Miranda's Revenge (12 page)

“It was a
government
car?”

“Looks like it.”

“What else?”

“There's been a real effort to suppress the investigation and let Desi take the rap. The evidence against her is entirely circumstantial, except the blood on her clothes, and that's been explained by the fight they had earlier in the day. A lot of people saw that.”

Miranda frowned. “So, do you think it's the killer, or somebody else?”

“I don't know, but my gut still says the killer is a woman. It could be, however, that somebody is using the situation as it crops up, probably because they want that land.”

“What if,” Miranda said, “it's all connected somehow? What if somebody wanted revenge on Claude and used the land as a cover?”

He nodded. “Quite possible.”

“I met Renate Franz this afternoon, and I just pretended to be an artist who wanted to show in her gallery, and I asked about Claude. I think she knows something, too,” she said, not realizing until that very moment that she did think so.

She sighed. “But how the hell are we ever going to catch somebody red-handed?”

“Won't. We have to set 'em up, figure out who it is, and see if we can get them to tip their hand.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe a little.” He sat back and measured her. “I would like to go to the hospital and talk to your sister Desi about the land. Do you think she's up to it?”

“We can try.” Brusquely she picked up their glasses, put them in the sink. “I need to run a comb through my hair first. And I need to gather some things to take to her.”

He stood up. “Wait a minute.”

She paused, touching her face, thinking she must have something on it. “What is it?” she asked, touching her mouth.

“This,” he said, and slid a hand around her neck. “I need to kiss you.”

“Oh!” she managed before he was doing just that, his mouth claiming hers with elegance and knowledge, his hands on her neck, and arm, his thumb tipping her chin up.

Heat raced through her body, tweaking her breasts to sharp points that wanted his hands, swelling her sex to readiness for him, for the actions that were mimicked by his tongue now rolling around her mouth, filling her, coaxing her closer.

She melted against him, touching his long back, his strong arms. Against her belly was the hard nudging of his sex, and she rubbed against it, acknowledging his arousal, and he groaned softly. “This dress,” he said in between kisses, rubbing his hands on the thin fabric, heating her skin. “This dress has been driving me crazy.”

“Yeah?” she whispered.

He pressed his head to her forehead, looking down to where his hands moved on her shoulders. His fingers slid toward the edge of her slip, traced the lace that followed the shape of her breasts, halted. “It's so thin, so easy to imagine you not having anything on at all.”

An inch, two, and his fingertips would touch the sharply tender tips of her breasts. She could feel the heat of his palms over her breasts, close but not touching. She made a soft noise and tipped her head up to kiss him, nipping his lips lightly. Her breath was high in her throat as he sucked her lower lip into his mouth, rubbing the tender flesh with his tongue, his fingers caressing up and down the slope of her chest. Up to her collarbone, down to the top of her slip. He suckled her lip, let go, nipped her lightly and rubbed the sting with his tongue.

Her brain turned to a puddle of sensation, and she just let him do what he would, waiting for the next thing, the slide and thrust of that tongue, the slow rocking of his hips below, the tantalizing hover and stroke of his hands that never, never quite touched her breasts.

At last, he gathered up her hair, and used it to tug her gently back to reality. “We have to go,” he said.

“Do we?”

“Yes. But don't forget.”

“No,” she whispered. She backed away, turned on the water and splashed cold water on her face.

And that was only a kiss. Good grief.

He came up behind her and touched her shoulder, brushing her hair away to press a kiss to the back of her neck. “See, if you relinquish control sometimes, life can be interesting.”

Miranda could not think of a single thing to say to that.

Desi had been moved to another room. She was desultorily flipping channels when Miranda and James arrived. She looked, Miranda thought, quite a lot better. Some color had returned to her face, and the general look of weariness was gone. She looked again like Desi—an annoyed,
bored,
Desi.

“Hey, you,” Miranda said, coming in. “I brought you some things. First, the chai.” She handed it to her with a flourish, a hot, steaming drink in a paper cup with its special sleeve. “Also, the computer and some DVDs to watch.”

“Oh, you are my hero.” Desi took the chai and inhaled the scent with her eyes closed.

“Where's Tam?”

“I made him go home. He's exhausted and hasn't slept since this happened.” Her mouth turned up in a wry smile. “I'm sure he'll be back before long, but at least he'll have some supper and a rest.” She eyed the fabric on Miranda's arm. “Is that my sari?”

“Yes! You remember James, right?”

“Sure. You catch the killer yet?”

“Working on it.”

Desi nodded, then gestured to Miranda. “So—? Let me see it already!”

With a pleased grin, Miranda unfurled the luxuriously beautiful sari, pink banded with apple-green. The scarf was shot through with gold, and with a flourish, she draped it over Desi's torso. “What do you think?”

Desi squealed. Actually squealed. “It's fantastic, kiddo! You have such an eye! I would never have chosen these colors, but I love them.”

“They look very nice on you,” James said.

“Thank you.” Desi put down her chai and held out an arm to her sister. “Come here and let me give you a hug.”

Shyly, Miranda bent and allowed herself to be hugged. There was something homey—literally—about the way Desi smelled, and her heart lifted that she'd been able to do something to help. But she still felt awkward, and endured it only for a moment.

“Well done,” Desi murmured.

