because the copycat is using your connection to Browning as a red herring to send us off on a wild goose chase.”
“What’s your intuition telling you?”
“The copycat and Browning have, at the very least, met and talked. I don’t know if Browning is pulling the strings and the copycat is a disciple or if the copycat used Browning’s knowledge for his own purposes.”
“Neither Griff nor Nic were involved in Browning’s capture and arrest, nor was I. Why would he be targeting the Powell Agency?”
“Excellent question. Griff has a theory, as does Nic. And I have several scenarios in mind, too, but we have absolutely nothing conclusive at this point.”
“We need information from that son of bitch and he knows it.” Maleah grabbed the cake container, flipped open the lid and eyed the cake hungrily. “He’s going to want to bargain with me, to see what he can get out of me in exchange for what he knows.”
Derek slid the other cake container over in front of him, then removed the cellophane wrap from two plastic forks and handed one fork to Maleah. She eyed the fork as if it were a snake and then grunted and snatched the fork out of his hand. He sliced his fork through the moist cake, balanced a bite on the fork and lifted it into the air, saluting her with the delicious morsel. She watched while he put the bite into his mouth.
“Just one piece of cake won’t hurt you,” he told her. “Think of the pleasure it’ll give you. There’s nothing quite like a sugar high to perk a girl up when she’s down.”
“I don’t need a crutch of any kind. Not alcohol or drugs or gambling or shopping . . . or sugar!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, she jabbed the fork into the cake and then shoved her piece of cake, container and all, across the table and into the wastebasket.
Stunned for half a second, Derek stared at her, then burst out laughing. My God, she had no idea that her biggest weakness, the crutch she relied on every day of her life, was being a major control freak.
When they returned from a moonlight stroll on the beach, they found a gift basket waiting for them outside their suite. Errol lifted the basket while Cyrene opened the attached card.
“It just says Happy Honeymoon.” Eyeing the bottle of wine, the box of gourmet Swiss chocolates, the luscious in-season fruit and a sampling of imported cheeses, Cyrene moaned with anticipation. “I can’t think of anything better than a glass of wine before bedtime.”
Hoisting the gift basket so that he could hold it with one hand, Errol reached out and unlocked the door to their suite. As his bride slipped past him, he whispered, “I can think of something better than wine.”
Understanding the implication of his comment, she giggled and began undressing the moment he closed the door behind them and dumped the basket on the table in the entryway. Taking his cue from Cyrene, he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the floor. By the time he loosened his belt, she had already stripped down to her panties.
He couldn’t get out of his slacks and briefs quickly enough, but for a full sixty seconds, he stood and watched—totally spellbound—as his wife slowly, provocatively slid her bikini panties down, down, down, and off. His heart beat wildly. His penis hardened.
When he reached for Cyrene, she evaded his grasp. Instead, she raced over to the bed, the covers already turned down by maid service, and placed herself in the center. She arched her back, the action thrusting her breasts up and inviting him to touch and taste and enjoy. Errol kicked his briefs aside and moved toward the bed, never taking his eyes off the long, slender naked body of the woman he loved.
He straddled her hips and positioned himself over her. She lifted her arms up and around his neck, pulling him down until it was flesh against flesh. His penis probed for entry. She opened her thighs, lifted her hips and took him inside her body.
“Oh God, baby, you feel so
“What’s your intuition telling you?”
“The copycat and Browning have, at the very least, met and talked. I don’t know if Browning is pulling the strings and the copycat is a disciple or if the copycat used Browning’s knowledge for his own purposes.”
“Neither Griff nor Nic were involved in Browning’s capture and arrest, nor was I. Why would he be targeting the Powell Agency?”
“Excellent question. Griff has a theory, as does Nic. And I have several scenarios in mind, too, but we have absolutely nothing conclusive at this point.”
“We need information from that son of bitch and he knows it.” Maleah grabbed the cake container, flipped open the lid and eyed the cake hungrily. “He’s going to want to bargain with me, to see what he can get out of me in exchange for what he knows.”
Derek slid the other cake container over in front of him, then removed the cellophane wrap from two plastic forks and handed one fork to Maleah. She eyed the fork as if it were a snake and then grunted and snatched the fork out of his hand. He sliced his fork through the moist cake, balanced a bite on the fork and lifted it into the air, saluting her with the delicious morsel. She watched while he put the bite into his mouth.
“Just one piece of cake won’t hurt you,” he told her. “Think of the pleasure it’ll give you. There’s nothing quite like a sugar high to perk a girl up when she’s down.”
“I don’t need a crutch of any kind. Not alcohol or drugs or gambling or shopping . . . or sugar!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, she jabbed the fork into the cake and then shoved her piece of cake, container and all, across the table and into the wastebasket.
Stunned for half a second, Derek stared at her, then burst out laughing. My God, she had no idea that her biggest weakness, the crutch she relied on every day of her life, was being a major control freak.
When they returned from a moonlight stroll on the beach, they found a gift basket waiting for them outside their suite. Errol lifted the basket while Cyrene opened the attached card.
“It just says Happy Honeymoon.” Eyeing the bottle of wine, the box of gourmet Swiss chocolates, the luscious in-season fruit and a sampling of imported cheeses, Cyrene moaned with anticipation. “I can’t think of anything better than a glass of wine before bedtime.”
Hoisting the gift basket so that he could hold it with one hand, Errol reached out and unlocked the door to their suite. As his bride slipped past him, he whispered, “I can think of something better than wine.”
Understanding the implication of his comment, she giggled and began undressing the moment he closed the door behind them and dumped the basket on the table in the entryway. Taking his cue from Cyrene, he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the floor. By the time he loosened his belt, she had already stripped down to her panties.
He couldn’t get out of his slacks and briefs quickly enough, but for a full sixty seconds, he stood and watched—totally spellbound—as his wife slowly, provocatively slid her bikini panties down, down, down, and off. His heart beat wildly. His penis hardened.
When he reached for Cyrene, she evaded his grasp. Instead, she raced over to the bed, the covers already turned down by maid service, and placed herself in the center. She arched her back, the action thrusting her breasts up and inviting him to touch and taste and enjoy. Errol kicked his briefs aside and moved toward the bed, never taking his eyes off the long, slender naked body of the woman he loved.
He straddled her hips and positioned himself over her. She lifted her arms up and around his neck, pulling him down until it was flesh against flesh. His penis probed for entry. She opened her thighs, lifted her hips and took him inside her body.
“Oh God, baby, you feel so
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