“Please, come in,” Griff said, then he looked at Sanders and told him, “Close the door.”
Once the five of them were closeted in Griff’s private study, everyone except Sanders seated, Griff spread his big hands out over the folders lying atop his desk.
“These contain all the information we have on the four murders. The info on Winston Corbett came in mid-afternoon, so we’ve had a chance to go over it.”
“As you already know, Ben’s dad’s murder fit the same pattern as the previous three,” Nic said. “We don’t need to wait on the autopsy report to know that.”
“Our killer, for whatever reason, has targeted Powell employees and members of their families.” Griff reiterated an undisputable fact.
Studying the big man’s somber expression, Derek noted suppressed anger combined with grief and frustration.
Sanders said, “Protecting the Powell Agency employees and their families is of paramount importance.” He stood, as he so often did, at Griff’s side, his body stationed slightly behind his boss.
“Everyone is vulnerable because there is no way to predict who will be chosen as the next to die.”
“I’ve given orders for the security here at Griffin’s Rest to be expanded. As of tomorrow morning, we’re doubling the guards and bringing in more agents to the estate,” Griff explained. “There will be guards here at our home, twenty-four/seven, as well as at Yvette’s retreat.”
Most people would not have noticed the slight tensing in Nic’s body, but being an observer of human nature, Derek noticed. Whenever Griff mentioned Dr. Yvette Meng, Nic reacted in a subtle, barely discernable way. He suspected Nic’s friendship with Yvette hinged precariously on Nic believing that her husband had never shared a sexual relationship with the exotic Eurasian beauty. Derek also suspected that there was far more to Griff’s apparent symbiotic relationship with both Sanders and Dr. Meng than anyone, including Nic, knew.
“Obviously, the problem is that we have no idea who the killer has chosen as his next victim,” Nic said. “We’ve read and re-read the reports.” She glanced at Griff’s desktop. “The only thing the four victims had in common was their link to the Powell Agency. They were different ages, different sexes, were murdered in different states. One was a Powell secretary, one an agent, one a lawyer who was the brother of an agent. And now, Ben’s father, a retired businessman, has been killed.”
“If we could figure out how he chooses his victims—” Nic said.
Derek cut her off. “To date, he’s chosen two women and then two men. If he follows this pattern then the next two victims will be female.”
Griffin grunted, the growling sound coming from deep in his chest. “If that’s the case, then every female Powell agent as well as every agent’s wife, mother, sister, daughter, and niece could be at risk. How the hell can we narrow down the choices when we have no idea what criteria he’s using to make his decisions?”
“We can’t,” Derek said. “My educated guess is that he is following a specific plan and that he probably won’t deviate from it. He’s too methodical, too precise, as if he has a blueprint that leads him step by step.”
“The way a copycat killer would mimic the original killer’s MO,” Griff said.
Derek’s gaze met Griff’s and he understood that Griff and the others knew something that he and Maleah did not.
“Are you saying you think we’re dealing with a copycat killer?” Maleah asked.
“I believe it is a good possibility.” Griff picked up two file folders and handed them to Sanders. “Later, I want you both to read over this information.” He motioned to Sanders to distribute the folders, which he quickly did.
Derek glanced at the typed heading on the folder. Jerome Browning.
The name sounded vaguely familiar.
“Who’s Jerome Browning?” Maleah asked.
“He is a convicted serial killer serving half a dozen consecutive life terms at the Georgia State Prison.” Griff made direct eye contact with Maleah before he continued. “Browning became known as the Carver when he viciously murdered nine people by slitting their throats and carving triangular pieces of flesh from their upper arms and thighs. His first kill was twelve years ago and his killing spree lasted less than three years before he was caught, tried and convicted.”
The way everyone else in the room seemed focused on Maleah piqued Derek’s curiosity. He sensed that Griff was on the verge of revealing information that would in some way personally affect her. His protective instincts kicked in automatically, urging him to place himself between Maleah and whatever might harm her.
“I’m getting the distinct impression that I’m not going to like whatever else you have to say.” Maleah glanced around the room, taking note of how everyone was staring directly at her.
“Maleah, I’m so sorry . . .” Nic’s voice trailed off.
“Jerome Browning’s third victim was a young man living and working in the Atlanta area,” Griff said. “His name was Noah Laborde.”
Maleah gasped, the sound sharp and highly exaggerated in the hushed stillness. “He killed Noah?” She spoke the man’s name softly . . . sadly.
“Who was Noah Laborde?” Derek asked.
Nic walked over to Maleah and draped a comforting arm around her shoulders. Maleah looked at Derek. “Noah was my college boyfriend. We . . . we were almost engaged. We broke up right after graduation. His sister called me a year later to tell me that Noah had been killed, but I . . . Oh, God, I never knew the details. I never asked.”
Of all the killers this person could have chosen to imitate, why had he picked the man who had murdered Maleah’s former boyfriend?
The answer was obvious, of course—because of the Powell Agency connection.
“So what do you think, Derek?” Griff asked.
