“Our guy isn’t that old, but then we have reason to believe he’s a master of disguise. Keep looking for Luna,” Luke said. “Who’s the other possible?”
“A man named Zachary Fairweather. He had a British passport. Our report said early forties, average size. No one at Heathrow remembered much about him, but they all remembered his daughter.”
“His daughter?”
“What?” Meredith dropped her spoon in her halfempty pudding dish, the metal clinking against the china.
“Hold on a minute,” Luke told Mitchum. He asked Meredith, “Are you okay?”
“Whose daughter are you talking about?” she asked.
Glancing around the noisy pub, Luke realized that no one was paying any attention to them and figured that, over the loud din, it was highly unlikely anyone could hear more than a word or two of their conversation.
“A man who may be our guy got off a private plane at Heathrow last night, along with his daughter,” Luke told her. Before he could say more, her eyes widened and she suddenly turned as white as a sheet. “Damn, Meredith, don’t you pass out on me.”
“Luke . . . Luke . . .” She gasped for air. “His female companion. Not sex. Oh, God, oh God . . .”
“Pull yourself together.” He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. Then he said into the mobile phone, “Call me back in five—”
“There’s something else you need to know about Fairweather’s daughter,” Mitchum said. “She’s a child of six or seven.”
“Then Fairweather wouldn’t be our guy, would he?” Luke squeezed Meredith’s hand and then released it. “He would hardly be traveling with a kid.”
“I don’t know,” Mitchum said. “Can you think of a better cover?”
“His female companion is a little girl,” Meredith said in a strong voice. And when Luke nodded, she told him, “Don’t hang up. Find out everything about this man right now.” She offered Luke a weak smile. “I’ll be all right.”
“Anything else?” Luke asked Mitchum, all the while looking directly at Meredith.
“Zachary Fairweather hired a car,” Mitchum said. “We’ve been able to trace the route the car traveled out of London.”
“And?” Luke prompted.
“Fairweather rented a black Mercedes C220 Europcar.” Mitchum recited the tag number. “He took M10 north out of London.”
“Run a detailed check on Fairweather.”
“I have people working on that as we speak.”
“Contact me again when you have more information on both Luna and Fairweather.”
“Fairweather,” Meredith whispered the name. “Fairweather.”
“What about him?” Luke asked.
“Forget about the man named Luna. Concentrate on Fairweather.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Luke relayed the message to Mitchum, ended the conversation, and stared at Meredith. “You’re picking up on something, aren’t you? What happened? What got your woo-woo mojo working again?”
“Tell me everything Mitchum told you and don’t leave out even the most insignificant detail.” She shoved back her chair and stood. “We need to leave now. We have to go farther north as soon as possible.”
By late afternoon, the invasion of Griffin’s Rest by what seemed to be half the law enforcement personnel in the state of Tennessee had begun to wane. Sheriff Fulmer was still with Griff, the two overseeing every aspect of the investigation, but only a CSI team and a few deputies remained on the property. Shiloh’s body had already been taken to the lab in Knoxville for an autopsy. The detectives had questioned everyone there at the compound, beginning with the guard who had found Shiloh’s body. And Sanders had followed up with interviews of his own.
Maleah had spent most of the day glued to Nic’s side, the two women supporting each other. And Derek had been going over the personal files of everyone living and working there at Griffin’s Rest, searching for anything that might alert him to a problem. Every guard employed by the Powell Agency who had undergone a thorough background check before being hired and, to a person, each man and woman now working at Griffin’s Rest had been with the agency for years. There was not one single new employee working there at present.
As for the Powell agents on duty at Griffin’s Rest . . .
Derek didn’t want to consider the possibility that one of them could have killed Shiloh Whitman. He knew these men and women and was on a first name basis with most. In his opinion, both personally and as a professional profiler, they were all good people. Not one of them would kill without just cause.
Or unless they were under duress, forced to act against their will.
“Hey you.” Instantly recognizing Maleah’s voice, Derek turned to glance at the open office door where she stood staring at him. “It’s about time for a late afternoon break, isn’t it?”
“Hi yourself.” He closed the file folder in front of him, shoved back his chair and stood. “What do you have in mind?”
She came over to him, lifted her arms up and around his neck and kissed him. As she ended the kiss, she murmured against his lips, “I still love you.”
He grinned as he cupped her butt. “I’m glad to hear it since it just so happens that I still love you, too.”
Maleah eased her arms downward and spread her hands out across his chest. “I wish we could pretend that everything is all right, that none of these horrible things have happened. I wish we could concentrate on each other and forget everything and everyone else.”
He reached up, took her hands in his hand, and held them between their bodies. “Want to get out of the house and leave all this behind for a while?”
“Is that possible? The grounds are crawling with law enforcement and—”
“I think we’re down to a few essential crime scene investigators for the most part.”
“I guess I’m behind on the latest. Nic and I have been holed up in Griff’s study for the past few hours.”
“How’s Nic doing?”
“She’s tough. She’ll be okay. She’s worried about Griff more than anything else,” Maleah said. “He just came back up to the house and found us in the study. So, I thought I’d make myself scarce and give Nic time alone with her man while I went to look for my man.”
“Your man, huh? I like the sound of that.”
She pressed her cheek against his. “Don’t remind me later on that I ever said this, but . . . I need you, Derek. I need for you to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be all right.”
“In case you didn’t already know it, Blondie, I need you just as much as you need me.” He tugged on her hands. “Come on, let’s go outside and sit on the patio. We can breathe in a little fresh air and soak up some sunshine while we’re holding on to each other.”
As they made their way through the house like two kids rushing away from school to play hooky for the day, they crossed paths with Sanders and Barbara Jean, who were walking toward the kitchen. Brendan Richter and Shaughnessy Hood were following them.
“We’re all in need of a caffeine pick-me-up. I’m going to put on a couple of pots of coffee,” Barbara Jean said. “There will be plenty in the kitchen if y’all want some.”
“Thanks,” Derek replied.
A few minutes later, Derek and Maleah found the patio deserted. There wasn’t another person, not even a Powell Agency employee or a sheriff’s deputy, anywhere in sight. Derek guided Maleah to the canopied swing at the edge of the huge brick and stone floored patio that overlooked the lake. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.
“We should be talking about you and me and being in love and what we’re going to do about how we feel,” Derek said. “But instead of being able to focus on the two of us, we’re embroiled in what would appear to be a
