passionate way.
She didn’t doubt his love or his loyalty.
And yet she didn’t trust him to be totally honest with her.
In her gut, she knew he was keeping something from her, something possibly so terrible that he couldn’t bear for her to know.
But Sanders knew.
And Yvette knew.
Tears lodged in her throat. She wouldn’t cry. Crying was pointless. It served no purpose other than to give her a splitting headache.
Griff had left the house less than an hour ago. He had asked her to go with him. She had declined. Before leaving her, he had searched her face as if seeking her approval. He didn’t need it. He did as he pleased. If she had asked him not to go, he would have gone anyway. And he would have asked her to understand.
But how could she understand?
Her husband loved another woman.
How many times had Griff told her that his love for Yvette was that of a brother for a sister, of one battleweary comrade for another, of a friend for a friend? She believed he meant what he said.
And yet she wondered what would happen if he ever had to choose between the two women in his life, the two women he loved. The bond he shared with Yvette and Sanders, a bond he told her had been forged in hell, could not be broken and it was a bond she couldn’t share. She had not lived on Amara, a captive of billionaire madman Malcolm York. She had not shared their particular torment and torture and inhuman treatment. At best, she was a sympathetic outsider to their goddamn holy Amara trinity of wounded souls.
She had lived through her own particular hell when she had been kidnapped by a psychopathic serial killer who had hunted his victims as if they were animals. After she escaped from her captor, Griff had told her about the time he had spent on Amara. Knowing that he truly understood what she had gone through had helped her not only recover and believe she could return to a normal life, but it helped her trust Griff. Trust him with her life. Trust him with her heart.
It had taken quite some time after they married for her to realize that he had not told her everything about his experience on Amara, and that he had no intention of ever telling her.
“We made a pact, Sanders, Yvette and I,” Griff had told her. “We would never tell another living soul everything we endured and that only with the other two’s permission would we ever discuss any part of our experience with someone else.”
Sanders and Yvette had allowed him to share a part of their story with her. To help her heal. And she knew that the threesome had agreed to bring Derek Lawrence, Luke Sentell and the Powell Agency lawyer, Camden Hendrix, into the inner circle that also included her. Their knowledge was limited, even more so than hers; but they knew that Griff, Sanders, and Yvette had killed Malcolm York, a monster who had tortured and murdered numerous people on his private Pacific Island of Amara.
Griff had not wanted her to tell Maleah, but she had finally made him understand that she badly needed to confide in her best friend. During the past few years, Maleah had become the sister she never had.
Nic rose from the chaise lounge, walked off the patio and onto the pathway that led from the house to the lake. Suddenly she sensed his presence, a gigantic form coming out of the shadows. She didn’t bother to turn around and look his way. Griff had assigned Shaughnessy Hood as her personal bodyguard and she was never to leave the house without him. Ignoring her protector, she made her way down to the peacefully serene riverbank.
Room service arrived and set up their dinner on the balcony overlooking the ocean as Derek had requested. He phoned Maleah and she arrived promptly just as the waiter left. He took one look at her, hair hanging to her shoulders in soft blonde waves, a pale pink cotton sweater loosely covering her hips that were encased in white jeans, and wished she were any other woman on earth. If she wasn’t Maleah Perdue, the personification of I-am- woman-hear-me-roar, he would move heaven and earth to get her into his bed tonight.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“You’re looking at me funny. Do I have toothpaste on the corner of my mouth? Or did I forget to zip my jeans?”
“No toothpaste, no unzipped jeans,” he said. “Come on in. We’re having dinner on the balcony. I hope that meets with your approval.”
“Isn’t it a bit too warm to eat outside?”
“Actually, it’s not.” He took her hand in his. Surprisingly, she didn’t jerk away from him. “It’s a beautiful, balmy evening.”
When they reached the door, she paused. “Dinner by candlelight? Isn’t something that romantic wasted on us?”
He opened the door, held it, and quickly ushered her onto the balcony. “It’s not romantic, just pleasantly civilized.”
She glanced down at the candle lanterns and the covered dishes. “What am I eating tonight?”
“Madame will begin with a traditional Caesar salad, followed by Creole Florida black grouper topped with creamy Cajun crab and shrimp sauce over a bed of sauteed baby spinach.”
“Oh my God, that sounds delicious.”
Acting the gentleman, he helped seat her and then took his place across from her. “I know you said not to order dessert, but . . .”
“I am not eating dessert,” she told him.
“It’s triple chocolate cheesecake.”
“You sure know how to torture a girl.”
“Honey, dessert every once in a while is not going to ruin that gorgeous figure.”
She snapped up her head and stared at him. He knew what was coming. She was going to tell him not to call her honey. She had chastised him repeatedly, but every once in a while, he simply forgot.
But then, to his surprise, she said, “Thank you for the compliment, even if you didn’t mean it.”
“You’re welcome.” He waited a few seconds before adding, “And I meant it.”
She removed the cover from her meal and sighed. “This looks wonderful.”
He followed her lead, revealed his twelve-ounce rib eye, and lifted his knife and fork. For the next twenty minutes, they ate in relative silence, occasionally exchanging a few words.
While Derek enjoyed his slice of cheesecake, Maleah excused herself to go inside and make a phone call.
“I want to check on Jack,” she said.
“Give him and Cathy my best.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
After Derek finished with dessert, he blew out the candles inside the glass lanterns on the small table and waited around outside on the balcony for another five minutes, giving Maleah her privacy. He understood how concerned she was about her brother and his family. She had every right to be worried because they had no way of knowing where the copycat killer would strike next. And that was the reason he had asked Griff to assign agents to discreetly guard his mother as well as his sister and her family. There was no way the Powell Agency could provide private protection for every employee’s family, but considering Derek’s personal connection to Browning now, Griff had agreed that it was wise to guard Derek’s family.
By the time he went inside, Maleah was ending her conversation. “Derek sends his best,” she told her brother as she smiled at Derek. “Yes, I’ll tell him. That works both ways, you know.” She laughed. “Take care, big brother.”
Maleah slid her thin phone into the front pocket of her jeans.
