Milagro For Miranda (Book Three Oregon In Love)

by Bonnie Blythe

  Milagro For Miranda (Book Three Oregon In Love)

  Milagro For Miranda (Book Three Oregon In Love)

  Midpoint

  Miranda Adams is in desperate need of a milagro--a miracle. She's trying to find her half-sister, Soledad, living in an orphanage somewhere in Mexico City. Spencer Meyers, bound to her by his family's blackmail, helps her as they set off on a frustrating search through winding, unnamed streets of Cuidad Nezahualcóyotl...and find much more than they ever expected.

  Milagro For Miranda

  A Christian Romance Novel

  by

  Bonnie Blythe

  Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Wilson Software

  © Jmpaget | Dreamstime.com

  © Robert Crum | Dreamstime.com

  © Agencyby | Dreamstime.com

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN 978-1458075758

  Copyright 2010 by Bonnie Blythe

  All rights reserved.

  For the Son of Man came to seek

  and to save what was lost.

  –Luke 19:10

  One

  Why am I here?

  Spencer Meyers paused on the stone steps of the building in Portland’s Pearl District. The air smelled pungent from wet fall leaves lining the street. He gazed past the tiny white lights sparkling in trees along the sidewalk to the full moon riding high in the dark sky above.

  Blowing out a breath, he looked up toward the entrance of the building. A sign on an easel advertised a showing of photographs by a Northwest artist. Her husband now. Thoughts of Julia teased his mind like the subtle breeze tugging at his tie.

  Spencer touched the invitation in his pocket. He edged up the last few steps toward the rectangle of light spilling out the doorway, unable to resist a look. Inside, he saw people moving about, talking in clusters, studying the framed photographic prints on the wall. A couple eclipsed the light and emerged through the door, laughing as they jogged down the steps, oblivious to his presence.

  Spencer moved closer to the entrance. A group of people parted—and Julia came into view. His heart tightened in his chest—a feeling he knew well. After spending several months working with her on a consulting project the previous year, he’d more or less decided he wanted to marry her. Her warm elegance and graciousness told him she’d be an excellent wife and mother.

  But from the first, she only had eyes for the photographer—a starving artist type with no particular future.

  I was stupid to come.

  Crumpling the invitation as he pulled it from his pocket, he trudged down the steps and tossed the paper into a nearby trash bin. He strode past the shops of the downtown area, past the evening revelers, past the plaintive music drifting out from shops and restaurants.

  When he arrived at his parking place, Spencer disarmed his car alarm by remote and swung into the leather seat of the black Lexus. The engine roared to life, along with his CD player, emitting the lush vocals of Miles Davis singing about lost love. He jabbed the off button and sighed.

  The bright yellow dashes of the road disappeared beneath his car as he made the drive to his family’s home in the West Hills. He’d arrived back in town a few days early from an extended business trip in England. When he found the invitation to the photography showing, he’d decided to attend on impulse. An impulse he now regretted.

  Spencer had pictured himself married to someone like Julia and having a few kids, spending the rest of his life providing for his family and building up memories together—the way his parents had for him. At least that had been his plan after earning his MBA in business and beginning the grueling climb up the corporate ladder.

  After achieving his goals in college, he was now on the upward path in a successful marketing firm. The only thing missing was the family.

  Then he met Julia.

  Spencer gripped the wheel tight. She had fallen in love with a struggling photography instructor who probably wouldn’t be able to provide her with the kind of life she deserved. Why?

  Blowing out another breath, he shoved the couple from his mind.

  Spencer drove uphill through the narrow, winding streets, eventually pulling into the driveway of his parents’ large Cape Cod home at the top of an ivy-draped, terraced rise. Aside from a light at the bottom of the steep stairway leading up to the front door, the house sat shrouded in darkness. His parents were out of town for the week.

  The garage door inched upward. Spencer drove in and parked. Tomorrow he planned to make arrangements to take back the condo he’d sublet over the last several months. It would be good to get settled in and take a breather after his long absence. Spencer keyed in the security code to the kitchen door and entered the house.

  Aside from the loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the formal living room, he only heard the sound of his own weary breathing in the stillness. Antique furnishings loomed in the darkness, illuminated by the shafts of moonlight penetrating the window blinds.

  Spencer yanked hard on his tie to loosen it as he walked down the thickly carpeted hallway. He passed by the family room, dominated by a state-of-the-art entertainment system, and knew he wasn’t in the mood for TV. Angling his wrist in the moonlight, he glanced at his watch. Too early for bed.

  He stopped in front of the doorway leading to his father’s study. Two full walls of books lined the shelves. Maybe he could find something to read. Spencer entered the room. The familiar scent of leather and cigar smoke assailed him. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights, deciding he didn’t want to go to the effort of looking through titles after all. The moonlit gloom suited him for the moment.

  He settled into a leather armchair located in the deepest shadows of the room. His gaze ranged about the space, coming to rest on his father’s liquor cabinet kept in the corner. He frowned at the glass decanter of brandy sitting on top, knowing he wouldn’t find any answers to life’s ills in the amber liquid.

