scream inside him ripped him apart.
His eyelids flew open as he shot straight up in bed. It wasn’t real. Not anymore. It was a nightmare. That’s all. He’d been asleep, taking a nap, and as so often happened, his subconscious forced him to relive those horrific days from his childhood. With his heart thundering and sweat glistening on his skin, he took several deep breaths.
That same nightmare or one very similar plagued him relentlessly. No matter what he did, he couldn’t escape. No matter how many miles or years he’d put between the two of them, she would never release him completely. She’d be a part of him until the day he died.
But she can’t hurt you, he told himself. She can never hurt you again.
Griffin Powell didn’t go into the office on the weekends, and unless he was personally working on a case, he didn’t do anything work-related on Saturday and Sunday. After all, a man had to make time for a social life. He’d spent most of the afternoon working out in the gym he had designed to fit into the basement of his Knoxville home. Keeping physically fit was one of his top priorities. After wiping the perspiration from his face, he hung the small white towel around his neck and headed for the shower, but before he reached the bathroom adjacent to the exercise room, Sanders appeared at the foot of the stairs.
Sanders had been Griffin’s assistant for a number of years, ever since he’d been at Griffin’s side on his personal journey to hell and back. They shared a comradery only those who’ve depended upon each other to stay alive truly understood.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but I’ve taken two phone calls that were made to your private number.”
Griffin cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.
“One was from Quinn Cortez. He wants you to investigate a murder case. It seems he discovered his lover’s dead body last night and as of right now, he is a person of interest to the Memphis police department.”
“Quinn Cortez, huh? The Quinn Cortez.” Griffin’s lips lifted with amused interest. “I’ll call him after I take a shower.”
“There was a second telephone call.”
“Someone more interesting than Quinn Cortez?”
“This person’s call makes Mr. Cortez’s call even more interesting.”
“And this person is?
“Annabelle Vanderley.”
“Annabelle? Why didn’t you put her through to me immediately?”
Griffin recalled the one and only time he’d met the lady. And she was a lady, down to the very marrow in her bones. Born and bred to Mississippi royalty, the descendant of two wealthy, prestigious families—the Vanderleys and the Austins. They’d been introduced by a mutual friend at a charity function in Chattanooga three years ago and he’d found Ms. Vanderley vastly intriguing. He’d made subtle overtures, which she’d ignored. He was unaccustomed to being rejected, so out of curiosity, he had asked their mutual friend for details of Annabelle’s personal life. Once he’d been told she had a crippled fiancé to whom she was devoted, he hadn’t ask anything else. Encroaching on another man’s territory wasn’t Griffin’s style.
“I wasn’t aware you knew the lady,” Sanders said, his face expressionless.
“We met briefly several years ago.”
“And she made a favorable impression.”
Griffin nodded. “What did Annabelle want?”
“She also wants to hire you to investigate a murder case. It seems her cousin was murdered in Memphis last night and—”
“Damn! Annabelle’s cousin and Quinn Cortez’s lover are one in the same, right?”
Sanders nodded his slick bald head. His keen brown eyes studied Griffin. “What do you intend to do? You’ll have to turn one of them down. Mr. Cortez’s call did come in first, if that helps you decide what to do.”
“It doesn’t.”
“You have met Ms. Vanderley, so perhaps—”
“Telephone each of them, on my behalf. Naturally, don’t mention anything about one of them to the other. And arrange for a suite for me at the Peabody. If we can get the suite set up today, I’ll fly to Memphis this evening and meet with Ms. Vanderley and Mr. Cortez tonight. Let’s say around eight o’clock.”
“You plan to speak with both of them at the same meeting?”
“It’ll save time.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Sanders turned and headed up the stairs, Griffin called to him, “See what kind of background check we can come up with on both of them by tonight.”
Sanders didn’t reply verbally, but Griffin knew he’d heard him. They had worked side by side for so many years that they were practically psychically linked. When a man saved another man’s life, it bonded them in a way nothing else could.
Vanderley Inc. kept an executive apartment in Memphis since a great deal of their business was conducted in this city. Heading up the Vanderley family’s numerous philanthropic organizations, Annabelle came to Memphis several times a year, the last time less than three months ago. At that time, it had been over a year since she’d seen Lulu and nearly six months since they’d spoken over the phone. Only at her insistence had Lulu agreed to meet her for dinner that evening. As usual, they wound up in an argument. And as usual, it was about the same things—money, Uncle Louis and Wythe.
Annabelle snapped open her overnight bag that she had placed on the suitcase rack at the foot of her bed. She had no idea how long she’d be in Memphis, how many days or perhaps even weeks it would take the police to find Lulu’s killer and formally charge him with her murder. If she needed more clothes, she’d send home for them. Or she’d just buy something off the rack at a department store. Whenever she stayed in any of the apartments Vanderley Inc. maintained in various cities, one of the first things she did was unpack and put everything in its place. Being neat was simply a part of who she was. She despised clutter.
After taking her toiletries into the bathroom, she arranged them carefully on the vanity and inadvertently caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She stared at her reflection for a moment. When they were children, she and Lulu had been close, despite Lulu being nearly seven years younger. Family and friends had thought it sweet that Annabelle had been like a big sister to her young cousin. More than one person had mentioned how much the girls resembled each other, both blue-eyed blondes with strong Vanderley features. But that had been before Lulu reached puberty and blossomed into a model-thin, bosomy, leggy version of her mother, who’d been Uncle Louis’s third wife and twenty-five years his junior.
Annabelle glanced away from the mirror and returned to the bedroom. No one would have noticed anything more than a vague resemblance between the cousins in the past fifteen years. Lulu had been considered the family beauty; Annabelle had been thought of as the brains. It wasn’t that she envied her cousin—quite the contrary—but there had been times when she’d wondered what it would be like not to feel the heavy weight of family responsibilities she bore on her shoulders. Lulu had been irresponsible and frivolous, but Annabelle knew only too well that her cousin’s life had been far from perfect.
Just as she zipped her overnight bag closed, the telephone rang. Rounding the bed, she lifted the receiver from the base on the bedside table. “Hello.”
“Ms. Vanderley.”
“Yes.” She didn’t recognize the man’s voice.
“This is Sanders, Mr. Powell’s assistant. I’m calling on his behalf.”
“Yes, Mr. Sanders—”
“Just Sanders, ma’am.”
“What’s your message from Mr. Powell?”
“He’ll