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  PRAISE FOR STRATAGEM

  “With Stratagem, Caroll has created a tightly twisted plot that will keep the reader guessing from the first chapter. Creative and unique, the book is a winner that will linger with readers.”

  –Cara Putman, award-winning author of Delayed Justice from the Hidden Justice series

  “Follow the clues to find the murderer, but you may change your mind before the stunning end.”

  –Richard L. Mabry, MD, bestselling, award-winning author of medical mysteries with heart

  “There’s no escaping Stratagem once you enter its deadly game! Caroll pens a riveting novel of intrigue and danger that leaves the reader anxious for justice—and escape! This book doesn’t disappoint!”

  –Ronie Kendig, author of the award-winning, bestselling Tox Files series

  “Stratagem by Robin Caroll is high-stakes suspense on steroids. The fine writing and atmospheric setting make this outstanding novel a standout. Highly recommended!”

  –Colleen Coble, USA Today bestselling author of the Hope Beach series and the Lavender Tides series

  © 2018 by Robin Caroll

  Print ISBN 978-1-68322-730-4

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-959-9

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-962-9

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Faceout Studio, www.faceoutstudio.com

  Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.shilohrunpress.com

  Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  DEDICATION

  For Lisa

  My brother blessed us all when he brought you into the family.

  Thank you for all your love, support, and encouragement.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I never cease to be amazed by the multitude of talented, hardworking people it takes to produce a book. I’m so grateful to the entire team at Barbour Publishing, but especially Annie Tipton, Jessie Fioritto, Shalyn Sattler, and Liesl Davenport. From acquisitions to contracting to editing to cover design to marketing, this team is awesome, and I’m grateful to work with them.

  As always, I’m extremely grateful to my agent, Steve Laube. You, sir, are the best sounding board and tether to reality I could ever ask for. Thank you!

  Huge thanks to my beta readers, who have the best eyes to catch inconsistencies and plot problems. I don’t know what I’d do without you: Lisa Burroughs, Tracey Justice, and Heather Tipton.

  Every writer needs a circle of fellow writers who “get” to celebrate with you, and also hold you up when needed. I’m eternally grateful to my circle: Colleen Coble, Pam Hillman, Ronie Kendig, Dineen Miller, Cara Putman, Cynthia Ruchti, Cheryl Wyatt, and Becky Yauger.

  I so appreciate the unwavering love and support of my extended family in my writing endeavors. My heartfelt thanks to Mom, my precious grands—Benton and Zayden, Bubba and Lisa, Brandon and Katie, Rachel and Thomas, Justin and Baby G, Robyn, Rebecca, and Rion.

  Enormous love and thanks to the amazing people I share a home with: Casey, Remington, and Isabella. You three have no idea how much it means to have your support, acceptance, and willingness to jump in and help. I can’t imagine writing without y’all. I love each of you to the moon and back!

  All glory and praise to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I can do all things through You, who gives me strength.

  PROLOGUE

  “According to your estimation, she has eight minutes to figure out she can’t open the door unless her employee uses the key he got in the last room.” Pam leaned back in the chair and tilted her head toward the live feed. Her brightly dyed hair shimmered with the movement.

  The woman on the screen stumbled around in the room. Her breathing came out labored—harsh in contrast to her platinum-blond hair that caught the dim light. She ran to the only visible exit and turned the knob. Her body slumped against the locked door.

  “They’ll get it.” Grayson was rarely off by more than a few minutes at most. His job was to study the financial, medical, background, and psychological reports on each of the game participants to find their weaknesses and strengths, then use it all against them. To break them to the point where they couldn’t escape the game—win—unless they worked as a team. That was the whole purpose of the games, and why they signed waivers.

  “I think you read her wrong.” Pam tapped the monitor and took a sip of her white mocha. “I bet they won’t escape according to your time frame.”

  Grayson grinned at his collaborator. “Wouldn’t be the first time I misjudged.” He stared at the blond woman, now on her feet again, running her hands over the walls. “But I don’t think that’s the case with this one.”

  “Twenty bucks says you’re wrong.” Pam dug a bill out of the back pocket of her jeans and slapped it on the long desk they shared.

  He shook his head. “Why must you bet on every single game we run?”

  “Adds to the excitement.” Grinning, she shrugged. “Are you going to put your money where your calculations are, hotshot?”

  “Of course.” He laid a twenty on top of Pam’s and stared at the woman on the monitor.

  “Six minutes.”

  The blond woman’s hands fisted at her side. Grayson could almost feel her frustration as he gave the computer command that opened the sliding hidden passageway. The woman’s employee all but fell into the room. The blond rushed to him.

