Dead By Nightfall by Beverly Barton Page B

and Yvette Meng had stolen. They were all three murderers and thieves. However, he knew that Yvette and Sanders were now, as they had been on Amara, nothing more than Griffin Powell’s accomplices.
    Malcolm smiled at the thought of his archenemy moving heaven and earth trying to find his beloved wife. Nicole was the carrot he would dangle in front of Powell, giving him hope that he could find her and save her.
    False hope.
    But in the days and weeks—perhaps even months—ahead, he would enjoy himself immensely as he brought Griffin Powell to his knees and made him beg.
    As laughter bubbled inside him, Malcolm checked the time. His personal assistant had been sent to pick up his guest and bring him here for a visit. As if on cue, Yves Bouchard stepped from the private elevator entrance into Malcolm’s luxurious apartment. Having delivered her employer’s guest, Martine took the elevator back down to the ground floor.
    With open arms, Malcolm met Bouchard and encompassed his compatriot in a welcoming hug. As they broke apart, Malcolm said, “I am so pleased that you accepted my invitation.”
    “Surely you do not think I would come to London and leave without seeing you.”
    Bouchard could be charming when he chose to be, but Malcolm knew, perhaps better than anyone, what a ruthless bastard his old friend really was. But who among his friends did not have a few flaws?
    “Will you be here in London for long?”
    “A few more days,” Bouchard said as he followed Malcolm into the massive dining/living room area that spanned the length of the building. “I dined with Harlan last night. He mentioned that you were planning a hunt sometime soon. I don’t hunt as much as I once did, but if you will be personally hosting the event, I would like to be included.”
    “Of course, of course. Without question, your name always heads the list when I host a hunt. And you are always welcome to bring a guest with you.”
    Malcolm indicated for Bouchard to sit beside him when he stretched out comfortably on the thickly padded leather sofa. “I am working on the details to make this hunt one my guests will never forget. It has been years in the making, so be patient, my friend.”
    “Perhaps you will give me a petite hint.” Bouchard indicated a miniscule measurement by bringing his thumb and forefinger almost together. “What will make this hunt unforgettable?”
    “The grand prize and the prey will be one and the same,” Malcolm said. “The winner may do with her as he wishes. He may kill her or keep her alive for his own pleasure until he tires of her.”
    Bouchard’s brow furrowed. “What could possibly make this woman so valuable? She is only a woman.”
    “But she is not just any woman. She is Griffin Powell’s wife.”

Chapter 8
    Within an hour of Sanders’s initial report, Griff had assembled his team—the men who would go with him to Belize. In a closed meeting, which included Derek and Maleah, Griff laid out the plan and opened the floor for discussion. The Powell jet was at that very moment being prepared for their trip, two of the four pilots on the agency’s payroll en route to Griff’s private airstrip, which was closer to Griffin’s Rest than McGhee Tyson. In another hour, they would be headed south, but in the meantime, info was being gathered in Belize and an advance team of two men had been sent to Shelter Island. Their orders were to scope out the setup and report in, all the while remaining invisible to the island’s inhabitants. The Powell jet would land at Phillip S.W. Goldson International Airport in Belize City where a rental car would be waiting to whisk them off to Belize City Harbor. Arrangements had been made for two boats to be readied for their arrival.
    “We will be in constant contact with Derek and Maleah,” Griff said. “They will be in charge while we’re away. All info they receive from our Knoxville headquarters will be combined with the updates coming in directly to