Chapter 24
“I have a lead on Anthony Linden,” Luke
Sentell told Griffin Powell. “Someone who knows someone who can
verify that Linden is alive, and this person may possibly be able
to give us a description of the man.”
“If only they could tell us exactly
where Linden is right now.”
“Have Dr. Meng or one of her underlings
look into her crystal ball and see if they can locate him,” Luke
said sarcastically.
Even though Luke had seen Dr. Meng and
Meredith Sinclair work their woo-woo magic, he still wasn’t a true
believer. Not the way Griff and Sanders were. He didn’t quite trust
anything beyond his five senses, definitely nothing in the sixth
sense realm.
“You must be a little psychic yourself
to have mentioned Yvette and her protégés just now.”
Uh-oh. Luke got a sinking feeling in
the pit of his stomach. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m sending Meredith Sinclair
to you on my private jet first thing in the morning,” Griffin told
Luke. “One of our agents will accompany her. You know Saxon
Chappelle. Once they arrive, he’ll turn her over to you for safe
keeping.”
“Damn, Griff, you know how I despise
babysitting Ms. Sinclair. Once was enough for me. She’s more
trouble than she’s worth. If you want her in Europe doing her magic
act, then why not leave Chappelle here to look after
her?”
“Meredith works best without
distractions, which means the fewer people involved the better. You
know that one-on-one is the best situation for her. And for
whatever reason, her senses seemed to be fine tuned whenever you’re
nearby. It’s as if you boost wherever signals are coming through to
her. Apparently you’re some sort of conduit.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things in my
life, but never a conduit.”
“Hell, you know what I mean. Meredith’s
psychic gifts are all over the place most of the time, despite all
the work that Yvette has done with her. But add you into the
equation and she suddenly becomes focused and working on all
cylinders.”
“Yeah, lucky me. Have you ever thought
maybe she’s afraid of me and that’s what fine tunes her sixth
sense? At least when she’s around me, she acts like she thinks I’m
the devil himself. Maybe Dr. Meng should try a little tough love
with her prize student.”
“That’s between Yvette and Meredith.
She’ll be in London by late tomorrow. I’m expecting you to work
with her, regardless of your personal animosity. And it goes
without saying that I know you’ll take good care of
her.”
“I won’t coddle her,” Luke said. “Damn
it, Griff, you know what happens, how after one of her so-called
psychic episodes, she’s a basket case.”
“Handle her the best way you can. I
don’t know how much she can help us, but at this point, I’m willing
to try anything and that includes using an emotionally fragile
psychic if there’s even a slim chance she can help us find our
imposter and put a stop to these murders.”
“You’re the boss,” Luke said
reluctantly.
“Humph.” Griff snorted. “I may pay your
salary, but we both know I’m not your boss. You may follow orders,
but you always do things your own way. And that’s not a criticism.
It’s one of the reasons I hired you. I like a man who can think for
himself.”
Luke had great respect for Griff. If he
didn’t, he wouldn’t be working for the man. And he believed in what
Griff stood for and in the way he tried to help others. There
weren’t very many true champions of the people left in the world.
Griffin Powell was one of them. It sure as hell didn’t matter to
Luke that the Powell Agency cut corners and circumvented the law on
occasion to accomplish their goals—to do what was
right.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance
that Dr. Meng could come with—”
“No,” Griff said. “It’s too dangerous
for Yvette to leave Griffin’s Rest right now.”
“I work best alone. You know that.
Babysitting Ms. Sinclair is going to slow me down.”
“That could be, but it’s also possible
that she’ll be able to help you, maybe steer you in the right
direction in your search for the pseudo York. But before she
arrives in London tomorrow, I need for you to check on Harlan
Benecroft. Let’s make sure he’s still contained, that he’s still
non-lethal.”
“That pompous ass? You can’t possibly
believe that Benecroft is posing as York, can you?”
“He certainly wouldn’t be on my Top Ten
list, but we need to rule him out completely.”
“Better to be safe than sorry,
huh?”
“Yeah, something like
that.”
