Dead By Morning by Beverly Barton

night he had been captured. In retrospect, he could see quite clearly the mistakes he had made. If he had it to do over again . . .
    But there would be no second chances to get it right, only the opportunity to train others. He had no doubt that once he completed his work on the informative handbook, publishers would beat a path to his door. His book could make him even more famous than he already was. And how opportune that Maleah Perdue had come into his life today, just when he had begun plotting the chapter on manipulation.
    The chapter heading would be: How to Use Others to Get What You Want.
    And just what did he want from Maleah?
    Jerome smiled.
    Maleah was a delectable little morsel. She looked like nothing more than a sweet piece of blonde fluff. But looks could be deceiving. He knew that fact better than anyone. Hadn’t he used his handsome face to his advantage all of his life? How many people had trusted him without question because of the way he looked? Poor fools. They never suspected that behind the pleasing façade, the mind of a genius existed, a mind capable of executing brilliantly complicated plans.
    After being apprehended and charged with nine murders, hadn’t he used his superior intelligence to avoid the death penalty? He had been in possession of a valuable commodity, one that both law enforcement and the families of six missing girls had been willing to bargain for on his terms. The whereabouts of those six teenage girls had been his ace in the hole. Not quite a get-out-of-jail-free card, but the next best thing.
    He had been barely sixteen when he had killed Mary Jane Ivy, a meek little mouse of a girl who had lived down the street from him. He had never killed a person before that, although he had fantasized about it for years. During the next four years, he had killed five other girls. And he had gotten away with all six murders. No one suspected the good-looking high school jock, the boy voted most likely to succeed by his senior class. Not being found out had been almost as exhilarating as the kills themselves. Almost.
    He had been locked up in this godforsaken hellhole for nine years now, with only occasional opportunities to participate in conversations that he found intellectually stimulating. A rare visitor from time to time. An intelligent, young minister certain he could save Jerome’s soul. His former lawyer, who hadn’t been in touch since his final appeal had been denied.
    But tomorrow, Maleah would return for a second visit, this time without her watchdog. He did not like the man with the dark eyes who had studied him as if he were a specimen under a microscope.
    If he played this just right, he should be able to gain hours of pleasure from holding out a carrot stick in front of Maleah, letting her see it, smell it, lick it, even nibble a tiny bite.
    Jerome laid his journal aside, fell back onto his cot and rested his hands behind his head. Closing his eyes, he visualized the way she would look tomorrow morning, all blond and golden and sweet. So very sweet.
    â€œAh, Maleah . . . Maleah . . .” He whispered her name. “Sweet Maleah.”

    The moment he tapped for the second time, Maleah swung open the door and much to his surprise actually smiled at him.
    â€œCome on in.” She waved her arm through the air, inviting him to enter.
    He held out the plastic bag he had brought with him. She eyed the offering.
    â€œThin sliced turkey on wheat,” he said. “Lettuce, tomato, and mustard only. No mayo. No onion.” When she accepted his gift, he added, “A small bag of baked chips and an unsweetened tea, with several packets of Splenda.”
    He watched the play of emotions on her face and knew a part of her hated the fact that he remembered her likes and dislikes, that he knew she never used mayonnaise and ate only cooked onions. And she always preferred tea over cola, if tea was available.
    She grabbed the sack. “Thanks. I appreciate