The Dying Game Read Free

know Griffin Powell, don’t you? The Griff Powell, UT legend, and one of the most sought-after bachelors in the state of Tennessee.”
       
    Shortly after three in the morning, Ruddy removed his tuxedo jacket and hung it in the closet, then removed the diamond cuff links from his white shirt and placed them in the jewelry case. He’d left the party rather early because he’d been bored.
    Ruddy hated being bored.
    But a man in his position had to attend a certain number of these mundane affairs. It was expected.
    After removing his shoes and stripping out of his other clothing, he retrieved a pair of silk pajamas from the wardrobe drawer. He stroked the luxurious fabric. Ruddy bought only the best.
    Once attired in his pajamas, leather house slippers, and quilted satin robe, Ruddy went downstairs and entered his study. After pouring himself a small nightcap, he walked straight to the wall of bookshelves on the right, removed a specific book, pressed the button on the wall, and waited for the secret compartment to open. That’s what he loved about this old house—the secret chambers. Like something out of a 1930s movie. How utterly delicious. There was one chamber between the study and the front parlor and another in the basement. Since he seldom went down to the basement, except when he personally retrieved a bottle of wine, he preferred the small, private, upstairs chamber.
    Entering this room transported Ruddy into another world, a realm of pleasure and satisfaction that he had created for himself four and a half years ago. He flipped on the light switch. Soft, mellow illumination filled the eight-by-fourteen-foot room. He moved slowly along the back wall, studying the photographs mounted side by side. Thirty-two enlarged photos of sixteen different women, each one a true beauty. Ruddy paused in front of the most recent addition to his collection: Gale Ann Cain— before and after . The before photograph had been taken years ago when she’d won the Miss USA contest and gone on to compete in the Miss Universe Pageant. The after snapshot had been taken with Ruddy’s tiny digital camera moments after he had killed her, less than forty-eight hours ago.
    “Thank you, my pretty flower,” Ruddy said.
    After months of searching, he had specifically chosen Gale Ann because of her fabulous red hair. Redheads were the most rare, the most precious.
    His fingertips traced his handiwork, gliding smoothly across the snapshot, pausing on her slender ankles.
    The sound of her screams echoed inside Ruddy’s head.
    The first kill had been the most difficult. He had hated the woman’s screams. But with each kill, the act itself had become easier, and eventually, he had begun to enjoy hearing their screams.
    * * *
    “The Beauty Queen Killer has struck again.”
    The words were no sooner out of Sanders’s mouth than Lindsay McAllister shot out of bed and ran barefoot to the open doorway of her bedroom where her boss’s personal assistant stood. He had awakened her moments before with a loud knock and an urgency in his voice when he called her name.
    “Have you gotten in touch with Griff?” she asked, knowing their employer had probably spent the night with his latest lady friend, a Kentucky divorcée who was visiting her sorority sister in Knoxville. The woman’s family raised thoroughbred Derby winners, and Griff had invested in the faltering horse-breeding farm last fall. She often thought her boss had a white knight complex. He seemed to like nothing better than rushing in to save the day.
    “Yes,” Sanders replied. “He’s on his way home. He should be here soon.”
    “Give me fifteen minutes to shower and dress,” Lindsay said.
    Sanders nodded. Not for the first time, she noticed the man’s military bearing. Although she had worked with him for three and a half years, she knew absolutely nothing about his past, but she suspected that at sometime in his life, he had been a soldier. She had no idea how old he was, but