First You Run (23 page)

He dropped to his knees, fought the urge to howl, and dropped his head to look straight up through the blasted ruins to the helicopter he heard overhead.

Instead, he saw a mystical blue sphere hovering in the sky.

Miranda clawed and forced her hand through the water-logged earth. The ground that had buried her after the explosion was soft and wet and full of…worm holes. She was trapped in an opening not much wider than her body, but light shone through tiny holes in the earth right above her head. She was almost close enough to the surface to dig her way out.

Using the glass shard, she furiously swiped at clumps of wet earth, revealing more and more light with every desperate stroke. Finally she broke the surface, but she was trapped too tightly to pull herself out. She stuffed her bandaged hand straight up and prayed someone would see the signal she sent by pressing the button on the holographic
toli
.

Please see the signal.
She could hear the helicopter blades, she could hear men shouting, but she had no idea how far from the crypt she’d made it before the explosion, how far she’d run until that stone wall had knocked her out…or how long she’d been out.

She’d awakened when the ground rumbled and shook and fell around her, and she’d started to dig her way up to the diffused light.

Her arm ached. Her finger ached. But most of all, her heart ached.

She knew Adrien was out there searching for her, calling for her. Would she ever get a chance to tell him how fearless she’d been down here? How she’d over-come the panic and the terror and did everything he would have done to save herself?

Her arm burned; her finger felt as if it were on fire from the effort it took to activate the topaz stone. If he would only see the light. Earth rolled down her makeshift hole, sending clumps of dirt into her face. She spat it out, wiped her mouth, and waved her hand again.

If he saw the light, could he find the source? Was there a beam, as there’d been in the dark, or just a ball of light?
Come on, Adrien. Come on!

More dirt fell. The narrow opening she’d made was getting darker. The air seemed to thin out with every breath. Her thumb could barely hold the jewel down. Her eyes started to close…

No. No.
She bit her lip. Tasted blood. “Help me. Adrien…help…me.”

“Miranda!”

Bits of earth rained over her face.

“Miranda! Hang on!”

A beautiful, distant, accented voice woke her up. A hand closed over her hand, another over her wrist, and strong, solid, loving arms reached down and pulled her up from the ground, closed around her, and held her tight.

“I’ve got you, luv. I’ve got you.”

She gulped air, light, safety, security. All she could do was hold the man who’d saved her, savor his kisses on her muddy face, cling to the relief that coursed through both of them.

“Miranda, I know you’re going to hate this, but you’re getting onto the helicopter, and you’re going to the hospital.”

She gulped some air and looked into his golden-brown eyes. “I’m not afraid of anything now.”

He squeezed her, smiling through moist eyes. “Good onya, luv.”

“And as soon as they let me out, we fly to Atlanta to make sure my mother is okay.”

He let out a half laugh, half sob, lifting to help her toward the clearing where Wade waited in the helicopter. “Whatever you want.”

“And then maybe you’ll help me find my birth mother.”

He pulled her closer, kissing her on the head. “Anything you want. Anything.”

Satisfied, unafraid, and blissfully safe in the arms of a man who’d come to change her life and succeeded, Miranda flew to the hospital, unafraid.

W
HEN
L
UCY
S
HARPE
entered the cabin of the Bullet Catchers Gulfstream IV, Miranda almost forgot that she was on a private jet ready for takeoff. Lucy was that mesmerizing. When she spoke, her voice was like silk and velvet, low-toned and a little throaty. She glided across the cabin to greet Miranda, nearly six feet tall, a cape of blue-black silk hair draped over her shoulders, the single white streak down the left side both stunning and startling. Her face was exotic and unique, with ebony eyes tilted up in a nod to an Asian ancestor and a wide, full mouth darkened in wine-red lipstick.

She dressed in dove-gray silk from top to toe, the style emphasizing everything clean, smooth, and unbroken about her. But her most compelling trait was her natural command, an undercurrent of authority and control. That must be how she ran an organization of gun-wielding alpha men.

