Valley of Shadows and Stranger in the Shadows: Valley of ShadowsStranger in the Shadows

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Good memories?”

  “Mostly. Some not so good.”

  “It was hard raising your nephew.”

  “No. Raising him wasn’t hard. What was hard was knowing Justin was locked inside himself and that there was no key to open his mind and let him out.”

  “You were his key, I think.”

  “No. I wanted to be, but even I couldn’t manage that. I use to pray all the time that he’d be cured, that some miracle drug would be found and Justin would become the child he use to be.”

  “But he is now. After death, a person is freed from disease, from heartache, from pain. Isn’t that what you believe?” He watched her, his stillness and intensity making Miranda wonder what it was he was seeking.

  “Yes. It’s part of what I believe, anyway.”

  “What’s the other part?”

  “That dying means eternity spent with God.”

  “For some.”

  “For anyone who believes. It’s about faith. Relationships. Love.”

  “Perhaps that’s the part I’ve been missing.”

  “Belief?”

  “No. I believe there is a God. How could I not? Relationship and love are what I haven’t quite figured out.”

  “And faith?”

  “I’m learning.” He stretched, pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Let’s see if this works. It’s past time I contacted Jack. And I should be hearing from Sharee soon, too. News of my brother will be welcome.”

  Miranda nodded, settling back onto the ground, her skin chilled from the wet clothes she wore.

  Hawke’s quiet words were barely audible, his face turned away. Miranda let her mind wander, her thoughts drifting on the pattering hum of rain. Thoughts that only seemed able to go in one direction—Hawke.

  Miranda had known atheists. She’d known agnostics. She’d never known a man who believed in God but had no faith in Him. Who understood the existence of the creator but didn’t have a relationship with Him.

  But, then, she’d never known a man like Hawke.

  Her own father had professed to be a Christian, his pilgrimages to Christmas and Easter services fulfilling whatever need he had to live that faith. Every man she’d ever dated had been the same, professing Christianity only when it suited him.

  Hawke was different. Whatever he believed, he lived. Whatever road he took, he stayed on it until he reached the end. He wouldn’t sit on fences, waffle between ideals or change his mind with his moods. He was constant, steady, someone who could always be counted on to know the truth and live it.

  She closed her eyes, praying for Hawke as the rain continued to fall and her mind finally gave in to sleep.

  * * *

  “We’ve got to get moving.” The words drifted into Miranda’s dreams, pulling her from sleep.

  She jerked upright, her heart racing, stars dancing in front of her eyes at the quickness of the motion.

  “Slow down, babe.” Hawke put a hand on her shoulder, holding her steady.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Just sit for a second. Here.” He took a banana and a bottle of water from his pack and handed to her. “Eat.”

  “What about you?”

  “I already had something.”

  Miranda took a bite of banana, swallowed some water and stood. “Now I really am ready.”

  “Finish the banana, then we’ll go.”

  “Are you always so bossy?”

  “Are you always so combative?” He smiled as he said it, pulling the water from Miranda’s hands and taking a drink from it before passing the bottle back to her.

  “Only when I’m with you.”

  “Then I guess we bring out the best in each other.”

  Miranda laughed and took another bite of banana. “If this is my best, I’d hate to see what my worst is. How long did I sleep?”

  “Two hours. Longer than I would have liked, but we both needed the rest.”

  “Were you able to reach Jack?”

  “Yeah. He gave me some information about Austin. Most of it I’d already guessed. He was adopted from Russia when he was six. According to birth records his parents were from Chechnya.”

  “What about the photos?”

  “I described them, but there’s not much Jack can take from that. He’s going to do some research. See if he can find any connection between Austin’s paternal or maternal family and the militia groups in Chechnya.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that if Austin is the one selling information, he’s using his earnings to fund one of the groups fighting for power in the country where he was born.”

  Hawke grabbed the pack, stood and extended a hand to Miranda. “We’ve got to get moving. I want to reach Mae Hong Son before nightfall. We’ll both be safer there.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m as anxious to get there as you are.”

  “Good. Because if something happens to me, if we get separated, I want you to find your way there. People in town know me. They’ll be able to get you to my home. That’s the only place where you’ll be safe.”

  “What’s going on? Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because things are about to get a whole lot worse than they’ve been. Mae Hong Son is close to Myanmar. Myanmar is the Wa’s playground. And the Wa and I go back a long way.”

  “Ten years.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been doing everything in my power to close them down since the day they murdered my family. And they’ve been doing everything in their power to keep me from succeeding. Come on, we’ve wasted enough time.” He turned away, pushing the motorcycle out from under the trees.

  Miranda raced after him, splashing through puddles, his words replaying over and over again as she climbed onto the back of the bike and they began their journey again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the time they reached the outskirts of Mae Hong Son, it was dark and Hawke could feel Miranda sagging against his back, her forehead resting on his shoulder, her hands barely holding his sides. She’d been exhausted when they left Chiang Mai. Now her fatigue seemed a living thing, weighing her down and threatening to topple them both from the motorcycle.