As she straightened, she turned to include James. “He'd like to talk to you about a few things to do with the case.”

“Only if you feel up to it,” James added.

“I'm fine. Well, I mean my brain and voice are fine.”

He drew a chair forward and sat down. “Do you think Claude might have known about the aquifer under the land?”

Desi's eyebrows shot up. “I don't know,” she said in a tone that said this was the first time it had occurred to her. “It's possible. He had some surveys done so we could dig the hot springs pool.”

“Okay.” James flipped open his notebook and tugged the lid of the pen off with his teeth. He made a note. “I'm going to tell you the honest truth—I know human nature. Whatever happens with this case, however it started, it's being fueled now by people who want that land, even if they were not responsible for Claude's murder.”

“Okay,” Desi said with a frown.

“You are not going to have a minute's peace as long as that aquifer is there, luring big money.”

“Which means what?” Desi asked calmly. “That I have to sell it?”

“Might be the best answer.”

Desi looked at her hands, and Miranda was surprised she didn't protest outright. “I'm listening.”

“Here's the thing—if you don't sell it to the developers, you can probably find a lease agreement with the government.”

“Ew. The government?”

“I've done a lot of work for my village back home, negotiating contracts to rent land from the state government. If the government owns it, they protect it and their investment—and their law has a lot of teeth—but you can also work out a lease agreement with them, so you can keep the wolf sanctuary and your home and maybe even into the seventh generation.”

“Is that a legal term?” Miranda asked, folding the scarf.

“No. Or a least not that I know of.”

“They'll never pay me what it's worth,” Desi said.

“Undoubtedly true. You could get more from developers. But I assume you've protected the land from them for a reason.”

Desi nodded. “It's important to have some land that's not all built with million-dollar houses. The animals and trees need to live, too.”

“I agree with you,” he said calmly. “Here's the thing—the government is the only body that can really protect you. Once they own it, the deal is done, and nobody comes after you or your wolves anymore.”

She gazed at him soberly. “I never thought about the possibility of leasing it back. I don't want to leave the land, but I am really tired of this struggle. I'm afraid—” She paused, then said more clearly, “I'm afraid that even if I don't go to jail, eventually somebody will succeed in killing me.”

“That's my worry, too.”

“That would suck,” Desi said, and smiled. “I'll give it some thought.”

“Don't talk about it yet, though, except with your fiancé.”

“Okay.” Desi shifted her attention to Miranda. “Hey, do you think you could do me a really big favor?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

“Crazy Horse, the big white dog?”

“I know who he is!”

“Well, he's a big fat baby and he's really bummed out that Helene didn't get his special blanket.” She winced and said, “Do you think you could drive up there and get it for her? She's working tonight.”

“Of course! That's not even a big favor. It's very little.” She grinned. “How will I know it?”

“It's a very hairy blue and red plaid that sits near the woodstove.”

Miranda saw it in her mind very clearly. “I remember it. No problem. I'll run up there after dinner.”

“So are you going to dinner with Juliet and Josh and the parents?”

“Yeah.” Miranda widened her eyes. “James, darling creature, is going, too.”

“You're a brave man.” A sideways smile touched Desi's lips. “Glory and Mother should be an interesting combination.”

“Yeah.” The five-year-old was not known to hold her tongue. “Do they know about the baby yet?”

“Yes. They met Tam, too, just a little while ago.” Her eyes glittered. “I can't wait to hear what Mother has to say about him later. She wasn't thrilled with his tattoos. And she's very upset about me having a baby out of wedlock.”

“Well, it is kind of weird that you'll have the baby, but not get married.”

“If I go to jail, I don't want him to feel obligated. I want him to find someone to love him and our daughter.”

“
We'll
love him or her!”

“I know, Miranda. This makes sense to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And where does
she
get off making judgments on other people?” Miranda exclaimed. “It's not like she's been some big model of morality.”

“What do you mean?”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “All the affairs she and Daddy had, all their weird little games they played.”

“Affairs? Really?”

And only then did Miranda realize she was too forthright, that her sisters did not know, had never known, the truth of things. The only reason she had the information was that she'd been subjected to their fights all those years. “Yes,” she said, and cast a glance toward James, who probably didn't want to hear all this. “We'll talk later.”

“Okay.” Desi looked a little troubled.

“We'd better go. It's time for dinner.”

Desi smiled. “I'll think about what you said. You guys have a real good time.”

Juliet had arranged a reservation for all of them—Carol and Paul, Juliet, Josh and Glory, Miranda, Desi and Tam. Tam chose to spend the evening with Desi, keeping her company, so there was plenty of room for James. The dinner was in the rustic, decidedly unposh Hungry Cattleman restaurant, which featured steaks and baked potatoes and baked beans. Homey.

She felt tense. Tired. Juliet directed them all to their places, and Miranda had to admit it was a brilliant design, meant to nip problems in the bud—on either side of Carol were Josh and James, two men she could flirt with. Next to Josh was Glory, then Miranda, then her father, then Juliet.

“This is quaint,” Carol said. “Was it your choice, Josh?”

Josh, dressed in a crisp plaid shirt, his dark hair drawn into a shiny thick braid, mildly raised an eyebrow at Juliet. “Don't look at me.”

“It's Glory's favorite.”