Not Derek.
The silhouette moved out of the shadows and revealed herself.
“Michelle? What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
For a few seconds, Maleah felt a huge sense of relief, thinking perhaps Griff had sent Michelle. But when Michelle didn’t respond, only stood there staring at Maleah, her eyes wide and glazed as if she were in a trance, Maleah knew something wasn’t right.
“What are you doing in my room? Did Griff send you?”
As Michelle walked toward Maleah, she brought the hand she held behind her back to her side. She lifted the gun she was tightly clutching. And then she pointed the 9mm at Maleah.
“I’m sorry, Maleah,” Michelle said. “I’m so very sorry, but I have no other choice. I have to kill you.”
Derek explained the situation to Brendan Richter and then headed upstairs only minutes behind Griff. He hated having to tell Maleah that Michelle Allen was the one who had killed Shiloh, that she had been forced to kill in order to save her seven-year-old niece’s life. Apparently Anthony Linden had kidnapped Jaelyn Allen and held her hostage in order to force Michelle into killing for his employer. Derek didn’t know all the particulars of course, but he couldn’t understand why Michelle hadn’t come to Griff and Nic and explained what had happened. He felt certain that Griff could have figured out a way to help her convince Linden that she was following his instructions without her actually having had to kill anyone. But it was impossible to truly put himself in Michelle’s shoes. No two people reacted the same way to similar events. He and Michelle were two very different people who had come from vastly different backgrounds and had different life experiences. Not that he thought a man would have handled the situation differently or better than a woman or that a privileged background made him superior in any way. All he meant was that he knew he shouldn’t judge another person’s reasoning simply because they chose a different solution than he would have chosen.
As Derek approached Maleah’s bedroom, he stopped and thought about what he was going to say to her. Maleah and Michelle weren’t close friends, but they were friends nevertheless. Michelle had been Maleah’s martial arts instructor and had been the one who had encouraged Maleah to work toward perfecting her skills.
He knew his Blondie. She presented a hard-as-nails façade to the world, but inside, she had a marshmallow center. She would take the news about Michelle hard.
If only they could find Michelle quickly—before she killed again.
Maleah stared at Michelle—her friend Michelle—who held a gun on her and obviously intended to kill her.
“Why?” Maleah asked. “I don’t understand.”
“He has my niece, Jaelyn.”
“Who has your niece?” Maleah took a hesitant step toward Michelle. If she could get close enough, she had a reasonable chance of overpowering her.
“Stop right there. Don’t come any closer.”
Maleah stopped. “Michelle, we can work this out. Whatever you need—”
“I need for you to shut up.” Tears glistened in Michelle’s eyes.
Keep her talking. Find a way to move in closer.
“I knew I would have to shoot you,” Michelle said. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to overpower and subdue you the way I did Shiloh.”
“Please, talk to me. Let me help you. I know you don’t want to do this.”
“Can’t you see that I don’t have any other choice? If I don’t kill you, he will kill Jaelyn.”
As Derek reached for the doorknob, he heard voices inside Maleah’s room. Two female voices. Maleah and—?
He pressed his ear to the door and listened.
“I’ll make it quick and painless, I promise,” Michelle Allen said.
Derek’s heart stopped.
Michelle was in Maleah’s room.
His first instinct was to draw his gun and burst into the room. He had been wearing his holster at Griffin’s Rest since Shiloh’s murder last night. But if he burst into the room, he might spook Michelle and she might fire her weapon instantly. On the other hand, if he didn’t act immediately, she would shoot Maleah anyway.
He reached under his jacket, flipped open the holster, and removed his 45 Colt XSE. Praying with every breath he took, Derek turned the handle and eased open the door, inch by inch. He stepped inside the bedroom, gun in hand, and as soon as he saw both women, he aimed his weapon directly at Michelle.
“Drop your gun,” he told Michelle in a deceptively calm voice. He was anything but calm.
In that split second when Derek’s command distracted Michelle, Maleah made her move. Before either Derek or Michelle realized what was happening, Maleah sent her arms and legs into deadly motion, ironically enough, using the skilled maneuvers Michelle had taught her. The student against the teacher. Maleah’s foot struck Michelle’s hand and sent the gun she held flying. Realizing her weapon of choice was no longer an option, Michelle instinctively retaliated.
With his pistol aimed and ready to fire, Derek held back and watched while Maleah and Michelle engaged in hand-to-hand combat. This was Maleah’s fight. She wouldn’t appreciate him interfering unless it was to save her life.
Back and forth, Michelle attacked and Maleah counterattacked. Both women were skilled warriors, pretty much evenly matched, every move each made a combination of reflex and training. Repeated force-against-force blocks took a toll on both of them. With each kick, each painful blow, each woman weakened, but neither gave an inch. Maleah punched harder and faster, using the front two knuckles of her fist to strike at her opponent, and then successfully blocking each blow Michelle aimed at her.
By the time Maleah pinned Michelle to the floor, both women were bloody and breathless. Sweat glistened on their skin.
“Oh, God, please,” Michelle whimpered. “Jaelyn . . .”
