Ruddy rented a cabin on the lake in Guntersville, Alabama, Thursday evening. At this time of year, almost all of the surrounding cabins were empty. Staying here instead of a hotel in Birmingham gave him more privacy. And yet he could easily drive into the city and fly in and out of the Birmingham airport. When he’d made the reservations, he had used a fake ID in the name of John Chapman. A nice enough name. And as usual, he had paid in cash.
“I’ll be staying a week,” he’d said when he arrived, but gave no other information and wasn’t asked for any.
When he’d checked in yesterday, he had worn a cap, scarf, and heavy coat. He’d also allowed his beard to grow just long enough for a scraggly stubble, and he had put on a pair of clear glass, black-rimmed glasses. Not much of a disguise, but he doubted that anyone would make a connection between the man staying in the lake cabin in Guntersville and the man who killed LaShae Goodloe in a Birmingham motel.
Of course, he hadn’t killed LaShae. Not yet. But soon. Very soon. Time was running out. Four weeks. If Pudge chose a redhead when it was his turn again, then he would have to kill a blonde next time to win the game.
Resting comfortably in the bed, several pillows propped behind his back, Ruddy clicked on the TV. He reached over on the nightstand and picked up the coffee cup he had placed there. He despised cheap coffee. This time, he had remembered to bring one of the gourmet brands he preferred.
“Good Morning, Birmingham,” the television announcer said. “Welcome to Wake-Up Call, featuring WBNN’s own LaShae Goodloe. It’s six o’clock, the first Friday in March.”
The camera focused on the beautiful black woman, the host of the local six o’clock talk show. He noted LaShae’s fashionable attire. A crimson red wool dress clung to her curves, but wasn’t too tight. A pair of small gold hoops shimmered on her earlobes and a heavy gold bangle bracelet hung on her slender right wrist.
Everything about LaShae was perfect, from her thick, shoulder-length black hair to her long, lean body. Her skin was like a fine brown marble—smooth and flawless. But it was her eyes—a pale, milky brown, so light they were almost trans lucent—that captured one’s attention.
A woman such as she should be worth more than ten points. She was as rare as any redhead, possibly even more so.
But rules were rules and a brunette was worth only ten points.
Realizing that he hadn’t been listening to the monologue between LaShae and her guest, a counselor who worked with adults who had been sexually abused as children, Ruddy upped the sound a bit as he sipped his first cup of morning coffee.
“Dr. Woodrow Landers will be back this coming Monday for a week-long session,” LaShae told her audience. “We are in the process of lining up guests who are willing to share their stories. If they choose to use their real names and go on camera live, we’ll do that. However, if they prefer to be in silhouette and have their voices disguised, we will give them that option.”
The camera zoomed in on her face. “If you have a story to tell, we want to hear it. If you know the name of the person who molested you when you were a child and wish to press charges now, we will help you by hiring a lawyer to represent your interests. After this morning’s show, please call me here at WBNN. I will be at the studio to take your calls personally until noon today.”
Ruddy smiled. Why did they always make it so easy for him?
He and Pudge had laughed about the naivete of the women they had killed. Women left “hidden” keys. They opened their doors to deliverymen, to telephone repairmen, to utility department workers. They had taken both Ruddy and Pudge at face value. It never ceased to amaze him how stupid these women had been. How trusting.
So often he and Pudge were able to use a woman’s profession against her.
Jennifer Walker, a Realtor, had been more than happy to meet a potential client, with his nonexistent wife, alone at night in an isolated house.
Erin Murphy, a private duty nurse, had gladly allowed him to come to her home to interview her for the job of caring for his elderly, nonexistent mother.
And here LaShae Goodloe was inviting him to call her, to set up a private appointment, to discuss his fake memories of having been molested as a child.
Getting LaShae to open her home to him would have proved problematic since she was unlikely to allow just anyone into the house where she lived with her family. However, it should be fairly easy to lure her to another destination. All he had to do when he called her was to sound pitiful and helpless.
