Miranda’s heart felt like it had been in a street fight. School would be starting soon. A normal mother and daughter would be talking about classes and teachers and friends and what supplies to buy.
With her daughter, Miranda was discussing the violent circumstances of her genesis.
“I’m sure you’ve done the math,” she said. “I was married to Leon at the time.”
Slowly the girl nodded an acknowledgement. “Okay. Maybe he was a co-worker, then? Did he attack you in a storeroom at your job or something?”
Miranda hadn’t told her any of the details. The girl’s imagination had filled them in. Incorrectly. “Leon didn’t let me work. He barely let me out of the house.”
She lifted her gaze in wonderment. “Really?”
Guess that was hard to believe now. Miranda Steele was a far different person from the sniveling weakling who had been married to Leon Groth.
Miranda took a deep breath. “Except one night when he wanted Rocky Road ice cream.” She shivered as the memory came rushing back to her. “It was cold a February night. Late. Dark. I had to go to a little neighborhood place to get it. A nasty neighborhood. When I got out of the car, someone came up behind and grabbed me.”
“Oh, my God.”
“He dragged me into an alley and…” Miranda turned her head. She couldn’t go on.
“But surely you got a look at him.”
She shook her head. “It was wintertime. He was wearing a knit ski mask.” She forced out a laugh. “Maybe he was on his way to rob a bank.”
“You don’t remember anything at all about him?”
Miranda fought with the hazy memory, the desperate emotions it churned up. “He was big.” At least that was how she remembered him. And she remembered something else. The sour odor of cheap cologne.
For a long moment Mackenzie stared at the food getting cold on her plate. Miranda’s burrito was only half eaten. They wouldn’t be eating any more this afternoon.
“Did you…press charges?”
Miranda shook her head, reached for her water glass. She took a sip to wet the lips that had suddenly gone dry as the Sahara. “Again, Leon wouldn’t let me.”
“He wouldn’t let you?”
Again, hard to believe now. “He was a cop. He didn’t want the guys he worked with to find out.”
Mackenzie’s eyes were deep blue globes as she stared at her in youthful disbelief. “Are you sure I’m not Leon Groth’s daughter? I mean…can you be sure?”
Miranda closed her eyes and let the pain wash over her. “I’m sure. Early on in our marriage Leon had a bout of the measles. It left him sterile.”
Mackenzie blinked at her. “Okay.”
Mackenzie stared into space. Miranda watched the girl’s mind process the details she’d just learned, eliminating some possibilities to consider, opening others. She recognized the jaw set with determination.
And suddenly she got it. Though she’d been suspecting it ever since she’d accidentally blurted out the words “I was raped” to Mackenzie. She’d give anything to take those words back. Now more than ever.
Because now she understood.
Mackenzie was grasping at straws. Hoping she could prove to herself that her real father wasn’t such a bad guy. That her bloodline wasn’t so dire. That her own genes weren’t irreparably defiled. She wanted reassurance she wouldn’t turn into a monster some day.
But this wasn’t the way to do it.
Miranda reached across the table and laid a hand on her daughter’s arm. “Promise me you’ll stop looking for him, Mackenzie. It can only lead to heartache. Maybe worse.”
As if awaking from a dream, the girl turned to her and blinked. Then she pulled away as if she’d never seen Miranda before.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” she whispered, eyes growing moist. “I simply can’t do that.”
Chapter Three
Wade Parker sat back in the chair in his corner office and stared at the data on his computer screen.
Thanks to Colby and Oliver Chatham’s generosity in allowing him access to Mackenzie’s computer and phone, he had a copy of her online activity for the past month. It revealed her search for her father.
The girl was clever.
She had discovered the high school Miranda had attended in Oak Park, Illinois, contacted the institution and gotten a copy of Miranda’s sophomore year book. She had researched all the young men who’d attended the school at that time online. She had found two who had police records. That had led her to a broader search of police records. Arrests of sexual assault suspects from nine months before she was born to the next two years.
Parker had to admit he was impressed.
Mackenzie definitely had her mother’s tenacity. But despite all the effort, the girl had come up with nothing. Thank God. Still if you shake the bushes hard enough there was no telling what sort of slimy creature might crawl out.
Parker had conducted similar searches over the past two weeks. They had gone deeper but yielded little more. He needed another approach. An in person approach.
He needed a trip to Chicago.
He opened a drawer and pulled out Miranda’s old cell phone.
He scanned the anonymous messages she’d received over the past two months.
I know who you are.
I know where you are.
I know what you are.
His jaw tensed and his blood ran as hot in his veins as the day he’d discovered the phone on Dave Becker’s desk. He had been trying to find the source of the messages with no luck. Parker did not blame Dave. Not after what that man had been through two weeks ago. Not at all.
It was Miranda who had coaxed her coworker into tracing the messages without telling anyone. It was Miranda who had hidden their existence from him, even after they’d promised not to keep secrets from each other.
He could forgive her for that, he supposed. On some level, he understood her reaction. She’d assumed the messages were cranks. She’d tried to spare him needless worry and grief. But she was being overconfident.
