by Paula Cox
“Yeah, take a look,” Jack replied, flashing the grocery list in Tyler's direction. As he read the words, a chilly suspicion climbed across his thoughts. There weren't many reasons for the slapdash list. Glancing into Jack's face, he knew the man held the same thoughts. However, Jack's features pinched and a somber seriousness marked his face.
“Well, those things won't buy themselves,” sighed Tyler as he straightened from his hunch. He nabbed his keys and wallet from the table, not glancing over at Jack. His partner had way too much to deal with and delaying this reunion wasn't going to help any. Jack was out the door before Tyler even pocketed his keys.
Within a few minutes, both choppers roared off on an errand.
* * *
Try as she might, Miranda couldn't enjoy the steaming hot shower. The steam increased, mimicking the fog of her thoughts. A potpourri of emotions simmered in her head. Shameful happiness to see Tyler, coupled with complete disdain towards him, blotted out a lot of space. The glee clenched at her lower tummy while recollections of his last visit darted across her nerves. She growled, irritated with herself, and tried to focus on washing up.
She should be more concerned about Naomi than harboring reluctant fantasies about him. Though, there wasn't much more to worry about. The doctors released her from the hospital, completely confident she'd be fine. Currently she sat at her kitchen table, eating hastily baked chicken nuggets and sipping on milk.
Curiosity pinged across Miranda's thoughts, though. Naomi wanted Tyler and Jack gone, so she could 'think.' So far, she hadn't shared her musings with Miranda. Maybe they weren't all that important or she was simply shocked at their sudden arrival.
Faintly, Miranda wondered if there was more to Naomi's feelings for Jack than she was saying. Dual comfort and concern lit up at the very thought. She wouldn't be alone fawning over a seemingly unrequited love. But, Naomi would suffer. She wasn't used to feeling like that, was she?
Miranda went through the motions of finishing up her shower. She forced her mind into autopilot, washing her distracting thoughts away. When she was dry enough, she wrapped the towel tightly around her frame and stepped into the hallway. Padding toward the kitchen, she started to loudly speak to Naomi, “We should order in and watch one of those horrible B-movies you lov–”
Three sets of eyes turned toward Miranda. Her face flushed as she registered Jack and Tyler's presence. Her grip on the towel tightened while her stomach flipped. Shameful delight and mortification shifted through her thoughts. Heat snaked across her face and down her body.
Her gaze wandered to Naomi. Irritation flared, recognizing the hidden smile behind her friend's hand. Through her puckered lips, Miranda muttered, “I wasn't aware we were having anyone over. Excuse me.”
Before anyone could say anything, she stormed down the hallway to the single bedroom. Miranda's thoughts were exploding with frustration and embarrassment. Her knuckles turned white from her death grip on the towel. Once over the threshold of the bedroom, she slammed the door shut. The vibrations rattled through the walls of the whole apartment, dislodging dust from the ceiling.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In the kitchen, awkward silence descended like the dust floating down from the ceiling. Tyler shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to swallow the urge to follow after Miranda. He shot the other two a glance. Naomi – still seated at the kitchen table - stared at Miranda's last spot in the hallway. Her expression seemed to wobble between exasperation and concern.
Unable to handle the pressure, Jack raised his plastic bag laden arms. The bags rattled with his movement, gaining Naomi's attention. “Here's the food.”
“Ooh,” she cooed clapping her hands together with exaggerated joy, “Did you make sure to get the chocolate and mustard?”
Jack grinned, “And then some.”
“We also picked up some beer.” Tyler grinned, holding up the box that held the cans. He tore the side of the box and coaxed out a beer. Turning to Naomi, he waggled his treat, “Want one?”
“Um,” her gaze flickered to the beer and, then, to the floor. She seemed to struggle with an internal debate. With her gaze averted, he threw a curious glance to Jack. After a much-too-long pause, she turned her gaze to Tyler, then to Jack. There seemed to be a worry glinting in her blue eyes as a half-smile quirked her lips upward. “No, not after today. I think I'll hold off.”
A bell went off in Tyler's head. His suspicion was beginning to solidify. “You sure?”
“Positive,” she said, a grateful smile twitched at her lips. Mild annoyance peppered her tone, though.
A creak whined down the hall as a door opened. Tyler's eyes darted to the entryway, waiting with bated breath. Miranda reemerged, dressed in a tank top, low-slung yoga pants, and flip-flops. The blush hadn't left her features, and neither had her sour expression. Her gaze lit on Naomi.
“We'll go put the groceries away,” sputtered Jack, heaving the bags toward the cabinets. He and Tyler beat a hasty retreat to the farthest reach of the kitchen.
Miranda sidled up to her friend, watching the men fumble with some groceries. She leered at the food, wondering if that had been what gained them entry into her friend's apartment. “So, what are these two doing here?”
“I texted them,” Naomi replied, breezily.
“What?” Miranda's gaze shot to the blonde's face, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why?”
The blonde shrugged, still watching as the men bumbled about her kitchen. She seemed intent on avoiding Miranda's gaze. “They were worried about me.”