* * *
During the past three hours, LaShae had spoken to only two people willing to appear on her show next week: A twenty-year-old girl who had been molested at ten by an older neighbor hood teenager and a fifty-year-old woman, whose father had molested her when she was a child. Neither wanted their true identity revealed. The station had received a flood of calls, a few from pranksters, a few from people protesting airing “such trash,” and numerous messages from viewers who simply wanted to speak personally to LaShae.
“You might want to take this one,” LaShae’s assistant, Mindy, told her. “He sounds genuine.”
LaShae nodded, then took the call. “Hello, this is LaShae Goodloe.”
“Ms. Goodloe, I–I saw your show this morning.” The voice was decidedly male. “You seem to really care about people. You’re not a phony like so many other TV people.”
“I do care,” LaShae assured the caller. “Especially about this subject—children who are molested. I had a childhood friend who was raped and killed by her cousin.”
“The man who … I trusted him. Everyone trusted him. He—he was the youth minister at our church,” the man said, his voice a mere whisper. “The man who raped me when I was twelve.”
“I’m so very sorry.”
This poor man.
As long as LaShae lived, she would never forget the heartbreak of learning that her best friend in sixth grade had been brutalized and killed by a twenty-five-year-old cousin that everyone in the neighborhood had known all their lives.
“I’m not sure I have the courage to appear on your show,” the caller said.
“We will protect your identity. No one will see your face or hear your real voice.”
“I want to have the courage to do this, but—I’m scared.”
“Is your molester still alive?”
“Yes. And he’s the minister of a large church now.”
“You do realize that if he molested you, he’s molested other boys. By identifying him and bringing charges against him, you can save countless other young boys from suffering as you did.”
“I know. It’s just … Could we talk privately?”
“Yes, of course we can.”
“I can be in Birmingham Sunday evening. Could you meet me in some public place and let me tell you my story, face-to-face?”
“Yes, we can arrange to do that.” LaShae’s heart went out to this man. He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears. How heartbreaking that memories of being molested years ago tormented him so strongly to this day.
“My name is … I’m Sammy. I’ll call again when I arrive in Birmingham.”
The line went dead.
LaShae hung up the phone and looked over at Mindy. “I believe he’ll be the one who will actually press charges against his molester.”
“Want me to put a call through to your husband?” Mindy asked.
“Yes, call Rodney and see if he has time to talk to me right now. Since he’ll be acting as our legal representative for all of the people appearing on our show next week, I’ll need to keep him up to date on everything.”
As Mindy dialed Rodney’s office, LaShae stilled her nerves, preparing herself to talk to her husband. If only she didn’t feel so terribly guilty about her affair with Ben. Although he’d given her no indication that he suspected her of infidelity, LaShae wondered if Rodney didn’t know, at least on some level, that there had been another man in her life.
* * *
The weather had turned nasty about fifteen minutes ago, a blustery thunderstorm, with cold rain pouring down and streaks of lightning brightening the dark evening sky. She had caught the Saturday noon news and the weather forecaster hadn’t mentioned rain for tonight. Lindsay brought her Trailblazer to a stop at the canopied front entrance of the Willows Country Club, got out, and was very thankful for valet parking.
This was her first time here at the swanky private club frequented by the Who’s Who of local society. She’d heard the yearly membership fee was fifty thousand dollars. For most people that was the equivalent of a year’s salary.
As she passed along a row of floor-to-ceiling mirrors, she forced herself not to stop and inspect her appearance. She had chosen the black evening gown. Simple and understated. After debating what to do with her hair and finally deciding to brush her curls away from her face to expose her diamond earrings, she had faced the makeup dilemma. In the end, she had kept everything light and natural. Her own personal style all the way.
Three days ago, Lindsay had asked Griffin for Saturday and Sunday off.
“I have a date with Nathan,” she’d told him.
“Good for you.” Although he’d seemed genuinely pleased, he had looked at her with concern.
“No, I haven’t mentioned it to Judd and I don’t intend to.”
“I didn’t ask, did I?”
“No. No, you didn’t.”
Their conversation had ended on that note, neither of them taking it a step further.