  Grayson smiled as the woman helped the man stand. Just as he’d predicted, her nurturing instincts kicked in. He pressed another button, and a recording of a child crying out for her mother filled the room. One of the woman’s greatest fears was being unable to protect her child.

  The woman pounded on the door. Her employee eased in front of her and rammed his shoulder against the door. His protective instinct came right on time, as Grayson had estimated.

  “Four minutes.” Pam leaned forward, closer to the monitor.

  It might be close.

  The woman sobbed, shoulders shaking as she hung her head.

  “She’s freaking.” Pam rubbed her hands together and pushed the button to increase the volume on the child’s wails.

  The woman slumped against the wall beside the door—defeated.

  “That’s almost cheating.” Grayson leaned forward, his nose nearly pressing against the monitor.

  This was the most intense part of
the game, the flipping of personalities. The employee saving the employer served a twofold purpose: the employee built confidence in himself as a vital part of the company team, and the employer learned that the company can accomplish nothing without the input and dedication of its workers.

  The woman shook herself and turned to beat on the door, almost in hysterics. She twisted the knob, rattling the lock.

  “One minute.” Pam rubbed her hands together.

  Come on, man. Figure it out. Grayson locked his jaw, concentrating on the monitor.

  “Thirty seconds.”

  The more frantically she turned the knob, the louder the lock rattled. The man hesitated in his ramming.

  That’s right. The key. It’s in your pocket.

  “Twenty.”

  Slowly, the man pulled the key from his jacket pocket and thrust it at his boss.

  “No!” Pam glanced at the timer. “Ten seconds.”

  The woman turned the knob, and she and the man both slipped through the door.

  Grayson stared at the timer. “With four seconds to spare.” He grabbed both twenties.

  Pam shook her head but grinned. “You make me sick, you know that, right?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “When are you going to learn not to bet against me?” Grayson stood as the monitor flipped to the “recovery room” where the man and woman were taking bottles of water from Grayson’s congenial business partner, Colton York.

  Pam stood as well. “One of these days, Grayson Thibodeaux, you’re going to lose.”

  Some days, it felt like he’d already lost all that he’d held dearest, but he shook his head at his assistant anyway. “I think I’m gonna call it a day.”

  “Sure, take the money and run.” Pam laughed as she shut down the monitors.

  “See you tomorrow.” Grayson headed down the hall to his office, ready to grab his laptop and head home.

  “As usual, my timing is perfect.”

  Every hair on the back of Grayson’s neck stood at attention. No mistaking that voice. He turned. “Hello, Anna Belle.”

  “Don’t ‘hello’ me.” She marched around the receptionist, who threw Grayson an apologetic look. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  He sighed. No use trying to shut up his ex-wife or even get her to speak with him privately. Nothing would work until she had her say. He knew. All too well. “Find out what, Anna Belle?”

  “About your dad’s duck hunting gig in Plaquemines Parish. You failed to mention that in our divorce, and it’s worth over one point five million dollars. I was entitled to half that amount in the settlement.”

  “My father didn’t own that. It’s a hunting lease. I was accepted as a legacy.” He caught a flash of Pam’s lavender-pink hair from the corner of his eye. Humiliation would come later.

  “Which is still worth a very healthy amount of money and was passed down to you. You didn’t declare it, Grayson.”

  “But I can’t sell the land because I don’t own it. That’s why it wasn’t addressed in the divorce settlement, Anna Belle. It’s not something I own.”

  “I’m entitled to half what the lease is worth.” She popped her hands on her hips and tightened her lips into a firm line.

  At one time, that move would have made him reverse his stance.

  That was then, this was now. “I don’t care what you think you’re entitled to, Anna Belle. I suggest you call your lawyer if you have a problem with the divorce settlement because I really don’t—”

  Her slap brought a stinging to his eyes. He grabbed her wrist. Held it. “How dare you, Anna Belle? To come to my job and assault me?” Grayson ground his teeth so hard it was a wonder he didn’t crack a couple.

  Pam was beside him in a flash, her hand on his forearm. “Don’t bother, Grayson. She isn’t worth it.”

  He let go of his grip on Anna Belle with a jerk.

  “You should leave. Now.” Pam’s voice shook with the hatred she felt for Anna Belle.

  “This isn’t over, Grayson.” Anna Belle spun away from him, her long, blond hair flung over her shoulder as she marched toward the front door, her spike heels tapping angrily against the cool tiles.

  “Everything okay out here?” Colton stood in the hallway, his embarrassed-for-someone-else look planted firmly on his face.

  “We’re fine. Just leaving for the day.” Pam took Grayson’s arm and turned him toward the back door.

