Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [86]
Shontee opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out, not even a whimper. He stepped over the woman’s body and around Tyrell’s and grabbed Shontee’s arm.
“Unless you want me to kill you right now, do not scream and don’t fight me. Understand?”
She nodded.
The elevator, which had been climbing from the second to the third floor during the shooting, had stopped and the doors stood wide open.
He pulled her out of the elevator and down the hall toward Tony’s apartment. She searched for any sign of cameras connected to the club’s surveillance system, but saw none. Perhaps they were well hidden. If this guy was a robber or a rapist, she might come out of this alive. But if he was the person who had sent her the threatening letters, she would soon be dead.
Dead by midnight.
Oh, God, what time was it?
Wearing a pair of red silk pajamas and matching house slippers, Nicole Powell paced the living room floor while she waited impatiently for her husband to finish his telephone conversation with the Knoxville PD detective in charge of Kristi’s case. Learning about the death of one of their secretaries who worked for the agency at the downtown Knoxville Powell Building had their household in an uproar. She had personally hired Kristi, a young, vibrant UTC graduate who needed full-time employment while she persued her master’s degree in business administration. Everyone who knew the young woman liked her.
“I’ve made a pot of tea, if anyone would like a cup.” Barbara Jean, wearing a green silk caftan that complemented her coloring, wheeled into the living room.
“Thanks. Maybe later,” Nic said.
“Is Griff still on the phone?”
“Yes, he’s talking to Detective Crawford and hopefully finding out exactly what happened to Kristi.”
“Sanders is in the office sending out text messages and e-mails to all the Powell Agency employees.” Barbara Jean rolled over to Nic, reached up, and grasped her hand. “Death is always difficult to accept, but it’s especially hard when the person is so young.”
“You’re thinking about your sister, aren’t you? Her death was senseless, as is any death at the hands of a cold-blooded killer.”
Barbara Jean nodded, squeezed Nic’s hand, and let go. “And yet we have no choice but to accept the senseless acts and do what we can to bring the perpetrators to justice. You accepted that as your role in life when you became an FBI agent. And instead of hiding away from the ugly side of life, I chose to work with the man I love, just as you did, to do everything possible to seek justice for those who cannot obtain it for themselves.”
“Griff will become personally involved in this case,” Nic said. “He thinks of all his employees as part of the Powell Agency family.”
“Why don’t I pour us some tea,” Barbara Jean suggested. “I suspect that it’s going to be a long night for all of us.”
Just as Barbara Jean steered her wheelchair toward the open double doorway, Griffin and Sanders entered the living room together, the two men—a contrast in opposites with Griff big, tall, and blond where Sanders was medium height, stocky, and dark—deep in conversation. The moment Griff saw Nic, he stopped talking to Sanders and focused on her.
“Kristi was murdered at her apartment,” Griff said. “Her throat was slit. Detective Crawford couldn’t be persuaded to give me any other details about the murder.”
“Do they have any suspects?” Nic asked.
“No.”
Nicole knew her husband occasionally used unorthodox methods to obtain the information he wanted, those methods often bordering on the illegal. When she had worked for the Bureau, Griffin Powell and his vigilante agency had been the bane of her existence. Even now, she sometimes had a problem accepting his belief that “the end justifies the means.”
“Barbara Jean has made tea,” Nic said. “Why don’t we all go to the kitchen and begin