  “You still with me?” He shouted the words over the rumble of the motor. Miranda lifted her head, her grip tightening a fraction, his words apparently dragging her from the half-sleep state he’d suspected she was in.

  “Where else would I be?”

  “In a dream a whole lot nicer than our reality.”

  “It’s kind of hard to dream when you’re sitting on the back of a motorcycle.” Fatigue and dehydration added a raspy edge to her voice and Hawke winced in sympathy. It had been two hours since their last stop for fuel. Longer since their last drink of water. The fact that she wasn’t complaining didn’t mean Miranda wasn’t suffering. But as much as he sympathized, Hawke couldn’t make himself stop.

  The stakes weren’t the same as they had been in Bangkok and there was no time to waste on rest and refreshment. Sharee had upped the ante when he’d taken Simon. If the drug lord hadn’t called Hawke’s Mae Hong Son compound already, Hawke would find a way to send word to him. It was time to set the meeting. The sooner the better.

  “Is that Mae Hong Son?” Miranda interrupted his thoughts, her words pulling him from the dark path his mind was traveling.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Hawke looked at the town where he’d spent the first ten years of his life—the mountains dark shadows against the night sky, the houses and buildings a cluster of lights, the night unfolding in a hushed expectancy. There was mystery here, carried in on the mountain mist that shrouded the town in the morning and evening, gather
ing force from the thick jungles that surrounded the tiny place. There was, he supposed, beauty in that, though it had been years since he’d taken the time to notice it. “Yes, it is. More so during the day, though, when you can see the mountains and jungles, the water and sky.”

  “Then it won’t just be beautiful. It will be breathtaking.” She paused for a moment, her body shifting slightly as if she were trying to get a better look. “It’s smaller than I thought.”

  “Most people say the same. Mae Hong Son is a surprise. They expect a larger town, but are never disappointed in what they find here.”

  “What do they find?”

  “It depends on what they seek. Some find peace, a sense of oneness with nature. Others find proof of God in His creation. Too many find easy access to heroin.” His biological father had been one of those, his death from overdose taking him just a year after he’d married Hawke’s mother. Hawke hadn’t known him enough to mourn him. Patrick had been his father, his mentor, his friend. He, Hawke did mourn and probably always would.

  “That’s sad.”

  “More so for the families that are destroyed by it.”

  “You sound as if you know.”

  “My father became an addict here. It killed him.”

  “Is that why you’re so determined to destroy the Wa?”

  “No. He chose to give his life over to his addiction. My stepfather, mother and sister did not. They were killed in cold blood as an example of what would happen to businessmen who refused to work with the Wa.” Even now, so many years later, saying it filled Hawke with fury. His hands tightened on the handlebars; his jaw clenched to keep more words from pouring out.

  “I’m so sorry, Hawke.”

  “I am, too, but the past is just that. The present is for the living.”

  “If it is, then why are you trying so hard to avenge the murder of your family?” If anyone other than Miranda had asked the question, Hawke would have ignored it. But there was something about Miranda that demanded answers. Even when Hawke wasn’t quite sure what those answers were.

  “I didn’t want revenge. I wanted justice.”

  “Sometimes they’re the same thing.”

  “Maybe they are, but what happened to my family demanded retribution.” Or so he’d thought. Now, after years of fighting drug traffickers, he wasn’t so sure that retribution would accomplish anything.

  “Retribution isn’t for us to demand.”

  “But if you could demand it from the drunk driver who killed your nephew, would you?”

  She was silent for a moment and Hawke wondered if his words had poured salt in the wound of her loss. He opened his mouth to apologize but she spoke before he could. “Maybe.”

  It was an honest answer and more than what he would have given with a loved one’s death still so raw and new. “And maybe if I’d devoted myself to something else, you and I wouldn’t be here tonight.”

  He turned down the side road that led to his compound, the lights from Mae Hong Son disappearing from view as he drove in the opposite direction of the town, the darkness suddenly complete but for headlights illuminating the road.

  “I thought we were going to Mae Hong Son.”

  “We’re there.”

  “The town, I mean. It’s behind us.”

  “I live a few miles outside of it.”

  “How many is a few?” The weariness in her voice was obvious and Hawke wished he had a different answer.

  “Twenty.”

  “So. A half hour more. I can do anything for a half hour.” She rested her head against his back again. He could feel the smooth curve of her cheek and jaw. He imagined her moss-green eyes and freckled skin, imagined driving her through the mountains of Mae Hong Son when the sun was shining and Sharee’s men weren’t after them. It was a dangerous thought. One he couldn’t afford. Miranda wasn’t the kind of woman who’d take to riding on the back of a motorcycle. She was more the type to stand in a sunny kitchen baking pies and humming hymns. That simplicity, that wholesomeness wasn’t something Hawke wanted to taint with the darkness he carried in his soul.