“What about time to think?” Miranda hissed, crossing her arms. Irritated fires dotted across her thoughts. Why had she made such a big deal about them at the hospital? Agitation clawed at Miranda's chest. She didn't like this one bit.
“I did think and I wanted to see them, Miranda.” Naomi finally shot her friend a look. Her fingers tapped against the tabletop, playing a tattoo of irritation.
Her handle lost on the situation, Miranda couldn't help her venom-saturated reply. “Well, thanks for the heads up.”
“Thanks for acting like an adult about this,” countered Naomi, her voice dropping low. It didn't matter how soft her voice became, though. Jack and Tyler were listening in and they could feel the atmosphere whip with electric anger.
Miranda's face bled red again. She jerked back under Naomi's words, hurt and enraged. What the hell was she thinking? First she wanted the men gone; then she invited them over. Naomi knew how Tyler affected her! Miranda turned sharply, storming from the kitchen. Before she could cross the threshold, Naomi jumped off her chair. “Where are you going?”
“If you want the biker brigade,” snapped Miranda, half-turning in the entryway, “then there's no reason for me to stay!”
“Fine!” Naomi scream followed her down the hall, ballooning behind her. The words pressed into Miranda's back, rushing her as she gathered up her overnight bag.
She cursed to herself under her breath, tears burning at the back of her eyes. The situation wobbled out of control and Miranda couldn't understand why. Naomi was a good friend. Why would she blind-side her? Pain throbbed through her chest and sunk into her thoughts. This wasn't fair.
A small voice chimed in her head, under the slew of sadness and frustration. It chirped about her own failings, her own misgivings. Her inability to face Tyler was her own fault, not Naomi's. That didn't make the pain lessen.
Within moments, Miranda careened out of the apartment, bag on her shoulder. The door slammed shut behind her, making the glasses in the cabinet rattle and clink. Naomi glared at her from her spot in the kitchen, feet planted and hands curled into fists at her sides.
Jack scuttled closer to the blonde. His big palm patted her shoulder. “Uh, everything okay?”
She turned to face him, her demeanor crumbling. Her scowl melted into a wobbling frown as tears brimmed in her eyes. She threw herself into Jack's arms, heaving sobs wracked through her body. Over the blonde head, he exchanged a wide-
eyed, helpless look with Tyler.
“I'm going to go check on Mir,” he announced. “Take care of Naomi.”
“Wait, Tyler!”
Jack's fretful yelp cut short as the door slammed shut behind Tyler. His pounding feet matched his thrumming heartbeat. Echoing footfalls, farther below and ahead of him, indicated exactly where Miranda was. The clank of the metal door as she left the building resounded after her. Tyler sighed, hoping she'd return to her apartment. Otherwise, he wasn't sure how to catch up with her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The door ricocheted against the wall, hinges and doorknob rattling from the force of Miranda's entry. She stormed into her living room and yanked off her bag. Letting out a shriek, she savagely slammed her overnight bag into the couch.
What was Naomi thinking? She was erratic and unpredictable at times, but this really took the cake!
A small voice tittered at the back of Miranda's thoughts. This wasn't about Naomi. This was about her and her inability to handle Tyler like an adult. Her friends and family agreed. That's why a wedge slammed down between the couple and Tyler rode off into the sunset.
Plus, this meant that Naomi harbored no resentment to Jack for leaving her in his dust. She wasn't a fellow broken heart in this whole scheme. Miranda growled as pain flickered through her chest and flexed her fingers. She stopped, realizing what she was doing, and paused. Heaving a sigh, she ran her hands through her hair, keeping her fingers busy in a reasonable sort of way. She had to get a handle on herself.
Knuckles rapped against her door. Irritation instantly lit across her thoughts thinking it was the last person she wanted to see. She stormed over to the door, flinging it open without looking out the peephole.
“What the hell do you wa–” Miranda's eyes widened and her angry exclamation coming to a full stop when her palm slapped over her mouth. Her face flared with a blush as her brain registered Tyler wasn't on the other side of the door. Her hand drifted away from her lips and she squeaked, “I'm so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
The stranger stood a few inches taller than her, with a gleaming bald head, and unwavering smile perched beneath a pair of sunglasses. He wore a leather vest over a white t-shirt with jeans. 'Blue collar' flickered across Miranda's thoughts. At the back of her mind, wariness puttered about. Who wore sunglasses indoors or so late at night?
“Not a problem, miss. I'm sure whoever they are, they deserve the tongue-lashin'.” The man's smile flickered with a congenial twitch. His hidden eyes put Miranda on edge.
Somehow, she doubted the smile reached his eyes. He took a step closer, invading Miranda's personal space. She yelped, her feet skittering away, but he caught her by the elbow. Something hard and cold pressed against her side and her mind hiccupped. Was that a gun?
The stranger leaned in close, lips against Miranda's ear. The scent of cigarettes and whiskey clung to his breath. His grip flexed around her elbow, pain cracked across her nerves. “Now, don't be a problem child, miss. We just need you ta' get Ferguson's attention.”
