Dead by Morning (31 page)

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Authors: Beverly Barton

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Suspense

BOOK: Dead by Morning
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“Men! I don’t understand any of you.”
“That works both ways, Blondie. We men don’t understand you women either.” He looked her over and smiled. “You sure do look pretty this morning.”
She felt the warmth of a blush creep up her neck. Turning away from him, she picked up a pair of small pearl studs off her dresser. “Thank you for the compliment.” She slipped one stud and then the other through the holes in her ears before turning back around to face Derek. “Have you been downstairs yet?”
“I went down for a cup of coffee about fifteen minutes ago. Sanders and Barbara Jean are in the kitchen preparing pancakes and sausage. I spoke to Griff briefly before he came upstairs to see Nic.”
“Then they’re together now?”
Derek nodded. “Griff has a meeting planned for ten this morning in his office here at the house.”
“Who’s being invited to this meeting?”
“Only the people Griff and Nic trust with their lives—Sanders, Barbara Jean, you, me, and Yvette.”
She hadn’t realized that her expression had altered in any way at the mention of Dr. Yvette Meng, not until Derek said, “Making a face like that is a dead giveaway, you know. It implies that you don’t like Dr. Meng.”
“It’s not that I dislike Yvette. I don’t. She seems like a very nice lady, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Her presence here at Griffin’s Rest creates problems for Nic, for her marriage.”
“It shouldn’t,” Derek said. “Yvette Meng isn’t a threat to Nic’s marriage. If ever a man was completely in love with his wife and totally dedicated to his marriage, that man is Griffin Powell.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“That’s my gut instinct. If there was anything more than friendship between Griff and Yvette, it’s in the past, and Nic needs to believe that.”
“So you do think there was something more than—?”
“Whoa there, Blondie. Don’t put words in my mouth. I said
if
there was.”
Maleah felt the need to defend Nic. “I think Nic has every right to feel the way she does. How would you like it if the woman you loved moved a dear old friend, who just happened to be male, into your home? And you knew with absolute certainty that she loved this man?”
“There’s love and then there’s love,” Derek said. “I’m surprised that a woman such as Nicole Powell would be so insecure.”
“Loving someone the way she loves Griff can make a woman vulnerable, even someone like Nic.”
“Yeah, love can make us all vulnerable,” Derek agreed. “And to answer your question—no, I wouldn’t like it if the woman I loved brought an old friend whom she loved into our lives on a daily basis, had him practically living at our back door, especially if I thought they had once been lovers. But I’d deal with it somehow, if the only alternative was giving up the woman I loved.”
“That’s what Nic is doing, what she’s been doing ever since Griff built the sanctuary for Yvette and her protégés here at Griffin’s Rest.”
“You disagree, don’t you?” Derek asked. “What would you do? How would you handle the situation differently?”
Maleah hesitated, uncertain just how honest she should be with him.
To hell with it.
“If I were in Nic’s shoes, I’d tell Griff to choose. He could either have Yvette living within a stone’s throw of us, a constant presence in our lives, or he could have me. If he didn’t move her out, then I’d leave.”
“Why do you think Nic hasn’t done that?”
“I think the answer to that would be obvious.”
“Enlighten me.”
“No.” She had already said too much about her best friend’s personal life. Her only excuse was that it had become so easy to talk to Derek.
“Nic’s afraid that if she demands he make a choice between Yvette and her, he might choose Yvette,” Derek said. “That’s the reason.”
Maleah didn’t confirm his assessment of the situation, but she wasn’t the least bit surprised that he had zeroed in on the exact reason.
“I’m hungry,” she said, deliberately changing the subject. “Let’s eat breakfast. I love Barbara Jean’s pancakes.”
Derek nodded, and then opened the door and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She slipped her arm through his. “Derek?”
“Hmm . . . ?”
“I don’t think I ever thanked you properly.”
“For what?”
“For looking out for me after that last interview with Browning.” It had been on the tip of her tongue to say, thank you for taking such good care of me. For holding me, comforting me, letting me draw strength from you.
“Hey, no problem, Blondie. That’s what partners do, right?”
“Yeah, right.”
Why was it that she wished he’d said he had done it because he cared about her and not just because they were partners?
The phone rang at precisely at 7:30
A.M.
that morning.
“Well, hello there. What a nice surprise to hear from you. How are y’all doing? How’s—?”
“Listen very carefully,” he said. “You are going to receive a phone call later today with instructions on what you have to do, and if you don’t do exactly as he tells you to do, she’s going to die.”
“What are you talking about? Who’s going to call me? Who’s going to die?”
The caller explained about the kidnapping, that the person they both loved had been kidnapped, taken from her bed in the middle of the night, and a note had been left on her pillow. Someone had managed to break in through an upstairs bathroom window, go into her bedroom and abduct her without anyone being the wiser.
Whoever had taken her was not an amateur. He had to be a professional.
Had the Copycat Carver taken her? If so, why had he changed his MO? Why had he kidnapped her instead of killing her? It didn’t make any sense.
“You understand, don’t you?” the caller asked. “If you don’t do what he tells you to do, we’ll never see her alive again. Please, please tell me that you’ll do whatever he asks you to do.”
“Yes, of course I will.”
“Swear to me.”
“I swear.”
The reality of the situation was difficult to grasp. This was a nightmare of monumental proportions. Life or death. But no matter what the instructions or how difficult the assignment, the orders would be carried out. There was only one choice—to do whatever was necessary to save her life.
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.

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