It wasn’t about increasing his body count…never had been. It was the danger that sent adrenaline pumping through him…that turned him on. Oh, he did love the game.

And it was only going to get better.

Because no one was as smart as he was. No one else had the game.

Only he was genius enough to have created such a flawless masterpiece that conquered the final frontier—the mind. No one had gone this far before.

He remembered as a child the batteries of intelligence tests, the psychoanalyzing. He was a genius, and most certainly not from the gene pool of the obsequious pair who’d adopted him at the tender young age of two.

What had all the pathetic adults in his childhood expected? He’d been far smarter and more capable than any of them. None had recognized the full extent of his genius…the potential of his abilities. Instead they’d feared him. Put him on medication, treated him like a freak.

But he’d made a special game for all of them. They had thought they were so smart…so invincible.

No one was as smart or as invincible as the Gamekeeper.

Not Agent Callahan. Or his new partner, the lovely Deputy Chief Jentzen.

Hmm. This was just like old times. They were both much more vulnerable than they knew. They had no idea just how vulnerable.

Because no one could beat the Gamekeeper at his own game.

So many had tried.

All had failed.

No one would ever catch him…not in a million years. He was too perfect…too smart. Too invisible.

The Gamekeeper leaned forward and began typing words into the chat box on the computer screen.

Time to play.

Chapter 7

That night when she arrived home, Elaine dragged herself from her Jeep to her front door. Sally, tail wagging, waited for her just inside. Elaine was totally wiped out. She and Callahan had spent hours going over Matthews’s and Tate’s backgrounds—work history, friends, relatives, finances, marital standing—looking for any kind of motivation for the events that had taken place that morning.

They’d found nothing.

Locking the door behind her, she bent down to scratch her big girl behind the ears. Elaine was exhausted physically and mentally, but not so exhausted that she couldn’t force herself to muddle through her nightly rituals. Her companion depended upon her. Other than the afternoon walks Allen, the teenager next door, gave Sally, the nightly run was her only outdoor fun.

Elaine changed into running shorts and shoes and a T. She owed this to herself as well as Sally. She needed to burn off some of the day’s frustrations.

Nearly an hour later the twosome bounded back into the house. Elaine had managed to keep anything other than the case off her mind during the run. But now, as her heart slowed to a normal rhythm, Dr. Bramm’s words haunted her once more, joining the images of Brad Matthews and Harold Tate, the security guard and the four women from last week’s mass murder already churning in her head. She stripped off her clothes and climbed into the shower, her favorite wine cooler in hand. She didn’t want to think anymore. She pressed her hand to her stomach and braced for the burn as she took a long sip from the cold bottle. Grimacing, she chased it with another, then another after that.

Slowly, as the hot water and the alcohol did their work, the brutal images drained away. No more dead bodies…no more empty cradles.

Elaine closed her eyes to a blessedly emptied mind.

That serenity lasted about four seconds. Trace Callahan abruptly filled the space. She chugged down the last of her wine cooler and turned her face up to the hot spray, but it was no use. He wouldn’t go away.

He disagreed with every conclusion she reached, or scenario she offered. He would not give up on his theory that the two multiple homicides were connected with a serial killer who’d terrorized D.C. two years ago. The Gamekeeper.

He made her want to scream or swear, or maybe even tear out her hair. She set her empty bottle aside and made fast work of washing her hair and body. How would she ever conduct this investigation if he refused to listen to reason?

She twisted the control, shutting off the shower and stepped out onto the fuzzy pink mat. Nothing about this investigation was really under her control and she hated it.

She hated him.

Clutching the towel to her chest, Elaine sighed. Well maybe she didn’t actually hate him. It was his attitude…that aloof, male mentality that she couldn’t tolerate. She wanted to hit him. Especially after that incredible grin he’d flashed her in the car. Her heart had all but leaped from her chest. She despised that he could make her react that way.

She shivered.

She hated him, all right.

But then there was that vulnerable side of him. Her fingers stilled in their work of tucking the towel around her. She’d seen it when he lingered outside the bank, as if coming inside was more than he could do at that moment. He’d looked pale and shaky, afraid. She shook her head. That just didn’t mesh with the rest of the vibes he emanated. For the most part he oozed a laid-back, good-old-boy charm, as if he was in no hurry about anything. But that wasn’t the case at all.

