Maleah was in the driver’s seat. Derek had learned early on during their partnership on the Midnight Killer case that she preferred being the driver. Since he couldn’t care less, he hadn’t put up a fuss about it. No doubt it had something to do with her personal control issues. The lady most definitely had a problem with any man—but him in particular—being in charge of her.
He kicked back and relaxed as she headed her Chevy Equinox southeast on GA-30 E / US-280 E. If they weren’t delayed by roadwork or accidents blocking the highway, they should be at the prison in about twenty minutes. Even though their scheduled visitation with Browning was at ten, Maleah had insisted on leaving the hotel at nine.
“I’d rather get there early and have to wait than run the risk of our being late,” she’d told him.
He had learned the hard way not to argue with her over insignificant matters. He chose his battles. Otherwise, they would be at each other’s throats all the time. In the beginning of their professional association, they had disagreed on everything. If he said the sky was blue, she’d say it was gray. If he said the sun was shining, she’d say it was partly cloudy. If he voiced an opinion she didn’t like, she’d call him an arrogant jerk.
“Do you want to go over anything again before we get there?” he asked.
“No. I think we’ve talked the subject of Jerome Browning to death, don’t you?”
“Probably. Just remember—don’t underestimate him. And don’t expect him to give us anything without wanting something in return.”
“I’m not an idiot, you know.” She kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead.
He wanted to reply that no one had said she was an idiot or even thought it. A prickly pear, yes. High-strung and confrontational, yes. But instead, he asked, “Mind if I find some music on the radio?”
“Be my guest. But please make it something soothing.”
He found a “lite sounds” station, the first tune, a relaxing piano concerto. “Does that meet with your approval?” he asked.
“It’s fine.” When she glanced his way, he smiled and winked at her. She frowned and hurriedly looked away, returning her gaze to the view through the windshield.
Ignoring her completely, he closed his eyes. His mind immediately focused on Jerome Browning.
Derek hated the deals law enforcement made with criminals, plea-agreements that allowed lesser sentences in exchange for information. The DA who had prosecuted Jerome Browning had been forced into one of those god-awful deals. Browning, who should be on death row, was instead locked away in the maximum security division of the penitentiary. He had brutally murdered nine people, five women and four men. But not long after his arrest the authorities learned that he had killed before, when he had been a teenager. Twenty years before Browning had been arrested and charged with the Carver murders, a series of six missing teen girls in Browning’s old neighborhood had been presumed murdered. Their bodies had never been found. And all six cases had remained unsolved. Browning had bargained for his life—and won! He had agreed to confess to the murders of the six teen girls and tell the police where they could find the bodies. In exchange for the information that could bring closure to six families, Browning had been granted life imprisonment instead of the death penalty he deserved.
Browning would spend the rest of his life behind bars, but he was alive. Like the families of the people he had murdered, Derek believed that Browning should have been executed.
Everything Derek knew about Browning forewarned him that Maleah would be facing a deviously clever psychopath, one who would not hesitate to use her for his own amusement.
But Maleah was no featherweight in any battle of wills. She was strong, tough, and smart; and God help her, she never gave up on anything or anyone she believed in with her whole heart. He didn’t know what demons she had fought and won in her past, but he saw beyond the exterior beauty to the deep scars inside her. Maleah Perdue was a survivor.
Derek suspected she just might be a worthy opponent for Browning.
But at what cost to her?
Griffin Powell had entrusted Maleah to Derek, expecting him to keep her safe and protect her from emotional trauma. Griff had a protective attitude toward all of his employees, but Maleah was special to him because she was his wife’s best friend. And the big man possessed an exaggerated sense of responsibility when it came to the people in his life, especially the women. Apparently, on a subconscious level, Griff thought of women as the weaker sex. He was, in so many ways, an old-fashioned gentleman. A good old Southern boy, raised the right way by his mama.