  He forced his mind to the conversation and away from what he shouldn’t even be contemplating. “You can do whatever you set your mind to for as long as you need to.”

  “I think you have more confidence in me than I have in myself.”

  “Whatever it takes, babe.” He glanced in the mirror, peering into the darkness behind them, his skin suddenly tight, his nerves shooting warnings to his brain. He saw nothing but blackness, heard nothing but the rumble of the motorcycle and his own quickening heartbeat.

  But something was there. He sensed it as surely as he’d sensed trouble in the seconds before he’d been knocked unconscious in Essex. If Sharee’s men were going to attack this would be the place to do it. Too far from town and from Hawke’s compound to have their attack interfered with, no side roads for Hawke to lose them on.

  He accelerated, pushing the motorcycle to speeds that were just short of reckless. The ill-kept road, bumpy and slick from rain, was an accident waiting to happen, but only the thought of Miranda, helmetless on the back of the cycle, kept him from pushing it to top speed.

  “What’s wrong?” Miranda’s shout barely carried above the rush of wind and roar of the motor.

  “Just a feeling.”

  “What kind of feeling?”

  “The feeling that trouble is right behind us.”

  She shifted and Hawke was sure she’d turned her head to try and see whatever might be there. “I think you’re right.”

  “You see something?”

  “I think so. No headlights, but something darker in the blackness.” She paused. “Or maybe not. It’s hard to tell.”

  If she thought she was seeing something, Hawke figured she was.

  “Hold on tight.” He pushed the motorcycle harder, the bounce of wheels on the cracked and crumbling asphalt making him worry even more for Miranda’s safety.

  “I think it’s a car. And I think it’s gaining on us.” Hawke sensed her panic in the taut, clipped tone of her voice and the painful grip she had on his waist.

  Far in the distance, the compound beckoned—a pinpoint of light that might have been a star, a campfire, or headlights, but that Hawke knew was home. He cut the lights on the motorcycle, the world becoming a pitch-black tomb, then coasted to a stop.

  With the engine off, he could hear the rumble of another vehicle speeding toward them.

  “What’s going on? What are we doing?” Miranda whispered the question, as if fearing that the sound of her voice might carry to those coming after them.

  “We can’t outrun them on this bike, but we may be able to outsmart them on foot.”

  “On foot? Are you crazy? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “No. We’re not.” He got off the motorcycle, and tugged Miranda off beside him. “See that light?” He turned her head, so that she was looking in the direction of the compound.

  “The one that looks like it’s a hundred miles away?”

  “That’s home. Gates, guns and guards I trust with my life. All we have to do is get there.” He pulled the motorcycle into knee-high grass, laying it down so that a passing car would easily miss it.

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “Come on.” He moved deeper into the grass. “It won’t take them long to realize I’ve pulled off the road and we’re on foot.”

  “Then we’d better run.”

  “Exactly.” Hawke grabbed Miranda’s hand, felt her fingers link with his, her muscles tense. And then they were off, racing through thick grass toward the distant light of home, the sound of pursuit growing louder behind them.

  “Do you think they’ll see us?” Miranda was already
gasping for breath and Hawke tightened his grip on her hand, afraid if he loosened it, he’d lose her in the blackness.

  “I don’t know. If they have night vision, we’re in trouble.”

  “Night vision? As in those alien-looking goggles I’ve seen on the military channel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s the likelihood they do?”

  “Not high.” But higher than he would have liked. The Wa could afford to furnish the best military equipment for their men. Hawke could only hope there hadn’t been enough time for the crew coming up behind them to be outfitted with state-of-the-art technology.

  “Maybe you should call your guards. Have them get out here to help us.”

  “We won’t get a signal. Too many mountains. Too many trees.”

  “Maybe—”

  “You need to save your breath, babe. We’ve got a long run ahead of us.”

  “Okay, but listen—” she panted out the words “—if I start slowing you down, you should go on ahead. You can get the help we need and bring them back for me.”

  “No.”

  “It makes sense. I won’t be able to keep this pace up for long. We both know it. I’ll never forgive myself if you’re hurt because of me.”

  “Then you’d better keep up the pace, because I’m not going to leave you behind.” There were plenty of things the Wa could do with a woman like Miranda. None of them were good. None of them were even pleasant. Hawke had seen those that the Wa owned—the blank-eyed prostitutes who worked on the outskirts of the poppy fields, hardened women whose beauty had faded with their innocence. He’d also seen the disease-ridden wasted bodies—the corpses of those who had no access to medical care and no one who cared enough to help them find it. Imagining Miranda among them left him with the same sick, hollow feeling the thought of losing Simon gave him.

  “Hawke, I really think—”

  “I really think you should do as I say. Save your breath. If you need to talk, talk to God. Ask Him for a miracle.” They were going to need it, and for the second time in just a few hours, Hawke did what he’d never felt a need to do before. He prayed, hoping for help he really didn’t believe he’d receive.