  Spencer thought again of Julia. He shook his head, trying to block her incessant image from his mind. She was married now. He shouldn’t be entertaining any thoughts of her. Disgusted with himself, he leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

  A low scraping noise shattered the stillness. Spencer cocked his head, wondering if he’d imagined the sound. He waited for a repeat before making the effort to check it out. He didn’t have to wait long. The study window slid open, and a dark figure eased inside.

  Spencer’s eyes widened. Adrenaline surged through his system. Heart racing, he gripped the arms of the chair, ready to spring. The figure straightened, revealing feminine curves. A woman! Astonishment froze his response.

  She was dressed in dark clothing—a black stocking cap over her head, black gloves on her hands, and she had a black bag slung over her shoulder. A shaft of moonlight momentarily illuminated her face, revealing it to be smudged with a dark substance. What in the world?

  Spencer held his breath. It would be a snap to overpower her. He relaxed a notch, overcome with a morbid curiosity to see what she was up to. Knowing he was hidden in the shadows, he waited for her next action.

  The woman moved with practiced ease. By her familiarity with the surroundings, Spencer guessed she’d been in this room before—and knew the house would be empty. She walked to the liquor cabinet in the corner, her movements fluid and soundless. Spencer tensed. His father’s safe was hidden inside.

  The woman crouched down, and with nimble fingers opened the cabinet, removing the false front. Setting it to the side,
she keyed in the combination to the digital lock. Spencer watched in disbelief as the tiny red light turned green. I don’t even have the code for that safe!

  He sent up a silent prayer for wisdom of what to do next. If he tried to slip from the room and go for the phone, the woman would hear him. Unreleased air pressed against his lungs. What’s she after? Money? What does my father keep in there? Spencer half-wondered if he was hallucinating the whole thing.

  A moment later, the woman pulled a stack of folders from the safe. A few files slid from the top and cascaded to the floor. Emitting a tiny cry, she bent over and scooped them together. She straightened, setting them in a puddle of moonlight on top of the desk. Rifling through each, she selected one and pulled it from the pile.

  Spencer watched as she opened the file and looked at the documents inside. A gasp escaped her lips. Spencer remained motionless, his gaze fastened on her every move, his heart in his throat. The woman gripped the edge of the desk and took a deep breath. She closed the folder and slid it into her bag.

  What was in that file?

  The light from the moon had flashed on something in the folder before it disappeared from view. A photograph? Spencer somehow felt sure it was a photograph. But of whom? And why would a stranger risk breaking into my parents’ house to steal it?

  The woman began to stack the remaining files, then paused. After a heartbeat of hesitation, she flung opened one of the other files. Shaking her head in obvious anger, she rifled through each one before stuffing the whole stack in her bag. Without a sound, she went back to the cabinet, closed it up, and headed for the window.

  There was no way Spencer was going to allow her to escape. He leaned forward in the chair. The leather creaked under his weight.

  The woman stopped cold.

  Spencer stood and stepped from the shadows. He flicked on the floor lamp next to the chair. “Turn around!”

  The woman jumped back toward the desk. Spencer bolted across the room and faced her across the desktop. She yanked open the top drawer and scrabbled inside.

  Spencer lunged across the desktop, reaching for her arms. A metallic sliding click arrested him. Dull light shone on an object pointed toward his chest. His heart ricocheted against his rib cage. A gun? From my father’s drawer?

  His gaze cut to the woman. He saw her face unobscured for the first time. Flame blue eyes stared back at him. Eyes he’d seen before. Air whooshed out of his lungs, past his vocal chords.

  “Miranda!”

  ***

  Miranda Adams brought her hand up under the other to steady the gun. She stared at Spencer in disbelief. Her boss’s son! He was supposed to be out of the country! She’d checked and re-checked her information. The gun trembled in her hands. Now would be a good time for uno milagro.

  A miracle.

  Spencer’s blond hair looked almost white in the low light, and his gray eyes, black. She’d forgotten how handsome he was. She remembered his unfailing courtesy when she’d seen him in his father’s office. To point a gun at him! It doesn’t seem right. Still, I can’t take a chance.

  The thought of George Meyers, her boss, hardened her resolve. Looks could be deceiving, a fact with which she was bitterly aware. Miranda held the gun steady and racked her brain. Finding someone in the house was never part of the equation. The gun wavered. She hated the dead weight of it in her hands.

  “Put the gun down, Miranda,” Spencer said, his tone soothing.

  She licked her lips. “Don’t move.”

  He raised his hands and began to edge around the desk.

  “I said don’t move!”

  Spencer stopped, but now the desk no longer separated them. “Whatever is going on here, I’m sure we can talk it through. If I promise not to call the police, will you put the gun away?”

  Miranda lifted her chin, feeling a trickle of perspiration slide between her shoulder blades.“ You’re not going to have a chance to call the police while I’m here.”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know you very well, Miranda. But I do know you wouldn’t dare use that gun. You’re not that kind of person.”