Derek might have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and Griff a poor boy, but Griff was far more of a gentleman than Derek ever had been or would be. Derek had spent most of his life rebelling against his mother, his family, and the inherent snobbery and selfindulgent lifestyle that inherited wealth so often imposed on the heirs to multi-million-dollar fortunes. From his early teens, he had deliberately done the unexpected, anything and everything to piss off his mother and grandparents, and to snub his nose at the society in which they existed. Military boarding school had been their solution. His response had been to skip college after high school graduation and bum around the world like a penniless vagrant. He had certainly seen the world through the eyes of a man who had to earn his keep wherever he went.
At twenty, flat broke and determined not to touch his trust fund, he had joined a group of unsavory characters, a sort of ragtag group of wannabe mercenaries, bluffing his way into their fold. He had learned later on that he hadn’t fooled them and they hadn’t expected him to survive his first mission. He’d been nothing more to them than an expendable foot solider.
At twenty-four, he had returned to the States, worldweary and old beyond his years. Then he had taken just enough money from his trust fund to attend Vanderbilt and had graduated summa cum laude. He came from a long line of highly intelligent savvy businessmen and his family had expected the prodigal son to take his place in the business world alongside his uncles and cousins. He had shocked them all when he had joined the FBI.
“Are you asleep?” Maleah asked Derek.
“Nope.”
“We’re almost there.”
He opened his eyes and sat up straight. “Have you ever been inside a maximum security prison before today?”
“No, I haven’t.” She paused just long enough to inhale and exhale. “I suppose you have.”
“Yes, I have.”
“I don’t need another lecture, so whatever you were going to say, keep it to yourself.”
“I wasn’t going to give you a lecture,” he told her.
“Good. Just remember that I will be conducting the interview, okay?”
“Sure thing. As long as you understand that I may want to occasionally make a comment or ask a question.”
“Keep your comments and questions to a minimum, will you? You’re here as an observer. That is your area of expertise, isn’t it, observing and forming an opinion?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.”
He had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her that he had been observing her for quite some time and had formed a definite opinion. She was, without a doubt, the most irritating, aggravating, combative woman he’d ever known.
They followed normal procedure, up to a point. They had parked in the facility’s designated visitor parking lot. They had presented positive ID prior to their admission and then undergone a preliminary search by electronic surveillance instruments. But after that, they were escorted to the warden’s office. Slender, gray-haired Claude Holland greeted them with quiet reserve, his facial expression giving away nothing and his handshake firm and quick. He scanned Maleah, his gaze simply sizing her up. She suspected that her appearance surprised him as it did so many people who expected a female private security agent to be big and burly, not blond and petite.
“I’ve arranged for you to meet with Mr. Browning in our visitation area, but there should be no physical contact with the prisoner at any time,” Warden Holland said. “I mention this simply because you might normally expect to shake hands.”
Maleah nodded. “I understand.”
“This is not a scheduled visitation day, so there will be no other inmates seeing visitors. You’ll have one hour with Browning, but if at any time before the end of that hour, you wish to leave, then simply tell one of the guards.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I assume that if we need to visit Mr. Browning again, that could be arranged,” Derek said.
“My instructions from the governor’s office are that your visitation privileges are open-ended,” Warden Holland replied. “All I ask is that you give us twenty-four hours’ notice.”
“Yes, of course,” Derek said.
“And I should warn you, Ms. Perdue,” Warden Holland said, “Browning will be in restraints during your interview.”
“I assumed that was common practice for convicted murders, especially serial killers, but I have to admit that my knowledge of the penal system is limited.”
“No, it’s not common practice for inmates to be in shackles during visitation periods. But Browning is no ordinary inmate. His charm is deceiving,” Warden Holland said. “We learned that early on. He can go from calm and cooperative one minute to aggressive and dangerous the next. He has attacked the guards and other inmates on numerous occasions.”
“Thank you for telling us,” Maleah said.
Claude Holland nodded and then motioned to the two uniformed guards standing at the back of the room. “Please escort Ms. Perdue and Mr. Lawrence to the visitation area. I’ll call now and have Browning brought there to meet you.”
