Stranger in Cold Creek (9 page)

“Tough girl.”

“You'd think so.”

“But you didn't?”

Miranda sighed, resting her head against the sofa cushion. “She was tough in a lot of ways. I guess she can thank Hal for that. But she was also sort of frozen in time. There was part of her that was still that scared little girl whose mama ran out on her when she was little and had to figure out how to keep living without any real help from her dad. That little girl didn't trust anybody. Not even me. So there was always this wall between us. I could never get over it. And she never tried.”

“She must have trusted you a little, if she came to you for help after the tornado.”

“She didn't come to me. I offered, and she accepted. But she got out of here as soon as she could. She liked being alone.”

“Do you?” His tone was curious. “Like being alone, I mean.”

“I don't know that I like it so much as I don't mind it.” She turned her head to find him studying her with a thoughtful expression. “I like standing on my own two feet.”

“Yeah, that reminds me, you were going to tell me why you're so determined not to stay with your dad.” He arched his dark eyebrows at her.

“Right.” She looked up at the ceiling, wondering where to start. “It's nothing that big, really. You've met my dad. You know he's great.”

“Seems that way, yeah.”

“I love him like crazy. And he loves me the same. But...you have to know what is was like when my mom died. If you think my dad is crazy about me, you should have seen how much he loved my mom.” She could smile now at the memory, though it had been years before she could remember her parents' love for each other without wanting to cry at the loss. “When she died, he was so lost. He tried to be my rock, but he was more like a sand castle, crumbling beneath each crashing wave of grief.”

“And you had to be his rock.”

“For a while. Until he was strong enough to be mine.”

“That must have been hard. How old were you when your mom died?”

“Twelve.” She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold, despite the mild March temperatures outside. “I think maybe that's why Delta and I ended up being friends of a sort. Because we both knew what it was like to raise ourselves in a way.”

“You're not comparing Gil to Delta's con-man father?”

“No, of course not. But he worked hard to keep us going in good economies and bad ones, and there were lots of times when I had to take care of myself. I knew he wasn't going to remarry. He still thinks of my mother as his wife. I guess he always will.”

“Romantic.”

She smiled. “Who knew he had it in him?”

They fell quiet for a while, but it was a comfortable silence that left her feeling drowsy and safe.

When he spoke a few moments later, his soft voice still made her nerves jangle. “Miranda?”

She opened her eyes to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Do you think it's possible the attack on you had anything to do with Delta's disappearance?”

John's question caught her by surprise. “Why would Delta's case have anything to do with the ambush?”

“You told me the other day that you were out on Route 7 that day because of a tip about Delta, right?”

“Right.” She sat upright, her gaze moving suddenly around the room. “We've sort of been assuming the wreck and what happened here were connected in some way, but...”

“But what?”

She pushed to her feet and paced around her living room, looking at each empty space in the room through narrowed eyes, picturing what had been there. At first glance, the destruction had seemed almost malicious. But thinking back, the things that had been destroyed were pieces of furniture or bric-a-brac that could have hidden something else inside it. Even the mess in the kitchen had been caused by someone searching inside containers and canisters.

“Miranda?”

She turned to look at John. “If the whole point of running me off the road was to keep me away from my house long enough to search it, what exactly are they searching for?”

Chapter Nine

Before John could answer, a pounding knock on the door rattled the house and made Miranda jump. With a sheepish smile, she checked out the front window before opening the door. “The plumber,” she said.

A burly man with dark skin and black hair entered, grinning at Miranda like an old friend. “Hey there, Mandy. Heard you got a mess on your hands.”

“I do, Garrett. I really do.”

Garrett entered and stopped briefly as if surprised to see John in the living room. “Oh, hey.”

“Garrett, this is John Blake. John, this is Garrett Navarre, plumber extraordinaire.”

Garrett grinned as he gripped John's hand with his massive paw. “My wife would say I'm very ordinaire indeed. Nice to meet you.”

“If you can fix that mess in the kitchen, you'll go straight to the top of my superhero list,” Miranda said with a laugh. “I'll show Garrett what we're up against. John, could you get a fire going? I think it's supposed to be cold again tonight.”

So was she expecting him to stay again tonight? he wondered as he added kindling to the logs in the hearth. There wasn't much reason to stoke a fire otherwise, was there?

Or was he assuming too much?

“Garrett seems to think he can fix things without forcing me to take out a second mortgage.” Miranda came back into the living room as he was touching a match to the kindling.

“Good.” He rose to face her and blurted out what was really on his mind. “I think I need to stay here a while longer.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the abrupt change of subject, but she gave a nod. “I think maybe you should, too, actually. Because I go back to work tomorrow, and I don't want to have to clean this place up again anytime soon. Having you here might, at least, discourage someone breaking in again.”

“I don't remember anyone saying—were there tool marks on either of your doors? To tell how the intruders got inside. I don't remember seeing any broken windows.”