Lucy sat on the long leather sofa that lined one side of the spacious plane cabin, an amused look on her face as she watched Adrien kneel before a built-in cabinet under the plasma TV screen, searching a long row of DVDs.

“If you make this poor woman watch the highlights of the 2006 Regional Rugby Championship,” Lucy said, “you will guarantee she never flies again.”

Adrien turned to Miranda. “That would be the game in which yours truly drop-kicked a three-pointer in the midst of a maul, which is virtually unheard of and hasn’t been repeated in postseason play since.” He flashed a distracting set of dimples. “All of the Bullet Catchers keep their favorite movies in here. The ’06 championship happens to be mine.”

Lucy and Miranda shared a look, then Lucy returned to the report she’d been giving them about what had taken place at Canopy after the helicopter lifted off for the hospital yesterday.

“Anthony Bellicone is extremely pleased that we’ve put a stop to Victor Blake’s subscription crews. He’s decided to give a major contract to us, for a complete security analysis of his worldwide operations.” She beamed. “I’ve wanted that job for some time. Thank you.”

“Has Dan called yet?” Adrien asked, settling into the recliner next to Miranda. “He was going to meet with his FBI contacts in the LA office.”

“He had one meeting yesterday, and we’re going in again shortly. They are ninety-nine-percent certain that Doña Taliña was Juanita Carniero, and her husband, Victor Blake, Jr., has been the mastermind using her and his father to lure teenagers into what he anticipated would be a cult.”

Miranda shook her head. “I’m just sorry the two are dead.”

“But the older Blake is cooperating,” Lucy assured her. “About a dozen missing teenagers have already been located, all of them involved with the sale of 2012 survival kits. Blake and Carniero were making a lot of money, the bulk of it coming from Internet fraud. They tricked thousands of people into sharing sensitive data from credit-card numbers to social security, using that to generate millions in revenue.”

Fletch reached over and took her hand. “Most important, Miranda, the Armageddon Movement Web site is now closed and under intense investigation.”

Miranda blew out a breath, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe they thought my book was a serious threat to a multi-million-dollar scam.”

“Your book is easily understood by the layman,” Lucy said, “and could capture commercial attention. If it caught on and your publicity campaign was successful, they’d have far less credibility with gullible people. Sure, some customers made pity purchases from the teenagers who knocked at their door, but the real money was through their online presence, promising satellite phones and generators and all manner of survival gear while they were pilfering card numbers and selling them on a black market. It’s a huge illegal enterprise, one the FBI battles daily.”

“There are more crews out there, right? More managers who can hurt people.” Taliña’s warning still played in Miranda’s head.
Go to your mother. She is going to die
. “One of them could be in Atlanta.”

“I have my best men in Atlanta watching your parents,” Lucy assured her. “You’ll see that for yourself when you arrive.”

“Thank you.”

Lucy glanced out the window when a stretch limousine pulled up. “Here’s Dan. I’m staying at least three days in Southern California, so the plane and the pilots are yours while you need them. Perhaps after you leave Atlanta, Miranda, you’ll want to use it to get to your next book signing.”

A man entered the cabin then, exchanging greetings with Fletch and Lucy.

Dan Gallagher’s warmth rolled off him in waves as he flashed an engaging smile and reached out to shake Miranda’s hand. “Fletch tells me you’re a virgin flyer.”

Miranda smiled back. “I’m afraid so.”

“He’ll keep you distracted,” Dan said, a twinkle in his eyes as he gestured toward the DVD rack. “But don’t expect to understand a single thing about a game where a bunch of grown men roll around in mud and bad shorts. It’s incomprehensible.”

“I already warned her,” Lucy said, moving to make room for Dan, who dropped next to her.

“Nice work, Juice,” he said. “You’ve saved this woman from an enormous amount of pain and suffering.”

