willingly demean themselves. They make me ashamed of my own sex.”
“Women don’t hold a monopoly on stupidity. The world is full of pussy-whipped men being led around by the nose by heartless bitches who get their kicks out of emasculating the idiots.”
Maleah snapped her head up and stared at Derek. Their gazes joined instantly, fusing together like two pieces of hot metal. Good God Almighty! She and Derek were two sides of the same coin. Why had she never realized that fact until two seconds ago?
“Uh . . . did we just say the same thing, sort of?” she asked, still partially puzzled by the revelation.
“Sort of,” he agreed. “You have no respect for weak, spineless women who let men use them. I have no respect for weak, spineless men who let women walk all over them.”
“We should look at the third list,” she said, her voice softened by emotion.
“Right.” He looked straight at the computer as he brought the next list up on the screen.
“Hmm . . . two names,” Maleah said. “Albert Durham and Cindy Di Blasi. He received two letters from Durham and sent two replies to the man.”
“Cindy has written to him every week for the past four months and he has replied to every letter.” Derek went back to the first list. “Check out the dates. Durham visited for the first time five months ago, and then four months ago, Di Blasi visited for the first time. Why did they both start visiting Browning all of a sudden?”
“What about the phone calls?” Maleah asked.
They scanned the list of Browning’s telephone calls again, checking the dates. “He called Durham two days after Durham’s first visit.”
“And he called Di Blasi two days after her first visit.” Maleah pointed to the date. “Do you think there’s a connection between Durham and Di Blasi?”
“There could be,” Derek said. “It depends on exactly who Cindy Di Blasi is and what her relationship with Browning is and how long they’ve known each other. She could be just one of those women who is fascinated by hardened criminals.”
“And if she’s not some wacko who’s fallen in love with Browning?”
“We don’t need to get ahead of ourselves and put the cart before the horse. Until Sanders does a background check and we know who these people are, we’re wasting our time trying to figure how they’re connected to Browning.”
“Call Sanders and ask him to do a rush job on those background checks,” Maleah told him. “And I’m going to get in touch with Warden Holland.”
“Dare I ask why you’re calling the warden?”
“He told me that he needed twenty-four hours’ notice for me to see Browning again. I plan to talk to Browning again tomorrow afternoon.”
When Derek didn’t respond, she said, “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement.”
“We’re not in agreement,” he told her. “But I choose my battles wisely.”
Ignoring his remark, she said, “The copycat killer is going to strike again. We all know it’s only a matter of time. If there’s one chance in a million that Browning knows something about the copycat, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get him to tell me what he knows.”
“And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
Their glazes clashed, but neither said anything, each knowing the other would not give an inch in a confrontation.
Chapter 11
Derek had misgivings about Maleah seeing Browning again, but had kept his concerns to himself. Although he hadn’t tried to talk her out of coming to the penitentiary today, he had insisted on accompanying her. She tried not to think about how protective Derek was, chalking it up to just a generic masculine trait that all men possessed. It was nothing personal.
She had to admit that in some ways Derek reminded her of her brother Jackson. She suspected that as Jack had once done, Derek would volunteer to be her standin and take any beatings intended for her. And that, too, wasn’t personal. The guy probably saw himself as hero material. After all, it was no secret that Derek Lawrence had a reputation with the ladies. Women tended to take one look at the guy and swoon at his feet.
She could not deny she understood why women swooned. He was incredibly handsome.
Derek was drop-dead, eat-him-with-a-spoon gorgeous. And he was highly intelligent and rich and charming. And he made her laugh. But on the other hand, he could be an arrogant know-it-all. And his way-with-the-ladies was just a nicer way of saying he was a womanizer.
Maleah didn’t want Derek or anyone else protecting her from the big, bad world. She no longer needed a big brother to run interference for her. She was fully capable of taking care of herself in every way. She was an excellent marksman, adept with both a handgun and a rifle. She had earned a black belt in karate, thanks to Michelle Allen’s excellent tutelage. She earned a six-figure yearly salary as a Powell agent, so she certainly didn’t need to depend on anyone else financially. And after several years of intensive counseling, she was in a reasonably healthy place mentally and emotionally.
Okay, so she still had some control issues.
The creak of an opening door followed by the clinking of chains against the floor brought Maleah from her thoughts and into the present moment.
Standing with her back rigid, her hands gripping and releasing repeatedly, she took several deep breaths and did her best to relax. Browning would instantly sense her nervousness and use it against her. He was the type of animal who would pick up the scent of fear and gladly use it against his opponent, quickly seeing them as easy prey.
Maleah was once again slightly disoriented by the man’s good looks and air of sophistication, even in his simple prison attire. And once again she wondered how many people had been fooled by this man’s physical appearance.
“How delightful to see you again, Maleah,” Browning said as the guard indicated for him to sit. “You’re looking quite lovely. That shade of teal brings out the green in your eyes.”
She ignored his compliment. Odd that the salesclerk who had sold her the blouse had said exactly the same thing about the teal bringing out the green in her hazel brown eyes.
“Your copycat has killed again,” Maleah said. Succinct and to the point.
“Has he? Male or female?”
“Male.”
“Not brown-eyed.”
“No, not brown-eyed. But then none of your victims were brown-eyed, were they?”
“My mother was brown-eyed. I loved my mother. She died when I was six, you know.”
“Yes, I know. You were an only child. Your father married a woman with two daughters and a son. You tried to strangle one of the daughters. You were ten years old. Your father sent you to live with your mother’s uncle.”
His sickening sweet smile never faltered, but she noted the momentary flash of anger in his eyes. “Did you find my life story fascinating?”
“I found it instructive. Tracing your life from birth to the present allowed me to see the slow, steady progression of a psychopath from a boy who tried to kill his stepsister, to a teenager who killed six young women, to an adult serial killer who got his kicks from slitting his victim’s throats and slicing pieces of their flesh from their arms and legs.”
“Souvenirs. Little trophies that I could take out and look at from time to time.”