  “You don’t know me at all, Mr. Meyers. And if I’ve changed for the worse, you can blame that on your father.”

  Spencer frowned. “What did you take from the safe?”

  “Something that doesn’t belong to him.” When Spencer stepped closer, she stiffened. “Stop!”

  He ignored her and grabbed for the gun. Miranda lowered the barrel, sucked in her breath, and pulled the trigger.

  Two

  The pop sounded innocuous to Miranda’s ears. Spencer’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack. He stumbled backwards and collapsed back against a chair, sliding down like a discarded doll. A haze of dust from the woodwork next to him indicated the resting place of the bullet.

  Miranda intended to graze him, not sink a slug in him, and felt a sliver of satisfaction that her aim proved true. But when she saw the black stain soaking through his slacks, she broke out in an icy sweat and began to tremble. The gun tipped from her fingers, landing on the floor with a dull thud.

  “Why didn’t you listen?” she grated. “Why didn’t you stop?”

  When she saw his gaze slide toward the gun, she knew he’d attempt to grab it. Miranda scooped it up and jammed it in her waistband. Dizziness at the sudden movement made her blink.

  Spencer grabbed his leg, his face pale. His eyes glittered with naked rage. “Call for an ambulance,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Miranda, her feeling of faintness deepening at the sight of blood oozing up through his fingers, shook her head. “They would have to report a gunshot wound to the police.” Hot tears filled her eyes as the enormity of what she’d done swept through her. “You should’ve stopped.”

  Spencer didn’t answer, only stared at her with a burning light in his eyes. Biting her lip to keep hysteria at bay, Miranda walked with jerky steps over to the wall where he sat. She crouched down and dislodged the bullet from the woodwork, tucking it into her pocket.

  Spencer ripped open his pant leg at the tear from the bullet, revealing a wicked gash just above the knee. Miranda breathed a small sigh of relief. It could’ve been much worse. “You’re only winged.” Her voice sounded far away. “Keep…keep pressure on it.”

  “You could’ve shattered my femur!”

  She steeled her resolve, determined not to break down at such a critical moment. “I could have killed you if that had been my intention. I never miss. I’ve become quite an efficient marksman since meeting your father.”

  Miranda felt the gun pressing against her stomach. She would have to throw it away at some point. It was a new detail she’d have to think through.

  Why has everything gone so wrong?

  She went to the safe, trying to make sure everything appeared as it was before. A faint buzzing sounded in her ears. The room grew darker. Miranda clutched the side of the desk for support, forcing herself to take deep breaths.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Spencer struggle to rise. She fumbled for the gun and trained it on him once again. Spencer slumped back against the chair, impaling her with his gaze.

  Think! What now? Under no circumstances could she risk arrest. The mess needed to be cleaned up. There was a bathroom next to the study. Feeling like the criminal Spencer undoubtedly considered her to be, Miranda went over to the phone and wrenched the cord from the wall jack.

  With a backward glance at his crumpled figure against the chair, she hurried into the bathroom. Grabbing two towels off the rack, she returned seconds later to where Spencer sat. A small amount of blood had formed a shiny black puddle on the wood flooring.

  Miranda tossed a towel to Spencer. He sat with his eyes half-closed, his breathing shallow. After a moment, he folded the towel into a pad and pressed it against his wound. She saw him stiffen at the action, but he remained silent. When he looked up at her, Miranda caught her breath at the contempt in his eyes.

  With the other to
wel, Miranda wiped up the blood from the floor. She stared down at the bloody fabric in her hands. A feeling of panic clawed at her throat. It’s taken me months to plan this night. I can’t lose everything I’ve worked for now.

  Not knowing what else to do, Miranda went into the bathroom and returned to the study with a glass of water and a handful of prescription pain pills from a bottle she found in the medicine cabinet. They might help at least a little. She handed them to Spencer, who ignored the offering, but grabbed her wrist with his other hand. His grip cut deep into her flesh. Staring with a kind of detached horror at the bloody hand wrapped around her gloved wrist, Miranda dropped the glass, splattering water everywhere. The glass landed on the edge of the area rug and rolled harmlessly to one side.

  With her free hand, she retrieved the gun and raised it to his chest. “Let go of me.”

  Spencer released her and drooped against the wall. His white face grimaced with obvious pain and anger. She softened for a moment. Maybe she should call for an ambulance.

  Miranda shook away the thought. For all she knew, Spencer acted more hurt than he was in an effort to get her to weaken. And weakness will only bring more despair down on my head.

  Still, she had a wounded man on her hands. There was no denying he needed medical attention. Miranda glanced at Spencer. He watched her with hooded gray eyes, seeming to sense her indecision.

  “Tell me,” he said through a ragged breath.

  “Tell you what?”

  “Tell me why my father’s faithful secretary is sneaking into his house and stealing his files.”

  Miranda twisted her mouth into a travesty of a smile. “Faithful? It’s more like imprisoned.”