Dead By Morning

language.”

Of all the things he thought she might say, that hadn’t been one of them. “He played you, didn’t he?”

“Like a fiddle.”

“But you knew enough to realize he was playing you. Give yourself credit for that.”

“He wanted to play a game of ‘you show me yours and I’ll show you mine,’ but he wanted to see twice as much of mine as he was willing to show me of his.”

“He thinks he can get you to pay double for everything he gives you. He’s playing hardball, just as we expected he would.”

“It’s not even two for one. It’s more like he’ll give me one for every three I give him.” She clutched the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“What did he say about Durham?”

“At first he claimed he didn’t know what I was talking about, but then he gradually changed his story. He said that he and the fake Durham made a deal. He gave Durham details about his kills and Durham provided him with a new lawyer and a lady friend to visit him. By the end of our conversation, he told me that not only had he already known the Albert Durham who visited him was a fake, but that he could tell me who he really is and why he’s killing people associated with the Powell Agency. He even claimed he could tell me why the copycat chose to copy his kills.”

“We know why—because of you,” Derek said. “By choosing to emulate Browning’s kills, he accomplished more than one goal. He deliberately connected his MO to the murder of a Powell agent’s former boyfriend, but not just any Powell agent. He chose Nicole Powell’s best friend. And he offered Browning more than a new lawyer and a woman to visit him. He offered Browning a special gift—someone who had loved one of his victims—you.”

“So, I’m the prize, huh?” Maleah loosened her tight grip and ran her cupped hands over the steering wheel from the top to the bottom and then halfway up again.

“Offering to bring you to Browning was the copycat’s ultimate bargaining chip, the one thing Browning wanted above all else—a new victim.”

Maleah shivered. “Lovely thought.”

“There’s something else to think about,” Derek said. “What if Browning has already told you everything he actually knows?”

“Are you saying that Jerome Browning is a diversion, that the copycat is using him, that we’re wasting our time concentrating on Browning?”

“Yes and no. It’s all a sick game to Browning. How much he actually knows, we can’t be sure. My gut’s told me all along that Browning knows very little about the copycat, who he is or what his motives are. The copycat could have told Browning to string us along, to divert our attention. Then again, Browning might know something that he doesn’t even know he knows.”

“But if there’s even a slight chance that he knows anything that can help us track down the copycat, it’s worth whatever we have to pay, right?”

“What you have to pay, you mean. He wants his pound of flesh from you.”

“He wants my blood, sweat, and tears,” Maleah said. “Mostly my tears.”

“That’s what he told you?”

She nodded.

“Don’t go back to see him.” At that moment, Derek would have liked nothing better than ten minutes alone with Browning. Man-to-man.

“What?” Maleah cast him a quick sideways glance.

“He’s stringing you along. He has no idea who the copycat is. He can’t give you the fake Durham’s real name because he doesn’t know it. And there’s no reason why the copycat would have shared anything about the reasons for his kills, especially if it turns out that he is a professional assassin, as I suspect.”

“But you said Browning may know something he doesn’t know he knows.”

“Are you willing to put yourself through more of Browning’s shit on the off chance you’ll learn something useful?”

That’s it, try to talk her out of it. You know Maleah, the harder you push, the harder she’ll push back. You’re using the wrong tactics.

“Damn it, Derek, I’m not some fragile hothouse flower that can’t withstand a little rough treatment. You’ve got me confused with my mother. No one controls me, tells me what to do or manipulates me. I’m not afraid of Browning.”

Her mother? What is she talking about?

“Never underestimate someone who kills for the thrill of it,” he told her.

Groaning, Maleah gritted her teeth.

“And as for confusing you with your mother, need I remind you that I never knew the lady,” Derek said. “But if she was a fragile woman, easily controlled by others, then you learned a valuable lesson from her, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to say that about my mother. It just slipped out. And yes, I learned from her example the type of woman I did not want to be.”

“Parents can teach us all sorts of lessons, both positive and negative. You learned from your mother what kind of woman you didn’t want to be and I learned from my mother and father what kind of man I didn’t want to be.”

Maleah glanced at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “I know it’s none of my business, but—”

“Happy Lawrence is a man-eater. Apparently, she’s the polar opposite of your mother. There’s nothing fragile or vulnerable about Happy. She’s made of carbon steel. She’s a master manipulator. She wields a great deal of power and has no problem destroying anyone who stands between her and what she wants, even her own husband.”

“My God! You sound as if you hate her.”

“There was a time, years ago, when I hated her,” Derek admitted, realizing he had already said far more than he should have. He never discussed his mother with anyone. “Now I’m apathetic toward Happy. I see her as seldom as possible, but since she is my mother, I show her the proper respect when I’m forced to be around her.”

“And your father?”

“He’s dead. He died when I was a kid.” Derek never talked about his dad either, but for some reason he felt compelled to add, “He was a weak, spineless mama’s boy who went from letting his mother run his life to letting his wife put a ring through his nose and drive him to drink and suicide.”

“Oh, Derek . . .”

He forced a fake laugh. “You see, Blondie, I’m as fucked up as you are. Childhood scars and all. You’ve got control issues. I’ve got commitment issues.”

“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

“Flip sides of the same coin, huh? Maybe even soul mates.”

Now where had that stupid thought come from—soul mates? Get real, Lawrence, Maleah’s not the type to fall for romantic nonsense.

“I don’t believe there is such a thing as soul mates,” she said quite matter-of-factly. “Flip sides of the same coin, possibly. I do know one thing, the more I get to know you, the more I realize you’re not who I thought you were. All I’ve allowed myself to see is that rich, handsome playboy image you deliberately project to the world. That’s not who you are at all, is it?”

“Nope. No more than the I-am-woman-hear-me-roar image you project is all there is to you.”

“That’s not just an image, you know. It’s actually part of who I am . . . or who I try to be.”

“Yeah, I know. That rich playboy image is part of who I am, too, but only a small part. I use it as a protective shield between me and the rest of the world.”

“Especially women?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“You have no intention of ever being like your father and allowing a woman to put a ring through your nose, right?”

Derek chuckled. “Right. And you don’t intend to ever be an easily dominated, fragile hothouse flower.”