Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [46]
Derek chuckled as he skimmed his gaze over her slightly flushed face, her bright, blue eyes glaring at him and her full lips moist and slightly parted. He didn’t know what amused him more, her ridiculous reaction to a simple comment or the fact that he actually found her attractive, especially when she was pissed at him. Every time she got upset with him, he thought the same damn thing.
Wonder how she’d react if I actually told her that she was beautiful when she was angry?
She’d serve your head to you on a silver platter, that’s what she’d do.
“As a matter of fact, I was about to suggest that I prepare coffee and a couple of sandwiches for us,” Derek said, “while you download and print out the info that Sanders is e-mailing us.”
“Oh.” For half a second she looked as if she was on the verge of apologizing, but that moment passed and instead she said, “Okay. That works for me. I don’t want any mayo on my sandwich, only mustard, and I take my coffee—”
“With sugar,” he finished her sentence. “Or rather a pack of Splenda now that you’ve cut back on your sugar intake.”
She stared at him, a dumbfounded expression on her face.
“I notice little things,” he explained. “I’m a highly skilled profiler, remember?”
“I know, but stop profiling me. I don’t like your noticing anything about me.”
“Yes, ma’am. As of right now, no more profiling, no more noticing things about you, like how you prefer your coffee.”
She huffed. “I’ll be in the den. When the coffee and sandwiches are ready, let me know.”
Smiling, he nodded. She clamped her mouth tightly shut, turned and walked down the hall. Whistling softly, Derek headed for the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, carrying a large serving tray, he breezed through the open den door. “Our afternoon snack is ready.”
She glanced up from where she sat on the sofa, her lap covered with pages of info that Sanders had sent them concerning the most recent murder and how it connected to the two previous ones.
Derek placed the tray on the coffee table and sat down beside Maleah. She gathered up the papers, scooted over as far as she could away from him, and laid the neatly stacked sheets on the side table to her left.
He poured and prepared the coffee to her liking and handed her the cup.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He glanced past her at the stack of papers. “Any new information we need to discuss about the case?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only had a chance to quickly scan the info Sanders sent, and so far nothing jumps out at me.”
“How do you feel about Sanders sending the two of us out into the field together?” Derek asked, knowing full well that she hated the very idea of spending so much time with him.
Their working closely together on this case should prove to be an interesting experience for both of them.
“I’d rather he sent someone else with you and left me here in Dunmore to act as Lorie’s bodyguard. But considering my personal connection to Lorie, I understand why he thinks it’s best to send in Shelley Gilbert.”
“You should have told him that you could remain objective, that you could separate your personal feelings about Lorie from doing your job as her bodyguard.”
“And if I had told him that, I’d have been lying.” Sipping on the coffee, she glanced at him over the rim of the china cup. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”
“Lorie’s your sister-in-law’s best friend. When Jack and Cathy return from their honeymoon, they’re going to become deeply involved, thus making it practically impossible for this case not to be very personal for you.”
“Tracking down everyone associated with Midnight Masquerade and finding out how many of them have received threatening letters is going to be a time-consuming bitch.”
“It’s not just a matter of Powell’s warning these people and finding out if they’ve received letters,” Derek reminded her. “It’s about evaluating each one of them to see if I—we—get even the slightest hint that one of them is our killer.”
“That could wind up being a total