Parker closed the refrigerator door. “I’m here simply to visit my ailing father, though he doesn’t seem to be ailing after all.”
“Nonsense. I asked you here to discuss the house.”
Parker moved to the window and stared out of it. “I told you before, father. I don’t want the house.”
What house?
“You must take it. My accountant advises me that if I gift the house to you, the tax benefits will be enormous.”
“I’m sorry, Father. I can’t do that.”
“You’re screwing up my financials, Russell.”
“Is that the only reason, Father? I would think you could make much more selling the house than you would gain on taxes.”
“What house?” Miranda asked, though she thought she already knew.
Parker was silent. She watched his jaw tighten.
“The Parker estate in Mockingbird Hills, of course,” his father answered since he refused to. “Our family home.”
Oh, that house. The place where they’d made love. The place Parker had asked her to move into with him.
Parker exhaled in frustration. “I can’t take the house, Father. I have my reasons.”
Mr. Parker grunted. “It’s been in our family for generations, son. It’s a historical landmark.”
“Then donate it to the historical society.”
He tapped the wheelchair arm with his fist. “How can you be so crass? How could you ask me to give away our family home?”
Miranda looked down at her shoes, stinging with guilt. Was she the reason Parker didn’t want the mansion?
Parked sighed, annoyance in his breath. “You seem well enough, Father. Why don’t you keep the house? What are you doing in this nursing home, anyway?”
As if on cue, the door opened and a nurse entered the room with a tray filled with little plastic cups. “Meestre P,” she chided in a thick accent. “You didn’t tell me you were having visitors.”
The elderly gentleman’s face brightened. “I wanted to surprise you, my dear.”
My dear? Miranda and Parker stared at the woman open-mouthed.
Though she might be pushing fifty, the lady looked more like a movie star than a nurse. Her bright blue scrubs hugged her figure, the low-cut top revealing a tan, ample bosom, in a Sophia Loren sort of way. Her dark hair fell in luxurious strands around her shoulders.
She moved seductively to a coffee table and bent to set down the tray. “It’s time for your afternoon pill, Meestre P.”
She pronounced the initial like ‘pay.’ Hmm. What was that accent? Eastern European, maybe?
Parker’s father wrinkled his face. “Oh, but Tatty, you know how I hate swallowing those nasty things.”
She clucked her tongue at him. “Now, now, Meestre P. How will you ever get better if you don’t take your medicine?” Her tone was motherly, half-teasing.
Miranda raised an eyebrow and looked at Parker. He gave her the same look. Their thoughts mirrored each other.
Parker’s father turned his wheelchair and gleefully raised an arm. “Russell, Ms. Steele, this is Tatiana, my nurse. She’s from Ukraine.”
That explained the accent.
The woman smiled and nodded as she dutifully poured a glass of water from a pitcher and handed her charge one of the small cups.
Parker’s father gave her a loving look. “Must I?”
She returned his gaze. “We don’t want our blood pressure to go up again, do we, Meestre P?”
He gave her a wink, then downed the pills, wincing at the taste of them. And the water. He was used to stronger drink, no doubt, judging from the stash in the fridge. “She takes excellent care of me.”
He wrapped an arm around the nurse’s waist before she could get away. She seemed both embarrassed and enchanted by the gesture.
Parker’s father turned to her and spoke in unintelligible words Miranda could only guess were the nurse’s native tongue.
The nurse scowled at him, her laughter music as she shook her head. “You speak my language so badly, Meestre P. Your accent is poor and you just called me a swine.”
“Forgive me, my darling. My tongue fumbles. It was meant for other things.” He grabbed her hand, opened it and gave her palm a full-mouthed kiss.
Tatiana sucked in her breath as her eyes widened with shock. “I must go. I have other patients to attend.” With that, she wrested herself from the gentleman’s grip, nodded to the company, picked up her tray and left the room.
“She leaves such a glow,” Parker’s father murmured after the door shut.
Mr. P, Miranda thought—a cute nickname for him.
“Is that why you checked yourself into this place, Father?” Parker demanded. “To chase skirts?”
Mr. P scowled. “How vulgar, Russell. It was the only way I could have the time to win Tatiana over. My feelings for her run deep.”
“Indeed?”
“I mean it this time. Very well, yes, I did come here just to seduce her at first, but it backfired. I fell in love. Tatty and I have a bond like I’ve never felt with a woman since your mother.”
Parker stared at him, unable to reply.
“We’re getting married.”
He was even less able to speak after that announcement. Miranda felt for him.
“That’s why you have to take the house, Russell. I can’t live there anymore. It wouldn’t be fair to Tatiana. Too many memories for me. You can understand that, can’t you?” He eyed Miranda.
She felt as though he could see straight through her.
Parker turned away. Biting back his anger, he clasped his hands behind his back and stared blankly at one of the paintings.
This visit had certainly turned out well, hadn’t it? He had wanted to bring Miranda here to give her what sense of family he could. Instead, it had turned into a…surprise wedding announcement?
And an argument over a piece of real estate that did nothing but dredge up bad memories. Not the least of which was the day Miranda had walked out on him.
Other disturbing visions ran through his mind, as well.