Tracking back servers and IP addresses he and Dave Becker had managed to come up with a single fact. The first message had been sent from Chicago. And discovering that fact had made him wonder about a particular scenario.
Mackenzie’s search for her father had gone back three months. Longer than he or Miranda had suspected. Several weeks before the first message was sent. Had the young girl unwittingly triggered those texts?
Had her real father somehow learned she was searching for him and decided to contact Miranda in this way? Highly unlikely. Implausible. But he’d seen stranger coincidences during his twenty year career as an investigator.
And he had a hunch there was something to the scenario.
Regardless Parker knew those text messages were a very real threat. One he would protect his wife from at all costs. Even if it meant ending their professional partnership.
He understood the work meant a great deal to her. And her dedication to it was one of the things he loved most about her.
From the first moment he’d met Miranda Steele that fierce warrior spirit in her had touched something deep inside him. The passion to fight for justice. The willingness to sacrifice all to save a victim. The refusal to give up no matter the cost. Everything about her told him he’d met his soul mate.
And they had shared many adventures together. But those adventures had become increasingly dangerous. Those adventures had made him realize he’d lose her some day if they kept on like this.
And so he had made up his mind.
He would shut down Parker and Steele Consulting and nothing she could do or say would change his mind. Still, to avoid needless worry and grief, as well as long bitter battles and sleepless nights, she did not need to know that yet.
A trip to Chicago would suffice for the time being.
Pleased he’d thought of a way to combine his two objectives in one trip without his wife suspecting either, he slipped the phone back into
his pants pocket. He’d take it with him.
In case the messenger texted again.
He glanced at the time on the computer screen. His meeting with Miranda this afternoon was scheduled for ten minutes ago. She was late, just as he knew she would be, since he knew where she’d been.
But he wouldn’t press that issue with her.
He switched to another screen on his computer. A list of cold cases in Chicago Sergeant Thomas Demarco had sent him. Which one would keep his wife’s nimble mind occupied while he accomplished his own business there?
He scanned the list carefully. Some were too stressful. Others wouldn’t interest her. Most were tedious. Ah, that one. Suspected arson. One of the most difficult crimes to solve. Demarco had starred it.
Again he glanced at the computer. Just enough to time to confirm before Miranda arrived. He picked up his cell and dialed the Chicago number.
Chapter Four
Traffic was heavy and it took Miranda longer than expected to drop Mackenzie off and head back toward the office for her afternoon meeting with Parker.
As the elevator doors on the fifteenth floor pinged open and she stepped off, Sybil, the receptionist gave her a stern look.
“You’re late, Ms. Steele.”
Miranda managed not to stick out her tongue at the young woman who’d been a pain her rear since she’d started at the Agency.
“Thanks, I know,” she said without looking at her and hurried through the doors.
She took a shortcut through the cubes and managed to avoid encountering anyone else before Parker’s corner office came into view.
Parker hadn’t mentioned this meeting on their way in to the office this morning. Midmorning he’d texted her, said he wanted to see her this afternoon. He hadn’t said why.
He’d been in boss mode.
But she hoped it was about a new case. Work had hit the mid-summer lull and she was getting antsy sitting around the office trading war stories with Becker, Holloway, and Wesson.
When they’d returned from their last adventure in Paris Parker had insisted on three days off. They’d gone to their favorite spot in the North Georgia Mountains. A place he’d taken her right after he’d given her his mother’s ring.
This time they’d stayed in bed most of the time. With a private view of the majestic Blue Ridge Mountains out their window, they’d eaten room service, drunk fine wine, and made love from glorious sunrise to breath-taking sunset. It was honeymoon-worthy.
But then all her down time with Parker was.
But now she was rested and raring to go.
When she reached the corner office, she realized she was out of breath. And not from the quick walk.
She stood in the open door a moment and took in the sight.
Bathed in the ethereal light of the afternoon sun that streamed through the tall windows, Parker sat at his glassy desk, his gray eyes intent on his computer screen. Concentration creases around those eyes only made his to-die-for face all the more handsome.
The powerful pose of his muscular body, the air of sublime confidence under his tailored suit was enough to stop any woman’s heart. Today his suit was expensive-looking dark blue, contrasting a red silk tie that made her want to push back the wisp of dark salt-and-pepper hair that had fallen over his forehead and lay a big one on that delicious, talented mouth.
He was a welcome sight after that pleasant walk down memory lane with Mackenzie.
And suddenly her heart filled with more love for him than ever. This man had given her a life. A real life. It was because of him she had found her daughter. Because of him she had true friends. Because of him she had a career she loved. Because of him she had found her purpose, her destiny.
She was about to say, “What’s up, boss?” when he gestured for her to step inside.
“Come in, Miranda.”
Even though he didn’t appear to, he’d known she’d been standing there. His investigator senses were that keen. And they were that in tune with each other.
“And close the door.”