Griff, Nic, and Shaughnessy rushed into the room and halted abruptly behind Derek. They looked past him to where Maleah straddled a defeated Michelle.
Derek holstered his weapon and with the others at his back, he rushed over to Maleah, yanked down her robe that had hiked up to the edge of her buttocks, and then pulled her off Michelle and into his arms. Breathing heavily, she put one arm around him as she looked down at her opponent.
Griff and Shaughnessy lifted a bruised and battered Michelle to her feet. Shaughnessy quickly yanked her arms behind her, shoved her in front of him and held her securely.
“She kept saying that Linden had her niece and he would kill her if she didn’t do what he told her to do,” Maleah explained. “She admitted that she killed Shiloh.”
“Luke called. He found Linden,” Griff said. “Apparently Linden had been ordered to abduct Jaelyn Allen and hold her captive as a way to control Michelle and force her to kill for him.”
“Jaelyn?” Michelle asked pleadingly. “Is she all right?”
“Your niece is fine,” Griff told her. “Luke and Meredith are bringing her back to the U.S. as soon as possible. They’ll take her home to your brother and his wife.”
Moments after hearing the good news about Jaelyn, Michelle fell apart emotionally, weeping, shaking her head, and muttering incoherently. Shaughnessy gently led her from the room.
Nic grabbed Maleah out of Derek’s arms and hugged her. Then she stepped back and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Thank God you’re all right.”
Griff put his arm around Nic’s shoulders.
Maleah looked at Derek. He reached out and swiped away the smear of blood from her mouth. “Blondie, don’t you ever scare me like that again. When I saw Michelle holding a gun on you . . . Maleah Perdue, if anything had happened to you . . .”
She offered him a fragile smile. “You’re my hero, you know.”
“Who, me?” He pointed to his chest.
“Yes, you. If you hadn’t startled Michelle, I might not have gotten the opportunity to catch her off guard the way I did.” She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. “And you’re my hero because once you saw I could handle
the situation without your help, you let me fight my own battle.”
Chapter 36
Derek had held her in his arms all night Friday night and finally sometime over in the morning, she had fallen asleep.
Maleah awoke to a new day, yet she was haunted by yesterday’s events. Physically, she ached like hell from the beating Michelle had given her. Emotionally, she was a wreck. Her thoughts and feelings were all over the place. She was shocked and angry and sad about Michelle’s betrayal and equally sympathetic about the intolerable choice Michelle had been forced to make. Maleah wanted to believe that if she had been put in such a horrific position, she would have chosen a better solution. Poor Michelle, her life was all but destroyed.
What was going to happen now that Anthony Linden was dead? Would it be only a matter of time before the pseudo-York sent another gun-for-hire to terrorize Griff?
Most of Saturday passed in a blur. Sanders chauffeured them—Nic and Griff, Shaughnessy, Derek and Maleah—to the sheriff’s department to give their statements concerning the attempt on Maleah’s life. A distraught Michelle had confessed that she had killed Shiloh Whitman and had been ordered to kill Maleah. Griff had contacted Camden Hendrix, an old friend and head of a law firm the Powell Agency kept on retainer. Despite what Michelle had done, Griff had instructed Cam to provide her with the best legal representation possible. Griffin Powell believed that, no matter what, you took care of your own.
After their trip to the sheriff’s office, Maleah and Derek spent most of the day with Nic and Griff and Griff didn’t mention anything about Nic being pregnant. When Maleah and Nic were finally alone for a few minutes, Maleah asked Nic why she hadn’t told her husband about their baby.
“I’m going to tell him. But not yet. Not for a few more days. Not until we all have a chance to come to terms with what Michelle did and sort of get our bearings.”
And so that was what they did the rest of the day Saturday—tried to get their bearings in a sea of mixed emotions.
Saturday night Derek made love to her so slowly and tenderly that she cried. And being the man that he was, he understood that those tears of joy also released a myriad of pent-up emotions. A lifetime of emotions.
Odd that in the midst of all the chaos and upheaval in their lives, she could, on a very personal level, be so happy. Happier than she had ever been in her entire life. She loved Derek Lawrence and he loved her.
That morning, after they made love again, Derek propped up on his elbow, looked down at her, and said, “I think you’re going to have to marry me.”
Smiling like a lovesick fool, she stared up at him and asked, “Why would you think that?”
He grinned. “Maybe it’s because I love you and you love me and I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without you.” He swooped down and kissed her. Then he lifted his head and laughed. “I know it sounds corny, but I want your face to be the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I see every night.”
When she socked him in the chest, he fell over on his back and laid his hand over his heart.
“You’re right. That did sound corny.” She leaned down and nuzzled his nose with hers. “But since I happen to feel the same way, I think you’re right. You are going to have to marry me.”
Griffin Powell stared at the letter in his hand, the letter that had arrived special delivery this morning via an international courier. The return address was a hotel in London, Berkeley Knightsbridge, where Luke and Meredith had stayed.
If that was someone’s idea of a joke, that person had a truly warped sense of humor.
Griff had read and reread the letter before he called Yvette.
Once she arrived, Sanders joined them in Griff’s private study. Sanders closed and locked the door before Griff gave the letter to Yvette.
