She remembered the day vividly.
She’d been sick all day and Johnny hadn’t been the least bit sympathetic.
“Catch a bug or something?” Johnny lit a cigarette. The corners of his mouth tilted up at her misfortune as he blew a smoke ring her way. “Maybe you need to smoke some weed.”
She sent him a withering stare. “Last I checked you aren’t a doctor, so shut up.”
“Don’t have to be a bitch about it. Just trying to help.” Johnny took a long drag off his cigarette. “You buy any food when you went to the store?”
The thought of food made her stomach rebel. “No, and don’t talk about food,” she snapped, just as she ran for the toilet yet again to lose the remaining contents of her stomach.
At first she’d thought it was the flu. But then she realized she rarely got that sick. And one thought led to another until she was staring at the realization that her troubles were not caused by a virus. She took a test the next morning. It’d been positive.
“So you’re saying I’m going to be a daddy?” Johnny had asked when she told him the news. But the moment she told him she’d wished she could have taken the words back. She didn’t want Johnny to have any part in raising her child. Johnny wasn’t the kind of man who should’ve been around children, animals or even plant life.
It was at that moment that she realized she couldn’t keep living the way she was living. Not if she was bringing a child into the world. A child deserved more. Certainly more than Johnny could ever offer. She’d considered lying to him and saying she was going to get an abortion. But lying was a temporary fix for a permanent problem. The minute Johnny knew she was still pregnant he’d want to have contact with his kid. The dilemma kept Miranda awake at night. Until one day, her problem resolved itself. Johnny got busted for drugs—and it was his third strike. Miranda knew she shouldn’t revel in someone else’s misfortune, but the day they took Johnny into custody, she’d experienced a sense of relief. And when she’d received the call that he had died in prison, it was the most that she could do to work up a single tear. The fact was Johnny was a bad person who’d probably done the world a favor by taking a dirt nap.
The only residual regret that Miranda experienced was when she had to explain to her son why his father wasn’t around. She wished she could tell him a story about how his father had died some noble death. The kind of death a soldier, a cop or a fireman might have, saving others, perhaps. There just wasn’t a way to pretty up the fact that Talen’s father had been a selfish, rude and wholly self-centered man who’d done and said bad things nearly every day of his miserable life.
God, she’d been so stupid to hook up with Johnny. At the time she’d been on a self-destructive streak and Johnny had seemed just the right amount of dangerous to satisfy her need for chaos. She met him shortly after Simone had died. She’d been heartsick, guilt ridden and overwhelmed with regret. Johnny must’ve homed in on those markers because he moved in on her like a bird of prey after a mouse.
The first couple of months had been great. Their sex life had been the stuff of X-rated movies—exciting and dirty—and for a while she really thought she loved him. And even if she wasn’t sure about her true feelings for Johnny, she knew for certain that she loved his mother. Likely, it’d been her relationship with Mamu that had kept her around longer than she should have stayed, but there was no point in guessing at this point. By the time Miranda had started to pull herself out of the skid and realized that Johnny wasn’t a healthy choice for a partner, it’d been a challenge to break ties.
Her pregnancy had allowed for a certain sense of clarity that’d been missing before and enabled her to think clearly for the first time since Simone had died.
Johnny had been proof that anyone could father a child but not every man was cut out to be a dad. And although Talen looked so much like Johnny, Miranda was ensuring that they were nothing alike.
It was hard to look at Talen’s face and see anything but the sweetest, most amiable boy ever created. And she couldn’t imagine life without him.
Thank God, Johnny had never had a single day of influence on the boy. For that, she was immensely grateful.
Talen was the reason she never brought men home with her when he was home, why she never introduced Talen to any of her boyfriends—though the term boyfriend was a stretch, because she rarely allowed them to hang around long enough to require stashing a toothbrush at the house. She didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. She wasn’t looking for a daddy figure for her son, which was a change from the usual single-mama drama that happened in town. Nope. Not looking for daddy material. Just a friend with benefits.
Her thoughts strayed to Jeremiah, and for a moment she allowed her mind to drift over the details from the night before. Jeremiah’s friendship would’ve been a wonderful benefit. Just remembering their time together made her shiver with awareness.
Okay, enough of that nonsense.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge the imagery, and scooped up her papers as she stabbed the power button to shut down her computer. Miranda didn’t know how she’d manage to forget all she and Jeremiah had done, but she’d have to figure out a way because at the moment it seemed downright impossible to work side by side with the man and not want to stick her tongue down his throat.
And that just made her grouchy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JEREMIAH CLIMBED INTO Miranda’s Range Rover and immediately noted how tidy the interior was. “Not a fan of clutter, I see.”
It was true she didn’t care for clutter, possibly because her mother was such a pack rat, but the fact that he noticed just how meticulous she was with her vehicle made her shift uncomfortably. It was as if he’d somehow caught a glimpse into her inner psyche and that left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. “And in your experience are most women comfortable with a mess?” Generally, she hated when someone answered a question with another question but she couldn’t help herself when it came to Jeremiah. Just being around him put her on the defensive. “It’s not so much that I hate clutter—it’s that I hate disorganization. I like being able to find whatever I need, when I need it.” Why was she explaining herself? She should’ve just left her answer and moved on. “How about we only talk about work rather than personal details?”