“Nobody said.” Her look of consternation suggested she hadn't thought to ask. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “I can find out.”

While she made a call to the station, John crossed to the front door and examined the lock and door handles. There were no telltale marks of anyone trying to jimmy the lock, but some locks could be conquered easily enough without leaving much sign of what had happened.

“They checked all the doors and windows. All the windows were locked, and there weren't any signs of a break-in on the front or the back doors. The shed lock had been forced, though,” Miranda told him after she'd finished her call.

“Could someone have a key to your front door?”

“Obviously my dad does.”

“What about Delta? You said she stayed with you a while. Did you give her a key?”

Miranda pressed her fingers to her lips briefly. “She did have a key to the house. Not the shed, though. She didn't have a reason to need one.”

“Did you get it back from her?”

She looked up at him. “Are you suggesting Delta did this?”

He almost wished it was what he was suggesting. “Actually, I was thinking about the fact that she's gone missing.”

Miranda's face went pale.

Garrett came into the living room, carrying a large plastic bag. “Here's the stuff from the sink and drain. Can I just dispose of it, or is there any reason you'd need to keep it?”

Miranda glanced at John. “Could be trace evidence, I guess.”

He grimaced. “I'm not volunteering to go through it.”

A smile touched the corners of her mouth but got no farther. “Put it on the front porch,” she told Garrett. “I'll take care of disposing of it.”

Garrett complied with a cheerful nod and returned to the kitchen.

Miranda stepped closer to John, keeping her voice low. “You think maybe whoever trashed this place got the key from Delta, don't you?”

“It's possible, isn't it?”

“Probable, even.” Using her fingers as a comb, she pushed her hair away from her face, wincing when her fingertips brushed against the bandage on her forehead. “I don't think she'd have given the key to someone willingly.”

“Your dad made her sound a little on the flaky side.”

“Flaky doesn't mean traitorous.”

“I know. But could she have been duped into doing it?”

Miranda appeared to give the question a moment's thought before shaking her head. “No. She was really savvy. Really cynical, I guess. She wouldn't have fallen for it. If someone else has the key I gave her, I think they took it against her will.”

She didn't finish that thought, but the conclusion was hard to miss. If someone took the key from Delta by force, what else had they done by force?

“You think she may be dead, don't you?” Miranda's pained question broke the silence.

“It's been a possibility from the beginning, hasn't it?”

“A possibility, yes. But she's gone off before.”

“You said this was the longest time she's been away.”

Miranda sighed and paced over to the fire, gazing into the flames. The firelight seemed to deepen the sadness in her expression, giving her a tragic sort of beauty. “I wanted this case to have a happy ending. I wanted to see Delta come wandering back to town, surprised by all the fuss.”

“It might still happen.”

She turned her back to the fire and looked at him. “I don't think it will this time. I can't shake the feeling that something bad has happened to her.”

“Did Delta have any enemies?”

“I don't know. I was probably the closest thing she had to a friend, but even I didn't know much about her life beyond what little bit she decided to share with me.” She crossed to the sofa and sat beside him again, a little closer this time, her warmth washing over him. She smelled good, he thought, a fresh earthy scent like garden herbs warming in the sunshine.

“Could Delta be the one who broke in?”

She shook her head. “I thought about that, but why would she? She knows I'd let her in. And she'd know there's nothing hidden in this house that she'd have to rip things apart to find.”

“So maybe it's someone looking for something Delta left here.”

“I don't think she left anything, though.”

Garrett came out of the kitchen again, carrying his tool bag. “All done, Mandy. You paying with cash or credit today?”

“I'll give you a check.” Miranda pushed to her feet and grabbed her purse from the shelf by the door. She followed Garrett outside.

John pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans and called Quinn to catch him up on the events of the past day.

“So, you've moved in with this woman?” Quinn couldn't quite keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Just for a while, until we can figure out what's going on and who might be gunning for her.”

“Well, I have an update on someone who might be gunning for you,” Quinn said. “The FBI thinks Del McClintock may have headed west to hide out with family in Oklahoma.”

Too close, John thought. “What part of Oklahoma?”

“His cousins live in Altus. Not that far from Cold Creek, really. A little over two hours by car.”

Damn it. “You think that's a coincidence? Or do you think he has a bead on my location?”

“It's hard to say. The FBI isn't a hundred percent sure he's in Oklahoma at all. It's just a place to look. But I think it's best if you keep your eyes open. Have you told anyone there why you're in Texas?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you trust the deputy?”

He thought about it. “I think so. I think she's one of the good guys. But I'm not sure I want to tell anyone about John Bartholomew and what he was doing for the past year in Virginia.” He heard footsteps on the porch outside. “I've got to go. I'll be in touch.”

He pocketed the phone just before the door opened and Miranda came back in, holding a yellow receipt, looking exasperated. “Whoever made this mess in my place has cost me an arm and a leg. Most of the damage isn't going to be covered by my homeowner's policy, and now I have to worry about getting new furniture and canisters and—” She flung her hands wide. “I don't even know how much I'm going to have to replace.”