After she read the letter, she stared at Griff, a combination of doubt and hope in her eyes. “Could this possibly be true?”
“I don’t know.”
Yvette handed the letter to Sanders.
He read it quickly.
With concern in his black eyes, he looked from Yvette to Griff and said, “You cannot believe what this letter says, not without proof.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Griff replied.
“I want to go to England, to Benenden and see her for myself,” Yvette told them. “If there is the slightest chance that she really is . . .” Yvette closed her eyes.
Griff could not bear to see her in such pain. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up. This letter proves nothing except that someone wants to hurt us, someone who knows about what happened on Amara.”
“Whoever sent the letter signed it Malcolm York and that signature looks authentic,” Sanders pointed out to them. “But we know that it is not possible for him to be the real York. This man, whoever he is, is a fraud. And this girl mentioned in the letter, even if such a girl exists, may well be a fraud, also.”
“But what if she does exist? What if she’s not a fraud?” Yvette opened her tear-misted eyes and looked pleadingly at Griff. “If I can see her . . . touch her . . . I would know. Even without a DNA test.”
“It would take a DNA test to convince me,” Sanders said. “This man who calls himself Malcolm York has simply found a new means of tormenting us. Apparently killing Powell employees and members of their families was not enough for him.”
Griff nodded agreement. “You’re right, Sanders, but this letter is not something we can ignore.” He walked over, caressed Yvette’s damp cheek and said, “I’ll make arrangements for us to take the Powell jet to London tomorrow. But before I finalize my plans, I have to show Nic the letter and I have to tell her everything.”
“Do you think that is wise?” Sanders asked.
“No, Griffin is right,” Yvette said. “He has to tell his wife. She has every right to know.” Yvette glanced at Sanders. “Perhaps you should tell Barbara Jean.”
“No,” Sanders replied. “Not now. Not until we know for sure.”
Nic kept rehearsing how she would tell Griff that he was going to be a father. Should she say, “We’re pregnant?” Or maybe she should hold his hand over her still flat belly and ask, “Which would you prefer, a son or a daughter?” Then again, she could just put her arms around him, look up into his gorgeous gray eyes and say, “We’re going to have a baby.”
In the end, it probably didn’t matter how she said it. Griff would be thrilled. No, the timing wasn’t perfect and Griff, who worried about her way too much as it was, would hover over her night and day. And she had every intention of letting him smother her with attention. After all, why not give him the pleasure of pampering her for the next seven months?
When she arrived outside Griff’s study, she found the door open and Griff waiting there alone.
She could tell him about their baby this morning. She could walk right into his study and deliver the good news that he was going to be a father.
But when he looked at her, the expression on his face stopped her cold. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. What had happened now?
She rushed over to him. “Griff, what is it? What’s—?”
He grasped her shoulders. “I love you. If you never believe anything else, believe that.”
“You’re frightening me. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
“First, tell me that you know I love you more than anyone or anything on this earth.”
“Yes, I know you love me. And I love you.”
He released his tenacious grip on her shoulders. “I received a special delivery letter from London a little over two hours ago. The signature on the letter was a decent forgery of Malcolm York’s signature.”
“Then it was a letter from him, this man you refer to as the pseudo-York.”
“I want you to read the letter.” Griff reached behind him and lifted the envelope from the desk. “After you read it, I want you to sit down and let me tell you about what happened on Amara. It’s something I should have already told you.”
Nic felt sick at her stomach. It could be nothing more than morning sickness, but she suspected it was nerves. Fear-induced nerves.
Griff removed the letter from the envelope and handed the single page to Nic. She took the letter in her unsteady hand. When she first glanced at it, her vision blurred for a few seconds and then instantly cleared.
Dear Griffin,
I hope this letter finds you and your wife well. Give Mrs. Powell my sincerest regards. And please give my regards to our beautiful, delectable Yvette. I think of her so often, of the two of you and dear Sanders, too. Ah, what wonderful times we shared on Amara. How I wish we could all be together again, as we were then.
I have been fortunate not to have spent all these years alone, to have been able to keep a part of Yvette with me. She is almost seventeen now. I gave her a little red Porsche for her sixteenth birthday. She calls me Papa and adores me as I adore her.
I believe I’ve been selfish far too long by keeping her all to myself. Being a generous man, I have decided to share her with her mother. If Yvette would like to meet her daughter, tell her that she can find Suzette at the Benenden School in Kent. As you can imagine, I’ve spared no expense on her education. You will find her to be as beautiful and brilliant as her mother and as strong of heart as her father.
Sincerely,
Malcolm York
The letter slipped from Nic’s hand and sailed slowly onto the floor. She lifted her gaze and stared at Griff.
“Yvette has a daughter?”
“She gave birth to the child nearly seventeen years ago when we were on Amara.”
“I don’t understand. Where has the girl been all these years? And how would this pseudo-York know about her? If what he says is true, this girl thinks of him as her father. But if the real Malcolm York was her father—?”
“York wasn’t her father.”
“But Yvette was York’s wife.”
Beverly Barton Bundle Page 80