“Ooh la la,” she grinned and she shut the door and sauntered over to his desk. She gave him a peck on the cheek. Man, he smelled good. “And here I thought this was a business meeting.”
He turned to her with a sexy smile and a look of desire in his gunmetal eyes. “You make me wish it were something else.”
“You can make it anything you want. You’re the boss, after all.”
His gaze turned lustier. “Good point.”
He reached around her waist, pulled her onto his lap and took her mouth with his.
She sucked in her breath as her arms went around his neck as if they had a will of their own. She returned Parker’s kiss with all the pent-up tension of the day, arching into his embrace, relishing the feel of his hand against her side moving down. Then up toward her breast.
Then he stopped, pulled away, smoothed his styled hair. “We’d better stop.”
She gave him a silly pout that was so not her. Then she flicked him under the chin. “I’ll expect you to pick up where we left off when we get home tonight.”
His eyes twinkled. “I’ll put it on my calendar.”
She leaned in toward his ear as she got up. “Don’t bother,” she whispered. “I’ll remind you.”
Watching with glee as he straightened his clothes and pulled himself together, Miranda swung around his desk and flopped into a guest chair.
“So what have you got? Another case?”
Parker turned back to his computer screen as cool as if she were a first-time client. “As a matter of fact, yes. Do you remember Sergeant Thomas Demarco out of the Larrabee station in Chicago?”
She scanned her memory banks. “The cop in charge of that murder in Coco’s place when she lived there.” A creepy incident, as she recalled. One that had almost gotten her killed. And Parker’s daughter, Gen, as well.
“Correct. The sergeant wants our help on a case.”
“Cool.” She sat up, excitement already pumping through her veins. “What is it? Some downtown celeb get murdered? Political intrigue? The mafia?”
His expression betrayed nothing. “It seems a young woman was killed in a house fire off Roosevelt Avenue.”
She frowned. “Was she famous? I don’t remember hearing anything about that on the news.”
“It happened fifteen years ago.”
Say what? “A cold case?”
“Yes, it’s from those files.”
Miranda slumped in the chair. She’d worked cold cases before. They could be dull as watching grass grow. “Was the victim well-known?” she asked again.
“No. She was a student.”
This didn’t make sense. She and Parker didn’t get called in for cases like this.
She arched a brow. “Sergeant Demarco is paying our fee for a cold case with an ordinary victim?”
Parker’s face remained unchanged. “Their caseload is very heavy right now. This is what they need help with.”
Uh huh. And a cold case was usually pretty safe. The suspects were older, wiser, and often in poor physical condition. Which meant no real threat.
Now she got what Parker was up to. He was letting his overprotective nature get the better of him. He was sheltering her again.
She opened her mouth, about to give him what for when he said, “Unless you don’t think an ordinary person’s death is worthy of our time.”
Her stomach twisted. He knew how to get to her.
Of course, she didn’t think that. The murder of any innocent victim was an outrage. A crime against all humanity. A crime that should not go unpunished. They both held that belief. So why was Parker always holding her back?
She leaned back in the chair, crossed her legs and steepled her hands.
Two could play this game. Sergeant Demarco was one of the first members of law enforcement to show her respect as a detective. If he had something hot going on in Chicago, she could worm her way into it while they were there.
And P
arker could find out about it later.
She gave him a smooth sugarcoated smile. “So when do we leave?”
His gaze said he registered the fakery in her response, but he returned a smile that was just as sweet. “I booked a flight for this evening.”
“Cool.” She added a few spoonfuls of honey to her smile.
He matched her nectar for nectar. “I thought we could go out to dinner in the city.”
She let her smile ooze syrup. “Sounds good.” She got to her feet, started for the door, turned back. “Oh, and by the way—”
The saccharine factor in Parker’s grin kicked into high gear. “Yes, I know. This time, you’re in charge.”
Chapter Five
In charge of a fifteen-year-old cold case. Yippee.
As they got ready and packed in the huge master bedroom of the Parker mansion, she kept up the phony politeness with her husband. Miranda grinned prettily and nodded when Parker held up a glittering black dinner dress. And she beamed when he allowed her to pick out a few of his fancy suits. Business wear, jeans, a few pairs of shoes, underwear, toiletries and they were done and on their way to Hartsfield Airport, which was beginning to feel like a second home to her now.
By the time they settled into their first class seats for the two hour flight, her jaw ached from grinning—and she was more convinced than ever there was something else to this trip Parker wasn’t telling her.
She thought of those messages on her phone.
Those startling texts she’d been getting ever since their first case.
I know who you are. The one she’d gotten after Las Vegas, where the media had first attacked her. I know where you are. That one had come after the London case where the British press refused to take no for an answer. I know what you are. That was after Dallas. Again she’d been in the media, but that time it had been voluntary.
On their last few cases Parker had handled the media buzz, and she hadn’t gotten any more texts. Didn’t that prove it was just some idiot seeking attention?
She’d asked Becker to track down the source of those messages but he hadn’t gotten anywhere and she didn’t want to press him after what he’d just been through.
Trial by Fire (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 6) Page 2