Doing her best to concentrate not on where she was but on what she needed to do, Maleah walked quietly alongside Derek. Neither of them commented on their surroundings. The moment they entered the visitation area, her heartbeat accelerated, the sound drumming in her ears. There was no reason to be afraid, no reason whatsoever. She and Derek were perfectly safe.
Derek stood at her side, her shoulder brushing his arm. The two guards remained in the room, each stationed on either side of the door through which they had entered. She took a deep breath, held it, and then gradually released it, beginning with her belly and working upward to her throat. A yoga relaxation technique.
Two more guards entered the area, one on either side of the prisoner as they escorted him into the visitation area. Maleah stared directly at a handcuffed and shackled Jerome Browning. He looked older than the photos included in the Powell Agency files she and Derek had been given; but he was still tall, slender, and intriguingly handsome. Even dressed in prison garb of white shirt and pants and confined with restraints, he managed to exude an aura of worldly sophistication that totally surprised Maleah.
The moment he saw her, he smiled. A hard knot formed in the pit of her stomach. The smile was neither warm nor friendly. It was the type of smile she imagined would be on a cat’s face when he had just spotted a delectable little mouse, one he looked forward to tormenting before devouring.
Chapter 6
Derek studied Browning closely, mentally comparing the information he had on the man with the man himself standing there before him. Browning was forty-nine and although he looked his age, he had the kind of features that aged well. In his youth, he would have been referred to as a pretty boy. No doubt, he had used his good looks and his charm to lure his victims, especially the female ones, to their deaths. Behind that handsome façade lay the mind of a cunning and diabolical killer.
One of the guards who had escorted their prisoner into the room indicated for Browning to take a seat. Without a moment’s hesitation, he sat. His gaze never left Maleah.
Derek’s gut tightened as his instincts flashed a warning—danger!
“I don’t get many visitors,” Browning said in a heavy Southern accent, his voice as smooth as glass. “Certainly none as pretty as you, Ms. Perdue.”
Although Derek sensed Maleah tense, the action wasn’t visible. He had to give her credit for not even flinching.
“And I’m unaccustomed to visiting murderers in prison,” Maleah replied. “Especially ones as reprehensible as you are, Mr. Browning.”
His chuckled softly. “Touché, my dear.”
Maleah took the chair facing Browning, almost close enough to touch him, but not quite. She looked him square in the eye. They sat there staring at each other.
Derek barely controlled the urge to move in behind Maleah and stand at her back. His protective male instincts urged him to issue the man a warning. If you mess with this woman, you’ll have to deal with me.
“Do you know why I’m here?” Maleah asked.
Browning’s smile widened, showcasing a set of amazingly white, straight teeth. Apparently the state of Georgia provided great dental care for their inmates.
“I assume that you . . . or rather whatever agency you work for wants something they think only I can give them.”
Derek was sure that Maleah wouldn’t buy the man’s I-don’t-know-anything act.
“You know who I work for,” Maleah said. “You were informed that Mr. Lawrence—” she inclined her head slightly backward toward Derek “—and I work for the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency before you agreed to meet with us.”
“Knowing who you work for and why you’re here is not the same thing.”
Maleah fixed her gaze on Browning. “I’ll ask you again, do you know why I’m here?”
“We are allowed newspapers and magazines and television in here. And I occasionally have a visitor. People talk. I listen.”
“What have you been listening to?”
“This and that. Whatever interests me.”
“What interests you, Mr. Browning?”
That’s it, Maleah,
Derek thought.
Stay calm, keep things easy, remain completely in control. Don’t let his evasiveness get to you.
“Why don’t you call me Jerome?” Browning’s blueeyed gaze traveled over Maleah, pausing on her breasts, which were modestly concealed by her lightweight blazer. “I’m more inclined to share confidences with people I’m on a first name basis with.”
“All right, Jerome, what have you heard recently that interests you?”
He leaned back in the chair, spread his legs apart as far as the shackles allowed, and dropped his handcuffed hands between his thighs. “Well, Maleah . . . I can call you Maleah, can’t I?”
