Chapter 31
The private jet had landed safely at
Heathrow. He and his employer’s guest, both equipped with false
IDs, including passports, zipped through customs without a problem.
When she had awakened en route, frightened and confused, he had
explained in simple terms what had happened, what was going on, and
what he expected her to do. And quite amazingly, she had not
screamed or cried. Undoubtedly, she was suffering from a mild form
of shock, which actually worked in his favor.
As a general rule, he didn’t hire out
as a kidnapper. Too many things could go wrong. Murder for hire, on
the other hand, was his forte. A quick, clean and simple kill. If
the money had not proven to be irresistible, he would never have
taken on the current assignment.
Until they had cleared customs, he
didn’t draw an easy breath. Anything might have happened. But he
had warned her that he would kill her if she did not cooperate. He
had learned long ago that fear was a great inducement in gaining
obedience, especially from females.
After picking up a hired car, he placed
her in the backseat, forced a couple of sleeping pills down her
throat and told her to lie down and keep quiet. She had choked on
the pills and had coughed and cried. When he had wiped the tears
from her cheeks, she had gazed at him with fear and
wonder.
“Be a good girl and you’ll come out of
this alive. Understand?”
She had nodded, but said
nothing.
Using the GPS system provided with the
rental vehicle, he had no trouble navigating through the city and
after less than an hour, he drove through the thousand-year-old
town of Harpenden, located in Hertfordshire. Tourists as well as
London residents no doubt flocked here because of the town’s
traditional English village atmosphere.
A few miles out of town, they arrived
at their destination, a secluded house surrounded by trees and
isolated from any prying neighbors. He parked the rental behind the
house, opened the back door and lifted her into his arms. She would
probably sleep for several more hours, possibly the rest of the
day.
As he had been told, he found the back
door unlocked and the key lying on the kitchen table. He carried
her through the kitchen and down a narrow hall until he located a
small bedroom with only one window. After laying her on the double
bed, he covered her with a quilt. He checked the window and found
that it was sealed shut with countless layers of paint that had
been applied over the years. Leaving the door open behind him, he
returned to the kitchen, pulled out a chair from the table and sat.
Checking his mobile phone, he found there was decent coverage here
in the country. He dialed the number that he had memorized and
waited for his employer to answer.
“You’ve arrived safely with my
guest?”
“We’re at the house. I didn’t encounter
any problems.”
“How is my guest?”
“Right now, she’s
sleeping.”
“Then now is the perfect time for you
to make another phone call. Memorize the instructions I will give
you and repeat them word for word.”
“Very well.”
He listened as his employer told him in
quite succinct terms about his plan and the message he was to
relay, word for word.
“Now, repeat it back to
me.”
He did as he had been
instructed.
“Yes, you have it precisely. As soon as
we end our conversation, make the phone call. Be sure it is
understood that you will call again for an update and to give
further instructions.”
“I understand and I’ll stress the
importance of following your instructions to the
letter.”
“Yes, yes. And in the meanwhile, take
good care of my guest. She’s very important, at least for the time
being.”
“Yes, sir.”
His employer never bothered with
pleasantries nor did he. Their association was strictly
business.
He would enjoy a cup of tea, but first
things first. He walked down the hall, checked to make sure she was
still sleeping soundly and then returned to the kitchen. Standing
by the windows overlooking the private garden in back, he dialed
another memorized number.
“Hello.” Such a nervous, frightened
voice.
“Listen very carefully,” he said. “I
will not repeat these instructions. You are to do exactly as I tell
you. If you do not—”
“Don’t hurt her. Please. I will do
whatever you want me to do.”
“Good. If you cooperate fully, then she
has a good chance of coming through this unharmed.”
Luke Sentell had spent the day waiting
for Meredith Sinclair to recover from whatever kind of spell she’d
had that morning. He didn’t pretend to understand what made the
woman tick, any more than he could believe without question the
validity of her psychic abilities. If he couldn’t see it, smell it,
hear it, taste it, or feel it, it didn’t exist. Not in his world.
Not for any normal, logical human being. And yet he had seen
Meredith work her hoodoo on several occasions and without fail, her
visions—or whatever the hell you wanted to call them—had proven to
be accurate.