“Ferguson?” Her eyes widened, her breath locked in her lungs. What was he talking about? Ferguson? Realization ticked across her brain. Tyler! A shiver coiled down her limbs.
“Now, don't you make a peep, all right?” The man's hot breath streaked across her ear. Her stomach knotted and soured. Trembles overtook her limbs, but the man leaned away. Her eyes darted down, catching sight of the gun's shiny black muzzle. He tugged her from the apartment, leading her jelly-filled legs.
What could she do? Her purse, her phone, everything was still in the apartment. Her mind froze, completely devoid of options. A bullet was quicker than any move she could hope to make. When he shut her apartment door, the click of the doorknob sent a finality slamming into her thought. Tears bit at the back of Miranda's eyes, a whimper sifted from her throat.
“Now, now, don't be that way.” He leaned close to her ear. He positioned her in front of him, his left hand still grasping her elbow. Against the right side of her back, the muzzle pressed into her. It seemed softer than before. He probably pocketed it for inconspicuous travel. It didn't help her situation any. “Now, bow your head.”
She suppressed another shudder as she did as she was told. Her stomach churned, but her mind's abilities fell flat.
The stranger led her down the hall and the stairs. Tears brimmed at the edge of her lashes, but she couldn't let them fall. Anything suspicious might get them stopped and she'd end up with a hole in her side.
Fear gripped at her chest, making it hard to breathe. She needed to think of something. Silently, she hoped any of the apartments would open, that someone would see her, that someone would help. It was too late at night, though. Very few people came and went at this hour. Those who would were probably high on young adult living or drunk. Miranda's heart sank as that cynical thought took hold her head.
As they breached the threshold of the complex, her hopes died. No one would come for her. No one would see her. This man, whoever he was, would take off with her in tow. Her face would plaster the news channel and she'd be found dead in a field. Tears burned hotter at her eyes.
“Head toward the blue sedan.” The sudden words made Miranda jolt. Terror oozed down her spine, but her legs listened to the orders. “That's a good girl.”
Those last words broke through the ice in her head. Miranda's eyebrows lowered. If she was going to die either way, why listen to him? Hell, if he shot her outside the apartment building, she'd be able to get help! Someone would hear the gunshot and call 911. Conviction solidified in her head.
The flap of her flip-flops smacked across her ears. A plan sparked to life in her mind.
Miranda wiggled her toes, adjusting the sandal just right for–
She let out a shriek and tumbled forward, tripping on the ragged sandal. The left side of her body jerked backward. The man's hold on her elbow nearly yanked her arm out of her socket. He grunted, but Miranda couldn't tell if it was out of effort or displeasure.
It didn't matter. Her fingers clasped her prize.
“Get back up,” he growled.
Miranda rose, slowly, to her feet. The rock weighed down her palm and excitement riveted along her bones. She could barely breathe as adrenaline pumped through her. This was her chance.
As soon as the stranger placed the muzzle of the gun to her back, she spun to her left. The man snarled an exclamation, but she couldn't hear it over the pumping of blood in her ears. She brought the rock up, using the momentum of her spin and slamming it toward the side of the man's head.
A satisfying crunch echoed through the air and the man howled. His grip only tightened, though. Miranda gasped as he slowly turned to face her. The sunglasses, shattered on one side, fell away from his features. Blood dribbled from a small gash on his temple. His blue glare caught her, fury and livid rage burning through Miranda's skull.
Her heart sank as the man's right arm shifted. This was it. Her chest clamped hard against her thrumming heart and terrified shivers coursed across her limbs.
“Hey!” A voice rang out, over the roar of a hog. The stranger's head snapped to the newest interference. Miranda's heart recognized the voice and hope filled her thoughts.
Tyler saw only red as he hurtled toward Miranda's would-be captor. He stopped mere inches away, but the man didn't even flinch. The two stared each other down, heat and pressure building up between them. Tyler's eyes drifted to Miranda, taking stock of her limbs.
The stranger squeezed on her elbow, eliciting a whimper from her lips. There would be round bruises on her arm in the morning. Well, if she survived that long. Tyler's glare flickered back to the bald man's eyes, murder painted across his face.
“Tyler Ferguson, as I live and breathe.”
“Not for long.” The growl came from deep inside Tyler's chest, coated in vitriol and bile. His heart throbbed in his chest. His sweat-slicked palms stuck to his hog's handlebars.
“Witty as ever,” replied Miranda's captor with
a chuckle. “Well, this saves me a bit of trouble.”
“What do you want?” Tyler's knuckles whitened against his handlebars. He barely contained the urge to rev his engine and run this asshole over. But, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't hurt Miranda in the process.
“It's not about what I want,” laughed the man. Miranda glared at him from the corner of her eye. Vaguely, the pieces were starting to fit into place. Tyler did something, someone wanted his attention, they knew about his past with Miranda. Emotions dueled in her mind at this revelation. The bald man shook her arm, his bruising grip rubbed painfully against her flesh. “This is about what Pete wants.”
“Why the hell do you need her, then?” Tyler's rage piqued higher, watching Miranda shaken like a rag doll.
“Well, I needed to convince you, of course.”