She nodded.
Derek knew that Maleah hated the way Browning was ogling her, but she acted as if she didn’t care, as if she wasn’t even aware of what he was doing.
Smiling, he lifted his gaze back to her face.
“It’s a pretty name for a pretty woman,” Browning said. “Family name? Were you named after your grandmother?”
He’s trying your patience.
Derek wished he could tell her, but suspected she knew what Browning was doing. The man wanted to get a reaction out of her, wanted her to become impatient and lose her temper.
“We’ve just met, Jerome,” Maleah told him. “We aren’t at a stage in our relationship where we exchange personal information. Right now, today, our conversation is about business.”
His smile disappeared as he cocked one brow and lowered his lids until his eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Whose business, mine or yours?”
“That’s what I want you to tell me. I’d like to know if your business and Powell Agency business are related.”
Forced and all the more deceptive, his smile returned. “What business could I possibly conduct in here? I’m considered a maximum security inmate. My privileges are limited. No way to get my hands on a scalpel. And as I’m sure you know, without the proper tools, I can’t work.”
“But you could teach, couldn’t you, Jerome?”
Bull’s-eye!
Derek wanted to pat her on the back or high-five her. She was not only holding her own with Browning, but she was scoring points.
Browning couldn’t manage to maintain his phony smile. The pulse in his neck throbbed. He clenched his perfect white teeth.
Silence lingered for a couple of minutes.
Then Browning recovered quickly and grinned. “Hmm . . . yes, I see your point. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.” He sighed dramatically. “It’s a sad state of affairs, don’t you think, my dear Maleah, when a master must live vicariously through the accomplishments of an apprentice.”
“And is that what you’re doing?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re enjoying our visit,” she replied. “I think you like playing games. I think you will eventually tell me what I want to know. But not today.”
“Smart and intuitive as well as beautiful.” He straightened in the chair, deliberately rattling his manacles and gaining a guard’s attention. Before the guard reached him, he settled quietly, his shoulders squared and his back straight.
“I don’t believe there is any point in my prolonging this visit.” Maleah rose to her feet and looked down at Browning. “My time is valuable, unlike yours. If you decide you want to be more informative, send word to the warden and Mr. Lawrence and I will come back for a second visit. Otherwise . . .”
“I’d be inclined to be more cooperative if you came alone.” He glanced at Derek.
Son of a bitch! He sees me as a threat. He thinks that without my presence, Maleah will be more vulnerable.
“You cooperate with me and I’ll cooperate with you,” she told Browning.
“Give and take. I like that. You give me something I want and I’ll give you something you want.”
“Agreed.”
“Come back tomorrow,” he told her. “Alone.”
Once Maleah drove away from the penitentiary, she glanced at Derek, who hadn’t said a word since they had left the warden’s office where she had arranged a second meeting with Jerome Browning. At ten o’clock tomorrow. Wednesday morning.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked Derek. “I know you’re dying to critique the initial interview. Tell me what I did wrong, how I screwed up, what I should have done differently.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t think of anything you should have handled differently. You were calm, cool, and in control every minute of the interview. You even managed to surprise Browning a couple of times.”
“I can’t believe it. Are you actually complimenting me?”
“I’m stating facts. You did a good job. Browning now knows that he’s dealing with a worthy opponent. And never doubt that’s how he sees you. For him, the game has begun. You may be ahead by a couple of points, but he learned a great deal about you today, far more than you learned about him.”
Maleah gripped the steering wheel, breathed deeply and told herself not to overreact to Derek’s comments. “Are you saying that you think I revealed too much about—?”
“What I said was in no way a criticism. We had a file folder filled with info about Browning. We already knew a great deal about him. He knew next to nothing about us . . . about you.”
“He’ll be looking for my Achilles’ heel, won’t he?”
“Oh yeah, without a doubt. And if he discovers it, he’ll use it like a sledgehammer to beat you into the ground. But only if you let him.”
