Dead By Morning

Lost in a haze of sweet memories, he barely heard the tapping on his bedroom door. Already aroused and ready for action, he walked across the room, opened the door and smiled at the woman standing in the hallway. He had met her in the hotel bar last night and had struck up a casual conversation. She’d been one of the women he had noticed Sunday night. A woman on the prowl.

“Are you going to invite me in or do you want to do me out here and shock the other guests?”

He grabbed her arm, pulled her into his room, and kicked the door closed behind them.

Chapter 7

Maleah had needed time away from Derek. Time to clear her head. Time to think. Common sense told her that Derek was not her enemy, that she didn’t need to do battle with him again and again just to prove a point.

And that point would be?

He could not control her. She would never allow anyone to have that kind of power over her, not ever again. Just when she thought she had finally come to terms with the terrors of her childhood and teen years, something or someone forced her to face those old demons.

Admit it, you’re tempted to lean on Derek.

The thought of being even partially dependent on someone else for any reason terrified Maleah. And that irrational fear demanded she never relinquish the control she vigorously maintained over her life.

She had tried talking to her brother Jackson about their childhoods, about their stepfather, about the years they had lived under his tyrannical rule. But revisiting the past had proved painful for both of them.

“There’s not a damn thing we can do to change what happened,” Jackson had told her. “There’s no need to dredge up the past. It’s better left there, dead and buried with Nolan.”

Her brother was right, of course. But sometimes she felt as if Nolan Reeves was reaching out from beyond the grave to influence her decisions. Deep inside her, the little girl who had lived in terror of her stepfather still existed. The little girl who had not known that her older brother had made a bargain with the devil in order to protect her. Nolan had punished Jack for every perceived misdeed by taking him to the old carriage shed and whipping him unmercifully. He had whipped the blood out of Maleah’s legs and bottom only once. After that, although she lived in constant fear, he had never touched her again. What she hadn’t realized at the time was that Jack had taken all her beatings for her.

She owed Jack more than she could ever repay. He had protected her as best he could and she would always be grateful. Jack’s bargain with Nolan had saved her from more physical abuse, but not from Nolan’s iron-fisted control over her life or his incessant verbal abuse.

Maleah had undergone therapy, paid for by Jack, when she’d been in college. The months of in-depth counseling had helped her immensely, enabling her to live a reasonably normal life. Whatever normal is. But nothing short of a lobotomy could erase the memories that still plagued her, often on a subconscious level.

“Damn you, Nolan Reeves. Damn your mean, blackhearted soul to hell.”

Maleah’s hands trembled. Her stomach lurched as emotions from her long-ago childhood resurfaced.

Don’t do this to yourself.

Don’t let your fears and uncertainties weaken you.

You have only one battle to fight, one enemy, one combatant that you have to outsmart and outmaneuver—Jerome Browning, not Derek Lawrence.

Checking her wristwatch, Maleah noted it was nearly eight o’clock. She had turned down Derek’s invitation to join him for dinner that evening, but she couldn’t avoid seeing him again tonight. They had made a deal—he would coach her on how to handle Browning and he wouldn’t insist on accompanying her to the visitor’s area at the prison.

She needed to freshen up and get her head on straight before Derek showed up at her door. He tended to be punctual, which meant she had less than ten minutes to throw cold water in her face, smear on a little lipstick and add some blush to her pale cheeks before he arrived.

Jerome usually spent the hours after dinner working on his handbook, a sort of How to Get Away with Murder manual. The idea had come to him nearly a year ago after he’d had a dream about the night he had been captured. In retrospect, he could see quite clearly the mistakes he had made. If he had it to do over again . . .

But there would be no second chances to get it right, only the opportunity to train others. He had no doubt that once he completed his work on the informative handbook, publishers would beat a path to his door. His book could make him even more famous than he already was. And how opportune that Maleah Perdue had come into his life today, just when he had begun plotting the chapter on manipulation.

The chapter heading would be: How to Use Others to Get What You Want.

And just what did he want from Maleah?

Jerome smiled.

Maleah was a delectable little morsel. She looked like nothing more than a sweet piece of blonde fluff. But looks could be deceiving. He knew that fact better than anyone. Hadn’t he used his handsome face to his advantage all of his life? How many people had trusted him without question because of the way he looked? Poor fools. They never suspected that behind the pleasing facade, the mind of a genius existed, a mind capable of executing brilliantly complicated plans.

After being apprehended and charged with nine murders, hadn’t he used his superior intelligence to avoid the death penalty? He had been in possession of a valuable commodity, one that both law enforcement and the families of six missing girls had been willing to bargain for on his terms. The whereabouts of those six teenage girls had been his ace in the hole. Not quite a get-out-of-jail-free card, but the next best thing.

He had been barely sixteen when he had killed Mary Jane Ivy, a meek little mouse of a girl who had lived down the street from him. He had never killed a person before that, although he had fantasized about it for years. During the next four years, he had killed five other girls. And he had gotten away with all six murders. No one suspected the good-looking high school jock, the boy voted most likely to succeed by his senior class. Not being found out had been almost as exhilarating as the kills themselves. Almost.

He had been locked up in this godforsaken hellhole for nine years now, with only occasional opportunities to participate in conversations that he found intellectually stimulating. A rare visitor from time to time. An intelligent, young minister certain he could save Jerome’s soul. His former lawyer, who hadn’t been in touch since his final appeal had been denied.

But tomorrow, Maleah would return for a second visit, this time without her watchdog. He did not like the man with the dark eyes who had studied him as if he were a specimen under a microscope.

If he played this just right, he should be able to gain hours of pleasure from holding out a carrot stick in front of Maleah, letting her see it, smell it, lick it, even nibble a tiny bite.

Jerome laid his journal aside, fell back onto his cot and rested his hands behind his head. Closing his eyes, he visualized the way she would look tomorrow morning, all blond and golden and sweet. So very sweet.

“Ah, Maleah . . . Maleah . . .” He whispered her name. “Sweet Maleah.”

The moment he tapped for the second time, Maleah swung open the door and much to his surprise actually smiled at him.

“Come on in.” She waved her arm through the air, inviting him to enter.

He held out the plastic bag he had brought with him. She eyed the offering.

“Thin sliced turkey on wheat,” he said. “Lettuce, tomato, and mustard only. No mayo. No onion.” When she accepted his gift, he added, “A small bag of baked chips and an unsweetened tea, with several packets of Splenda.”