Lindsay had spent the past few days in the Powell Agency office at Griffin’s Rest. She was in charge of all information on the Beauty Queen Killer cases, and with two recent murders adding to the long list, she’d been busy updating the agency’s files. She had spoken with former FBI profiler, Derek Lawrence, sharing information with him, so that he could provide them with an up-to-date profile of the killer.
“I don’t have to tell you that these last two murders happened much closer together than any of the previous ones,” Derek had told her. “I think you can expect another murder very soon.”
When she’d spoken to Griff about Derek’s prediction, they had discussed the possibility that the killer was on the verge of a murderous rampage.
“Since we know he’s playing a game, we have to assume that for some reason, the rules have changed,” she’d told Griff.
“Possibly. Or he may have given himself a deadline to end the game and that date is fast approaching. It could be that he hasn’t reached his goal.”
“You think he started out planning on killing a specific number of women in a certain time span?”
“It’s just a theory,” Griff had said.
A darn good theory.
She had been totally absorbed with work, so that although she hadn’t consciously avoided Judd, she hadn’t sought him out since their return from Tupelo. She had seen him at breakfast one morning and at dinner each evening, but other than that, their paths hadn’t crossed. She had no idea how he filled his days and tried to convince herself that she didn’t care. As long as he left her alone, he could do whatever the hell he wanted to do.
Actually, she was surprised that he hadn’t gone home by now, back to solitary confinement at his hunting lodge.
Why was she thinking about Judd today of all days? She should be concentrating on Nathan and the evening ahead. Unless she managed to get Judd off her mind, she would ruin any chance she might have of actually enjoying her date. Not to mention that it would be terribly unfair to Nathan for her to be thinking about another man most of the time she was with him.
Following the small signs placed on stands at various intervals, Lindsay made her way from one carpeted hallway to another, steadily heading toward the ballroom. Just as she turned the final corner, she saw Nathan in the corridor, along with several other people, all deep in chitchat conversations. Nathan was talking to two other men, one about his age—probably another doctor?—and one around sixty—possibly a wealthy contributor? The moment he caught a glimpse of her, he smiled warmly and excused himself, then came toward her with his hands held out in front of him.
As he grasped her hands, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you. I’m not used to dressing up like this.”
“I appreciate your being my date tonight. I’ll be the envy of every man here.”
She smiled, flattered by his words, yet oddly uneasy. Nathan expected her to spend the night with him. And although she had packed a small overnight bag, just in case, she wasn’t sure how this night would end.
“I’d like to introduce you to a few people.” He tugged on her hand, urging her to follow him. When she did, he took her directly to the two men he’d been speaking with when she arrived.
Both men responded in a cordial manner when Nathan introduced her as his date. As it turned out, the younger man was Davies Carlton, who had, only this past year, taken over as CEO of Carlton Pharmaceuticals. And the sixty-something gentleman was Dr. James Stafford, a local cardiologist.
As more and more people gathered for tonight’s event, the corridor grew crowded and attendees began overflowing into the ballroom, many finding their assigned seats while others worked the room.
Nathan worked the room.
And as his date, he expected her to stay at his side. After they entered the ballroom, she finally saw a familiar face. Sighing with relief, she exchanged eye contact with Mark Crosby, who made a beeline straight to her. He lifted her hand, kissed it, and beamed with delight, as if he’d found a long-lost friend.
“Lindsay, my darling, you look absolutely delectable,” Mark said.
“Thank you. You look pretty delectable yourself.”
Dressed impeccably in a tuxedo, white shirt, and bow tie, Griff’s interior designer possessed a suave, sophisticated appearance. His brown hair was cut very short, a style that downplayed the fact that he was going bald. And a flashy, two-carat ruby ring glimmered on his left ruddy, his only concession to his flamboyant personality.
“Griffin didn’t mention that you would be here tonight,” Mark said as he held onto Lindsay’s hands.
“Is Griffin here?” she asked. “I didn’t know he planned to attend. I’m afraid our only conversations for the past few days have been about business.”