Trace Callahan was smart and as eagle-eyed as they came. He didn’t miss anything. His attention to detail and powers of perception amazed her—even if he was wrong in his conclusions.

What was worse, she thought with utter disdain, was the package. Why was it that with good-looking men the elevator either didn’t go all the way to the top or they were know-it-alls and brooding? Or gay?

Men. They were just too hard to figure out.

Elaine blow-dried her hair then pulled on her favorite one-size-fits-all Braves nightshirt. She would simply have to learn to live with her new partner, at least for a little while. She’d conduct this investigation like any other, he would either be with her or against her. She wasn’t going to worry about it.

Screw his attitude. She ran a brush through her hair and stared at her reflection. The realization that she would probably never have children, that she might even be facing serious health problems suddenly flooded her all over again.

Why hadn’t she asked more questions? The doctor had said that the disease sometimes spread to other organs. Her heart lurched at the implication. Could she die from this? She should have asked him for more complete details. But Henshaw had called and she’d had to leave abruptly. Surely she wasn’t going to die. He’d said the specialist would explain the possible effects on her future.

One had to be alive to have a future.

But what kind of future? Nothing would ever be the same again, that much she was certain of. She was damaged goods now, just like her new partner. Who would want to marry a woman incapable of bearing children? She thought of her gang of nieces and nephews and the pleasure having them in her life gave her. She might never know how it felt to hold her own child in her arms…

Tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry. She was stronger than that. Her mother and sister would have a fit when they found out she hadn’t called them with this news first thing after leaving the doctor’s office. She couldn’t talk about it with anyone right now. Not even Henshaw when he’d asked. If she told anyone, it would be like making it real. She didn’t want it to be that real…yet.

She didn’t want to think about it, either.

She grabbed her empty bottle and headed back to the kitchen. She stopped in the living room long enough to pop in her favorite jazz CD. The sultry music drifted along behind her as she made her way into the kitchen. Eating would be a good thing right now…especially since she hadn’t bothered to all day except for a few snack crackers and a diet cola.

Leftover Chinese from last night looked easy enough. She wasn’t in the mood to cook or clean up afterward. A couple minutes in the microwave and dinner would be served.

Elaine poured Sally a bowlful of her favorite kibbles. She filled a small pitcher with tap water and poured it into the dog’s matching water bowl. As she stroked the animal, she realized Allen had brushed Sally today. Good. She just wasn’t in the mood to go the extra step tonight. Her long shifts were a godsend to her young neighbor, though. His mother had allergies and had never allowed him to have a pet. Spending time with Sally satisfied his need for that kind of bonding. Sally loved him, and Elaine was tremendously grateful. She’d be in a fix when Allen graduated high school and went off to college.

Well, she had two years to worry about that. Anything could happen in two years. This morning was proof that no one, even when it appeared that way to those around her, led a charmed life.

The microwave dinged, tugging her back to the present. She opened the door, and the pleasant smell of Lo Mein wafted around her. Her stomach rumbled. Oh yeah, she was definitely ready for some food. Though she was only having leftovers, alone at that, she went all out. Linen napkin, stemmed glass of Chardonnay and two lovely lit candles for a centerpiece.

The first bite hit her stomach like a lump of hot coal. Her stomach clenched, then cramped, kindling a fire that never really left her gut.

“Dammit.”

She grabbed the ever-present bottle of Maalox from the counter and took a hefty swig as she sank back into her chair.

A few minutes later she could eat in relative comfort. God, she was such a mess. The newest medicine her internist had prescribed was little or no help with the ulcer. And she wasn’t about to go in again complaining of continued pain and burning. She knew what came next and she wasn’t prepared to go there right now. Maybe they could just take care of her stomach ailments at the same time they gutted her pelvic cavity.

Another bout of emotion gripped her. She blinked away the moisture. Crying would accomplish nothing. She’d call Dr. Bramm’s office tomorrow and get the appointment with the specialist. Worrying about this latest problem was pointless until after she had all the facts.

