From the moment she had met Luke Sentell, she had known he was a killer.
As hard as she had tried not to think about Luke during the flight, he kept creeping into her mind. She had read for a while, watched a movie, taken a nap, and meditated. Without those quiet, still, soul-refreshing moments of meditation, she didn’t believe she could survive.
And now they were over the Atlantic, on their way to a city that held so many good memories for Meredith, memories that included her first meeting with Yvette and her introduction to other gifted people. When Yvette had moved her academy / sanctuary from London and resettled all of them in the U.S., at Griffin’s Rest, Meredith had hated leaving London. But eventually she had become accustomed to her new home in the U.S. and oddly enough now dreaded returning to London. When they landed at Heathrow, Luke Sentell would be waiting for them. No doubt he would whisk her away, via a limousine, to some fancy London hotel where he would keep her a virtual prisoner while he watched her, pushed her to the brink of exhaustion, and guarded her from the outside world. She would force herself to delve into the unknown mystical realm of her mind and use her psychic gifts because Yvette had asked her to help Griffin Powell. And if she failed to give Luke the results he wanted, he would move her to another city, to another country, to wherever he thought she might “pick up the scent” of their prey. He treated her as if she were nothing more than a hunting dog.
She had been sent to London on a mission and Saxon Chappelle would hand her over to Luke, a man she neither liked nor trusted, so that she could help him find a man named Malcolm York.
Chapter 29
Maleah awoke disoriented and confused. She was lying in bed, fully clothed, and cuddled against Derek Lawrence. The last thing she remembered was weeping in his arms. Apparently, she had cried herself to sleep. When she looked directly at him, he looked back at her and smiled. Her mind told her to disengage her body from his, to lift her head from where it lay nestled on his shoulder and to move her arm from around his waist. But she didn’t change her position by more than a fraction as she leaned back her head and tilted her chin so that they wouldn’t be practically nose-to-nose.
“How long have I been asleep?” she asked.
“Not long. A little over an hour.”
“Have you been awake the entire time?”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you—?”
“I enjoyed watching you sleep,” he told her. “And you were exhausted. You needed some rest.”
She eyed him speculatively. “You enjoyed watching me sleep?”
His grin widened. “Yeah. Did you know you make funny little noises in your sleep? You fell asleep in my arms, the two of us sitting up, so I just eased us down onto the bed and when I did that, you whimpered and cuddled up against me.”
She lifted her head from his arm and scooted away from him, putting a couple of feet between them. “I need to tell you about my interview with Browning.”
“Your final interview,” he told her.
“Yes, my final interview.” She sat up and leaned back against the headboard, determined to return her relationship with Derek to business only. “Browning and the copycat killer made a bargain. We already figured out that the copycat agreed to provide Jerome with a new lawyer, a female visitor, and a new victim, one he couldn’t actually kill, only emotionally torment.”
“And you were that victim.” Derek grumbled unintelligibly, no doubt a few choice curse words. “I’d like to have five minutes alone with Browning.”
Maleah laid her hand on Derek’s shoulder. His gaze connected instantly with hers.
“I’ll condense things for you,” Maleah said. “It seems Browning and the copycat formed a rather unique relationship, one killer to another, during their phone calls, letters, and visits. The copycat never told Jerome his real name, but when Jerome asked if he was a professional, he didn’t deny it.”
“Which was as good as an admission, right?” Derek sat up beside her.
“Right.”
She noticed that several buttons in the center of Derek’s shirt were open, leaving the material gapping. Had she done that—unbuttoned his shirt in her sleep?
Keeping strictly to the facts and not elaborating, Maleah told him about her conversation with Browning and the information he had given her.
“Browning said that the copycat is an international contractor, his word—contractor. And his current employer is a billionaire who owns a private island retreat, where he enjoys the perks of his business.”
“And his business is human trafficking.” Derek frowned. “The description sounds familiar, doesn’t it, too familiar.”
“Are you saying Browning was lying?”
“No, I’m saying that maybe the copycat was lying to Browning, knowing he would pass along false information.”
“If you’re right about that, then Browning actually gave me nothing. I paid for more useless information.”
“I didn’t say that. For all we know, everything Browning told you is the truth.”
“But you said—”
“I said maybe the copycat was lying to Browning. Maybe he wasn’t. But any way you look at it, you came away with one very important piece of information.”
“Okay, maybe I’m slightly addled from my miniemotional meltdown and mid-day nap, but you’re going to have to enlighten me. My brain isn’t—”
“The copycat, whoever he is, knows something about Malcolm York, either the original York or the pseudo York rumored to be in Europe somewhere at present.”
“You’re right,” Maleah said, suddenly feeling more like her old self by the minute. “And this info adds more weight to Griff’s theory that the copycat murders are connected to his past and to both Malcolm Yorks.”
“I think we can safely assume that Griff’s theory is correct. I have little doubt now that the copycat is, as we suspected, a hired assassin.”
“An assassin hired by the fake York, right?” Maleah got up, brushed off her wrinkled slacks and searched for her shoes. “We should contact Griff right away and let him know.” She found her shoes halfway under the bed, dragged them out, and slipped into them.
“First of all, yes, logically, we can assume that the man who calls himself Malcolm York hired the copycat, but we need more proof before we can be certain.” Derek buttoned his shirt and got out of bed. “Secondly, there’s no need to call Griff because we’ll see him this evening. I got a call from Sanders while you were in with Browning this morning. It was bad news.”
“And you’re just now telling me about it?”
“I thought it could wait,” Derek said. “All things considered.”
“You mean considering the fact that I came away from the interview with Browning an emotional wreck.”
“You just needed a little time to recover, honey. You should be proud of yourself. You held your own against a psychopathic monster.”
“If you say so.”
“The copycat struck again.”
“Saxon Chappelle’s sixteen-year-old niece.”
Maleah sucked in an agonized breath. How could anyone kill a young girl who was little more than a child?