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence.” Derek knew exactly what Griff was asking. “Our killer chose this man Browning because he had killed Noah Laborde, Maleah’s former boyfriend. Maleah is a Powell agent and therefore connected to the agency. He handpicked the Carver as the killer he would imitate for the same reason he has chosen his victims.”
“Because they are all, in one way or another, connected to the Powell Agency.” Griff pummeled the desktop with his huge fist. “God damn son of a bitch.”
“I can only surmise that his real target is the Powell Agency.” When Derek’s gaze met Griff’s, he saw the pain in his employer’s eyes. “I would assume that means his target is either you, Griff, or you, Nicole.” He glanced at Nic. “Or possibly both of you.”
“It’s not Nic. I’m his real target,” Griff said. “He’s striking out at me through my people.”
“That’s one possible scenario,” Derek agreed.
“I could be his target,” Nic said. “He could be someone from my past, someone connected to one of my cases when I was a federal agent. After all, he has chosen to copy a killer who has a direct connection to my best friend.”
“We can debate this all day and still won’t know for sure,” Maleah told them. “Once we find out who the killer is, we’ll have the answers to all the whys, won’t we? That has to be our first order of business—identifying our killer.”
“Maleah’s right,” Derek said. “Since it seems obvious that the new Carver murders are copycat killings, that means we need to start with some basic questions. Is our guy someone who has been in contact with Jerome Browning, maybe visited him in prison? Is he an admirer? A student of the Carver’s methods? Is he perhaps even a protégé of Browning’s?”
“There is one person, other than the killer himself, who may be able to answer those questions,” Maleah said.
“Jerome Browning.” Derek’s voice filled the quiet room. All eyes turned to him.
“Browning is the reason y’all decided to pair me with Derek on this case.” Maleah stared right at Nic.
Nic simply stared back at Maleah.
“I think it’s obvious that our killer wants you involved,” Griff
said.
Maleah gave Griff her undivided attention. “You think because of my connection to Noah, Browning’s third victim, the copycat is sending me an invitation to become personally involved.”
Griff nodded. “Don’t you agree, Derek?”
Reluctantly, Derek replied, “Yes, I agree. And it could be that by singling out Maleah this way, it’s the copycat killer’s way of getting as close to Nic as he possibly can without actually involving her. At least not yet.”
“See, I told you that this could be all about me and not you.” Nic glared at her husband.
Griff frowned, but didn’t verbally acknowledge Nic’s comment. Instead he spoke directly to Maleah. “Someone will have to interview Browning. Since the killer chose a specific connection between you and the killer he is imitating, it would seem logical that you should be the agent I send to Georgia to talk to Browning.”
“I’ll accompany her, of course.” No way in hell was Derek going to let Maleah confront Browning alone. She might project a tough as nails image, but he knew just how vulnerable she really was.
“Of course,” Griff agreed. “We’ll want you to study Browning while Maleah interviews him.”
“She needs to know the rest.” Nic glared at her husband. “No secrets. If Maleah is going into this, she needs to go into it armed with all the facts.”
Derek’s gut tightened.
Griff nodded. He stood, reached down behind his desk and lifted a small thermal cooler from the floor.
“We received a package sent via FedEx this morning,” Griff said. “There was a small plastic case inside an Arctic foil insulated package, the type used to ship perishables such as food and medical supplies.”
Griff flipped back the lid on the cooler, reached down inside and lifted out the plastic case. “The package was addressed to you, Maleah, in care of the Powell Agency. The sender was, supposedly, Winston Corbett.”
Derek sensed that Maleah was holding her breath as Griff removed the top from the plastic case. He inched in closer, placing himself directly behind her. Looking over her shoulder, he had a perfect view of the sectioned interior of the case and the first layer of its contents.
“Are those . . . ?” Maleah swallowed hard. “Are those what I think they are?”
“We’ve had our lab verify that those small triangular objects are human flesh,” Griff said. “I think we can be relatively certain that the pieces in the top section were cut from Winston Corbett’s body and those in the other three sections belong to the other victims.”
“And he sent them to me.” Maleah balled her hands into fists and pressed her fists against her upper thighs.
Derek reached out and clamped his hand over Maleah’s tense shoulder, conveying his support. “We’re in this together, Blondie. You and me. From here to the bitter end.”
Chapter 4
Despite her earlier claims to Derek about being hungry, Maleah skipped dinner that evening. The information that Nic and Griff had shared with her had not only taken her appetite, but it had given her the mother of all headaches. Why me? was the one question that replayed itself over and over again in her mind. Could it really be he had chosen her only because she and Nic were close friends? Or was it possible that she was simply the only Powell agent with a connection to a serial killer? She’d have to remember in the morning to ask Nic.
Lying there staring up at the ceiling, she positioned her index fingers on either side of her head and rubbed her temples in a circular motion. She had been prone to having tension headaches all her life. Usually a couple of aspirin or Aleve gave her relief within an hour or less. But this headache was hanging on.
“Maleah?” Nic asked after rapping on the bedroom door.