The single chime of the front doorbell interrupted her self-counseling session. Sally sprang up from her lazy sprawl on the floor and barked a warning. Elaine blew out the candles and headed in that direction, she frowned as she glanced at the hall clock: 10:29. Who would be at her door at this time of night?

She’d have gotten a call if there’d been another murder or any other news pertinent to the case.

While Sally uttered a low growl, Elaine flipped on the outside light and checked the security peephole in her door. She relaxed when she saw Henshaw’s rumpled form, minus his usual stogie, on her porch. He always left it in his car when he came to her house. He insisted that he respected her personal space. Henshaw was truly one of a kind. She missed him already.

“It’s okay, girl. It’s just Henshaw.” She unbolted the door and drew it open wide. “Has something happened?” she asked by way of a greeting.

Henshaw quirked an eyebrow. “Is that it? No ‘Good evening’? No ‘Won’t you come in’?”

Elaine sighed. “Sorry.” She stepped back. “Good evening, partner. Please come in.” Sally wagged her tail, offering her own hello.

“At least the mutt’s glad to see me,” he muttered as he shuffled across the threshold. “By the way, you might want to call me Hank, since, officially, I’m not your partner at the moment.”

She rolled her eyes and closed the door behind him. “What’re you doing here at this time of night if nothing has happened?”

“I didn’t get my report finished before you left the office, so I thought I’d drop it by.”

She felt her eyes narrow in suspicion. She knew better than that. Henshaw might move like a tortoise, but his brain worked as speedily as any hare. “Don’t give me that. What’re you really doing here?”

He reached into his interior jacket pocket and produced the folded pages of the report. “Well, the truth is,” he began, offering the document to her, “I just wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

She placed the report on the hall table. “Callahan and I haven’t killed each other, if that’s what you mean.”

“Screw Callahan.” He looked straight at her. “I mean, are you okay? You seemed kind of preoccupied after your doctor’s appointment.”

Elaine tensed. “I’m fine. I was preoccupied. Entering a crime scene does that to me, you know.”

He nodded. “All I’m saying is, something isn’t right and I know it.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” she lied. “Now, if you want to come in and sit down, I’ll fix you a good stiff drink and I’ll tell you how much I hate working with Callahan.” She could definitely see a couple more glasses of wine in her future if she planned to get through the night.

“As interesting as it sounds, I’d better pass.” He looked sheepish. “The wife will have my hide if I don’t get home before midnight. I don’t want to get her riled up. Gotta help her keep that blood pressure down.” He fixed Elaine with that too-knowing gaze again. “You’re sure you’re okay.”

She smiled, warmed by the genuine affection in his tone. “I’m okay. With thirty looming only a couple of months away I think my body’s just getting a head start on falling apart.”

Concern marred his brow, reaching all the way down to his eyes. “Anything serious?”

“Nothing that can’t be taken care of,” she hedged. “I’m fine, really.”

He reached into his trouser pocket for his keys. “All right. I’ll let it go at that. Good night.” He turned to go. “And I’ll keep my mouth shut about Callahan. No point in stirring the stink.”

“Night,” she said as he opened the door. “Thanks for bringing by the report.” She leaned against the jamb when he hesitated on the porch. He wanted to say more, but for some reason felt reluctant. “This whole new-partner thing is temporary,” she reminded, just in case he was feeling out of sorts. “I can deal with it.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about on that score,” he called over his shoulder as he descended the steps.

She waited until he’d gotten into his car before closing the door. His final words brought the image of Callahan outside the bank to mind once more. Was he really unstable? Was that how his partner had ended up dead? Maybe she should be concerned about his ability to back her up in the field.

Maybe she should be more worried about her life in his presence than her honor.

The doorbell sounded again. Sally whined and looked up at her with a question in her big brown eyes. Elaine glanced at the report lying on the table. What had Henshaw forgotten?

She opened the door and said, “Decide you want that drink after all?”

“Is that an invitation?”

Elaine stared into the piercing blue eyes of Trace Callahan. Amusement twinkled there. Warmth spread through her before she could stop it.

