“Why don’t you call me Jerome?” Browning’s blueeyed gaze traveled over Maleah, pausing on her breasts, which were modestly concealed by her lightweight blazer. “I’m more inclined to share confidences with people I’m on a first name basis with.”
“All right, Jerome, what have you heard recently that interests you?”
He leaned back in the chair, spread his legs apart as far as the shackles allowed, and dropped his handcuffed hands between his thighs. “Well, Maleah . . . I can call you Maleah, can’t I?”
She nodded.
Derek knew that Maleah hated the way Browning was ogling her, but she acted as if she didn’t care, as if she wasn’t even aware of what he was doing.
Smiling, he lifted his gaze back to her face.
“It’s a pretty name for a pretty woman,” Browning said. “Family name? Were you named after your grandmother?”
“We’ve just met, Jerome,” Maleah told him. “We aren’t at a stage in our relationship where we exchange personal information. Right now, today, our conversation is about business.”
His smile disappeared as he cocked one brow and lowered his lids until his eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Whose business, mine or yours?”
“That’s what I want you to tell me. I’d like to know if your business and Powell Agency business are related.”
Forced and all the more deceptive, his smile returned. “What business could I possibly conduct in here? I’m considered a maximum security inmate. My privileges are limited. No way to get my hands on a scalpel. And as I’m sure you know, without the proper tools, I can’t work.”
“But you could teach, couldn’t you, Jerome?”
Browning couldn’t manage to maintain his phony smile. The pulse in his neck throbbed. He clenched his perfect white teeth.
Silence lingered for a couple of minutes.
Then Browning recovered quickly and grinned. “Hmm . . . yes, I see your point. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.” He sighed dramatically. “It’s a sad state of affairs, don’t you think, my dear Maleah, when a master must live vicariously through the accomplishments of an apprentice.”
“And is that what you’re doing?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re enjoying our visit,” she replied. “I think you like playing games. I think you will eventually tell me what I want to know. But not today.”
“Smart and intuitive as well as beautiful.” He straightened in the chair, deliberately rattling his manacles and gaining a guard’s attention. Before the guard reached him, he settled quietly, his shoulders squared and his back straight.
“I don’t believe there is any point in my prolonging this visit.” Maleah rose to her feet and looked down at Browning. “My time is valuable, unlike yours. If you decide you want to be more informative, send word to the warden and Mr. Lawrence and I will come back for a second visit. Otherwise . . .”
“I’d be inclined to be more cooperative if you came alone.” He glanced at Derek.
“You cooperate with me and I’ll cooperate with you,” she told Browning.
“Give and take. I like that. You give me something I want and I’ll give you something you want.”
“Agreed.”
“Come back tomorrow,” he told her. “Alone.”
Once Maleah drove away from the penitentiary, she glanced at Derek, who hadn’t said a word since they had left the warden’s office where she had arranged a second meeting with Jerome Browning. At ten o’clock tomorrow. Wednesday morning.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked Derek. “I know you’re dying to critique the initial interview. Tell me what I did wrong, how I screwed up, what I should have done differently.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t think of anything you should have handled differently. You were calm, cool, and in control every minute of the interview. You even managed to surprise Browning a couple of times.”
“I can’t believe it. Are you actually complimenting me?”
“I’m stating facts. You did a good job. Browning now knows that he’s dealing with a worthy opponent. And never doubt that’s how he sees you. For him, the game has begun. You may be ahead by a couple of points, but he learned a great deal about you today, far more than you learned about him.”
Maleah gripped the steering wheel, breathed deeply and told herself not to overreact to Derek’s comments. “Are you saying that you think I revealed too much about—?”
“What I said was in no way a criticism. We had a file folder filled with info about Browning. We already knew a great deal about him. He knew next to nothing about us . . . about you.”
“He’ll be looking for my Achilles’ heel, won’t he?”
“Oh yeah, without a doubt. And if he discovers it, he’ll use it like a sledgehammer to beat you into the ground. But only if you let him.”
“Do you think he knows that Noah Laborde was my boyfriend?”
“Our copycat killer knows,” Derek said. “It’s possible that, if he and Browning have communicated, as we suspect they have, Browning is well aware of the fact that you were practically engaged to Laborde.”
An overwhelming sense of doom threatened Maleah. She couldn’t allow the foreboding thoughts and feelings to deter her from what she had to do.
They continued along Reidsville Road until they reached GA-30W, the highway that would take them back to Vidalia.
“How about an early lunch?” Derek asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I am and you should be. You didn’t eat much breakfast.”
“I ate enough.”
“Think of yourself as a warrior preparing to go into battle tomorrow. You need to be in tiptop shape mentally and physically. You’re going to eat a decent lunch and dinner. And in the morning, you’re filling up on protein—bacon and eggs.”
Maleah groaned silently, but didn’t reply. She knew that Derek meant well, that he wasn’t trying to take control, that he really was thinking about helping her become battle ready for tomorrow morning’s confrontation with Browning.
When she didn’t say anything for several minutes, he asked, “Giving me the silent treatment?”
“Huh?”
“You’re pissed that I dared to suggest—”
“You don’t suggest, Derek, you command.”
“Yeah, I suppose I do. Sorry about that. It’s just that taking care of you is part of my job.”
She practically stopped the SUV in the middle of the highway, slowing down so much that vehicles doing forty-five miles an hour flew past her.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he told her. “I shouldn’t have put it in those precise words. Let me rephrase —”
“Don’t bother.”
Suddenly realizing that doing twenty-miles an hour on a major highway could be hazardous, Maleah returned the Chevy to the allowed speed limit.