Dead By Morning

the lines. And be aware of his body language.”

“I know the basics, of course, but . . . Just this once, I wish you could be there, in the room with me. You’re the expert.”

He reached out, instinctively planning to touch her, but stopped himself mid-reach when she scooted away from him. Ignoring his action and her reaction, he dropped his hand to his side and said, “You know enough. It’s mostly common sense and an ability to read people. Browning isn’t going to willingly give away anything. He’s going to lie and not only with his words.”

“Are you saying he’ll know I’m watching his body language and will fake that, too?”

“He may try, but the more intense the conversation, the less likely he’ll be concentrating on what he’s doing because he’ll be too involved in what he’s saying.”

“I wish I had time for a body language refresher course.”

“How about I give you one?” Derek suggested. “Why don’t I order pizza delivery for supper, get a couple more Cokes and more ice and we’ll settle in for the evening?”

“Sounds like a plan.” She downed half a glass of cola as she stood. “I want to get out of these clothes and into some jeans. Give me thirty minutes.” She set her glass on the coffee table. “Don’t get up.”

He watched her walk to the door, his gaze moving from her slender neck, exposed because her hair was up in a bun, and down over her trim, toned body. When she walked through the door, he leaned back on the sofa and huffed out a get-hold-of-yourself breath. He had to concentrate on business, not his partner’s shapely butt.

It was that damn kiss!

He’d always been aware of how attractive Maleah was, but now he couldn’t seem to think about anything else.

Well, you’d damn well better get your mind on helping Maleah survive tomorrow’s interview with Jerome Browning. She’s going into battle and the more weapons and armor she has to defend herself, the better.

Maleah had tried not to think about the kiss, but the harder she tried to forget it, the more she thought about it. How many times had she replayed Derek’s words: It was bound to happen sooner or later. There’s been some sort of sexual tension between us since the day we met. That kiss was a good thing. It defused the tension, so we don’t have to deal with it anymore.

Although they had both known that comment was a lie the minute he said it, they had spent the entire day pretending it was the truth. They had acted as if nothing had happened, as if the tension between them no longer existed, when in fact the exact opposite was true. She was more aware of Derek as a handsome, desirable man than she had ever been. How ridiculous was that? She had convinced herself that he was everything she disliked in a man and had denied the physical attraction that sizzled between them.

You’ll hate yourself if you have sex with him.

Where the hell had that thought come from? She wasn’t going to have sex with Derek. Not tonight. Not ever. She didn’t have indiscriminate sex just because her hormones went into overdrive. Doing something stupid and impulsive just wasn’t who she was. She chose her sexual partners with care and that was why there had been very few men in her life. For her, a sexual relationship was based on specific factors: mutual respect, a certain amount of admiration, physical attraction, and love. Not the forever-after, let’s-get-married kind of love, but the friendship I-like-you-a-lot kind of love.

She and Derek were partners, working together to solve a mystery, to identify and stop a killer targeting the Powell Agency. Now was most certainly not the time for them to explore all the explosive tension they each were trying so hard to deny. Later on, when this job was over and everyone associated with the Powell Agency was safe, they would have to face whatever it was between them. The ever powerful “it” that had taken on a life of its own when Derek had kissed her.

You kissed him back! she reminded herself for the hundredth time.

Hurriedly, Maleah removed her clothes, down to her underwear, slipped on her white jeans and baggy pink cotton sweater, and then slid her feet into a pair of pink Yellow Box flip-flops. After applying fresh blush and pink lipstick, she removed the pins from her hair and ran her fingers through it.

There. I’m presentable. But I don’t look as if I’m trying to impress him.

As an afterthought, she rinsed with mouthwash and rubbed some scented lotion on her arms and hands before leaving her room.

After the second knock, Derek opened the door. “I found a Pizza Inn in the Yellow Pages. It’s not far from here and they’ll deliver in about an hour. I thought we’d have an early dinner since we skipped lunch.”

She breezed into his room, hoping her body movements expressed casual confidence. She wanted him to believe that she was completely comfortable eating dinner with him in his room, just the two of them alone. She wanted him to know that the kiss they had shared last night was the farthest thing from her mind.

“In about an hour is fine,” she told him. “I am getting a little hungry.”

“How does taco pizza sound? I know how you love Mexican food.”

“Taco pizza sounds delicious.” She picked up Derek’s notepad off the coffee table and sat on the sofa.

“Don’t shoot me, but I ordered dessert.” He grinned. “It’s cinnamon stromboli.”

“You, Derek Lawrence, are a wicked, wicked man. You’re trying to make me fat.”

He laughed. “I like my women with a little meat on their bones.”

As if suddenly realizing how what he had said might be misconstrued, he stopped laughing and searched her face. “Not that you’re one of my women. Or that I think of you as one of many. Or—”

“Shut up while you’re ahead,” she told him.

“I really stuck my foot in my mouth that time, didn’t I?” He came over and sat down beside her.

“Don’t worry about it. I realize that if I hadn’t overreacted so many times in the past and repeatedly bitten your head off, you wouldn’t be concerned that I might take offense at every innocent remark.”

His brow wrinkled as he narrowed his gaze and stared at her. “Once again, I have to ask who are you and what have you done with the real Maleah Perdue?”

She laughed. “Oh God, not another imposter. Now you’re dealing with three fakes—the Malcolm York imposter, the Albert Durham imposter, and the Maleah Perdue imposter. How did you find me out so quickly? What did I do to give myself away?”

“Are you laughing at me?”

He smiled again and she noted how his whole body had relaxed. Body language. As if suddenly remembering what she was doing here in his room, all alone with him again, she said, “I’m here for my refresher course in body language, not for our mutual amusement.”

“Who says we can’t have a few laughs before, during, and after class?”

“We’ve had our before laugh, so let’s get down to business.” She flipped open his notepad, found the first blank page and clicked the ink pen. “If I recall correctly, some negative gestures include legs or arms crossed, more space than necessary between people, although I want as much space as possible between Jerome Browning and me.”

“A general rule of thumb when you’re trying to decide if someone is lying or telling the truth is to compare their gestures with what they’re saying. If someone is saying yes and at the same time shaking their head, then odds are the gesture is true and the word is false.”

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t know how skilled Browning is in the art of using body language. He could use it as adeptly as a gambler who has learned how to bluff with expert ease.”

“If it turns out that he’s that good, I don’t think a mini-brush-up course is going to help me.” Maleah tapped the tip of the ink pen on the pad.

“Deciphering body language is not an exact science. Use it for what it is, an effective tool that isn’t always infallible.”

“I understand.”

“Look for certain signs,” Derek told her. “And remember to take nothing at face value, not what Browning says or what he does.”

“I’m ready.” She tapped the notepad with the pen again.