“What’re you doing here?” Her tone was every bit as sharp as she’d meant it to be, but her vision was another matter. She couldn’t stop her eyes from studying his too-handsome face. Five-o’clock shadow darkened his jaw, adding another layer of texture to the already interesting terrain. He licked his lips causing a little infuriating hitch in her breathing.

Then he gave tit for tat. His gaze traveled down the length of her, abruptly driving home the way she was dressed. Damn. She stiffened when that evaluating gaze settled back on hers.

“It’s late, I know,” he said in that sensual drawl.

No way could she miss the male approval in those searing bedroom eyes. “That doesn’t answer my question.” He had an infuriating habit of answering a question with a question or with a remark that skirted the actual answer.

“I wanted to talk to you…off the record.” He adopted what he obviously thought was a hopeful look. It didn’t quite hit the mark.

She exhaled noisily, impatiently. He was her partner. “If you really feel it’s necessary.”

“I do.” His expression turned too serious, too somber.

“All right.” She opened the door wider and he stepped inside. As usual, his presence diminished the space, made her want to back away. Sally growled low and menacingly. Callahan didn’t appear put off by the threat.

“It’s all right, girl.” Elaine stroked the dog’s head and said to her unexpected and definitely unwelcome visitor, “Pour yourself something to drink and have a seat.” She gestured to her living room. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

He nodded once, then followed her instructions, that deliberate walk making her pulse react. She shook her head. Damn, she didn’t need this.

In her bedroom, she cursed herself for the fool she was as she quickly dragged on a pair of jeans. She refused the impulse to glance at her reflection as she left the room. She didn’t care how she looked, other than being dressed. This wasn’t a social visit. She definitely was not trying to impress him.

“Come on, girl,” she muttered to Sally who tagged along after her. “Let’s see what this little tête-à-tête is all about.”

Still standing when she returned, he offered her a tumbler containing the only hard liquor she had in the house, bourbon. She kept it around for her brothers. The decanter and four tumblers sat in a silver tray on the antique sideboard she’d inherited from her maternal grandmother. Again, Callahan perused her body from head to toe as if he felt the need to analyze her from the outside in. Elaine felt immensely better with Sally sitting at her feet.

“Thank you,” she said politely as she reached for the drink. She could use one about now, but didn’t have the guts to pay the price. Wine was one thing, eighty proof was entirely another. Her stomach couldn’t handle it. Unavoidably her fingers brushed his as she accepted the glass. A zing of electricity zapped her. She almost flinched. The only thing worse was that he didn’t seem to notice any of it. Maybe she was the only one suffering from confused, overactive hormones.

He sipped the Jack Daniels unnaturally slowly. His rigid posture, the tightness of his fingers on the glass all screamed of labored restraint. Or maybe it was her imagination. She was definitely looking for weakness.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he said finally, his voice low, his tone devoid of inflection.

Elaine resisted the urge to laugh out loud. “That would be a vast understatement, Agent Callahan.”

He stared at the glass in his hand but didn’t take another drink. He swallowed, hard, the movement of muscle beneath bronzed skin oddly distracting. She looked away.

“We need to clear the air. Keep this professional.”

Anger pinged her. “Are you accusing me of being unprofessional?” she demanded, and instantly wished she could take back the words. This promotion had made her too damned edgy. She went on attack instantly when anyone questioned her job performance.

He blinked, then frowned. “No.” He lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “It’s just that you argue my every suggestion and you seem to resent my mere presence in a room. We’ll never accomplish anything that way.”

She set her glass down on the nearest table and forced a calm voice. “Don’t expect me to go along with all your suggestions,” she warned. “I call it like I see it. As far as your presence, my chief ordered me to work with you, and I will. Any resentment I feel will not affect the investigation.”

He placed his glass next to hers, though the gesture was clearly forced. “All I’m saying is that I don’t want you to overreact to the Bureau’s involvement in this case. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“I’m a professional,” she said coolly. “This has nothing to do with the Bureau’s involvement. I make my assessments based on what I discover for myself, but I don’t trust until it’s earned. I’ll continue to question your suggestions until I either see it your way or I trust your judgment. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”