“Here, let me check the house first.” Jack leaped ahead of her up the concrete steps of her small porch. “I’ll take a look around inside, just to be on the safe side.”
Susanna followed him in and stood, hugging little Lizzie tight while Jack made a tour through her small home. The alarm created by the detective’s warning was fading. She would feel much safer now, knowing a killer wasn’t waiting to jump out at her the moment she and Lizzie were alone.
Jack reappeared in the living room. “Everything’s fine. I made sure all the windows were locked, too.”
“Thank you.” She forced herself to smile. This guy was certainly an anomaly. One minute he offended her, and the next he was going the extra mile to make sure she felt safe. “I appreciate that.”
The moment he left, a wave of anxiety threatened her composure. What if the detective was right? What if someone is watching, waiting to get me alone?
VIRGINIA SMITH
A lifelong lover of books, Virginia Smith has always enjoyed immersing herself in fiction. In her mid-twenties she wrote her first story and discovered that writing well is harder than it looks; it took many years to produce a book worthy of publication. During the daylight hours, she steadily climbed the corporate ladder and stole time to write late at night after the kids were in bed. With the publication of her first novel, she left her twenty-year corporate profession to devote her energy to her passion—writing stories that honor God and bring a smile to the faces of her readers. When she isn’t writing, Ginny and her husband, Ted, enjoy exploring the extremes of nature—skiing in the mountains of Utah, motorcycle riding on the curvy roads of central Kentucky and scuba diving in the warm waters of the Caribbean. Visit her online at www.VirginiaSmith.org.
A Deadly Game
Virginia Smith
Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.
—Matthew 7:7, NIV
For my son, Jonathan Leake.
As you seek to solve your own mysteries, don’t forget that the answers are already written down.
Acknowledgments
Thanks so much to my husband, Ted, for patiently answering questions about cars and auctions and dirt bikes. I’m grateful to my sister, Susie Smith, who helped me figure out where to hide tokens all over Central Kentucky. Huge thanks to my editor, Tina James, for brainstorming above and beyond the call of duty. I’m grateful to Wendy Lawton for a million things. And of course my undying gratitude goes to my Lord, Who knows all mysteries and reveals all things hidden.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
LETTER TO READER
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
PROLOGUE
Rich men died just as easily as poor men. As he looked down at the body before his feet, that fact disturbed the killer even more than the act he’d just committed. In the end, money bought no advantage. The wealthy, too, fell victim to the great equalizer of men—death.
Killer. A shudder rippled through his frame at the word. That was how he must now think of himself. He’d sunk to a new low, performed an act he had not considered himself capable of. Murder.
A fleeting wave of regret passed through him, but he dismissed it impatiently and returned his weapon, a computer laptop cord, to its place on the credenza. He’d had no choice. The man’s death was his own fault. He could have cooperated, made them both some money. Instead, he’d resorted to threats. Well, this was one rich man who would never threaten to expose anyone again, would he?
The killer glanced at his watch. Not much time. If he were caught here, everything would fall apart. They’d convict him of a whole list of crimes, a list that started with murder. Even if the police didn’t catch him, there were others who would, and he feared them even more. He may yet end up as dead as his victim. Adrenaline and fear in equal measures coursed through his body and his gaze slid around the office. So many possible hiding places. Where to start?
Ten minutes later, he could no longer ignore the compelling urge to flee. He hadn’t found a thing. But he wasn’t ready to give up yet, not by a long shot.
He let himself out of the office and hurried to the secretary’s desk out front. A quick search of the drawers paid off. From a file labeled Personal Receipts in neat block letters, he extracted a cell phone bill and copied down the name, address and phone number printed at the top. Then he slid the file back in place and closed the drawer. Two smiling faces peered into his from a framed photograph on the corner of the desk, a young woman and a child with golden curls.
A smile crept across his lips as he committed the faces to memory.
ONE
The moment she rounded the corner of the building, Susanna Trent knew something was wrong. To her right, darkness shrouded the wooded area that ran the length of the building housing Ingram Industries. Tiny frozen daggers of sleet sliced through the nighttime sky to fall onto the crowded evergreen branches, the contact goading the trees into an eerie dance. To her left, slivers of light peeked through the cracks of closed blinds in the floor-to-ceiling office windows. Sleet stung her cheeks and slapped at the nylon hood of her jacket as she skidded to a halt on the sidewalk.
Behind her, Jack Townsend didn’t stop quite as quickly. He bumped into her, and almost knocked her off her feet.
Jack slipped a strong hand under her arm to steady her. “Sorry about that.”
Susanna acknowledged the apology with an absent nod, her stare fixed on the windows. A finger of disquiet tapped at the edges of her mind. She’d expected to see her boss standing there, waiting for her to arrive with his new Corvette. Mr. Ingram had been ecstatic when she called him after the auction ended to tell him that she’d succeeded in buying the car he wanted. Why wasn’t he watching for the moment she arrived, ready to dash outside to see it? Something definitely wasn’t right here.
Jack’s head turned as he followed her gaze. “Is something wrong?”
Susanna shook her head, as much to dislodge the uneasy feelings as to answer. “It’s just that the blinds are closed. They’re never closed.”
“Maybe he wanted some privacy.”
“From what?” She pointed toward the