“I make you uncomfortable.”
“Of course you do.” Why should she lie? “But given our relationship, aren’t you uncomfortable, as well?”
“I thought we agreed to act as adults?”
Of course he would point out that she was being the difficult one. She glared for lack of a good defense. He held her stare. Finally, she shrugged and admitted, “We did.”
He released a sigh as if disappointed. “What if we hadn’t met the way we did? Would that have changed our relationship?”
She shot him a warning glance. “I don’t deal in hypotheticals. We can’t change the fact that we know each other intimately. I would love to step back in time and redo that decision but we can’t. What happened, happened. We just have to deal with it. But the more you bring it up, the more it’s in our faces. We need to be able to work together as peers and we won’t be able to do that if you keep talking about what we did.”
She didn’t know if she was angry with him because he kept bringing it up or if she was just angry at the circumstances, but she couldn’t prevent the snap in her tone. The fact was, as much as she tried to bury it, the memory of their night together continued to badger her at the worst moments. She wanted to lean in to catch a whiff of his cologne; her gaze was drawn to every muscular line in his body. The fact that she couldn’t push him from her mind as readily as any other man from her past irritated her.
“Can we please just get to work?” Focusing on a detail within her scope of expertise was the most efficient way of stopping the inappropriate thoughts and conversation. However, she
stopped to ask him a question that had been bugging her. “Whatever brought you to Alaska, anyway? According to your bio you had a pretty good job where you were. Why would you want to start over in a foreign place with people you don’t know?”
Jeremiah’s expression shuttered and she knew right away there was something painful he was protecting. She knew that look. She knew it deep in her bones. She knew it the same way she knew the discomfort of an old, worn shoe that in spite of the damage it was doing to your foot, you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away. Whatever he was protecting, whatever pain he was trying to suppress, it was something that rode him without mercy just as Simone’s death rode her every single day of her life. The fact that she could sense the pain inside of Jeremiah caused her to mentally stumble. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” She didn’t want to know his pain. She didn’t want to know what caused that look in his eyes. She didn’t need reasons to identify with Jeremiah Burke.
Jeremiah accepted her exit from the conversation and simply jerked a nod. “Tell me about the suspects in this case.”
* * *
JEREMIAH COULDN’T BELIEVE how swiftly one single, innocent question from Miranda managed to tilt him on his ear. He’d known people would ask why he would leave a good job in Wyoming to come to the wilds of Alaska. And he’d had a ready answer. But when she’d asked that single question he couldn’t give her the practiced speech he’d prepared. It’d been on the tip of his tongue to admit that his son, Tyler, had been killed and he couldn’t fathom staying another minute in the place where there were so many memories. For a heartbeat, he almost envisioned sharing his personal pain with a total stranger.
Okay, she wasn’t a total stranger but he really didn’t know her. He didn’t know who she was. And what he did know about her, he wasn’t sure he agreed with. He was grateful she had given him an out. But in that moment he’d seen something in her eyes, something that identified with him in a way that shocked him to his toes. There was something in Miranda’s past, something she was just as sensitive about as he was about Tyler. Something told him he could probably find out fairly easily where her pain originated. That was the beauty of a small town. But going behind her back and snooping into her past seemed wrong. If Miranda wanted him to know what she was protecting, that information ought to come from her. Not that there was a snowball’s chance in hell that she’d share.
* * *
“JUDGING BY THE EVIDENCE, what little there was left behind, we think there are five men involved. But that’s pure speculation because they cover their tracks so well. Sometimes I wonder if they’re somehow making it look as if there are more people when there’s only two. Who knows? But it’s definitely someone who knows what they’re doing. Which leads me to think that it’s a local. As much as I hate to think that. But who else would know the area the way they do and who else would know how to get in and out of those mountains without dying? It’s rough terrain. An inexperienced person could easily slip and fall to their death in these mountains. But whoever these people are they have the sure-footedness of a Billy goat.”
“Could it be one of the indigenous people?”
Miranda’s expression was grim. “Possibly. I’ve asked around but the tribes around here are pretty tight-lipped when it comes to their own. Even if they knew one of the tribal members was committing the crime, they’d never tell the authorities. They don’t trust easily, and like many indigenous tribes, they have reason to distrust those in authority.”
Jeremiah seemed to disagree with her comment but he didn’t chase after that train of thought and she was glad he’d remained quiet. She was protective of the Yupik and their rights because in her son’s blood ran the proud heritage of the local people. Mamu’s ancestors had fished the frigid waters and lived in harmony with Alaska before any white man had stepped foot on the shores to show them the “right” way to live. “I can check and see if there’s been any poaching crimes that fit the M.O. of the poachers here and see if anything pops up that might help. If they’re running a black-market operation, chances are they aren’t hunting only in Alaska.”
