Dying To Play

“Good.”

Detective Henshaw pivoted on his heel and exited the bank. He paused outside the door to light his cigar. A puff of blue smoke rose above his head. Trace looked away, suppressing the urge to reach into his own pocket for a cigarette. He’d quit smoking ten years ago. Then, when everything had gone to hell, he’d picked them up again. Last month, he’d finally worked up the nerve to quit for good. He hated being at the mercy of the habit…almost as much as his new partner obviously hated the idea of being partnered up with someone who polluted her air space. She seemed to make an exception with Henshaw. Or maybe she had him trained not to light up in her presence.

His gaze sought and found Elaine Jentzen. She was no green, right-out-of-the-academy rookie like Molly had been. She was street savvy and smart, but more than that she was experienced. Despite her youth, she’d worked long and hard to get where she was. A degree in criminology with a minor in psychology and graduating top of her class from the police academy were pretty impressive feats to have accomplished by age twenty-two. Her very first case in Homicide had made a hero of her. She’d been flying high ever since. Not to mention making deputy chief before hitting thirty. He imagined she’d made a few enemies along the way as well. No one moved up the ranks that quickly without pissing off somebody.

According to what he’d pulled up on the computer about her, she was a third-generation cop. All three of her brothers were either policemen or firemen. Her sister was the only exception in the bunch. She’d chosen education for her field of expertise, then married during her first year of teaching. Five years and four children later, she was a stay-at-home mom with a college professor husband.

Trace didn’t have any siblings. His parents had died long ago. It was just him. That hadn’t really ever bothered him before. But now, somehow, it did.

Considering Jentzen’s brood, it made him feel lonely. He almost laughed at that one. He was alone.

And that’s the way he liked it.

Self-pity wasn’t his style.

Nor was being dependent upon another human being.

He surveyed his new partner’s long legs, then all that dark hair that fell past her proud shoulders. She was tall, five foot seven inches or eight maybe. Thin, but more lean than skinny he’d bet. The black slacks weren’t formfitting, but were well tailored to the sweet contours of her body. She wore her badge and weapon at her waist in a no-frills fashion. The white blouse was something soft and flowing. It nestled against her skin in all the right places. His gaze lingered a little too long on her breasts. He blinked and forced his attention up to her face.

But her brown eyes were her best asset, in his opinion. Her every emotion shimmered in those wide, oval pools. She emanated more strength and courage than most women in his experience. The fact that she’d already earned his respect to an extent surprised him. He was usually slow in allowing that kind of confidence.

As she argued with someone named Flatt on her cell phone, Trace watched her every move. She used her hands a lot. Long, delicate fingers were tipped by short nails. Her face was as animated as her hands. And what a pretty face it was. Too pretty for a cop, especially one so ambitious.

She did this thing with her hand…just a quick motion of running her fingers through her hair. He liked that. He liked her. She was a good cop. A real cop, he thought, his lips slanting up into an unexpected grin.

Nope, self-pity wasn’t his style.

But then neither was lusting after the forbidden.

He couldn’t make a mistake this time.

He wouldn’t make a mistake.

Elaine Jentzen was a complication he didn’t need or want. But he would make the best of the situation…if that was possible.

“Earth to Callahan.”

Jentzen’s voice startled Trace back to attention. “Yeah?” Damn. He’d zoned out again.

She gave him one of those barely tolerant looks teachers saved for their most trying students. “If you’re ready now, I’d like to get this show on the road. We have to make a statement to the press.”

Well, at least now he had his answer to making the best of things.

It was going to be impossible.

Chapter 6

How did one top one’s best effort?

The Gamekeeper knew how.

He smiled. It had been so easy. He’d reinvented himself, and his adversary had no idea. Not just yet. He laughed out loud, the sound satisfying, exhilarating. He just kept getting better and better. Closer and closer to his ultimate goal. Closer than anyone suspected.

He was so very clever…so absolutely perverse. This new game was perfect. A unique and unparalleled original creation. No one had ever done anything this magnificent before.

Agent Callahan had not been victorious two years ago, as he so arrogantly thought. The Gamekeeper had been the triumphant one in the end. He gritted his teeth against the bad thoughts. Held them at bay. It wasn’t time. Not yet. The pain had been almost unbearable. Weeks of agony had followed that fateful night. The tremendous mental anguish that had accompanied the immense pain had been cleansing and at the same time intoxicating. He’d loved it. Baptized himself in it and was reborn.

The Gamekeeper closed his eyes and relished the triumph of rising again. Just like Christ himself. No mere man could keep the Gamekeeper down.

Certainly not Agent Trace Callahan.

He was right where the Gamekeeper wanted him. He felt giddy with the knowledge that the plan had worked so quickly. The danger of getting closer and closer, drawing his enemy deeper into the game, made each calculated move all the more thrilling.

It wasn’t about increasing his body count…never had been. It was the danger that sent adrenaline pumping through him…that turned him on. Oh, he did love the game.

And it was only going to get better.

Because no one was as smart as he was. No one else had the game.

Only he was genius enough to have created such a flawless masterpiece that conquered the final frontier—the mind. No one had gone this far before.

He remembered as a child the batteries of intelligence tests, the psychoanalyzing. He was a genius, and most certainly not from the gene pool of the obsequious pair who’d adopted him at the tender young age of two.

What had all the pathetic adults in his childhood expected? He’d been far smarter and more capable than any of them. None had recognized the full extent of his genius…the potential of his abilities. Instead they’d feared him. Put him on medication, treated him like a freak.

But he’d made a special game for all of them. They had thought they were so smart…so invincible.

No one was as smart or as invincible as the Gamekeeper.

Not Agent Callahan. Or his new partner, the lovely Deputy Chief Jentzen.

Hmm. This was just like old times. They were both much more vulnerable than they knew. They had no idea just how vulnerable.

Because no one could beat the Gamekeeper at his own game.

So many had tried.

All had failed.

No one would ever catch him…not in a million years. He was too perfect…too smart. Too invisible.

The Gamekeeper leaned forward and began typing words into the chat box on the computer screen.

Time to play.

Chapter 7

That night when she arrived home, Elaine dragged herself from her Jeep to her front door. Sally, tail wagging, waited for her just inside. Elaine was totally wiped out. She and Callahan had spent hours going over Matthews’s and Tate’s backgrounds—work history, friends, relatives, finances, marital standing—looking for any kind of motivation for the events that had taken place that morning.