“And I’d like to save her from more,” Lucy replied, looking at Miranda. “Fletch tells me you want to launch a search for your birth mother.”

A needle of panic that had very little to do with the fact that the engine of the plane had just revved prickled up Miranda’s spine, and she absently touched the spot on her nape that Fletch had shown her with a mirror. It did look like “hi” but his friend Jack said it was likely a number, so they surmised it might be “14.”

“I want to talk to my parents first, since they have no idea that I’ve learned I’m one of the Sapphire Trail babies. They have the right to know before I attempt to find my…birth mother.”

Lucy nodded. “When you’re ready, we can help you—I’d like to, as a way of thanking you for the work you did with Adrien this past week.”

“That would be fantastic, Lucy. Your resources are amazing. Thank you.”

“As you know, I also have”—Lucy glanced in Dan’s direction, then back to Miranda—“a former employee who has done quite a bit of work with the Sapphire Trail families already. He thought you were the daughter of a client he’s working for now, but, of course, he’s discovered paperwork that disproves that. Still, Jack might be able to help you in the search. I’m not promising anything, but it might help shorten the process.”

“I really appreciate this,” Miranda said. “And I’ll be happy to pay for your services.”

Adrien choked. “No you won’t. We cost the earth.”

Lucy smiled. “But sometimes we work for free, and this would be one of those times.”

She stood, and Miranda did the same. When Lucy reached out to shake her hand, Miranda took it, but couldn’t resist a quick hug of appreciation. When they parted, Lucy’s expression was warm and oddly sad.

“Just remember, Miranda, this will be difficult for your mother. She might feel as if she’s losing you.”

An unexpected lump formed in Miranda’s throat, and she blinked. “I know that. And it goes both ways.”

Lucy said goodbye to Adrien and left the plane, followed by Dan. From her seat, Miranda watched them walk to a limo, pausing at the door to face each other. Dan’s smile was absent, and Lucy squared her shoulders and lifted her jaw as she spoke to him.

He responded, pointing a finger at her, which she calmly eased to the side, continuing what she was saying.

Adrien took the recliner next to her. “In case you haven’t noticed, she favors him.”

“That doesn’t look like favoring,” Miranda mused. “Are they a couple?”

Adrien laughed. “Not hardly. But he is the unofficial top Bullet Catcher. She confides in him and trusts him.”

“So why the fireworks?”

“Because her offer of Jack Culver’s assistance was unexpected and stunning.”

She pulled the seatbelt around her. “How’s that?”

He fastened his own belt and reached over to make sure hers was tight. “About a year ago, Jack and Dan were on an assignment together. Two more contradictory blokes, you’d never imagine. Dan is a witty guy, always making people laugh, always seeing the bright side, sort of a one-man happy pill. Jack is”—he let out a dry laugh—“not.”

“What happened?”

“They had trouble with someone attacking their principal, shots were fired, and Jack misfired. He hit Dan and nearly killed him. It was a mistake, but we’re not supposed to make them.”

Miranda watched as the limo pulled away.
Oh, Lord
. The limo wasn’t moving; the plane was. “Is that what they were arguing about? Because she’s suggesting I get Jack’s help to find my birth mother?” The words
birth mother
still felt foreign, but with the aircraft taxiing toward a runway, she welcomed the distraction.

“They’re arguing because Jack Culver is persona non grata among the Bullet Catchers. He’s my mate and he saved my life once, so I ignore that unwritten rule. But Lucy just broke it, and in front of Dan.”

“So she allows no mistakes, ever?”

“This was more than a simple misfire,” Adrien said. “Jack was hiding something the entire time he worked for Lucy. He got injured when he was with the NYPD, but he managed to have the extent of the injuries erased from his record. When he started working for Lucy, he never revealed the truth. Not to her, not to me when we became friends, not to anyone.”

“What was the injury?”

“The worst possible for the job we do. Some lunatic druggie slammed Jack’s trigger finger in a door on a bust gone bad. He’s not legally allowed to shoot a gun in the role of any kind of law enforcement.”

