Dead By Morning

“Yep.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

When Maleah and Derek arrived together at Griff’s office, a first-rate, state-of-the art complex housed within his home at Griffin’s Rest, they passed by several agents who flanked the open door to the auxiliary headquarters for the Powell Agency. Brendan Richter nodded and spoke to them. He had been assigned to keep tabs on Barbara Jean and act as backup for Sanders. Shaughnessy Hood, a giant of a man and the only agent physically larger than Griffin Powell himself, threw up a hand as they walked past him. Griff had given him the task of guarding Nic twenty-four / seven. On the opposite side of the door, Cully Redmond watched them approach.

“Morning,” Cully said.

“When were you called in off patrol?” Derek asked.

“About an hour ago,” the big, robust redhead replied. “Sanders assigned me temporarily to Dr. Meng because Michelle came down with a stomach virus this morning.”

“How’s Michelle doing?” Maleah asked.

“I haven’t seen her, but Sanders said it’s probably just a twenty-four-hour bug and she’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”

“That’s good.”

Derek cupped Maleah’s elbow and escorted her into the office. Apparently they were the last to arrive. As soon as they entered, Sanders closed the door and took his usual place, standing directly behind Griff. Derek had decided quite some time ago that Griff and Sanders were closer than brothers, the bond between them stronger than any blood tie could ever be.

Seated at the head of the table, Griff presided over the small group. Not for the first time, Derek was struck by Griffin Powell’s commanding presence. More than the fact that he was a large, tall man was the air of confidence and the demeanor of authority that radiated from him.

Having been fascinated by human nature all his life and with a natural aptitude for the subject, he found himself more often than not making mental mini-profiles of others, in both social and professional settings. This ability came to him so naturally that he often didn’t realize what he was doing until his mind had already formed an opinion.

Nic sat on Griff’s right. Usually, she sat at the other end of the conference table. Her having moved closer to her husband could mean nothing more than this meeting would be comprised of a small group. But Derek surmised that not only did Nic need to be near Griff, but that she wanted to send a strong message to everyone in the room that she was Mrs. Griffin Powell, always at her husband’s side.

BJ sat in her wheelchair on Nic’s left. Barbara Jean Hughes possessed an ageless beauty, which meant she would still be attractive at eighty. And despite her being a paraplegic, she exuded a joie de vivre he admired and envied.

The exotically beautiful Dr. Meng, her head bowed and her hands folded together in her lap, sat beside BJ. He sensed a deep sadness in Yvette. She wore that melancholy like a thin shawl about her shoulders, an accessory to her soul, not the soul itself.

Maleah rushed ahead of him, went straight to Nic, and gave her friend’s arm a reassuring squeeze before sitting beside her.

Maleah Perdue was a special lady.

Blondie.

His Blondie.

Without realizing what was happening, Maleah had, as the old saying goes, gotten under his skin. Although it wasn’t something he wanted, he actually found the fact that he cared about Maleah rather amusing.

Care about her?

It’s more than just caring.

Admit it, Lawrence, you’re in love with her.

He watched her hovering over Nic and sensed her desperate need to console her friend. Maleah might be a control freak, but God help her, she was a caretaker, the two traits often related. Sister traits. And even if she didn’t know it—which he suspected she didn’t—Maleah had the capacity to love deeply. He had seen that manifested in her feelings for her brother Jackson, his wife Cathy, and their son Seth, as well as in her love for her best friend, Nic.

Would she, considering her deplorable childhood, ever trust any man enough to love him with that same depth of emotion and loyalty?

Any man?

Damn it, Lawrence, that’s enough introspection for one day. You’ve admitted that you’re in love with Maleah. You don’t need to figure out anything else right now. Things like whether or not she loves you and if she does, do the two of you have a future together. Considering you both have an aversion to commitment, marriage is probably out of the question.

So what’s wrong with an affair?

Determined to refocus on business, Derek surveyed the room’s occupants again, quickly scanning everyone before he took the seat beside Maleah, which put him directly across from Yvette Meng.

Yvette lifted her head, a fragile smile on her full, red lips, and looked at him with large, luminous brown eyes.

“How are you this morning?” he asked, simply being polite.

“I am well, Mr. Lawrence. And you?”

“Just fine, ma’am.”

When Maleah pivoted around in her chair and glanced from Derek to Yvette, Yvette lowered her head again, as if sensing Maleah’s disapproval.

No doubt Yvette Meng had endured men’s lust and women’s envy all of her life. Men saw her as a sex object; women saw her as a rival. And yet if you looked closely, you would realize that Yvette was heartbreakingly alone, separate and apart from all others, and by her own choice.

Obviously Griff hadn’t called the meeting to order yet. He seemed preoccupied, his gaze unfocused as if he was deep in thought. Ever the stoic solider, Sanders stood with his arms crossed over his chest. On the defensive. Always guarding Griff as if it was his sole purpose in life.

Knowing what little he did about the years Griffin had spent in captivity on the island of Amara with Sanders and Yvette, Derek understood the bond comrades-in-arms shared. But the depth of their relationship went beyond the norm. Derek could only imagine under what circumstances their three souls had joined.

Griff lifted his head, cleared his throat and looked from one person to another, beginning and ending with Nic.

“We asked a great deal of Maleah,” Griff said. “She interviewed Jerome Browning, the original Carver.” He looked directly at Maleah. “Nic told me about the information you shared with her last night. Thank you for what you did.”

Maleah simply nodded.

Derek reached out and took her hand in his. She gripped his hand tightly, but kept her gaze focused on Griff.

“I realize that we can’t automatically take Browning’s word for anything,” Griff said. “But I believe he was telling the truth when he told Maleah that the Copycat Carver is a professional assassin, just as we suspected. Derek had come to this same conclusion while working up a profile of the killer.”

All eyes on Griff, everyone remained silent, waiting for him to continue. Derek understood now why only the ones present in the room had been included in this private meeting. Griff intended to keep the circle of intimate knowledge as small as possible. Across the Atlantic, Luke Sentell and Meredith Sinclair were searching for the truth—and the whereabouts of two men who were presumed dead. Maleah had confronted the copycat killer’s mentor and paid a high emotional price for information that confirmed the worst case scenario. She had every right to be here. Derek had been included today because of his status as a profiler. Nic was here because she was Griff’s wife.

And then there were three.