Dead By Morning

by Beverly Barton

  “Close the door and lock it. And whatever you do, don’t leave the car while I’m gone.”

  “Where did you get the gun?” she asked.

  “Good God, woman, what a question. I brought it with me. Now close the damn door.”

  He couldn’t worry about Meredith and do his job. If she followed orders, she should be safe.

  Creating a path through the wooded area to the left of the cottage, he made his way toward the backyard. Just as he had thought, the black Mercedes was parked at the back of the house and couldn’t be seen from the road. The cottage doors and windows would be locked, but with no security system, breaking and entering would be a piece of cake. However, if Linden was expecting him, he could easily be opening a door to his own death. There was a root cellar which could be booby trapped, just as the doors and windows might be.

  With weapon drawn, Luke circled the cottage. He peered into the windows, one by one, and found every room as dark as pitch, except what appeared to be a bedroom at the back of the house. A dim light glowed softly on one wall, probably a nightlight plugged into a wall outlet.

  Luke swallowed.

  This would be the child’s bedroom.

  If he could get her out of the house first . . .

  Not an option. Too risky.

  Keeping the child safe was his number one priority.

  He woke with a start, his heart pounding and a rush of adrenaline pumping through his body at breakneck speed. Sitting up in bed, the lightweight cover falling to his hips, he listened for any sound that might have caused him to wake so suddenly.

  Silence.

  The only sound he heard was his own breathing.

  He shoved back the covers, got up, slipped his bare feet into his Italian leather loafers, and reached for his SIG on the bedside table. Not taking time to put on his pajama top, he walked quietly out of his bedroom and moved carefully down the narrow hall to the child’s room. She lay curled in a fetal ball, the sheet and blanket kicked to the foot of the bed. He scanned the room, from wall to wall and from floor to ceiling. The old house had no closets and the wardrobe in that room was too small to provide a hiding place for an adult.

  The room was clear.

  Vigilant to any sound or movement, he walked into the room and over to the bed, and then reached down and gently shook the child.

  “Wake up,” he whispered.

  Her eyes flew open. She stared up at him. When she opened her mouth, he knew she was going to scream. He clamped his hand over her face, covering her mouth and chin.

  “Be quiet and I won’t hurt you,” he told her. “I’m going to take you out of bed now and carry you with me. Be good. Don’t fight me. If you’re not a good girl, you will be very sorry.”

  He snatched her up and out of the bed. While keeping a tight grip on his pistol, he maneuvered her to his left side and balanced her with one arm.

  Pausing for a moment, he heard nothing, saw nothing. And yet he knew someone was in the house. Years of training had honed his senses.

  He couldn’t understand how someone had managed to find them. An alias had been used at Heathrow. Zachary Fairweather. His employer had rented the Mercedes and the cottage under that name. How had someone connected Anthony Linden to Zachary Fairweather?

  It wasn’t possible.

  And yet someone had tracked him.

  Someone had been sent to rescue the child.

  Who was the only person who knew where the child was being held?

  Malcolm York!

  The son of a bitch had set him up. But why?

  Regardless of his employer’s reasons for betrayal, he had no intention of dying tonight. Survival first He would use the child as a bargaining chip or if necessary a shield. He’d take care of York later.

  When he walked toward the open bedroom door, intending to close it, he sensed danger all around him. But he could not pinpoint the presence of another person other than the trembling child he held against his body. He would wait there, in the bedroom, for his attacker to strike. Depending on the other man’s skills, he should have a fifty/fifty chance of survival. Just as he reached out to close the bedroom door, a bullet zipped through the darkness and entered the front of his head.

  The bullet had severed his brainstem, killing him immediately. Luke came out of the shadowy hallway, grabbed the screaming child as Linden slumped down onto the floor. He hoisted the little girl up and onto his hip.

  “It’s all right, honey. You’re safe. Nobody is going to hurt you. I’m taking you home to your mommy and daddy.”

  She stopped screaming and stared at Luke with a pair of huge blue eyes.

  He carried her out of the bedroom, down the hall and straight through the front door. “There’s a very nice lady waiting in my car. I’ll take you to her, okay? She will look after you while I make a couple of phone calls, and then you and I and the nice lady are going to leave here and we’ll take you home as soon as we can.”

  As if instinctively believing she could trust Luke, she wrapped her little arm around his neck and held on tightly as he rushed across the front lawn and down the road to the Volvo. The minute Meredith saw him coming, she opened the car door and jumped out.

  Damn it. What did I tell her? Stay in the car.

  He and Meredith exchanged glances as she held out her arms to the little girl. “Come here, sweetie.”

  The child went to Meredith somewhat reluctantly.

  Luke turned and walked away several feet.