“Well, your sink is working again, at least. Maybe we can make a grocery run and replace some of the stuff that got dumped down the drain.”

“Probably going to have to wait until I get paid again now.” She waved the yellow receipt at him. “Know what I need? Something to take my mind off my troubles. Why don't we go take a look at the back room and see what needs to be done next?”

John followed Miranda to the unfinished room and listened to her description of what she wanted to accomplish. “This was originally a second bedroom, and I don't want to lose that function, but I'd also like for it to be a little more versatile than just another bedroom. It's large enough that I think I could fit a desk in here as well, and maybe build in some shelves for books and file boxes. The sheriff's department is willing to pay my tuition for some continuing education courses and seminars in law enforcement, and I want to have a place to keep my books and notes from those courses.”

He could picture it. The room was situated in the back corner of the house, with four windows offering a vista of the plains that seemed to stretch into infinity. A different sort of beauty than the hills and valleys of his Tennessee home, but beautiful nonetheless. She could work here, surrounded by the place she loved, improving her skills at protecting the community she served. It was a very Miranda thing to want.

At least, he thought it was. How much could he really know about a woman he'd met only three days before?

“I love this room. It's a little smaller than my bedroom, but I was considering changing rooms just for this view. And then the tornado hit and practically demolished it.” Her eyes darkened with remembered pain. “It took out half of each corner wall and the rain ruined the floor and the other walls. We had to strip up the floors and take down all the drywall and the ceiling.”

He looked up at the exposed wood of the frame. “You and your dad did the reframing?”

“Yeah, and we got the siding put up on the outside to protect it from the elements. But I haven't had a ton of time to get the interior fixed up the way I want it. I've had to do it a little at a time during my off-hours.”

“I can help speed that up while you're at work. Looks like you're ready to put the walls in next.”

She nodded at the sheets of drywall lined up on one side of the room. “I thought I'd try to tackle that when I got home from work tomorrow.”

“I can get it started for you first thing in the morning. Do you have a basic floor plan for the room? Where you want the various elements to go?”

“Do I ever.” With a grin, she motioned for him to follow her.

They made a quick stop in her bedroom for her to grab a notebook from the bedside table, then settled on the sofa in the living room, spreading the notebook open on the coffee table in front of them.

“I'm looking at a couple of different plans. I just can't decide which way I want to go.” She pointed to the first page, where in neat pen strokes, she'd sketched out a simple floor plan featuring a bed, a single piece of furniture she'd labeled “highboy” and a desk against one wall between two windows. “This is the more traditional route,” she said. “The bed is against one wall, the desk at its foot. Shelves would go on the wall opposite the bed, ending at the closet door.”

He pointed to the opposite page. “And this?”

“I'd have to go with a daybed in this scenario, because more focus is on the corner desk and the shelves. This layout makes the room more of a study with a sleeping area. The other one is more a bedroom with a desk and bookshelves.”

“What do you anticipate using the room for?”

“A study,” she said.

“I think you've made your choice, then.”

The smile she flashed at him made his whole body go hot. “My dad thinks it's crazy. He thinks I should be adding bedrooms to the house, not converting one to a study.”

“Adding bedrooms?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know, for when I get married and start having babies. He keeps sending me clippings from the newspaper whenever one of my friends from high school gets married or has a baby.”

“And, of course, this being a small town, those events all get big write-ups in the local weekly.”

“Exactly.” She laughed. “I make it sound like he's a terrible nag. He's not. I think he just worries that I'm alone here with no husband or babies in sight.”

“Wants to get you settled so he can stop worrying.”

She shot him a narrow-eyed look. “This sound familiar to you, too?”

“A little. My father wanted me to join the family business from the time I graduated college. I just—” He shook his head. “I wanted something more than a corner office in a Johnson City accounting firm.”

“So you joined the Foreign Legion?”

What would it hurt to tell her about his work with the CIA? He hadn't lasted long, and everything he'd been dealing with had ended up being declassified or scrapped in the end. “I worked as a CIA liaison in Athens, Greece, for a year after college.”

Her eyes widened. “I know I joked about that, but—”

“It wasn't nearly as interesting as it sounds. And I sort of blew my one and only assignment, so—”

“How'd you blow it? Or is that classified information?”

“Not classified. Just embarrassing.” He rose and crossed to the fireplace, gazing into the flickering flames. “Athens was always volatile politically. Lots of protests—antiglobalization, anarchists, black bloc, you name it. About a week earlier, Athens cops had killed an unarmed teenager and things were really hot in the city. I was living in a hotel that offered long-term rentals, and that morning, I apparently walked right out of the hotel into the middle of a violent protest. I took a chunk of concrete to the head and woke up three weeks later in an Athens hospital with no memory of the event.”