“And Lucy didn’t know this? She strikes me as someone who prides herself on knowing everything.”

“She strikes you right, then. Lucy knew he’d been injured and even knew it involved his hand, but he passed her rigorous testing. Anyway, she stripped him of responsibilities and banned him from the company.”

Miranda dared a peek out the window just in time to see the Spanish tile roof of the municipal airport terminal whizzing by as they picked up momentum. She clenched her stomach and hands and forced her head back to the conversation. “So offering his help is offensive to Dan?”

“There’s a rivalry there, and obviously some history.” Adrien reached across the armrest that separated them and took her hand. “Jack lost more than his trigger finger in the accident, and more than his job when Lucy sacked him. He lost faith in himself. That’s why I want to help him on this project.”

He was totally aware of her anxiety, she had no doubt. But he hadn’t said a word, just kept this conversation going. A warm rush of affection filled her and made her determined to show him she could do this. She could just talk and not dissolve into a puddle of panic.

She dragged her brain back to the conversation. “Would she ever let him back into the company?” she asked despite the mad pounding of her pulse. “If he did redeem himself somehow?”

He shrugged and weaved his fingers in hers. “Hard to say. She’s been known to give a second chance if it was deserved. He’s worked hard to rehabilitate his trigger finger. Although more than his finger has needed a few stints at rehab.”

The jet engines revved a little, pulling her attention and a soft intake of breath. She dug deep for control and for the ability to respond. Rehab? Is that what he’d said?

“Did I tell you how I met him?” he asked. “It’s an interesting story.”

Miranda finally released a nervous laugh. “Interesting enough to make me forget that this plane is taxiing toward the runway?” Damn, they were moving fast.

“I hope so.” He stroked her damp palm. “I know this is terrifying to you and that no matter what I tell you, you aren’t just going to relax during this flight, but you’ve been through far worse in the past few days.” He squeezed her hand as the wheels began a slow, rhythmic clunking over evenly spaced cracks in the concrete.

She curled her fingers around his. “Tell me how you met Jack.”

“Well, Jack was on assignment in Tasmania for the Bullet Catchers, escorting a diplomat, and my group of SOGs—the Special Ops group—was there in response to a bomb and riot threat. Jack was…” His voice drifted in and out, his words buzzing in her head, his meaning lost.

Mechanical sounds grew louder, each clunk more intense than the one before. Pressure pushed her back as they barreled toward the unavoidable defiance of gravity.

She risked a glance outside, and without missing a beat, Adrien touched a button on his chair. A shade built into the window lowered and blocked the view.

“So, anyway, his principal—that’s the person you’re protecting, called a principal—starts to run, which is an all-out stupid move, so I…”

They had to be going seventy-five now. More. The engines whined, and the steady cracks in the concrete increased to a constant click of the wheels, like a clock, getting faster and faster and faster. Her chest tightened, making her breathless, and her eyes burned with tears.

“We’re taking off now, aren’t we?” she asked, interrupting his story.

“Yes.” He put his arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer. “And I’m failing miserably in the distraction department.”

She shook her head, half smiling, half crying. “Not your fault.”

In one move, he flipped off his seatbelt and hoisted himself onto her recliner. It was plush and wide enough for him to slide his knees on either side of her thighs and pin her in place as if he were a human seatbelt.

She gave a surprised laugh. “Is this you being impulsive?”

“I prefer spontaneous.” His kissed her hard, covering her mouth and then invading it, pulling her up to meet him, and not letting her think about anything but his hot, demanding tongue.

Then the bottom plummeted out of her world as the plane left the ground, making her stomach drop so hard and fast that she let out a little cry into his mouth.

He rolled against her lap, his erection rising as rapidly as the aircraft. He closed his hands over her breasts, sending a shock wave down to where their hips connected. She dropped her head back against the leather seat, and he bent to kiss her throat and unbutton her silk blouse.