a late supper.”
“How was he when you left him?”
“Sober.”
“I guess that’s something.”
“I want to bring him to Griffin’s Rest later today,” she said. “Are you okay with that?”
“I’m not sure. Do you think it’s a good idea?”
“I think Judd needs to be part of the investigation again. No matter how low he’s sunk—and I admit he’s just about hit rock bottom—he still wants to find his wife’s killer. Finding Jenny Walker’s murderer is the only thing he has to live for. We can’t take that away from him.”
“Nobody took anything away from him,” Griff said. “What’s happened to Judd, he did to himself.”
“Yeah. I know. Judd is his own worst enemy.”
“If the guy had a lick of sense, he’d wake up and realize he has a lot more to live for than revenge against Jenny’s killer.”
“Don’t go there, Griff. There’s no point.”
Silence.
“Will you let me bring him to Griffin’s Rest?” she asked.
“There’s something you need to know, something I want you to tell Judd and see how he reacts, then you decide if you should bring him here.”
“And if he reacts badly?”
“I guess you know that Carson has been assigned to watch your back.”
Lindsay smiled to herself as she crossed the room, pulled back the edge of the drapes, and looked outside. Rick Carson’s car was parked next to her Trailblazer. He was inside behind the wheel and appeared to be asleep. It was so like Griff to worry about her. To protect her.
Maybe she shouldn’t have told him what happened between Judd and her last year.
“I know when I’m being tailed.” She let the drapes fall back into place. “Rick’s parked outside. He didn’t have to sleep in his car last night.”
Griff chuckled.
“So, what do I need to know? What do you want me to tell Judd?”
“Barbara Jean says she can’t ID the man she saw coming out of her sister’s apartment building just as she was going in, only moments before she discovered Gale Ann bleeding to death. She claims she didn’t get an up-close-and-personal look, but I think, if we’re patient and understanding with her, she’ll eventually be able to give a halfway decent description to a sketch artist.”
Lindsay let out a long, low whistle.
“How do you think Judd will react to this news?” Griff asked.
How would Judd react? Would the news give him hope? Would it whet his appetite for revenge? Could he wait and give Barbara Jean Hughes the time she needed to admit to herself that she could indeed ID her sister’s killer?
“I honestly don’t know how he will react,” Lindsay said. “I don’t know Judd anymore. I’m not sure I ever really knew him.”
“There are other men out there, you know. Someone who would appreciate you for the wonderful woman you are.”
Griff’s words created a tight knot in her belly, the one that formed whenever she thought about her feelings for Judd Walker. “Look, I don’t have any false hopes where Judd’s concerned. I know that he’ll never love anyone except Jenny.”
“He doesn’t even love her anymore. Judd isn’t capable of human emotions, other than hatred and revenge.”
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t have sent you out on this case, but I thought … Hell, I don’t know what I thought, maybe that you needed to confront your demons, conquer them, and walk away a stronger person.”
“Watch out, Griffin Powell. You’re on the verge of exposing your soft underbelly, and you don’t want to do that, do you?”
“You know me too well.”
“Not really. I don’t think anyone knows the real you.”
“If you change your mind, hand Judd over to Carson, and come on home alone.”
“Is there anything else I need to know, anything else I should tell Judd?”
When Griff didn’t respond immediately, she realized that there was more. “Griff?”
“Killing is a game to him.” Griff paused. “Redheads are worth twenty points. 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 break fast 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 it 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