  Before Meredith closed the car door, she spoke to the child again. “I’m Meredith Sinclair. Who are you?”

  Too far away to hear the child’s whispered response, Luke immediately contacted Mitchum, who told him he already had a cleanup crew en route and they would take care of everything there at the cottage. Luke’s second phone call would be to Griff. He checked his watch, an MTM Black Patriot, noted it was ten till one and calculated the time difference.

  Just as he started to make the call, Meredith opened the car door and called his name. “Luke?”

  “What?”

  “Please come here. There’s something you need to hear.”

  Luke stomped over to the side of the Volvo. The child sitting in Meredith’s lap looked up at him.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. Luke is one of the good guys. Tell him what you told me. Tell him your name.”

  “My name is Jaelyn,” she said. “Jaelyn Allen.”

  The name reverberated inside Luke’s head. Allen. Allen. Allen.

  “Good God.” Luke knelt down in front of Jaelyn and forced a fake smile. “Do you know someone named Michelle Allen?”

  The child’s face lit up the moment he mentioned the trusted Powell agent’s name. “That’s my aunt Chelle.”

  Derek shared after-dinner drinks with Griff and Sanders in Griff’s study. Dinner had been sandwiches and chips served in the kitchen, which had given them all a chance to wind down as much as possible after a grueling day. For the past half hour, ever since the men had left the ladies in the kitchen, their conversation had been limited, as if they didn’t know what else there was to say. Sanders had poured their drinks and although he had not told Griff that one drink should be his limit tonight, he had given Griff a stern look as he handed him a second glass of Scotch whisky. Derek had noticed that, like him and Sanders, Griff had leisurely sipped on his first drink.

  “Our not talking about the situation won’t change it,” Griff finally said, breaking the strained silence.

  “No, of course not,” Sanders agreed. “But perhaps any more discussion should be postponed until tomorrow. It has been a very long and trying day for all of us.”

  “Before we call it a night, I’d like to run a thought or two by y’all,” Derek said.

  Griff eyed him, curiosity in his hard gaze. “A thought about what?”

  “About who may have killed Shiloh,” Derek replied.

  Sanders squinted his almond-shaped eyes and focused directly on Derek. “You think you know who the murderer
is?”

  “No, I can’t name the killer, but I believe there is only one reason either a guard here at Griffin’s Rest or one of the Powell agents would kill Shiloh Whitman.”

  “I think we all agree that it had to be someone inside Griffin’s Rest, someone we trusted.” Griff heaved a heavy, labored groan. “I’ve tried to fight accepting the truth, but that one thought has been in the back of my mind all day.”

  “Maleah and I discussed the possibility that the person who calls himself Malcolm York is the mastermind behind all the murders. And this man found a way to force a Powell guard or an agent to kill Shiloh. He’s using some type of blackmail to—”

  Griff’s cell phone rang. He let out a few choice curse words.

  “It’s probably Sheriff Fulton.” Griff got up and walked across the room to where his phone lay atop his desk. He picked up the phone, glanced at it, and said, “It’s not Fulton.” And then he answered the call. “Luke?”

  Derek watched as Griff listened, his face growing darker with each second and his body visibly tensing.

  “Charter a jet,” Griff said. “You and Meredith bring the child back to the U.S. as soon as possible. I’ll call her parents in Paducah to let them know their child is safe. And we’ll handle things here at Griffin’s Rest.”

  Griff laid the phone on the desk. He looked at Derek and then at Sanders. “Linden is dead.” He paused for a moment. “Linden kidnapped Michelle Allen’s niece.

  He had the child with him when Luke arrived. She’s safe.”

  “We have to find Michelle,” Derek said. “She needs to know that her niece is all right.”

  “Yes, and after that, we will have to deal with what Michelle has done,” Griff told them.

  When Nic came out of the bathroom, the test stick in her hand, Maleah rose from where she sat on the edge of Nic’s bed.

  “Well, are you or aren’t you?”

  Nic hurried toward Maleah, tears in her eyes, and held out the stick to show her. “It’s positive. I’m pregnant.” She grabbed Maleah and hugged her. “I’m really pregnant. I had just about given up hope of our having a baby.”

  Maleah grasped Nic’s trembling hands, took the test stick from her and laid it on the nightstand. “Have you been experiencing any symptoms? Didn’t you suspect you might be pregnant?”

  Nic shook her head. “I guess I’ve ignored the symptoms and chalked them up to nerves, which is understandable considering the stress we’ve been under for several months now. But when I missed my period again, I began to wonder.”

  “Good thing you already had a test kit.”

  “Yes, it was, wasn’t it. Remember I bought several of them about six months ago when I thought I might be pregnant. But it turned out that I wasn’t pregnant then.”

