Sandra Brown - Play Dirty

Ricochet

Chill Factor

White Hot

Hello, Darkness

The Crush

Envy

The Switch

Standoff

The Alibi

Unspeakable

Fat Tuesday

Exclusive

The Witness

Charade

Where Theres Smoke

French Silk

Breath of Scandal

Mirror Image

Best Kept Secrets

Slow Heat in Heaven

Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2007 by Sandra Brown Management Ltd.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

SIMON & SCHUSTER and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Brown, Sandra.
Play dirty: a novel / by Sandra Brown.
p. cm.
1. Rich peopleCrimes againstFiction. 2. PoliceTexasDallasFiction. 3. Dallas (Tex.)Fiction. I. Title.

PS3552.R718P55 2007
813'.54dc22 2007015959

ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-4541-5
ISBN-10: 1-4165-4541-7

Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonSays.com

T HAT IT?

Thats it. Griff Burkett tossed a small duffel bag onto the backseat of the car, then got into the front passenger seat. I didnt bring much with me. Im sure as hell not taking souvenirs. He wanted no memorabilia from his stint in BIGofficial code name for the Federal Correctional Institute in Big Spring, Texas.

He made himself comfortable on the plush leather, adjusted the air-conditioning vent to blow straight at him, then, realizing they werent moving, looked over at the driver.

Seat belt.

Oh. Right. Griff stretched the belt across his chest and latched it. Tongue in cheek, he said, Wouldnt want to break the law.

As lawyers went, Wyatt Turner was okay. But if he possessed a sense of humor, he kept it under lock and key. He didnt crack a smile at Griffs wry remark.

Come on, Turner, lighten up, Griff said. This is a special day.

Unfortunately, were not the only ones commemorating it.

Turner drew Griffs attention to an ugly, olive green car parked in a handicapped space. Illegally it seemed, since there was no tag hanging from the rearview mirror. Griff didnt recognize the make or model of the car because it was younger than five years old. Nothing distinguished the no-frills sedan except the man sitting behind the wheel.

Griff cursed under his breath. Whats he doing here?

Its been all over the news that you were being released today, but I dont think he brought champagne.

So whyd he come all this way to see little ol me?

I assume he wants to pick up where the two of you left off.

Fat chance.

The object of their conversation, Stanley Rodarte, had parked where he couldnt be missed. He had wanted Griff to see him. And Griff would have recognized him anywhere, because Stanley Rodarte was one ugly son of a bitch. His face looked like it had been hacked out of oak with a chain saw, by a carver too impatient to smooth out the rough edges. Cheekbones as sharp as knife blades cast shadows across his ruddy, pockmarked skin. His hair was the color and texture of dirty straw. Behind the lenses of his opaque sunglasses, his eyesyellowish, as Griff recalledwere no doubt trained on Griff with an enmity that even five years hadnt blunted.

Griff shrugged with more indifference than he felt. Its his time hes wasting.

Sounding like the voice of doom, Turner said, Obviously he doesnt think so.

As they pulled closer to the other car, Griff flashed Rodarte a big grin, then raised his middle finger at him.

Jesus, Griff. Turner accelerated toward the prison gate. Whats the matter with you?

He doesnt scare me.

Well, he should. If you had a lick of sense, he would scare you shitless. Apparently he hasnt forgotten about Bandy. Steer clear of him. I mean it. Are you listening? Do not cross him.

Am I gonna get billed for that unsolicited advice?

No, that advice is on the house. Its for my protection as well as yours.

Despite the blasting air conditioner, Griff lowered his window as Turner drove through the gates of the federal prison camp that had been his home for the past five years. The area in which hed been incarcerated was classified minimum security, but it was still prison.

No offense to the folks in Big Spring, but I dont care to ever enter the city limits again, he remarked as they left the West Texas town and headed east on Interstate 20.

The air was hot, dry, and gritty, perfumed by diesel and gasoline exhaust from the well-traveled highway, but it was free air, the first Griff had tasted in one thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-five days. He gulped it.

Feel good to be out? his lawyer asked.

You have no idea.

After a moment, Turner said, I meant what I said about Rodarte.

The sand-bearing wind scoured Griffs face and flattened his hair against his head. Relax, Turner, he said, speaking above the noise of a foul-smelling cattle truck roaring past. I wont wave red flags at Rodarte. Or at anybody else. Thats in my past. Ancient history. I took my punishment and paid my debt to society. Youre looking at a rehabilitated, reformed man.

Glad to hear it, the lawyer said, heavy on the skepticism.

Griff had been watching Rodarte in the cars side-view mirror. Hed followed them out of Big Spring and now was matching their speed, keeping at least three vehicles between them. If Wyatt Turner realized that Rodarte was on their tail, he didnt mention it. Griff started to say something about it, then figured there were things his lawyer didnt need to know. Things that would only worry him.

Three hundred miles later, Griff stood in the center of the apartments living area, which was a laughable misnomer. A person might exist here, but you couldnt call it living. The room was so dim it bordered on gloomy, but the poor lighting actually worked in its favor. A crack as wide as his index finger ran up one wall from floor to ceiling like a jagged lightning bolt. The carpet was gummy. The air conditioner wheezed, and the air it pumped was damp and smelled like day-old carryout Chinese.

Its not much, Turner said.

No shit.

But theres no lease. The rents paid month to month. Consider this only a stopover until you can find something better.

At least Big Spring was clean.

You want to go back?

Maybe Turner had a sense of humor after all.

Griff tossed his duffel bag onto the sofa. Not only did it look uncomfortable but the upholstery was stained with God-knew-what. He remembered fondly the high-rise condo he used to live in, in the ritzy Turtle Creek area of Dallas. Suffused with natural light during the day, a spectacular view of the skyline at night. Outfitted with countless amenities. Half of the gadgets and gewgaws he hadnt even known what they were for or how to work them. But the important thing was that hed had them.

When you sold my place, werent you able to keep any of my stuff?

Clothes. Personal items. Pictures. Like that. Its all in a storage unit. But the rest Turner shook his head and nervously jiggled his keys as though anxious to get back in his car, although the drive had taken them nearly five hours with only one stop. I liquidated everything in the Toy Box first.