Dying To Play

Worry creased Trace’s brow as he stood beneath the shaded portico of the bank entrance. There was one major difference, however, in these two cases and the ones from two years ago. The Gamekeeper, without exception, made the final kill himself. It was part of his signature—part of the ritual he followed religiously. But with both the beauty-shop case and the current one, the supposed perps had offed themselves. That had been the major sticking point with the brass. The profiler had been reluctant to agree with Trace when he suggested that the Gamekeeper could be behind last week’s murders. He would say the same about this one.

Serial killers rarely changed their MOs…unless some life-altering event predicated the change. He knew that better than anyone. But it didn’t sway his thinking.

Memories of the night his partner died abruptly slammed into him with the power of a train exploding from a dark tunnel.

Molly had been as green as they came. Brand-new to the Bureau. That alone had made her the perfect candidate for the trap Trace had devised. He’d asked for her, insisted on having her. She would play the part of his new girlfriend, his lover. And she would be the bait for the Gamekeeper. He would be the one to actually get close enough to make the collar. Molly had loved it. Thanked him over and over for allowing her the opportunity to work with a legend.

A legend. Yeah, right.

He swallowed hard, emotion making the action nearly impossible. He’d had such a hard-on to solve the case…to be the one who brought the Gamekeeper down, he hadn’t fully considered the risk to her. But he hadn’t worried because he’d been in control….

Or so he’d thought.

They’d played a twisted little game back and forth, he and the Gamekeeper. At the time, Trace could almost taste the triumph. He was so very close. He was going to nail him.

So many dead. All young with great futures ahead of them. Those were the ones the Gamekeeper liked best. No junkies, hookers or homeless people for him. He liked the challenge of more worthy opponents.

What was the fun, he’d said in one of his taunting calls to Trace, in stalking and murdering an already helpless creature?

He wanted to play.

To draw out the pleasure.

Sick bastard.

Trace clenched his jaw. He should have seen it coming. He should have known the Gamekeeper was too smart to fall for such an ordinary sting. The scumbag had known that Molly was Trace’s partner, not his girlfriend. But he’d also known that they’d grown close during the course of the investigation. He’d watched them, studied them. And the bastard had wielded every bit as much hurt…as much pain in the end.

She was dead. It was Trace’s fault. Nothing he could do would bring her back.

She’d died in his arms. He’d tried to stop the bleeding…tried to keep her alive until help arrived, but it had been useless.

He’d made a fatal mistake.

Trace jerked back to the here and now. He was shaking. A sheen of perspiration slicked his skin. His stomach roiled with the bitter dregs of his own guilt…of the vengeance he’d waited so long to wreak. He needed it more than his next breath. He wanted the Gamekeeper dead.

He’d managed to get off one good shot that night. He’d hit him, Trace knew he had. But he hadn’t killed him. The Gamekeeper was still alive. Trace felt him. The fact that the sick piece of crap had apparently dropped off the face of the earth for the past two years had lent credence to the possibility that Trace had managed a fatal hit that night. But he knew differently. Every fiber of his being sensed the evil lurking close by.

Whatever the Gamekeeper’s reasons for lying low until now didn’t matter. He was back, and Trace intended to stop him this time. He intended to kill him. He wanted to personally help perform the no-holds-barred autopsy on the son of a bitch. To hold the saw that cut into that twisted brain.

Trace fought to stem the tremors quaking through him. He dragged in a breath, ragged with his efforts to regain control. He had to keep it together.

This was his second chance. Second chances didn’t come along often. He would do it right this time.

“You coming in or what?”

Trace looked up to find Detective Jentzen glaring at him from the bank’s entrance. He jerked, startled.

Her eyes narrowed as she quickly took in his pathetic state. He squared his shoulders and blinked away the last of the lingering images that haunted him day and night. He could do this.

“Yeah.” He started forward, each step a conscious effort to remain steady. “I’m coming in.”

Not bothering to hide her annoyance, Jentzen held the door until he reached it, then gave him her back and strode across the lobby.

Trace moistened his lips and exhaled a relieved breath. He couldn’t let that happen again. If she suspected for one second that he was experiencing difficulty staying in control, she would certainly insist that he be removed from the case.

Not that he could blame her. In this line of work, who wanted to partner up with a guy who couldn’t watch his partner’s back? The Bureau had stuck him on desk duty. This was his one shot at making things right. His new partner resented the hell out of him, but he could live with it. She certainly hadn’t been his first choice, either. Though by all accounts she was a damned good cop, she was a woman, and he wasn’t sure he could trust her to react like a cop when the chips were down.

He couldn’t make a mistake and he couldn’t allow her to make one. This was his opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. To bring down the Gamekeeper and to get his professional life back. He didn’t really care that he no longer garnered any respect from the other agents. And he sure as hell didn’t need any friends. It was the job that kept him going…that he needed. If he had to go back to that desk for the rest of his days…well, he just wasn’t sure he could handle it.

Sure, he hated the way everyone looked at him now. As if they feared he’d go berserk at any given moment. But more than that or even the ever-present talk behind his back, he hated the looks of sympathy.

The panic he struggled with on a daily basis abruptly surged into his throat.

He choked it back.

This time would be different.

He would do everything right this time.

“Callahan, this is Detective Henshaw.” Jentzen stood next to an older man, fifty, fifty-five maybe. He looked a little rumpled and a lot cop smart. The cigar clenched in the corner of his mouth gave him a sort of Columbo-without-the-trench-coat look.

Trace extended his hand automatically. “Trace Callahan,” he said, not missing the older man’s methodical scrutiny.

Henshaw pumped his hand a couple of times and grunted. “I’ve heard of your reputation.”

Trace forced a smile. He’d just bet the old man had heard of him, but he doubted it was anything good. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he suggested in as good-natured a tone as he could manage.

Henshaw chuckled, but those cunning eyes told the tale. He knew a lot more than he would dream of saying. “I’ll bear that in mind, Callahan.”

Trace looked from Henshaw to his reluctant partner and back. “I suppose Jentzen told you about the working arrangements?”

Henshaw nodded. “I can live with it. Temporarily.” He looked at the woman at his side. “I’ll have my final report ready by the end of the day.”

“Just leave it on my desk. I’m not sure when I’ll—we’ll get back to the office.”

“Will do.”

Jentzen’s cellular phone rang, and she stepped away to take the call. Henshaw gave Trace a final curt nod before walking past him. Trace reciprocated, damned tired of the pretending and the double-talk, but he had to play it out a little longer.

Until he set things right again.

“Just one more thing,” Henshaw said, as if he’d almost forgotten some important aspect of the case he needed to pass along.

Trace turned to face him. “What’s that?” Their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills.

“Don’t let anything happen to my partner,” the old man warned. “You risk her life unnecessarily and you’ll answer to me. You got that, hotshot?”

Trace read no malice in the man’s tone or expression…just genuine fear for his partner’s well-being. The warning wasn’t anything he hadn’t anticipated. “I’ve got it.”