  The mortification had already wormed its way into Grayson’s chest. No telling how many people just saw the exchange. Pam, Colton, Jackie the receptionist, and possibly clients. He didn’t need his assistant or his business partner to take up for him with his ex-wife. Every time he saw Anna Belle, the pang of her betrayal nearly strangled him. He didn’t want to hate her, prayed daily that his heart would be softened to forgive her, but she still stopped him cold.

  He cleared his throat. “I need my laptop.”

  “Not tonight, boss. Take the night off. Read a book, watch a game, do whatever you need to do to unwind. You’ve earned it.” Pam had that look in her eye, the one that said it was easier just to do what she wanted because she could be almost as relentless as Anna Belle.

  Almost, but in a much better way.

  He gave a curt nod and dug his keys from his jeans pocket. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She rested her hands on her hips, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

  Grayson had one thought when he headed to his truck. He desperately needed a vacation. Soon.

  ONE

  Home sweet home.

  Long weekends were great for a getaway to think and refocus, but Grayson Thibodeaux itched to get back home. He turned onto his street and let out a sigh—he’d sleep in his own bed tonight. Tomorrow would start a new week, and he could put the last couple of months behind him, especially the past two weeks.

  Maybe then he could put the last several years in his rearview mirror.

  The drive had been slower than usual, but with Mardi Gras coming next week, New Orleans burst at the city limits with tourists and carnival people. Bright, sparkly greens, purples, and golds lined the French Quarter and beyond. The floats housed in the many warehouses would receive final touches before the upcoming parades.

  Tension gripped Grayson as he spied a car parked in the driveway of his home. He didn’t get random visitors, and very few people knew he’d even left town, much less when he’d return. He didn’t recognize the vehicle.

  He eased his truck behind the car, effectively blocking it in. Grayson stepped silently onto the concrete and stared at his front porch. No one there.

  Zydeco music blasted from the house next door: an early Mardi Gras celebration in full swing. Smoke from a grill drifted from the couple’s backyard, sending a mouth-watering aroma wafting through the garden district neighborhood.

  Grayson gently pushed the truck door closed, then headed down the cobblestone path that ran alongside the old house. Even in the waning light, his steps found the stones with no stumbles. He’d grown up in this house, had helped his father place the very cobblestones he now walked on into the sod.

  The light by the kitchen door illuminated a man and woman standing on his back porch, their backs to him. The woman had her hands cupped around her face as she pressed against the kitchen window.

  Grayson’s muscles flexed. “May I help you?”

  The man and woman spun at the same time, both setting their hands on the butts of their respective side arms.

  Recognition came instantly. “Brandon?” Grayson asked.

  “Hey.” Brandon Gibbons, Grayson’s old college buddy and currently a detective with the New Orleans Police Department, removed his hand from his sidearm. Grayson had worked with Brandon when he was a consultant for the department.

  “You remember my partner, Danielle?” Brandon nodded at the woman beside him.

  Black-as-night hair, brown eyes, and a chip on her shoulder bigger than a boulder—yeah, he remembered Danielle Witz all right. “
I do. Hello, Danielle.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Thibodeaux.” Apparently she still hated his guts. It’d been months ago—how could she still carry a grudge for his not calling her sister after their blind date?

  “What’re you doing back here?” Grayson asked. It wasn’t like Brandon to creep around backyards.

  Danielle leaned against the porch’s support beam. “Where have you been?”

  In a split second, Grayson took in their body language and the microexpressions most people didn’t even realize they showed. Brandon’s lips were thinned, and he wouldn’t meet Grayson’s stare. Danielle, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes and held eye contact, dropping her chin as she glared.

  “Why?” Grayson stood a little straighter.

  “Maybe we should go inside?” Brandon asked, looking quickly at Grayson, then darted his gaze to his partner.

  Grayson crossed his arms over his chest as little pinpricks of apprehension pimpled his arms. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, peeking in my back windows?”

  Brandon met his stare. “I think you’d rather us go inside to talk, Grayson.”

  This wouldn’t be good, but now curiosity nibbled at the edges of his mind. He sighed. “Sure. Come on.”

  Grayson led the two detectives around to the front door. He unlocked it, then stepped inside and punched in the disarming code on the keypad to his alarm system.

  Brandon and Danielle followed him into the cool house. Grayson took a seat in his recliner, leaving the two to sit on his couch. But Danielle didn’t sit; she stood behind the couch, facing Grayson. She wore her animosity like a shield.

  “So, again, why are you here?” Grayson rested his elbows on his knees and let his hands hang loosely.

  “Why—”

  “Grayson, I’m sorry,” Brandon interrupted his partner.

  “For?” His gut twisted.

  “It’s Anna Belle.”

  Grayson gripped his hands together and squeezed. “She’s hurt? Was she in an accident?” Images of the way his ex-wife drove filled his mind. She often forgot to wear a seat belt. “Is she okay?”