“Sure, I’ll check on him, but I have a
feeling that it will probably be a waste of my time. I’ll put in a
few calls first thing in the morning and get back to you as soon as
I know anything.”
“While you’ve got your ear to the
ground, there are two other names you should listen for, discreetly
of course—Mayorga and Bouchard.”
“All right.”
Luke didn’t ask for more information.
If Griff thought he needed to know more, he would tell
him.
Sanders had spoken privately to Brendan
Richter. As a former Interpol agent, Richter understood the
necessity for discretion. Ciro Mayorga had been on Interpol’s Most
Wanted list for a number of years, but he had escaped capture just
as he had eluded Raphael Byrne’s swift and sure form of judgment.
But sooner or later, Rafe would find him. Mayorga’s crimes ranged
from drug trafficking to money laundering. The warrant for his
arrest had been issued in Spain ten years ago. Yves Bouchard had
also managed to stay under the radar, steering clear of national
and international law enforcement agencies that knew but could not
prove his involvement in human trafficking. When Rafe Byrne
eventually caught up with Bouchard, his execution would be
immediate, no arrest, no trial, and no sentencing
required.
Sanders had known Rafe as a beautiful,
slender, wide-eyed boy of seventeen when Malcolm York had first
brought him to Amara. He had been certain that the angelic teenager
would not survive a week. And he wouldn’t have, if Griffin Powell
had not taken the boy under his wing and done his best to protect
him.
The day they had killed York and fought
their way through several of the ten guards he kept on duty around
the clock, they had freed the four captives who were still alive,
but they had been unable to find Rafe. The men they had freed had
joined them in annihilating their sadistic overseers. Eventually,
they had found Rafe in one of the dark dungeon cells, chained,
beaten beyond recognition and starved to the point of
emaciation.
Of the five men who had left Amara with
them, two had committed suicide less than a year later. One had
died in a car accident in Barcelona and another in a skiing
accident in Aspen more than ten years ago. Only one was still
alive.
Raphael Byrne.
Weeks following their escape from Amara
and after Rafe had undergone several surgeries to repair his
battered face, they had visited Rafe in the London hospital where
he was recovering. There had been no resemblance, physically,
mentally and emotionally, between the seventeen-year-old boy York
had brought to Amara and the twenty-year-old man who had made a
solemn vow to them that day. In a deadly calm voice, he had sworn
he would hunt down and kill all six men who had visited York during
the three years Rafe had been on Amara. The six men—Tanaka, Di
Santis, Klausner, Sternberg, Mayorga, and Bouchard—who had hunted
him by day, as if he were a wild animal, and had amused themselves
with him at night, each in their own way.
Maleah was beginning to like Derek
Lawrence.
And liking him wouldn’t be a problem if
she didn’t also find him terribly attractive. She’d been able to
handle the unwanted physical attraction between them as long as she
had disliked him. But now, everything between them had changed, at
least for her. And to make matters worse, she felt certain that he
was dealing with the same problem. He had shared a part of himself
with her today, a part she suspected he seldom shared with others,
just as he had told her about his youthful exploits as a solider of
fortune. Why had he exposed himself to her that way? Why had he
given her more than just a glimpse of the real Derek, someone as
flawed and imperfect as she was, someone with battle scars from a
miserable childhood, someone who, like she, was all too
human?
After they had shared lunch on their
return to Vidalia earlier today, she had escaped as quickly as
possible. She had needed to get away from Derek and work through
her unsettled feelings before facing him again. Her excuse for
begging off a work session had been only a half-lie. She’d told him
that she wanted to call Jack and Cathy and then take an afternoon
nap. She seldom if ever took an afternoon nap unless she was sick
or had been up half the night. She hadn’t taken a nap, but she had
called her sister-in-law.
“Seth is enjoying summer vacation,”
Cathy had said. “He’s working part-time as a lifeguard at the
community center pool and he has half a dozen girls chasing after
him.”
“Like father like son.”
Cathy had laughed. “Oh, believe me,
he’s more like Jack than I ever realized.”
“So how is my little
niece?”
“You and Jack. You’re both so sure the
baby is a girl.”
“She is. Just wait until you get that
next ultrasound. I’m positive you’ll find out the baby is a
girl.”