“All work and no play.” Mark shook his finger at her. “Griffin’s here, somewhere. And with the most devastatingly exotic woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Dr. Meng?”
“Yes, Yvette Meng. Even her name has a mysterious and romantic sound, doesn’t it?”
“She’s a lovely person.”
“So, just how long has Griffin been hiding her away? Inquiring minds most definitely want to know. Is it serious between them? Or is she involved with that other fellow?”
A tight knot formed in the pit of Lindsay’s belly. “What other fellow?”
“Judd Walker, of course,” Mark said. “I mean, who would believe it? After nearly four years living as a hermit, the man has resurfaced socially at this little dinner dance.”
“Judd is here—tonight?”
“Yes, he is. And I must say that grief and despair certainly agree with him. He’s every woman’s—and some men’s—living, breathing fantasy. My dear, he’s being fawned over by half the women here.”
Lindsay thought she might be sick. A churning sensation agitated her stomach. “Mark, I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me …” She turned and walked away, going in search of the nearest ladies’ room.
Nathan caught up with her before she exited the ballroom. Clasping her arm, he asked, “Is something wrong?”
Putting a phony smile on her face, she glanced up at Nathan. “No, I’m fine. Mark mentioned that Griff is here and I thought I’d find him and say hello.”
“Why don’t you let that wait? Dinner will be served shortly and my speech is one of the first of the evening. You don’t want to miss that, do you?”
“No, of course not.”
Struggling to control the panic she felt knowing Judd was here tonight, Lindsay allowed Nathan to escort her to their table.
Why was Judd here? The man had been avoiding most human contact for years, so what had prompted him to attend this social event? She would have bet everything she owned that no power on earth would ever persuade him to give up his reclusive lifestyle, not even for one evening.
LaShae whimpered loudly as Ben took them both over the edge.
They came simultaneously.
Quivering uncontrollably as the orgasm radiated through her, she clung to her lover, wanting to hold on to this moment—and to him—forever.
“I love you,” he moaned in that final moment. “God, how I love you.”
“Ben … oh, Ben …” She kissed him hungrily, as needy as she’d been when she met him at this motel half an hour ago.
He rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes.
She cuddled against him.
When he said, “I don’t want this to be our last time …” she placed her index finger over his lips.
“It has to be,” she told him. “We’ve thought about it, talked about it, agonized about it, but in the end we know what we have to do.”
Turning to face her, he slipped his arm beneath her head and brought her close enough so he could kiss her. As they lay in each other’s arms, she listened to his heartbeat and knew that as long as she lived she would never love another man the way she loved Ben.
“Maybe someday,” he said. “When our children are older …”
“It’s a lovely thought.”
“Once we leave Birmingham, can I call you? Not often, just once in awhile, to hear your voice.”
She tensed, every muscle in her body reacting.
“LaShae?”
He knew her too well, understood her in ways her husband never had.
“No,” she said. “We need to make a clean break.” She pulled away from him and got out of bed. “It’s the only way.”
“I don’t know if I can do that. Never see you again. Never talk to you again.” He rose from the bed, as naked as she was, then walked over to her and wrapped her in his arms. She loved the feel of him. The strength in his muscular arms, the power of his touch. When he pulled her backward and tumbled them both into the bed, she didn’t protest, wanting him again, as much as he wanted her.
“Tonight has to be the last time,” she told him as he pressed down on top of her and kissed her again.
Lindsay managed to avoid any contact with Griff, Yvette Meng, and Judd during dinner and caught just a glimpse of them after the auction began, and only because Griff bid on and won several items. Of course, he paid outrageous amounts for the items because this was, after all, a charity event. The only person who had been the highest bidder more often than Griff was a man named Cary Maygarden.
Lindsay would rather be just about anywhere other than here. And not just because of Judd. She wasn’t the society gala type and felt uncomfortable rubbing elbows with the city’s rich and/or famous. On a cold, drizzly Saturday night like this, she would much rather be curled up in front of the fire with a cup of hot chocolate.
