Free Dead by Midnight by Beverly Barton Page B

her?”
    “Yes. No.” He shook his head. “Damn, I don’t know.”
    “What’s the matter with you? That woman in there”—she pointed to the front door—“is in danger. Some unknown person out there somewhere has targeted her as one of his victims. And what do you do? You act like a vindictive ex-lover. You know what that tells me?” When he didn’t respond, she elaborated. “It tells me that you still have some very strong feelings for Lorie, that whether you want to or not, you still care about her.”
    “That’s a damn lie! I hate her.” Crap! He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. But Maleah had pushed the wrong buttons. Or maybe she had pushed all the right buttons to force him to admit his true feelings.
    “I don’t have to deal directly with you from here on out,” Maleah told him. “When Jack gets back from his honeymoon, assign him to this case. Or go ahead and put one of your other detectives in charge. It’ll be better for everyone involved that way.”
    “Good idea. You and Jack should work well together. But as the sheriff, I need to stay involved if one of our citizens is being threatened by a serial killer.”
    “Fine by me as long as you can keep your personal feelings under control. I’ll report to you until Jack comes home.”
    “Okay.” Mike stepped off the porch, but paused and glanced back at her. “By the way, how often does a serial killer forewarn his victims?”
    “I have no idea,” she admitted. “But the Powell Agency is sending in a profiler first thing tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll have all the answers.”
    “Derek Lawrence?”
    “That would be the man.”
    “Good. I got to know Derek last year when he helped us out on the Fire and Brimstone case. He and Jack got pretty buddy-buddy.”
    “Yes, I believe they did.” She barely got the words out through her partially clenched teeth. “God knows why my brother took a liking to such an egotistical SOB.”
    “Watch out, Ms. Perdue, now your unprofessional attitude is showing.”
    Grinning, Mike walked off and didn’t look back. He got in his car and drove away, doing his best not to examine too closely his feelings for Lorie Hammonds.
     
    Derek Lawrence had worked with Holt Keinan a couple of times in the past few years. He liked and respected the Powell agent who was a former sharpshooter for the Birmingham SWAT unit. Although they had little in common, their backgrounds as different as night and day, they had hit it off the first time they met.
    When he saw Holt halfway across the bar at Logan’s Roadhouse, he held up his hand to acknowledge he’d seen Holt motioning to him. At seven-thirty on a Thursday evening, the bar wasn’t terribly crowded. He figured most of the customers were waiting to be seated in the restaurant.
    He shook hands with Holt, then took the bar stool beside him.
    “What’ll you have?”
    Derek eyed the other man’s bottle of Guinness. “Same as you.”
    Holt placed the order with the bartender, then turned back to Derek. “Our table should be ready in about ten minutes or less.”
    “Sounds good.” The bartender handed Derek his drink. He turned up the bottle and swigged down several large gulps before setting the bottle on the bar. “I interviewed Jared Wilson, the other victim’s brother, this afternoon and the Sevier County sheriff’s office sent me copies of Dean Wilson’s case file. I thought we could go over whatever you’ve got on the Hilary Chambless case after dinner tonight and then compare the two cases. In the morning, I’ll head out for Dunmore, Alabama, where Perdue is working on a case that involves a potential victim.”
    Holt grinned. “Perdue? You two still locking horns?”
    Derek chuckled. “No doubt she’s told everyone that I actually do have horns and a tail and carry a pitchfork as well as breathe fire and eat live rattlesnakes.”
    Holt almost choked on his beer. Instead he spewed it into his hand, then wiped his hand off on a cocktail