He saw the mansion in Mockingbird Hills, with its spacious rooms, its halls, its grandeur, and its very walls seemed to echo with long-ago quarrels with his father. The squabbles after Parker’s mother died when he was sixteen. The bitter wrangling during his senior year in high school, when he began to date Laura Turner, a young woman his father said was beneath him.
Laura. His first love. His first case.
She’d been taken from him too soon. Before they’d had even a chance to begin a life together. They’d been dating only about six months, when one dreadful night just before his high school graduation, she went missing. Her body was found a week later. She’d been brutally raped and murdered. In a blind reaction, Parker had joined the police force, making his father livid. His only son was to follow in his footsteps and take over his business, not become a lowly beat cop.
Parker could still hear their bitter shouts, their brutal exchange in the library. He could still see himself racing up the grand staircase to his room, packing a bag, storming out the front door, never to return.
His father never had understood that Parker had to join the police to find Laura’s killer. That he blamed himself for what had happened that night. That beside himself, there was only one other person he could blame.
Delta Langford.
He ran a hand through his hair, forced himself back to the irritating present. Getting married? To an immigrant nurse? Of course, he had nothing against the woman, but when had Wade Parker, junior changed his mind about the requisite social status of a wife?
Forcing composure into his tone, he turned back around. “That’s precisely why I don’t want the house, Father. There are too many memories for me, as well.”
The older man held his gaze a long moment. Parker thought he saw remorse in his eyes. He, too, remembered the arguments. “That was a long time ago, Russell.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
<
br /> Miranda watched the somber lines in Parker’s face and felt his pain streak through her own heart. She didn’t know what caused that pain, but she knew it was deep. Parker had secrets. Things in his past he’d only hinted to her. The night they’d spent in that house, when young neighborhood girls were being murdered, couldn’t help how he felt about the place. Not to mention their awful breakup in the elegant kitchen. There was more to it than that, she sensed. But still, he couldn’t be serious about getting rid of his family home.
She decided to shake him out of his sour mood and forced a laugh. “Hey, maybe I should take the house.”
She meant it as a joke to cut the tension in the room, but Mr. P blinked at her as though she’d just invented electricity. “Where are you living now?” he asked.
She frowned. “Colonial Towers.”
He grimaced. “That slum?”
“Hey, it’s not that bad. Okay, it’s pretty small, but it’s home sweet home.” For the time being.
“Russell, why are you letting her live in Colonial Towers?”
Parker scowled. “Father—”
Mr. P waved a hand in his direction. “Never mind. What are you paying?”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t be shy. I’m a real estate professional.”
“Private, not shy.” But he could probably guess. She told him.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “A fair price. I’ll sell you my house for the same monthly payment.”
Miranda snorted. “What?”
“I deal honestly.”
A ten-bedroom mansion in one of the best neighborhoods in Buckhead for the same as her studio apartment? Had that frisky nurse given her patient too much medication? Then Miranda saw the gleam in the wily wheeler-dealer’s eye. Ah, that was it. Mr. P had picked up on her off-hand remark and decided to run with it.
Make Parker take the house by pretending to sell it to her for cheap. Pretty cagey.
Okay. She’d play along. She grinned at him. “Sounds like a plan.”
“This is ridiculous, Father,” Parker grumbled.
Working like a charm already. She held back a smile, as she put her hands on her hips. “What’s so ridiculous about it?”
Parker fixed her with a glare that went right through her. “Are you sure you want to tie yourself down like that, Miranda?”
She pursed her lips, feeling the barb. He knew she hated the thought of putting down permanent roots. But what did it matter? The deal was just a ruse.
She glanced over at Mr. P and saw another twinkle in his eye as he watched the sparks between them.
She turned to face him. “So what kind of deal do you have in mind, Mr. P?”
His white teeth sparkled with delight. “The typical deal. We’d have to arrange financing, allow you to have the customary inspections done, have the papers drawn up.”
Papers? Miranda gulped. She glanced over at Parker. His expression hadn’t changed. This wasn’t real, she told herself, but better make it look good.
“I was thinking of a lease-to-own agreement.” She’d had one of those for a house outside Cincinnati years ago when she’d toyed with the idea of settling down there. For about eight weeks.
Slowly Mr. P nodded. “Sounds good. Rent for six months before deciding to buy?”
“With an option for an extension.”
“Of course.”
Parker wouldn’t buy that she intended to stick around for six months. “And one week’s notice if I decide I don’t want to buy,” she added.
Mr. P’s cagey smile gleamed brighter. “Agreed. What a shrewd negotiator your associate is, Russell. Ms. Steele, have you ever considered a career in real estate?”
“Not for me, but thanks. Is it a deal?”
He stretched out his hand. “Absolutely. I’ll have my lawyers draw up the papers.”
Papers. There was that word again, sending an icy tingle down her spine. Relax, she told herself. The way Parker was fuming under the collar already, it wouldn’t take long for him to tell Mr. P to call off this phony deal. There would be no papers.
She took Mr. P’s hand, and they shook.