“Do you think he knows that Noah Laborde was my boyfriend?”
“Our copycat killer knows,” Derek said. “It’s possible that, if he and Browning have communicated, as we suspect they have, Browning is well aware of the fact that you were practically engaged to Laborde.”
An overwhelming sense of doom threatened Maleah. She couldn’t allow the foreboding thoughts and feelings to deter her from what she had to do.
They continued along Reidsville Road until they reached GA-30W, the highway that would take them back to Vidalia.
“How about an early lunch?” Derek asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I am and you should be. You didn’t eat much breakfast.”
“I ate enough.”
“Think of yourself as a warrior preparing to go into battle tomorrow. You need to be in tiptop shape mentally and physically. You’re going to eat a decent lunch and dinner. And in the morning, you’re filling up on protein—bacon and eggs.”
Maleah groaned silently, but didn’t reply. She knew that Derek meant well, that he wasn’t trying to take control, that he really was thinking about helping her become battle ready for tomorrow morning’s confrontation with Browning.
When she didn’t say anything for several minutes, he asked, “Giving me the silent treatment?”
“Huh?”
“You’re pissed that I dared to suggest—”
“You don’t suggest, Derek, you command.”
“Yeah, I suppose I do. Sorry about that. It’s just that taking care of you is part of my job.”
She practically stopped the SUV in the middle of the highway, slowing down so much that vehicles doing forty-five miles an hour flew past her.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he told her. “I shouldn’t have put it in those precise words. Let me rephrase—”
“Don’t bother.”
Suddenly realizing that doing twenty-miles an hour on a major highway could be hazardous, Maleah returned the Chevy to the allowed speed limit.
“I do not need you or anyone to take care of me.” She kept her gaze focused straight ahead. If she looked at Derek, she might be overcome by the urge to slap him. “I’m an adult, not a child. I don’t need or want anyone to fight my battles and take the hits meant for me. And I certainly don’t need anyone overseeing my meals to make sure I eat properly.”
“I realize that. What I should have said is that we’re partners and partners depend on each other, right? I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine. Nobody’s the boss. We’re two equals doing a job and looking out for each other.”
“Griff told you to take care of me, didn’t he?”
Derek shrugged. “You know Griff.”
“Yes, I do. He thinks I can’t take care of myself.”
“That’s not it. He’s concerned. After all, you’re Nic’s best friend and—”
“I’m going back to the prison alone tomorrow morning to see Browning.”
Don’t you dare tell me that I can’t go without you!
“All right.”
“That was too easy. You agreed too quickly.”
“You can see Browning without me. I’ll wait in the warden’s office.”
“What’s the catch?”
“The only catch is that we make a bargain.”
“Uh-oh, I don’t like the sound of that.”
“You can see Browning alone, but you’ll allow me to coach you before every visit.”
“You mean you want to tell me what to do and what to say and—”
“I want to coach you, advise you, work with you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“It’s not negotiable,” he told her. “We strike a bargain or you don’t see Browning alone.”
Michelle Allen watched her seven-year-old niece Jaelyn as she swung across the monkey bars on her backyard swing set. Her brother’s only child reminded her of herself in so many ways, and not just physically, although the resemblance was striking. But then she and Keith looked enough alike to be twins. She had always been a bit of a tomboy and enjoyed playing sports. She had excelled at basketball in high school and won a basketball scholarship to college. She’d been good, but not quite good enough for the WNBA.
“Watch me, Aunt Chelle,” Jaelyn called to her. “I’m going to do a somersault in mid-air.”
Michelle jumped to her feet. “Be careful. Don’t fall.” She raced toward the swing set positioned over an enormous bed of mulch, put there to protect Jaelyn if she fell. Keith and Shannon were conscientious parents and tried not to be overprotective. But it wasn’t easy for them, walking that fine line, especially not with an only child, a child they knew would be their only biological offspring. And since at thirty-nine, Michelle doubted she would ever have children of her own, she felt a strong maternal protectiveness toward her niece.