her flashing hands one more time.
“She’s doing it twice,” Griff said. “Twenty.”
Gale Ann nodded.
“What does the number twenty have to do with her attacker?” Nic wondered aloud.
Gale Ann pointed to her head, slowly but surely twining her index finger around a strand of her hair.
“Your hair and the number twenty,” Nic said.
“It doesn’t make any sense.” Barbara Jean looked from Nic to Griff, her expression one of hopelessness.
Gale Ann yanked on her hair, then pointed to the foot of the bed. When she realized that no one understood what she was trying to tell them, her actions became frantic. She grasped the ventilator tube and tried to pull it out of her throat. Barbara Jean screamed for a nurse.
“Calm down, Gale Ann,” Griff said as he hovered over the bed.
Nic rushed to the cubicle entrance and cried out, “Hurry, please! Ms. Cain is trying to remove her ventilator tube.”
A second too late, Griff grabbed Gale Ann’s hand that held the trachea tubing she had brutally yanked from her throat. She gasped for air.
“Twenty points.” She barely managed to say the two whispered words before the nurses and Dr. Clark shoved Griff out of the way. Then, Gale Ann gulped one final word, “Game.”
One of the nurses shooed Griff and Nic out of the cubicle and pushed Barbara Jean’s wheelchair out directly behind them. With the white curtains pulled and the door closed, they were cut off from the frantic efforts to save Gale Ann’s life.
“What did she say to you?” Barbara Jean asked before Nic had a chance to ask.
“She said three words,” Griff told them. “Twenty points. And game.”
“Dear God!” When Nic’s gaze met Griff’s, she knew that they were thinking the same thing.
“Killing is a game to him,” Griff said. “He must have told Gale Ann that she was worth twenty points.”
Nic nodded. “She kept tugging on her hair. There has to be a connection.” Nic gasped loudly. “It’s because of her red hair that she was worth twenty points.”
“In his sick game, redheads are worth twenty points.”
Chapter 5
Lindsay and Judd arrived at Williamstown General Hospital at six-ten that evening and went straight to the intensive care unit on the second floor. As they marched straight toward the waiting area, Lindsay caught sight of Griff outside in the hallway. He stood off to the side, talking quietly with a man she recognized as Special Agent Josh Friedman, who had worked his first case with Nic Baxter and Curtis Jackson this past year. Three months ago. The last Beauty Queen Killer case: Carrie Warren. Throat slit. Tongue cut out. In the talent segment of the Miss Dixie Belle contest ten years ago, she had sung a heartrending aria from Puccini’s opera, Madama Butterfly.
As if sensing their approach, Griff paused in his conversation and glanced down the hall. Lindsay flinched when she saw the way Griff looked at Judd. The news would not be good.
“She’s dead,” Judd said.
Lindsay slowed her hurried pace and glanced at Judd. “What makes you think that?”
“You saw the expression on Griff’s face.”
She wanted to contradict Judd, to tell him she didn’t know what he meant, but what was the point in trying to give him false hope? One glimpse at Griffin Powell’s tense features and she’d had the same gut reaction as Judd had. Gale Ann Cain was probably dead.
Special Agent Friedman nodded to Judd and smiled at Lindsay. “How are you Ms. McAllister?”
“Getting by,” she replied. “You?”
“Yeah, about the same,” Josh said. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.” He turned and shook hands with Griff, then headed down the hall toward the elevators.
“The guy’s got the hots for you,” Judd said. “Who is he, a new Powell agent?”
Before Lindsay could reply, Griff responded. “He’s Special Agent Friedman. He joined Curtis Jackson’s investigative team on the last Beauty Queen Killer case. You remember Carrie Warren, don’t you, Judd?”
Judd narrowed his gaze, glowering at Griff.
“You don’t remember her name, do you?” Griff snorted. “Oh, that’s right, you spent most of November and December drunk. How could you possibly remember anything about the last case.”
“There’s only one name that matters to me,” Judd said. “Jennifer Walker.”
Griff clenched his jaw.
Wanting to ease the growing tension between Judd and Griff, Lindsay asked, “How is Gale Ann Cain?” Dear God, please let her be alive.
Judd chuckled, the sound as cold as the February night.
Griff looked right at Lindsay. “She died about thirty minutes ago.”
“Without identifying her killer, no doubt,” Judd said.
Griff directed his gaze to Judd’s bearded face. “You’re right, she didn’t ID him. But she did give us some information we can use, something we didn’t know about him before now.”
“You’ve got notebooks filled with info.” Grinning mockingly, Judd shook his head. “What good does new info do? What good is the profile you have of him? What good—?”
“You want me to drop this case?” Griff asked. “Just say the word and—”
“Don’t feed me that line of bullshit,” Judd said. “You forget, we go back a long way. I know you. You wouldn’t quit this case if your life depended on it.” He sneered at Lindsay. “And neither would you.”
Griff glanced at Lindsay. “I’ve got things to do.” He inclined his head toward Judd. “You keep Happy Jack here on a leash.” He glowered at Judd. “If you give Lindsay any trouble, I’ll—”
“He won’t,” Lindsay said.
Griff sighed heavily. “Gale Ann’s sister found her minutes after the attack.”
“Then I want to talk to the sister,” Judd said.
“Not tonight,” Griff told him.
“Why not tonight?”
“Damn, Judd, the woman just lost her sister.”
“Yeah, and that makes her victim number what? Twenty-nine? Thirty? If I’d found Jenny only minutes after the attack, I…” Judd’s voice trailed off. He clenched his teeth tightly and squinted his eyes as he looked at Griff. “Can she ID the guy?”
Griff