If Nathan hadn’t been one of the organizers of tonight’s function, she would have asked him to leave an hour ago. And she probably would have gone home with him. Anything to escape from the inevitable moment when she would come face-to-face with Judd Walker.
The auction came to a close when Henry Lewis successfully bid on the final item, paying what Lindsay suspected was three times its worth. Although she didn’t really know the UT professor, she had heard Griff make several negative comments about the pompous ass. Griff’s term. It didn’t surprise her in the least that Griff had bid against the professor, raising the price again and again. Knowing Griff as she did, she’d bet he had done it on purpose, figuring that the man was determined to outbid him.
When the band struck up a slow jazzy tune, Nathan asked her to dance. At least that was something she enjoyed. But a few minutes later, she realized that her date had two left feet. The poor guy kept stepping on her toes.
“Sorry. Maybe you should give me a few dance lessons,” he said.
“It’s all right. Really. We can sit the next one out.”
Thankfully, they managed to finish the dance without Nathan doing any permanent damage to her toes, but she felt certain her black heels were ruined.
“Good evening, Lindsay,” Griff said as he came up behind her when she started to leave the dance floor. He nodded to Nathan. “How are you, Dr. Klyce? Would you mind if I steal Lindsay for the next dance?”
“Hello, Mr. Powell,” Nathan said. “I’m sure Lindsay would appreciate another partner. I’m not much of a dancer.”
As soon as Nathan excused himself, Griff put his arm around her waist and led her onto the middle of the dance floor just as the band’s next tune began.
“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” she told him.
“And I didn’t realize your Dr. Klyce was one of the organizers, not until after we arrived here this evening.”
“Since we don’t compare social calendars, I guess we have to chalk this up to coincidence.” She had to tilt her head backward to see his face because she was short and Griff was very tall.
“If I’d known, I would have warned you,” he told her.
“You mean about Judd being here?”
“His coming along with us was Yvette’s idea. And to be honest with you, I’m not sure how she persuaded him.”
“Maybe hell has frozen over.”
Griff smiled. “Maybe it has.”
“Do you think it means anything? Is it a first step or—”
A deep voice interrupted her midsentence. “May I cut in?” Judd tapped Griffin on the shoulder.
Griff paused, looked at Lindsay for a decision, then when she nodded, he turned her over to Judd and walked away.
The moment Judd eased his arm around her waist, a series of tiny explosions erupted along her nerve endings. They stared into each other’s eyes.
For years, she had longed to be in Judd’s arms like this. But after what had happened between them six months ago, she didn’t trust him and found herself questioning his motives. What was going on inside that mixed-up mind of his?
When the dance ended, Lindsay tried to pull away from him, but he held on to her. She looked at him, her gaze questioning his actions.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re as bored as I am. Why should either of us stay?”
“I happen to be on a date,” she told him.
“With the esteemed Dr. Nathan Klyce,” Judd said. “I suppose he’s a nice guy. Reliable. Safe.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he’s all those things.”
“Do you love him?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
When the next tune started, Judd pulled her back into his arms. She went willingly, not wanting to make a scene. She had noticed people staring at them, trying to eavesdrop on their private conversation. No doubt everyone was curious about Judd Walker’s first public appearance since his wife’s murder nearly four years ago.
Judd held her much too close. But her body loved being next to his.
His mouth hovered over her ear as he whispered softly. “Don’t settle for Dr. Perfect just because you’re running from me. You deserve better. You deserve nothing less than the real thing.”
Closing her eyes, she laid her head on his chest as he pressed her close, so close she could hear his heartbeat.
When their second dance ended, she pulled away from him. And he let her go. As she escaped from Judd, she glanced over her shoulder, taking one final look. Their gazes joined for a brief second, then she marched back to the table where Nathan sat talking to the other guests. When he saw her, he jumped to his feet and smiled.
As she slipped her arm around his waist, she kissed his cheek, then whispered, “When can we leave?”
A perplexed expression crossed his face. “Are you all right?”
She urged him several feet away from the table and looked directly at him. “Do you still want me to stay the night?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Whenever you’re ready to go, I can follow you home. I want to be with you tonight.”