He sorely wished that his path had
never crossed with Meredith’s, that Griffin Powell had not chosen
him to accompany them on his initial European manhunt when rumors
about Malcolm York had first begun circulating. His boss had
brought Meredith along, using her as his bloodhound, hoping she
could sniff out who had started the rumors. Griff had assigned him
as Meredith’s personal bodyguard. The job had quickly become a
combination of babysitter and nursemaid. Whenever Meredith had come
out of one of her trances, she would sleep for hours, as if
whatever she had experienced had zapped every ounce of her
energy.
A really crazy thing had happened on
that first partnership with Meredith, and every subsequent time
they had been together. For some unknown reason, whenever he was
around, his presence seemed to fine tune her sixth sense. He had no
idea why. Considering he was a skeptic, you’d think having him
around would have an adverse effect. Instead the opposite was true.
He had to accept the truth—it was what it was. And that’s why he
was here with her now, the two of them stuck with each other on
another manhunt.
That morning, after she had fainted and
fallen in a heap at his feet, he had lifted her and put her on the
sofa. Trying to wake her had been pointless. He knew from past
experience that the best thing to do was simply let her rest until
she came out of it on her own. She had slept for hours and when she
awoke, she had gone to her room after telling him that she needed
to be alone for a while.
Here it was after three in the
afternoon and she was just now emerging from her bedroom and
gracing him with her presence. When he glanced up at her from the
copy of the Daily Telegraph he’d been
reading, he was surprised to see her looking so well. Her eyes were
bright and clear, her cheeks had color, and her voice was quite
strong when she said, “I’m ready now.”
“Do you want something to eat?” He
folded the newspaper and laid it on the coffee table. “It’s nearly
three-thirty and you skipped lunch.”
“No, I’m fine, thank you. I just want
to try again. I’ve spent time concentrating on what I saw and felt
this morning, trying to make sense of it all.”
“And did you?”
“Only partly,” she admitted. “When I
told you he was coming toward me, I wasn’t sure what I meant, but
now I know. This man who calls himself Anthony Linden was in
flight, coming here.”
“Here as in London or here as in this
hotel?”
“Here as in London.”
“Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be,” she told him.
“I’m never a hundred percent sure of what I see and feel. All I can
do is let it happen and afterward try to figure it
out.”
“So, you’re guessing about Linden being
in London.”
“I suppose you could call it
guessing.”
“What would you call it?”
“Sensing.”
“Humph.”
“I’m well aware of the fact that you
consider me a freak of nature, Mr. Sentell. And you think I’m
mentally disturbed, that anyone who claims to be gifted is actually
crazy.”
“There you go again, putting words in
my mouth.”
She glared at him, her hazel green eyes
sparkling with anger. “We’re wasting time with this conversation.
I’m ready to go to work. Where’s the gun?”
Where’s the gun?
The first thought that went through his mind was that she wanted to
shoot him. He barely managed not to smile.
“The gun isn’t going to help you,” Luke
told her. “You’ve been there, done that. You probably got
everything from handling the gun that you could.
Right?”
“Possibly, but I need something to
connect me to Anthony Linden if I’m going to find
him.”
“Then let’s go where you think he’s
been. If he flew into London, the odds are that he came through
Heathrow.” Luke glanced at her wrinkled sweats and T-shirt. “Change
clothes. We’re going out.”
“We’re going to the airport?” she
asked.
“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.
The Amara Triad, as Nicole Powell
referred to her husband, Sanders, and Yvette.
“Jerome Browning informed Maleah that
the copycat killer had bragged about his billionaire employer,”
Griff said. “He did not mention the man by name, but he did tell
Browning that the billionaire owned a Pacific island and enjoyed
the perks of his profession—human trafficking.”
“It is not possible,” Yvette said, a
slight tremor in her soft voice. “He lied. Either the copycat lied
to Browning or Browning lied to Maleah.”
“I don’t believe Browning lied,” Griff
said. “I believe that the man the copycat killer works for is
passing himself off as Malcolm York.”
“But who is he and why is he pretending
to be York?” Yvette asked. “And why would he want to avenge the
real Malcolm York’s murder?”
“That’s what we have to find out,”
Griff told her. “The first step is to locate Linden, if he is the
copycat, and stop him before he kills again. Once he’s eliminated,
we’ll have a brief window of opportunity to find this pseudo-York
before he hires another assassin.”