Hearing Cathy’s voice, so cheerful and
positive and seemingly unafraid, had gone a long way in reassuring
Maleah. But she still couldn’t completely shake her fear that the
copycat might choose a member of her family as his next
victim.
It was only a matter of time until he
killed again.
After a thirty-minute conversation with
Cathy, she had flipped on the television, zipped through the
channels, and turned it off three minutes later.
Now, she had to find something to do.
But if she went over the copycat killer files one more time, she
would scream her head off. She had practically memorized everything
they had on record about Jerome Browning, as well as information
about Wyman Scudder, Cindy Di Blasi, and the real Albert
Durham.
If only they had some information about
the fake Durham. But at this point, the man was a complete mystery,
except for Derek’s preliminary profile. However, having so little
info to work with made Derek’s job more difficult.
Pacing the floor, wishing she really
could take a long nap, she nearly jumped out of her skin when her
phone rang.
Please don’t let it be
Derek. I can’t deal with him right now. I need to put just a little
time and space between us, between the realization that I like
him—like him a lot—and seeing him again.
When she noted the caller ID, she
sighed with relief. “Hello, Nic.”
“Hey, are you okay? You sound
odd.”
“I’m fine. I was lost in thought and
the phone ringing startled me.”
“How are you? Really?”
“You want the truth?’
“Always,” Nic told her.
“I’m thinking seriously about selling
my soul to the devil in the hopes he’ll give me some information
that will help us find the Copycat Carver. And as if making that
decision isn’t enough to deal with in one day, I’ve just discovered
that I genuinely like Derek Lawrence and . . .” She wasn’t sure she
could admit, even to her best friend, how she really felt about
Derek.
“And what?”
“And I’ve got the hots for the guy.”
She could tell Nic anything, couldn’t she? They were best friends.
Nic would understand.
Nic laughed.
“Do not laugh at me. This isn’t
funny.”
“I already knew,” Nic
said.
“Knew what? That I’d do whatever it
takes to get information out of Jerome Browning or that I had the
hots for Derek?”
“Both actually, but I was referring to
your having a thing for Derek. You do know that he’s got it bad for
you, too, don’t you?”
“Having feelings for Derek complicates
my life and I don’t like it. So, before you say another word, I’m
telling you right now that I refuse to become another notch on his
bedpost.”
“You’d never be that, just as I wasn’t
for Griff,” Nic said. “You and Derek remind me so much of Griff and
me in the early stages of our relationship.”
“Bite your tongue.”
“Want my advice?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to give
it to me whether or not I want it.”
“Have sex with him.”
Maleah growled through her clenched
teeth.
“And don’t sell your soul to the devil
for info from Browning,” Nic told her.
“Derek said the same
thing.”
“Then listen to the man. Not only is he
smart, but I suspect he has your best interests at
heart.”
“Save your breath. I’m going back to
the prison tomorrow to see Browning again. It may be my last visit,
but I have to try one more time.”
“If I thought you’d listen to me, I’d
try to talk you out of your decision, but I know you too well to
even try. No one can talk me out of doing something once I’ve made
up my mind. You and I are both as stubborn as mules.” Nic paused
for a moment and then said, “Griff is sending Meredith Sinclair to
London tomorrow in the hopes she can help Luke.”
“I bet Luke’s thrilled. Is Yvette going
with Meredith?”
“No, Griff believes it’s too dangerous
for Yvette to leave Griffin’s Rest.”
“He’s probably right.”
“Listen, Maleah, I have some rather
important news for you and Derek. Griff and Sanders are both busy
handling other matters, so I’ve been delegated to touch base with
you two and give you the latest information.”
“Please tell me you have good news to
share, or at the very least information that can help
us.”
“It’s information that possibly
confirms Derek’s tentative profile of the Copycat Carver as a
professional assassin.”
Maleah sucked in her
breath.
“A contact in Austria sold Luke
information concerning a man named Anthony Linden, a former MI6
agent who went rogue. He supposedly killed himself ten years ago
instead of allowing the authorities to capture and imprison him.
But apparently the rumors of his death were greatly
exaggerated.”
