The Murder Game Read Online Free PDF Page A

followed the stocky, middle-aged man with the leather-brown skin and shaved head. His ethnic heritage was as much a mystery as the man himself, but his voice possessed a hint of an English accent, although she doubted that English was his native language. He left her at the open door to the study, excusing himself with a curt head bow. After taking a deep breath, she entered the two-story room.
    Wow! A massive rock fireplace, so large that several people could easily stand upright inside it, dominated the impressive den. This was an extremely masculine room with paneled walls and hardwood floors. A seven-foot green leather couch resided parallel to the fireplace and sat far enough away from the opposite wall to allow for the placement of a sofa table behind it. Two brown leather armchairs flanked the fireplace and a sturdy antique desk claimed the corner by the windows overlooking the lake.
    Griff had put his stamp on this room. Knowing him as she did, she recognized the den for what it was. His sanctuary. This was where the great man came to escape from the world.
    Nic felt his presence before he entered, before he spoke her name. Every nerve came to full alert. Every muscle tensed. She took a deep, closed-mouth breath and turned to face him.
    “Hello, Nic.”
    She liked her nickname, but on his lips it sounded like an insult. Damn the man. He had a way of getting under her skin, of making her feel self-conscious and unsure.
    With her gaze meeting his head-on, she replied, “Hello, Grr…iff.” She made his nickname sound like a two-syllable word by stretching it out.
    “Would you care for a drink?” he asked, his gaze traveling to the decorative liquor cabinet in the opposite corner from the desk.
    “No, thank you, but feel free to—”
    “Sit.”
    Command or request? With Griffin, she figured they were the same thing.
    She chose the right side of the large sofa.
    He sat on the sofa, taking the left side.
    “What did you find out about the Texas victim?” she asked.
    “Not much. There have been two murders in the Stillwater, Texas, area in the past couple of months. One man was stabbed to death by his business partner. The other victim was a young woman whose body was found by some kids in a city park. She was hanging from a large tree limb, upside down, her feet bound together.”
    Nic closed her eyes for a split second before looking at Griff. “Had she been shot in the head?”
    Griff nodded. “Yeah.”
    “Had she been scalped?”
    Clenching his jaw, Griff grunted. “Damn! You found out about an identical murder in Ballinger, didn’t you?”
    “It wasn’t enough that he killed them, execution style. He had to scalp them, too.”
    “Trophies,” Griff said.
    Nic shot up off the sofa. “I want this guy. I want to stop him before the body count rises. But my boss will tell me that two similar murders in two different states do not mean there’s a serial killer on the loose.”
    “Not even when you add to the scenario the information that this guy made phone calls to you and me?”
    “All those calls prove is that there’s a nut job out there who has our private cell numbers.”
    “Then we need to find enough evidence to prove our theory. I’ll go to Ballinger and Stillwater and see what I can find out beyond the basic police reports.”
    “I’m going with you.” As Nic hovered over him, their gazes locked.
    The corners of Griff’s mouth curved upward with a hint of a smile. “You know how some local police chiefs and sheriffs are about the FBI sticking their nose into local business. You’re liable to make ’em nervous, honey, a big, important special agent showing up and asking questions.”
    She cringed at the generic endearment, one he’d no doubt used with hundreds of women. No, make that thousands of women. But she knew he had called her honey for one reason only—to piss her off.
    “Well, honey,” she replied, “I tell you what—I’m on vacation so I could go with you in an