Parker stood watching them, hidden fury painting his handsome face. Miranda had never seen him so unsettled. “This is a terrible idea, Father,” he said darkly. “Miranda can’t live in the Parker mansion.”
“Why not?”
He bristled. “For reasons I don’t care to go into with you.”
Miranda knew the reasons. He meant she couldn’t live there alone. Without him. He was protecting her from the trauma she’d gone through when she’d stayed at the place. Another incentive for not letting her go through with the purchase. Icing on the cake.
“It’s okay, Parker,” she told him flatly. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
Parker ground his teeth and studied his father and the woman he loved—despite how much she continued to exasperate him. She needed to heal. To stay away from triggers like his family estate. After what happened when she was there, the place would only make her relive her past. He couldn’t allow her to live in that house, to stay there alone.
He was about to tell his father he’d reconsider taking the place, when he saw them exchange glances and his powers of observation finally kicked in.
Of course. This was a ruse. A ploy to get him to take the house. His heart suddenly warmed. Miranda Steele might not admit it, but she cared enough about him to strike a deal she didn’t really want with his father, so he wouldn’t lose his inheritance. Or at least, pretend to strike a deal.
She wouldn’t go through with it. He knew the part of her that wanted to be strong, independent, free of others. But he also knew the part she denied and hid. The part that was tender and vulnerable and needed other people. The part of her that longed for roots and more permanent ties.
She’d been alone and adrift for over a decade. She needed stability. She’d just given him the opportunity he’d been looking for. Two could play this game. He’d call her bluff.
He folded his arms and struggled to hide a smile. “I warn you, Father, if you persist in this venture, I’ll have to see my lawyer.”
His father waved a hand and chuckled with glee. “Ms. Steele, I’ll have my lawyers contact you in a few days.”
Miranda glanced over at Parker again. Rock of Gibraltar. He hadn’t budged. What the heck? “Sure. Whatever you say, Mr. P.”
“It’s a new day, Russell. We’re both turning over a new leaf in our affaires de coeur. It’s time for some changes.”
With a victorious tilt of her chin, Miranda turned to Parker. Then she caught the self-satisfied look in his eye. Huh? Had he guessed what she and Mr. P were up to? He was an ace investigator, after all, well schooled in reading body language.
Nah. He’d give in sooner or later. It might take a little time, but he’d never let her go through with signing any papers.
She hoped. And yet, from the sneaky look on his face, the Silver Fox might have a plan of his own up that debonair sleeve of his.
Chapter Six
As private investigators’ offices go, the Parker Agency was an anomaly. Nothing like the one-room holes-in-the-wall in old detective movies on The Late Show. No, Parker’s company took up several floors in the Imperial Building in downtown Buckhead, and included a large gym for the employees, training rooms, upscale executive offices, and a massive, mazelike cube bank.
If that wasn’t enough to say “rich and successful,” the whole place was done in a classy blue-and-silver décor, complete with Art Nouveau paintings and potted plants.
For IITs, Investigators In Training, mornings at the Agency were filled with calisthenics, martial arts, and lectures on topics like collecting evidence, report writing, and criminal law, while the afternoons brought background checks and routine insurance work at their desks.
It was the cushiest job Miranda had ever had. But by Wednesday morning after the steeplechase, as she got a cup of coffee, turned on her computer, and scanned her em
ails before class, she wondered why she was still hanging on here.
Maybe it was time for another road crew job. Maybe in Missouri.
Absently, she touched the spot on her chest where Leon, her psycho ex-husband had cut her. She’d had another bad dream last night. Running down a dark hall, gasping for breath, desperate to escape the grimy, greedy hands that clawed at her.
She’d woken up in a cold sweat.
She put down her coffee cup and stared at her computer screen, willing the dark memory away. But her mind only replaced it with the image of Desirée Langford lying dead in her horse’s stall. Had Desirée been attacked like that? Had she been killed by a crazy ex-husband? The thought made Miranda feel a strange kind of bond with the dead woman.
She drummed her fingers on the desk, scanning the outline for today’s lecture Detective Judd had emailed. Interrogation Methods. Sounded interesting. Something she’d had experience with, though mostly on the receiving end.
She was halfway through the twelve-week training course required for IITs. Finishing it would mean having to make a real commitment to the job, to the Agency, to Parker. She’d never intended to stay on that long.
But now she was about to become a homeowner, thanks to the conniving Mr. P. Nah, Parker wouldn’t let her buy his family home right out from under him. He just didn’t want to admit she had the upper hand. He was probably working out the details with his father right now.
Then she thought of that look in Parker’s eye. His little “test” about objectivity. That steamy kiss in his car after the steeplechase. He could be just as cagey as his father. Was the sneaky investigator up to something? The day she walked out on him, out of that gorgeous mansion of his, he’d said he was in love with her. And her feelings for him were…too confusing to think about.
All right, she might be insatiably attracted to Parker on a physical level. And maybe more than that. He’d been good to her, treated her better than any man ever had. But a relationship could never work between them. She’d made that clear. She had too many issues. They had too many differences. Why didn’t Parker see that?
The man was too stubborn for his own good. If he had any tricks up his sleeve about this house business…well, maybe she’d have to get serious about turning in her resignation.
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