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Authors: Beverly Barton
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birds, and stood up to bullies in defense of those they harassed.
Her father had told her that she had a tender heart, just like her mother. She couldn’t bear to see anyone—human or animal—in pain.
And Judd Walker had been in torment. Day by day she had watched him as he mourned his wife, as he became more and more withdrawn, as the anger—the pure rage—inside him had devoured all other human emotions, until nothing had been left except a burning desire for revenge.
Her heart had ached for him. Her stupid bleeding heart.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Judd said. “Thinking about that night?”
“No,” she replied truthfully. “I was actually thinking about those first few months after Jennifer was murdered, and Dan and I worked so hard to try to find her killer.”
“And here we are nearly four years and numerous beauty queen murders later, and Jenny’s killer is still out there chopping off hands and feet, arms and legs, slitting throats…destroying lives.”
“He’ll be caught and punished,” Lindsay said. “Griff and I made you a promise that we intend to keep. And Nic Baxter isn’t going to give up until she catches this guy. She’s as determined as Griff and I and—”
“And me?”
“Are you still determined, Judd? Do you still actually care?”
“I don’t care about anything. You of all people should know that.”
“But you want to see Jennifer’s killer punished, don’t you?”
“Yeah. It’s the only thing I do want. My one thought, my single reason for living is the hope that one day I can kill him myself.”
“And if that actually happened, if you could kill him yourself…hack off his hands, his feet, his arms and legs, chop him into little pieces—what then?”
“Are you asking me if I’d be at peace then?”
“No. I’m asking what then, when your single reason for living is gone?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “And I really don’t care.”
But I care. Damn you, Judd, I care.
Dr. Clark met them at the entrance to Gale Ann Cain’s cubicle and motioned them to step back a few feet. Once he had them alone, he glanced from one to the other.
“Ms. Cain remains in critical condition,” the doctor said. “Her chances of survival are not good. She’s trying to talk, trying to tell her sister something, and has indicated she wants to speak. We’ve explained to her that we cannot take her off the ventilator at this point. She’s highly agitated and if she doesn’t calm down soon, we’ll have no choice but to restrain her and sedate her. Her sister, Ms. Hughes, asked that you two be allowed to see Ms. Cain, while she’s conscious. She hopes one of you might be able to help her decipher her sister’s sign language.”
“Sign language?” Griff asked.
“Since Ms. Cain can’t speak, she’s using her hands and facial expressions to try to convey a message of some sort.”
“How long will it be before you can take her off the ventilator?” Nic asked.
Dr. Clark shook his head. “It’s too soon to say. Maybe days or weeks. Maybe never.”
“Are you saying—?”
“She has a living will,” Dr. Clark said. “If she isn’t able to breathe on her own after a period of time and if we see no hope for her…”
“We understand.” Nic glanced at Griff.
“I will allow the two of you five minutes with Ms. Cain,” Dr. Clark told them. “But if she becomes upset or even more agitated, I’ll ask you to leave.”
Nic nodded.
Griff said, “Okay.”
When they entered Gale Ann’s cubicle, Barbara Jean, who was holding her sister’s hand, glanced up and offered them a pitiful smile. Then she leaned over and whispered, “Gale Ann, they’re here. Special Agent Baxter and Mr. Powell. Tell them what you’ve been trying to tell me.”
Gale Ann Cain’s mane of shoulder-length, copper red hair contrasted sharply with the white bed linens on which she lay. Her cat-green eyes opened wide and stared upward, first at Nic and then at Griff.
She
Her father had told her that she had a tender heart, just like her mother. She couldn’t bear to see anyone—human or animal—in pain.
And Judd Walker had been in torment. Day by day she had watched him as he mourned his wife, as he became more and more withdrawn, as the anger—the pure rage—inside him had devoured all other human emotions, until nothing had been left except a burning desire for revenge.
Her heart had ached for him. Her stupid bleeding heart.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Judd said. “Thinking about that night?”
“No,” she replied truthfully. “I was actually thinking about those first few months after Jennifer was murdered, and Dan and I worked so hard to try to find her killer.”
“And here we are nearly four years and numerous beauty queen murders later, and Jenny’s killer is still out there chopping off hands and feet, arms and legs, slitting throats…destroying lives.”
“He’ll be caught and punished,” Lindsay said. “Griff and I made you a promise that we intend to keep. And Nic Baxter isn’t going to give up until she catches this guy. She’s as determined as Griff and I and—”
“And me?”
“Are you still determined, Judd? Do you still actually care?”
“I don’t care about anything. You of all people should know that.”
“But you want to see Jennifer’s killer punished, don’t you?”
“Yeah. It’s the only thing I do want. My one thought, my single reason for living is the hope that one day I can kill him myself.”
“And if that actually happened, if you could kill him yourself…hack off his hands, his feet, his arms and legs, chop him into little pieces—what then?”
“Are you asking me if I’d be at peace then?”
“No. I’m asking what then, when your single reason for living is gone?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “And I really don’t care.”
But I care. Damn you, Judd, I care.
Dr. Clark met them at the entrance to Gale Ann Cain’s cubicle and motioned them to step back a few feet. Once he had them alone, he glanced from one to the other.
“Ms. Cain remains in critical condition,” the doctor said. “Her chances of survival are not good. She’s trying to talk, trying to tell her sister something, and has indicated she wants to speak. We’ve explained to her that we cannot take her off the ventilator at this point. She’s highly agitated and if she doesn’t calm down soon, we’ll have no choice but to restrain her and sedate her. Her sister, Ms. Hughes, asked that you two be allowed to see Ms. Cain, while she’s conscious. She hopes one of you might be able to help her decipher her sister’s sign language.”
“Sign language?” Griff asked.
“Since Ms. Cain can’t speak, she’s using her hands and facial expressions to try to convey a message of some sort.”
“How long will it be before you can take her off the ventilator?” Nic asked.
Dr. Clark shook his head. “It’s too soon to say. Maybe days or weeks. Maybe never.”
“Are you saying—?”
“She has a living will,” Dr. Clark said. “If she isn’t able to breathe on her own after a period of time and if we see no hope for her…”
“We understand.” Nic glanced at Griff.
“I will allow the two of you five minutes with Ms. Cain,” Dr. Clark told them. “But if she becomes upset or even more agitated, I’ll ask you to leave.”
Nic nodded.
Griff said, “Okay.”
When they entered Gale Ann’s cubicle, Barbara Jean, who was holding her sister’s hand, glanced up and offered them a pitiful smile. Then she leaned over and whispered, “Gale Ann, they’re here. Special Agent Baxter and Mr. Powell. Tell them what you’ve been trying to tell me.”
Gale Ann Cain’s mane of shoulder-length, copper red hair contrasted sharply with the white bed linens on which she lay. Her cat-green eyes opened wide and stared upward, first at Nic and then at Griff.
She
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