  “But you are now.” Maleah grabbed Nic’s hands again and squeezed. “You’ve got to tell Griff as soon as possible. He’ll be thrilled.”

  “We both want a child so very much.” Nic swiped the teardrops from beneath her eyes. “But dear God, what bad timing.”

  Maleah hugged Nic again. “Maybe it was simply meant to be. We could all use a little good news about now.”

  “I feel as if I’ve been given a miracle.”

  When they pulled apart, Maleah said, “You should take a nice, long bubble bath, put on your sexiest lingerie, and call downstairs to tell your husband that he’s needed upstairs immediately.”

  “I like your suggestion.”

  “I’ll bet Griff will like it, too. And, Nic, just for tonight, forget about everything else and concentrate on you and Griff and your baby.”

  Maleah kissed Nic’s cheek. “I think I’ll go back to my room, grab a shower, and see if I can find something sexy to slip into before Derek stops by to say goodnight.”

  Nic laughed. “Can you believe it? In the midst of all this chaos, you fall in love and I find out I’m pregnant.”

  Maleah waved at Shaughnessy Hood, who stood guard outside Nic’s bedroom. The big bear of a man smiled and nodded. She took her time meandering along to the other side of the house where the guest rooms were located. It seemed wrong somehow to be so happy. But Nic was pregnant. Her best friend, who had been trying to get pregnant for several years, was at long last going to have a baby. And Maleah having fallen head over heels in love was as much of a miracle as Nic being pregnant.

  She was in love with Derek Lawrence of all people.

  Laughing softly to herself, savoring Nic’s secret and thinking about the night ahead with Derek, Maleah opened her bedroom door and flipped on the light switch to turn on the bedside lamp. The low-watt bulb gave off a dim radiance, creating a romantic glow similar to candlelight. She took off her jacket, tossed it onto a nearby chair, and then removed her holster and slipped it into the right-side nightstand drawer. She kicked off her shoes and waltzed barefoot across the floor to the bathroom. After turning on the shower, she adjusted the water to a toasty warm. Then she stripped off her clothes, tossed them into the laundry hamper and grabbed a washcloth from the stack on the vanity. After lathering her hair with the floral scented shampoo and following with a silky conditioner, she shaved her legs and under her arms.

  If only she had something really sexy to slip into after her shower. Although she owned several nice sets of lacy panties and bras, she didn’t have any sexy sleepwear. Considering the fact that her sex life had been pretty much non-existent for a number of years, she hadn’t needed anything other than cotton sleep shirts for summer and wintertime flannel pajamas.

  After she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her wet hair, she ran a second towel over her arms and legs.

  Suddenly Maleah heard a noise outside in her bedroom. “Derek?”

  No response.

  “Derek, is that you?”

  Silence.

  Odd, she could have sworn she heard something that sounded like a door opening and closing.

  “Cully says that Michelle has been staying in her room a lot since her stomach virus, which we now know she faked,” Griff told them. “Them” being Sanders, BJ, and Derek. “But she’s not in her room now and when he checked, Cully found her window wide open.”

  “She’s going to kill someone else tonight,” BJ said. “But who? Her target could be any one of the other students or one of the agents or a guard or . . . or even one of us.”

  Sanders clamped his broad hand down on BJ’s shoulder. She glanced up at him and they exchanged looks of care and concern.

  “I’ve filled Cully in on the situation,” Griff said. “Sanders, please contact the guards and tell them to be on the lookout for Michelle. Derek, you speak to Brendan and I’ll let Shaughnessy know what’s happened when I go upstairs to check on Nic. I’ll alert Nic. You—” he looked at Derek “—let Maleah know what’s going on and ask her to join us. I want an all-out manhunt underway immediately. We have to find Michelle before she kills again.”

  Maleah yanked her knee-length cotton robe off the hanger on the back of the bathroom door, slipped into it, and took a tentative step over the threshold, one foot in the bedroom and one still in the bathroom.

  “Derek?”

  Maleah heard only an eerie silence in the semidark bedroom.

  She didn’t like this one little bit. Her stomach churned with uneasiness. A sense of foreboding spread through her as she took another step into the bedroom. Something was wrong. She felt it in her bones.

  Damn it, she had put her holstered pistol inside the nightstand drawer.

  “Derek, if you’re trying to surprise me, please don’t. I’m warning you that if you grab me, I’m going to clobber you. I’m pretty sure I can adequately kick your butt.”

  With her breath caught in her throat, Maleah took another step before halting and scanning the room. Her gaze paused on the sitting room, where she noticed a slender silhouette near the windows.

  “Who’s there?” Maleah asked.

  Not Derek.

  The silhouette moved out of the shadows and reveal
ed 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.