Miranda nodded. “That’s true. I made some inquiries but no one seemed all that interested in miring themselves in research for someone else’s pet project.”
“Poaching doesn’t rate on the same level as homicide or even grand theft. Every federal agency is underfunded and understaffed these days it seems. No one wants to take on more work than they have to,” he said.
“Don’t I know it,” she grumbled. “I’ve had a heck of a time getting anyone in our office to lift much more than a finger to help. No one is interested in fieldwork these days and tracking poachers is time spent away from the comforts of a warm office and their topped-off coffee mug.”
“When I was younger I used to spend a lot of time in the field as a ranger. I loved the solitude and the quiet of the mountains. Sometimes I was able to make more sense of what was going on in my life when I was completely surrounded by nature than when I was among other human beings.”
“‘The clearest way into the universe is through a forest wilderness,’” Miranda said with a faint smile.
“John Muir,” Jeremiah murmured with approval. “I’m a huge fan.”
“Gotta love an activist with his heart in the right place,” Miranda said. “I think my brother Wade fancied himself a modern-day John Muir. Fitting, seeing as he moved to California to become a law-enforcement ranger in Yosemite National Park.”
“I did a stint there in my early days. Beautiful country. The valley floor takes your breath away. Have you ever been?”
Miranda shook her head. “Nope. Alaska is enough for me. I don’t share my brother’s wanderlust. Besides, I have plenty to keep me busy right here.”
Miranda allowed silence to fill the cab as she maneuvered the streets out of town and up toward the forest access roads. Jeremiah was unlike any man she’d ever met, particularly for an administrator. Virgil had been content to play by the rules without poking his head up too often to attract attention. His belief had been that if they kept their heads down, when budget cuts came around, Homer’s small satellite office would get overlooked for bigger fish. So with that in mind, Virgil never updated anything in the office, which included the furniture, the carpet, the leaky toilet. Perhaps his strategy had worked because Homer had been left alone when the last round of cuts had come around, but then, they’d been operating on such a ridiculously low budget, Miranda wasn’t sure where they could’ve cut expenses unless they’d started forgoing toilet paper and started using newspaper for their bathroom business.
As if keying into her thoughts, Jeremiah asked, “How was your relationship with your former boss? Virgil was his name, right?”
“Yes. Virgil was Virgil. Good, solid guy. A little on the cranky side at times but otherwise harmless. Why?”
“Just making conversation.”
“How was your relationship with your former boss?” she asked, lobbing the question right back at him.
“My boss was a jackass.”
“Why didn’t you like him?”
“She,” he corrected, “was a power-hungry egomaniac on her best days. However, she didn’t want to bother with my department and left me to run it as long as nothing landed on her desk that would make her look bad. Thankfully, I did my job well, and thus, our paths crossed only a few times a year for the obligatory dinners, and we managed to smile civilly for appearances’ sake.”
“So why do you call her a jackass?”
“Because she was as tough as any man I’d ever known and I figured the term fit.”
She chuckled. “Something tells me you’re not going to send her a Christmas card this year.”
“Crossing her off the list was done with more than a little zeal.”
Miranda laughed a little harder, picturing Jeremiah striking a name with a big black
marker and an expression of maniacal glee. Jeremiah graced her with a wry but knowing look. “You just imagined me as a crazy person in your mind, didn’t you?”
“No, of course not,” she lied, her smile remaining. “Nice to know you’re human just like the rest of us.”
He shot her an assessing glance. “Should I be flattered or concerned that I come off as inhuman?”
She faltered, realizing she may have inadvertently insulted him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. We really shouldn’t talk about personal stuff. It’s a slippery slope given our history.”
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I have a decent sense of humor and I hardly consider polite banter between two people as crossing a line. Our history doesn’t have to be the elephant in the room.”
“But it is the elephant in the room,” she disagreed. “Normally, I wouldn’t have a problem joking around with my superior if I found that person open to it, but I’m not entirely comfortable doing that with you because of my fear that we’re becoming noticeably too familiar. The last thing I need is people talking about my professional relationships.” She added, grumbling, “They do enough talking about me as it is.”
Jeremiah chose to let her comment slide and she was grateful because she should’ve kept that complaint to herself. Her mother was fond of saying, “It’s your bed, now lie in it,” and ordinarily, she wouldn’t have given two flips of a sea otter’s fin how others felt about her, but for some reason she cared what Jeremiah thought about her. She’d dig into those reasons later. For now, she wanted to ignore them.
“I like to get to know my team,” Jeremiah continued. “I feel it helps me to be a better leader if I know the strengths and weaknesses of the people around me. I don’t know how to get to know someone without discovering some personal details about them.”
“And how did your team back in Wyoming feel about you poking your nose into their personal business?”
“I didn’t ask intrusive questions.... I simply showed that I was interested in knowing what they cared about. And you know what, my team appreciated my interest. They said it made them feel as if I was doing more than only being their boss because it was my job.” He paused before admitting, “I prided myself on being more than a superior, but I don’t know how to do that with you.”
That Reckless Night Page 6
