Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [49]
“Did I say there was?” Nic knew what it was like to deny your feelings, to pretend that you despised a man when on a subconscious level, you really had the hots for the guy. The first time Griff and she had made love, they had set the sheets on fire.
“It’s not complicated. I just don’t like his type. Never have. Never will. He’s arrogant, domineering, and expects to always get his way.”
“He’s also handsome, brilliant, charming, and rich.”
“None of which necessarily combine to make a good man.”
“I think Derek is a good man beneath all those other sterling qualities. You have to know that he deliberately says and does things to bait you. He enjoys setting you off.”
“Maybe he does, but for the life of me, I can’t imagine why.”
“Want me to tell you what he said about you?”
“No.” Maleah snorted. “I’m not sure.”
“I happened to hear him tell Griff that he finds you amusing. And Griff warned him to be careful, that one day he may push you too far and you’ll shoot him.”
Maleah laughed. “That gives me a great idea.”
“Which is?”
“The next time I go to the Powell shooting range, I’ll have a photo of Derek blown up to poster size and use it for target practice.”
“You’re wicked.”
“So I’ve been told.” Maleah paused for a second and then said, “Don’t worry about me. I can handle Derek. I won’t like it, but I can do it. You just concentrate on yourself and your marriage.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing. I told you that everything is fine. Why is it that you seem concerned? Is there something you know that I don’t know?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that I’m aware of what a rough year you and Griff have had and I want to see you stay as happy as you are now.”
“Thanks. You’re a real friend.”
“Takes one to know one.”
The moment she said good-bye to her best friend, Maleah started feeling guilty. She knew that Griff was still keeping secrets from Nic. Months ago, she had accidentally overheard a conversation between Griff and Dr. Yvette Meng, heard just enough to know that there was something important going on in Griff’s life that he hadn’t shared with his wife. But he had shared it with both Yvette and Sanders. The only thing she didn’t know was whether this “something” was a secret from his past or his present.
Less than five minutes after she ended her conversation with Nic, Maleah’s phone rang. Pushing aside her thoughts about Nic and Griff, she answered on the fourth ring.
“Perdue here.”
“It’s Griff,” he said.
“Welcome home.”
“Thanks. I assume Nic will be calling you today, if she hasn’t already called.”
“We just spoke.”
Without commenting on her response, Griff said, “Sanders has briefed me on our three new cases. I understand that he assigned you and Derek to interview people associated with Midnight Masquerade, starting first thing tomorrow. Do you have a problem working with Derek?”
“No, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Good. Then Shelley Gilbert will drive down from Knoxville and be in Dunmore by tonight. She’ll take over from you so you’ll be free to fly to California with Derek in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are your brother and his wife aware of what’s happening with Ms. Hammonds?”
“No, they are not. They’re still away. None of us wanted them to cut their honeymoon short.”
“I realize this case is personal for you,” Griff said. “In a way, it’s personal for me, too. I don’t know if Sanders mentioned it, but the first victim’s brother, Jared Wilson, and I go way back. We’re both UT alumni and Jared is a professor there now.”
“Sanders didn’t go into detail, but I assumed that you and Mr. Wilson had at the very least a passing acquaintance.”
“I’ve told Sanders that I want to expand the investigation. You and Derek will be in charge, but I plan to send out other agents to do some of the legwork. These agents, as well as Holt Keinan, Michelle Allen, and Ben Corbett, will report to you and Derek and to me. Y’all will follow up on their reports and dig deeper whenever you or Derek think it could lead somewhere.”
“Do you want me to explain this to Derek or—?”
“I’ll do it. I want to talk to him myself.