Dead By Morning

was considering a purchase. “Okay. I’ll go along with however you want to play this. Let’s chalk it up to just one of those things.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She couldn’t tell if he was sincere or if he was making fun of her.

Silence hung between them for several minutes, then she cleared her throat and said, “Griff received information from Luke Sentell that, if proven true, could substantiate your theory that the Copycat Carver is a professional assassin.”

Uncrossing his arms, his eyes widening with interest, Derek leaned forward and said, “As much as I like being proven correct in my assessments, I know I’m not going to like this new information, am I?”

“Probably not.” Now that they were discussing their current case, Maleah relaxed. As long as she kept her relationship with Derek strictly business, she’d be fine. “I have no idea how Luke made contact with this man, but I assume it all boils down to who you know. Griff has contacts all over the world. And we have a former Interpol agent working for the agency now, as well as Luke, who is rumored to have been a Black Ops agent.”

“Is there a reason why you’re taking the scenic route with this information instead of—?”

“Sorry. I was thinking out loud.” Maleah forced herself to look at Derek. “Luke paid this person, some man in Austria, for the info, and as of right now, he has no way to verify the validity of what he was told. But supposedly there is or was a man named Anthony Linden, a former MI6 agent who went rogue and became a hired killer. When the authorities caught up with him about ten years ago, he reportedly killed himself rather than be captured.”

“Let me guess—Linden didn’t kill himself. He’s alive and well and still working as a professional assassin. And for some reason Luke believes Linden may be our copycat killer.”

She marveled at how easily Derek connected the dots. She snapped her fingers. “Just like that, you put it all together. So, how about making an educated guess as to why Luke and Griff think Linden is our guy.”

“Hmm . . .” Derek stroked his chin. “The mystery man who calls himself Malcolm York and Anthony Linden are somehow connected, right?”

“Right. Supposedly Linden is working for the mysterious Mr. York, who sent him to America six months ago.”

“Six months ago, shortly before Albert Durham visited Jerome Browning for the first time, and less than two months before the Copycat Carver began his murder spree by killing Kristi Arians.”

“Is Griff right? Is all of this happening because of him, because the fake Malcolm York is exacting revenge for the real York?”

“Your voice is trembling,” Derek told her. “That happens when you’re upset and worried. Tell me what’s really going on with you.”

Maleah hated that he knew her so well. Damn his extraordinary powers of observation. “I’m concerned about Nic . . . and about Griff, too, because she’s worried sick about him.”

“If I promise I won’t bite, will you come over here and sit by me?” He patted the sofa cushion. “We’re friends now, aren’t we? Talk to me. About your concerns for Nic and Griff and about anything else that’s troubling you.”

She eyed him suspiciously.

He lifted his arms in the air on either side of him. “I promise I won’t touch you.”

She rose from the chair in a slow, languid move and walked toward the sofa. “I have to go back to see Browning tomorrow.”

“No, you don’t. You do not have to see him ever again.”

“I do. If he knows—”

“He doesn’t know squat,” Derek said. “The copycat, whoever he is, Anthony Linden or John Doe, didn’t share any big secrets with Browning. Why would he?”

“But you said that maybe Browning knows something he doesn’t even know he knows. Maybe he can—”

“Damn it, Maleah, he can’t help us.” Derek reached for her, then stopped dead still and clenched his hands into fists.

She released a relieved breath. If he had touched her, she didn’t think she could have resisted the urge to throw herself into his arms.

“Nic said that Griff isn’t sleeping or eating and he’s pulled away from her. He blames himself for what’s happened. He thinks it’s somehow his fault that five people associated with the agency have been murdered.”

“I don’t claim to know any more about Griffin Powell than you do, but I understand him as one man understands another. Any man, especially one as powerful as Griff, hates to admit that something in his past has come back not only to haunt him, but could be the reason for five murders. And although he would never admit it, Griff’s scared out of his mind that something might happen to Nic. He’s the type who wouldn’t want the woman he loved to see any weaknesses in him, not even if she was his major weakness.”

“He would rather withdraw from her, even risk alienating her, than to share his fears with her and let her help him? That is so wrong.”

“Yeah, I know, but we men are strange creatures.”

“Would you do that?” she asked. “I mean assuming you loved someone the way Griff loves Nic, would you put up barriers to prevent her from—?”

“I’m not Griff. I haven’t lived his life. I don’t have his secrets. I didn’t say he and I were alike. I said I understood him as one man understands another.” He gazed into her eyes. “You and Nic are best friends. You’ve shared confidences and probably know each other better than anyone else does. You understand her, right?”

Maleah nodded.

“But even though you and Nic are both strong, independent women, you’re also different. There are things she has lived through that you haven’t and vice versa. I can’t see you letting the man you loved keep secrets from you. If he did, you’d walk away, wouldn’t you?”

She stared at Derek, wondering if he, too, had more deep, dark secrets, ones he had never shared with anyone. “She’s tried leaving him, but she always comes back. Love makes us weak and it certainly can make fools of us all.”

“Have you ever loved anyone like that?” he asked.

“No. Have you?”

“No.”

They sat there staring at each other for several minutes and finally Derek said, “Okay, Blondie, if you’re damned and determined to visit Browning again in the morning, then we need to talk about it. I’ll take on the role of Browning and play devil’s advocate, no holds barred, and we’ll see how you react.”

“You want to see just how thick my skin is, don’t you?”

Derek grinned. “When it comes to sparring with Browning, I suspect your skin is thick enough. But I happen to have firsthand knowledge as to just how really soft and smooth your skin is.”

When she reached over and socked him on the arm, he held up his hands in a surrender gesture. “For the record, I want it to be noted that you touched me first.”

She socked him again, harder the second time.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

“Good. I wanted it to hurt.”

“You’re a hard-hearted woman, Maleah Perdue.”

“Yes, I am, and you’d do well not to forget it.”

Derek burst into laughter.

“Why are you laughing? Why aren’t you—?”

He leaned over and without laying a finger on her, he kissed her. She mumbled and spluttered and then placed her hands on his chest to push him away. But suddenly, he lifted his head and smiled.

“Any plans for seduction that you might have for tonight will have to be postponed to another time,” he told her. “We’ve got work to do, woman. And work always comes first.”

She stared at him, completely confused for a few seconds. Then she realized his intention had been to lighten the mood. “You’re the most aggravating, infuriating man I’ve ever known.”

“And that’s what you like about me, that and the fact that I’m such a good kisser.”

Maleah groaned. Derek was right. He was a good kisser.