The Watcher. BEVERLY BARTON
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to react to his taunt, she unzipped her shoulder bag, delved inside, and brought out the car keys. “Here you go.” She dropped the keys into his open palm, careful not to touch him. “Thank you. And please thank Sanders for me.”
Griff closed his fingers around the keys, all the while not taking his eyes off Nic. “Why do you think he called us? Why alert us to the fact that he’s killing again? He could have killed a dozen or more women before anyone connected the dots and realized there was a bizarre connection between the murders.”
Nic sighed deeply. “I have no idea, but my gut tells me that sooner or later, he’ll tell us his reason. And I don’t think we’ll like it.”
Pudge removed the mannequin’s head, placed it on a stand, and set it on the round table where Kendall Moore’s scalp lay. With the utmost care, he gently placed the bloody scalp on the bald plastic head, working with it patiently to position it just right. When he was satisfied with his handiwork, he opened one of the glass cases on the shelf, the fifth one in the top row, then lifted the head and eased it into the case. Next he opened the small file cabinet under the metal desk in the corner and removed the label he had made weeks ago. The label was typed in neat, black Times Roman print, and read:
Kendall Moore, #5.
He closed the glass case, walked back across the room, and sat in the desk chair. As he gazed lovingly across the room at his five beautiful trophies, Pudge smiled.
Wonder how long it will take Griff and Nic to discover that there are five victims and not just two?
Despite their mutual animosity, Griffin Powell and Special Agent Baxter would join forces against him. Of course, that was exactly what he wanted them to do. They didn’t know it yet, but they were going to be major players in his new game.
He suspected they would head for either Ballinger or Stillwater tomorrow, if they weren’t already on their way tonight. By now, they should have found out that a victim’s body was found in Ballinger yesterday and another in Stillwater nearly a month ago. Both women had died in the same manner and both had been displayed in an identical way—hung by their bound feet from a tree branch. And both women had been scalped.
§Pudge whirled the swivel chair around and stared at the blank computer screen sitting atop the desk. If he kept to his self-imposed schedule, he had no time to lose. He had to choose his next quarry immediately. Tonight. Tomorrow at the latest. He had already narrowed down his choices. He chose only specimens in their prime, physically and mentally superior women who would make the hunt a challenge for him.
He turned on the computer and opened the file he had been compiling for quite some time. One name stood out from all the rest. She would be his ultimate kill. The prize of a lifetime.
Nicole Baxter.
All things considered, Nic had slept amazingly well. Griff had shown her to a guestroom. Large, elegant, and quite feminine. She’d wondered just how many other ladies had used this room over the years.
When Sanders had brought her suitcase, he’d said, “If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, I’ll be fine.”
“Do you prefer to set your alarm clock for in the morning or would you like for me to wake you?” he’d asked.
“Uh, I’ll set the alarm, but I forgot to ask Mr. Powell what time I should be ready.”
“Breakfast will be served in the kitchen at seven in the morning,” Sanders had told her.
Nic checked her wristwatch. It was now six forty-three AM. Last evening, she had set the alarm on the beside table for six. The clothes she had on today were not part of the daily “uniform” she wore for work. She was stuck with the clothes she had packed for a semisecluded vacation in the mountains. Her choice in apparel had been shorts, jeans, or the one skirt she had brought with her. She chose the jeans and topped them with a white short-sleeved pullover.
Squaring her shoulders and tilting her chin, she resisted the urge to glance at herself in the cheval mirror she passed on her way to the door. She knew she was clean and presentable. That was enough.
Once downstairs, she simply followed her nose. The aroma of coffee and cinnamon led her straight to the large, modern kitchen. After entering, she paused when she saw Sanders at the stove and Barbara Jean Hughes, in her wheelchair, buzzing around setting the table. Barbara Jean’s younger sister had been one of the BQ Killers’ victims, and Barbara Jean had been one of the few people who had gotten a glimpse of the killer as he left the scene. She should have been under FBI protection while they’d hunted down the Beauty Queen Killer, but instead, she had succumbed to Griff’s persuasive charm and accepted his offer of protection. Apparently, even after Cary Maygarden had been killed and she was no longer thought to be in danger, Barbara Jean had chosen to stay on and was now in Griffin’s employ.
The moment Barbara Jean saw Nic, she paused and smiled. “Good morning, Special Agent Baxter. It’s so nice to see you again, but I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.”
“Yes, me, too. And please, call me Nic.”
“You’re a bit early. Breakfast isn’t quite ready.” Barbara Jean eyed the table, neatly set with placemats, silverware, and china. “Griffin and Maleah should be down shortly.” She glanced sweetly at Sanders. “Damar has prepared his special breakfast casserole and homemade cinnamon and raisin scones.”
“It smells delicious.” Nic tried her best to curb her curiosity about Maleah. Was she one of Griff’s women? Probably.
“Would you care for coffee?” Sanders asked.
“Yes, I’d love coffee, but I can get it myself.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
By the time she’d poured the black brew into a china cup and was about to take the first sip, a woman entered the kitchen. Pretty and blonde and stacked.
Nic could certainly see why any man would be attracted to her.
“Morning all,” the woman said as she visually scanned the room. Her gaze settled on Nic. “Hi. You must be the infamous Nic Baxter.” She smiled and held out her hand as she approached. “I’m Maleah Perdue, the Powell agent assigned to Griffin’s Rest this week.”
Nic returned her smile, feeling oddly relieved that she wasn’t being subjected to breakfast with Griff’s latest girlfriend. “So, I’m infamous around here, am I?”
“Most definitely,” Maleah said. “During the BQK case, your name was synonymous with The Devil.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, not with Griffin Powell. Believe me, his name is synonymous with arrogant SOB in my office every day.”
Nic and Maleah were laughing when Griff entered the kitchen. He glanced from one woman to the other, nodding at each in turn. “Something tells me that all this early-morning good humor is at my expense.”
“Could be,” Maleah admitted.
Sanders brought Griff a cup of coffee immediately and said, “Breakfast will be served momentarily.”
Griff motioned to the table. “Ladies.”
He waited until each of them had taken a seat and Barbara Jean had positioned her wheelchair in front of a place setting before he sat down at the table.
He turned to Maleah, on his left. “Have you received any information this morning?”
Sanders placed a canned cola and a straw in front of Maleah, who popped the lid and inserted the straw before replying. “Actually, some info came in overnight. I haven’t printed it