“Yes, what is it?”
“May I come in?”
Maleah sighed heavily, lifted herself into a sitting position and replied, “Sure, come on in.” After all, she was a guest in her friend’s home. And Nic was probably worried about her.
No sooner had Maleah’s bare feet hit the floor than Nic entered, a serving tray balanced in one hand. “I brought you something to eat.”
Maleah rushed toward her friend and took the tray from her. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that. I don’t think I can eat a bite.”
“It’s Barbara Jean’s mac and cheese, with her Mexican cornbread. If that doesn’t tempt you, nothing will.” Nic closed the door and then followed Maleah into the small sitting area of the bedroom. A couple of sky blue upholstered arm chairs flanked a small, low mahogany table set between the chairs and love seat covered with yellow and blue floral material. Maleah lowered the tray to the table, removed the cloth covering and eyed the plate of food. Her stomach growled.
Maleah and Nic smiled at each other.
“See,” Nic said. “Your stomach knows you’re hungry, even if you think you’re not.”
Realizing it was useless to argue with Nic, especially when she was right, Maleah sat down on the loveseat and picked up a fork from the tray. “I’ve read through the folder Griff gave me, but I’m afraid I didn’t retain much of the info. I have a splitting headache. I’ll read the files again later.”
“Did you take something for your headache?”
Maleah lifted the plate from the tray. “A couple of aspirin. They helped a little.”
“Eat something. It could be a hunger headache.” She scanned Maleah from head to toe. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”
Maleah groaned. “Don’t I wish.”
They both laughed.
“Why don’t you wait until in the morning to re-read the files on the Carver,” Nic said. “It could be days before you can interview him. Griff is still working on pulling some strings to get you and Derek permission to visit him. There is a lot of red tape involved in being granted visitation privileges. If we were a government agency, it would be a lot easier. Under normal circumstances, since we’re an independent firm, it would be highly unlikely one of our agents would be allowed to see Browning. Unless of course, he asked to see one of us.”
Maleah lifted a forkful of macaroni and cheese to her mouth, ate the delicious casserole and dived back into the plate for more. “This is delicious.” She ate several more bites before asking, “I don’t suppose y’all have checked to see if any of the other agents have any connection to a serial killer, have you?”
Nic’s eyes widened as her expression changed from puzzlement to understanding. “No, we haven’t. Narrowing down the copycat killer’s MO to perfectly match a former serial killer took some time, so we only recently came to the conclusion that our Powell Agency killer was mimicking the Carver. But I see what you’re getting at. Did he choose the Carver because he’s the only serial killer with any connection to one of our agents?”
Maleah munched on the Mexican cornbread and washed it down with iced tea. “I realize that with nearly two hundred people now employed by the agency, it could take forever to make any kind of connection. So, how did our killer unearth the connection between Jerome Browning and me when I didn’t even know about it myself?” Maleah tightened her hold on the cool, damp glass. “God, I should have asked more questions about Noah’s murder when his sister Jacque called me. But I hadn’t seen him or spoken to him in over a year when it happened.” Quick jabs of pain shot through Maleah’s right temple. She pressed the side of the iced tea glass against the throbbing pain.
“Are you okay?” Nic studied Maleah closely. “Maybe you need something stronger than aspirin.”
“No, I’ll be fine. I’m just feeling a little guilty remembering how unaffected I was by Noah’s death.” She set the glass on the tray. “He was such a nice guy. Any woman in her right mind would have snapped him up in a New York minute. But not me. I think I broke his heart when I turned down his proposal.”
“Why did you turn him down?”
“I didn’t want to get married.” Maleah slid her left hand beneath her hair at the nape of her neck and massaged her scalp. “I feel as if my entire head
is being squeezed in a vise. I know it’s just tension, but . . .”
“You don’t need to tell me tonight. Maybe you should lie down and rest.”
“I want you to know, to understand why I rejected him. At the time, I told myself that I didn’t marry Noah because I didn’t want to get married, that I intended to never marry anybody. But looking back, I realize that was only half of the reason.”
“And the other half was because . . . ?”
“I don’t think I was in love with Noah. I loved him, yes. But something was missing. I wanted to be in love, told myself that I was, needed to be, at least in my own mind, enough to justify the fact that he was my first.”
Nic smiled. “No one ever forgets their first, do they? But we all know that most of the time, the first one is not The One, not for a lot of woman and certainly not for most men. Of course, there are exceptions, especially for our parents’ generation.”
“It breaks my heart to think about the way Noah died. He deserved to live a full life, with a wife and kids and . . .” Maleah exhaled a huffing breath. “Dear God, how am I going to face the man who killed Noah? How am I going to interview him without wanting to strangle him with my bare hands for what he did?”
“You’ll be able to do it because you’re a professional. If Griff or I had any doubts about your ability or your competence, we would never pair you with Derek again and put the two of you in charge of a case that is highly personal for us.”
“Griff really does believe that these murders are somehow connected to his past, doesn’t he?” Maleah looked squarely at Nic.
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