“So the information he gave me is useless.” Maleah wanted to hit something or someone, preferably Jerome Browning.
“Not entirely useless,” Griff said. “If the copycat follows suit in this one area, then no brown-eyed Powell agents or brown-eyed family members are at risk. That means Nic is not in danger, nor are you and Derek.” He glanced at Richter. “On the other hand, you and I, Brendan, are possible victims.”
Before the conversation could continue, the pilot informed Griff that they were ready for take-off. Richter immediately moved toward the front of the cabin and isolated himself from the others. Maleah watched him pick up a leather briefcase beside the plush seat and place it in his lap before buckling his seatbelt.
While Nic and Griff put their heads together in a private conversation during take-off, Derek took the seat next to Maleah, but didn’t say anything until they were airborne.
“Some of the information you’ll get out of Browning will be useless, some only marginally helpful and some could even be misleading. But you never know when he’ll let something slip and actually give us a diamond mixed in with all the rocks and pebbles he’ll be tossing out.”
“You’re assuming that I’ll actually go back to see him.”
“You’ll go back and you’ll play his game.”
“Think so, do you?”
“Know so.”
“And if you were a betting man, who would you lay odds on to win, Browning or me?”
She held her breath, waiting for Derek’s response. He looked at her and grinned. “I’d put my money on you, Blondie.”
Maleah exhaled. She didn’t know if she should believe him. He could have told her what he knew she wanted to hear, what she needed to hear in order to work up the courage to face Browning again.
“He mentioned Noah Laborde,” Maleah said.
“Bastard.” Derek murmured the word under his breath. “He didn’t waste any time, did he? He was testing you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course, I know.”
“How did you react when he asked about Laborde and how quickly did you recover?”
“You assume that I—”
“I know you. If he took you off guard, and I assume he did, then you reacted, even if only for a second.”
“Okay, so I reacted,” she admitted. “He might have seen me flinch, but that’s all.”
“He’ll try to use Laborde again. I wouldn’t put it past him to share the gory details of the kill. If he does, can you take it?”
Could she? Would she be able to listen to Browning describe how he had killed Noah without running from the room in tears or physically attacking the SOB?
“I don’t know.”
“You’d better know,” Derek said. “You’d better be prepared. Once he’s done his worst with it, he’ll move on, so all you have to do is hold your own against him and survive the attack.”
“I’m wondering if it’s worthwhile to play his sick little game. Do you honestly think that Browning is going to help us?”
“Not willingly. Not without getting something out of it and since there are no more deals to be made through legal channels, we both know that what he wants is the pleasure of tormenting you.”
“Lucky me.”
Derek laid his hand over hers where she clutched the padded armrest. Her first impulse was to pull away, but she didn’t. If she intended to continue interviewing Browning and survive the assignment, she would need Derek Lawrence.
There, she had admitted it. She couldn’t do this alone.
Maleah flipped her hand over, grasped Derek’s hand and squeezed. “Just don’t go all macho-protective on me. I’m not some helpless female who—”
Derek chuckled. “Blondie, you are the least helpless female I know.” He released her hand.
“And don’t you forget it. And don’t think that this changes anything between us or that we’re going to wind up being friends. We’re co-workers and partners on this case. That’s all.”
“Ah, shucks, Miss Maleah, I thought for sure that you and me would wind up getting hitched.”
How he kept a straight face, she’d never know. But he did. She stared at him. Then, unable to stop herself, she smiled. “All right. I get your point. I made a big to-do over nothing.”
He nodded.
Feeling somewhat relaxed, in large part to Derek, she glanced around the cabin. Griff draped his arm around Nic as she rested her head on his shoulder. Were they thinking about Errol and Cyrene Patterson and how less than twenty-four hours ago, the newlyweds were enjoying their honeymoon? Were they thinking about how life can turn on a dime, that you can be blissfully happy one moment and dragged down into the misery of hell the next?
Brendan Richter seemed totally absorbed in whatever he was doing on the laptop he had removed from the leather case.
Noting her interest in the new Powell agent, Derek said in a low, quiet voice, “Richter was with the Criminal Investigative Division of Interpol. We worked together when I was with the Bureau.”
What an interesting coincidence that he should be leaving the Grand Resort just as the Powell entourage arrived. Although he had never met the famous Griffin Powell, he knew a great deal about him. Others might see him as strong and powerful, practically invincible. But they were wrong. Powell allowed his conscience to weaken him. He was a man on a mission to do good. He was loyal to his friends and benevolent to his employees. And he loved his wife. Loyalty was a weakness, as was kindness. But love was the greatest weakness of all.
They didn’t notice him as they passed him in the lobby, Powell and his beautiful wife Nicole, along with Derek Lawrence, Maleah Perdue, and Brendan Richter. But then there was no reason for any of them to recognize him. He appeared to be nothing more than another tourist, an invisible man no one was likely to remember.
Richter and Lawrence were former law enforcement heavy hitters, but oddly enough, out of the three agents, Ms. Perdue possessed the most power at the moment. Ordinarily, she was a lightweight, a political science major with a desire to right wrongs, defend the underdog, and help the helpless. Using her connection to the Carver had been a stroke of genius, even though he couldn’t take credit for the idea himself.
Without a backward glance, he waited outside for the bellboy to load his suitcase into the hotel’s van. He had a nonstop 3:00 P.M. flight to Atlanta.
Once seated inside the air-conditioned luxury van, he avoided direct eye contact with the other occupants.
“I can’t get away from this place fast enough,” the skinny, gray-haired woman sitting across from him said.
If she was talking to him, he would ignore her.
“I heard that the poor man was butchered like a pig,” another woman replied. “They say there was blood everywhere.”
“His wife probably killed him,” someone else said. “It’s usually the spouse.”
“One of the maids told me that the wife had to be sedated and is under a doctor’s care.”
“She’s probably crazy. Anyone who could cut a man to pieces that way . . .”
He settled into his seat, closed his eyes and mentally escaped from the chattering magpies. Since he had gotten no sleep last night, he would probably sleep on the plane. Once he arrived in Atlanta, he would make one phone call from the airport.
In the morning, he would rent a car and drive to Savannah, where the Copycat Carver’s next victim lived.
Griff had called Derek’s room and asked that he and Maleah join them for dinner in his suite that evening.
“Nic needs Maleah,” Griff had said. “You know, another woman to talk to about things. Seeing Errol’s wife . . .