“Meaning that Anthony Linden isn’t
actually dead.”
“So it would seem.”
“And this information is important to
us because?”
“Because this same contact told Luke
that the man rumored to be impersonating Malcolm York hired a
very-much-alive Linden, who is well-known in certain circles as a
professional assassin. And York sent Linden to America six months
ago.”
“That’s quite an interesting story, one
I’m sure Griff has bought into, right?” Maleah said. “But what
about you? Are you buying it?”
“It’s plausible. It’s possible. I don’t
know if it’s true, but . . .” Nic’s voice trailed off into complete
and utter silence.
“Nic?”
“Oh God, Maleah, if the copycat
continues killing, if we can’t find him and stop him soon, I don’t
know how Griff is going to bear it. He’s not sleeping. He’s lost
his appetite. He’s drinking too much. He’s preoccupied and edgy and
keeps shutting himself off in his study, sometimes alone, sometimes
with Sanders. I try to talk to him, try to convince him that he’s
not responsible for all these deaths, but it’s as if he doesn’t
even hear me.”
“I wish I knew what to tell you,”
Maleah said, her heart aching for her dear friend. “Griff’s a
strong man. He’s not going to fall apart. You know that when he
shuts you out, he thinks he’s protecting you. Nic, you know he
loves you.”
“If he would only tell me everything,
all the horrible things about Malcolm York and Amara, then maybe I
could help him. Whatever secrets he’s keeping from me are part of
what’s tearing him apart. He knows that the real York is dead, and
yet . . . Oh, Maleah, I wish that the copycat killer would turn out
to be someone seeking revenge against me because of one of my cases
when I worked for the Bureau. Or if the copycat is a professional
killer, then I wish someone with a grudge against the Powell Agency
and not someone from Griff’s past hired this man to exact revenge
against the agency.”
“We can’t rule out either of those
possibilities. Not yet. That’s one reason I have to go back to see
Browning. If only I could persuade him to tell me what he
knows.”
“If he actually knows anything. And you
do realize that the odds of that are very low. Besides, all the
evidence is beginning to stack up in favor of Griff’s
theory.”
“I’m sorry, Nic. I’m so very
sorry.”
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry
about. None of this is your fault. I’m the one who’s sorry that the
copycat deliberately involved you by choosing to emulate the
murderer who killed Noah Laborde.”
“If Griff’s theory is correct, then
someone very badly wants to torment Griff by whatever means
necessary, even going so far as to strike out at his wife’s best
friend.”
“Don’t go back to see Browning again. I
have a very bad feeling about it. Please, Maleah . .
.”
“I have to go. Don’t worry about me.
I’m tough.” Maleah faked a laugh. “Besides, I have Derek. If
Browning chews me up and spits me out in little pieces, Derek will
put me back together.”
“Oh, Maleah.”
“Hey, you take care of yourself and
that husband of yours. I’ll be fine. I need to hang up now and go
fill Derek in on the news from Luke.”
“Call me tomorrow, after you see
Browning.”
“Okay, if it’ll make you feel better,
I’ll call.”
As soon as they said their good-byes,
Maleah went to the bathroom, freshened up and changed into a pair
of faded navy sweat pants and an oversized yellow, navy, and white
striped T-shirt. After slipping into a pair of navy Skechers, she
slid her room key into her pants pocket and left her
room.
Maleah stood outside of Derek’s closed
door. Once she had worked up enough courage to knock, he opened the
door in two seconds flat.
They stared at each other, neither of
them saying a word.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Swirls of
thick black hair formed a perfect T across his upper chest and
disappeared into his unsnapped jeans.
Why oh why did he have to look so good?
All lean and muscular, handsome and sexy, he was dark, tantalizing
temptation wrapped up in a to-die-for package.
Say something, you
idiot.
Say what? I want to
jump your bones?
Tell him about Nic’s
phone call. Give him the latest information from Luke Sentell.
Don’t keep standing here staring at him. Just open your damn mouth
and say something.
But when she opened her mouth to speak,
Derek forcefully grabbed her shoulders, pulled her into his arms,
and kissed her.