“Do you think he plans to continue
killing people associated with the Powell Agency?” Maleah
asked.
“I do,” Griff replied. “I am his
ultimate target . . .” Griff paused, glanced over his shoulder at
Sanders and then at Yvette. “My guess is he wants to draw out the
three of us. What his reasons are, I don’t know. What his
connection might have been to Malcolm York, I don’t know. And why
he’s striking out now, after sixteen years, is a complete
mystery.”
“It would seem that we are at his
mercy,” Yvette said. “But I refuse to believe that we cannot stop
him.”
“We will stop him,” Nic said, her gaze
colliding with Yvette’s.
Griff reached out and grabbed Nic’s
hand, bringing her attention away from Yvette and to him. “Less
than half an hour ago, Luke Sentell contacted me with news,
interesting news, if true. Meredith believes Anthony Linden is now
in London.”
“If Meredith senses Linden’s presence,
then you can be sure that he is there,” Yvette said.
“Why would Linden, if he’s the copycat
killer, go to London?” Maleah asked. “Is it possible that he’s
chosen Luke or Meredith as his next victim?”
“I think that’s highly unlikely,” Griff
replied. “Certainly not Meredith since they were en route to London
less than a day apart. And I can’t imagine anyone being able to
find Luke Sentell unless he wanted to be found.”
“Then why would the copycat go to
London?” Derek asked. “Unless his employer recalled
him.”
“That would be my guess,” Griff said.
“The only problem is that we have no idea why he would have
recalled him. If this fake York intends to continue killing people
connected to the agency, why rein in his pit bull?”
When Luke had carried an obviously
unconscious Meredith through the hotel lobby and to the elevator,
people had stared at him as if he were a murderer.
“I’m afraid my wife can’t hold her
liquor,” he had explained, smiling like an idiot.
They had spent half an hour at Heathrow
before Meredith passed out from sheer exhaustion. She would
probably sleep soundly the rest of the evening.
He laid her across the foot of the bed
and removed her shoes. Then he turned down the covers and placed
the fully clothed Meredith beneath the sheet and lightweight
blanket. She looked about fifteen lying there, her face void of
makeup, her hair fiery red against the white pillowcase. He lifted
her head enough to maneuver his index finger beneath the tight band
holding her ponytail in place, and with one quick snap freed her
thick mane of wild curls.
“Sleep tight, Orphan Annie,” he said as
he paused in the doorway.
He closed her bedroom door and returned
to the living room. After sitting down and pulling his thoughts
together, he called Griffin Powell.
“Luke?”
“Yes. Are you free to
talk?”
“I’m alone at the moment. Nic and I
have been in a meeting with Maleah and Derek. Sanders and Yvette,
too, of course, and Barbara Jean. I’ve filled them in about the
possibility that Linden is in London.”
“Linden’s not in London.”
“But I thought Meredith was sure he was
there.”
“She was and he was,” Luke said. “I
took her to Heathrow this afternoon and she picked up his scent
almost immediately. She says he was there at the airport sometime
recently, perhaps only hours before we arrived, and he wasn’t
alone. But she doesn’t know who was with him, only that his
companion was female.”
“If Linden is not in London any longer,
then where is he?”
“Good question.”
“Didn’t Meredith pick up on anything
else, get any sense of which direction—?”
“Of course she did,” Luke said. “North
of London, possibly northwest.”
“She couldn’t be more
specific?”
“She was trying . . . before she passed
out.”
“Is she all right?”
“Yeah, I think she’s fine. You know
what happens to her after she has one of her visions. She’s
sleeping now and I expect she might sleep through the
night.”
“Do you think she can find Linden?”
Griff asked.
“Maybe. Of course my brain is telling
me no way in hell.”
“Your gut, Sentell, what’s your gut
telling you?”
“That there is a fifty/fifty chance
she’ll lead me straight to Linden.”
Silence. Long and drawn out, only the
sound of Griff’s deep breathing.
“I’ll take those odds,” Griff said.
“And Luke, when you find Linden, you know what to do.”
“If he is the professional you believe
him to be, I won’t be able to make him talk. He’ll die before he’ll
break.”
“No, he won’t talk. He will never
reveal any information about his employer.”
“Then what you want is for me to simply
eliminate him.”
“Yes, when you find the bastard, kill
him.”