Read Online Dead By Nightfall by Beverly Barton - Free Book Online Page A

refreshment table set up in the back of the office. The other three agents—Shaughnessy Hood, Brendan Richter, and Everett Dawson—continued working.
    Griffin wolfed down the rest of the sandwich and then poured a second cup of coffee. He caught Maleah Perdue staring at him. Sensing she wanted to say something to him, he looked directly at her.
    â€œGo ahead,” he told her. “Let me have it.”
    Maleah glared at him, her anger barely restrained. She clenched her teeth tightly. Griff figured she really was going to let him have it with both barrels. Hell, he wished she would. He deserved it.
    But before she managed to compose herself enough to say anything, Derek reached out and placed his hand in the center of her back. Griff noticed Maleah relaxing, the tension in her body easing and the strained muscles in her face softening.
    â€œMaleah knows that we all want the same thing,” Derek said. “Nothing else matters now except finding Nic and bringing her home.”
    â€œDerek’s right,” Maleah finally said, then slammed her coffee mug down on the table and walked away, straight to the door and out of the office.
    â€œShe doesn’t hate me any more than I hate myself,” Griff told Derek.
    â€œShe doesn’t really hate you. She hates what’s happened. She loves Nic. She’s worried sick and she’s holding on by a thin thread.” Derek looked directly at Griff. “The same way you are.”

    Lina had delivered the makeup bag and clothes an hour ago. The panties, bra, sundress, and sandals were all expensive designer items. When Nic had tried to question Lina, she had seemed confused. Apparently the young woman understood very little English. Or she had done an excellent job of pretending she didn’t. Either way, Nic had gotten no useful information from her.
    When Lina had offered to brush her hair and apply her makeup, Nic had declined.
    â€œYou hurry. Not keep him waiting.”
    â€œDon’t keep who waiting?” Nic had asked.
    Lina had shaken her head, then said, “You be ready.” She grabbed Nic’s hand. “Yes, please.”
    Sensing the woman’s fear, Nic had asked, “And if I’m not ready when he comes to get me, what will happen to you?”
    Lina had shifted her gaze nervously right and left. “If I am bad”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“I must be punished.”
    Every instinct Nic possessed urged her to rebel and demand that Lina join her, for the two of them to go up against Lina’s oppressor, to take on their mutual enemy. But common sense quickly reined in Nic’s immediate response. “You don’t need to worry,” Nic promised. “I’ll be ready.”
    And so here she was, wearing a calf-length, bright yellow sundress with white leather sandals and pale yellow underwear, her hair neatly brushed, and her makeup applied sparingly. She was ready. But for whom? And for what?
    With each passing minute, Nic grew more nervous as one frightening scenario after another flashed through her mind. She didn’t know what, if anything, had happened to her while she’d been drugged, but she chose to believe she had been left alone to sleep. She had no idea what might happen to her today. The only thing she knew for sure was that Anthony Linden, the man suspected of being the assassin hired to kill Powell agents and members of their families, had kidnapped her. She had no doubt that if he was ordered to kill her, he would not hesitate.
    But Linden could have easily killed her at her Gatlinburg cabin yesterday. Whoever Linden worked for, the person issuing the orders, didn’t want her dead. At least not yet. She had been abducted because she was Griffin Powell’s wife and the mysterious “he” intended to use her to make Griff suffer. Would he torture her? Would he subject her to untold humiliation and physical torment? If “he” was