Guarding Miranda

by Amanda M. Holt

  “Sure thing. I love you.”

  “I love you too. Bye!”

  “Bye.”

  “BEEP! David?”

  “Still here, Richard. Which stupid little bitch was that? The whore, the girlfriend or the fiancé?”

  “The fiancé. Fuck my life! She wants to go to another fucking concert at Tillings Hall. Shoot me now.”

  “Sounds like she has you wrapped around her little finger?”

  “Fuck that, Dave. She’s the one who’s whipped.”

  “You haven’t had a Friday night with just you and the boys since… shit, I don’t remember.”

  “I can’t stand it, man! One more opera, ballet or concerto and I swear I’ll strangle the fucking life out of her!”

  “You still so sure you want to marry this high society broad?”

  “Hell, ya. Marry her and insure her for a fuckin’ fortune, arrange for a convenient accident. I intend to retire early, you see...”

  “I think I’ve had enough, Brian,” said Russ, looking far older than his forty-eight years. “You can shut it off.”

  * * *

  A month and sixteen days later, Miranda still had not met Brian Logan and the police were still clueless as to the identity of the shooter.

  All they knew for certain was that the man was named Barry had a tattoo of what had appeared to her to be a snake or rope around a ship’s anchor on his shooting hand, his right hand.

  That he was of average build and height, with brown eyes and crooked yellowed teeth, one of which was capped with gold.

  The bullet casings found at the scene of the crime were of a popular brand and had without a retrieved weapon had little to offer in the way of ballistics information.

  Miranda’s description of the man was not a lot to go on but it was all they really had...

  Intent on getting out of the hospital as soon as possible, sick of the daytime soap operas and talk shows on the television that filled her hours between visitors, Miranda was focused on getting better.

  Focused with incredible resolve.

  She insisted on being updated daily by the progress of her healing wound, insisted on extra time with the physiotherapist, who at her constant nagging was seeing to it that she was set to regain full use of her left arm.

  The long month and a half spent at Letterman General Hospital had dragged by due to unforeseen complications with her recovery, yet Miranda had healed far better than anyone predicted she would.

  She was going to be discharged from the hospital soon, she knew and there was nothing she looked forward to more.

  Luckily for Miranda, the tabloids had all but forgotten about her, deciding instead to focus on three-headed babies raised in the wild and various love triangles between the rich and famous.

  For that, she was grateful.

  It was bad enough that she was the only heir to the Fowler family fortune.

  Worse yet, was that the media found it fit to remind her of that every so often...

  She could do without any additional infamy.

  Miranda looked at the pile of newspapers that had accumulated on the floor next to her bed. Friends of hers had thought she would be interested in following the case from the journalists’ perspective but she was not.

  She preferred to get her news directly from the police officers heading the investigation, kind as they were to update her every couple of days.

  Richard’s killer was still out there, free as a bird, while Richard himself lay in a grave that Miranda had yet to visit, while she herself was still in the hospital.

  But not for long!

  The additional surgeries to repair the nerve damage in her left shoulder had been well worth the extra stay.

  Tomorrow, she would be going home.

  * * *

  A week after Miranda was released from the hospital, she was asking for an audience with Brian Logan, the man whom newspapers and nurses alike claimed had saved her life. He was a man to whom she was very grateful, though not yet properly introduced to.

  Obliging her wishes, Russ placed a phone call inviting Brian over for supper.

  Apparently, Brian had accepted, which left Miranda with the predicament of finding something suitable to wear.

  What did one wear for a meeting with their own personal hero?

  The latest in summer fashion, as it was now June the twelfth?

  Or perhaps a casual dress in forest green, to match her dark green eyes? Something alluring or something conservative? Shorts and a tank top or a grey wool power suit?

  Thumbing through the racks of clothing in her walk in closet, her left arm in its temporary sling, she decided at long last on a silk tank top, in dark emerald to compliment her eyes and a pair of plain black dress pants.

  Black slip on flats were God’s gift to the one-armed.

  Pearl earrings followed the strand of pearls that she had gotten Lynn to affix at her throat.

  She brushed her long, glossy black hair until all the stray ends were tamed into order. She decided against makeup and then changed her mind, adding a bit of mascara to the long black eyelashes that framed her intelligent green eyes, the faintest touch of blush to her ivory cheeks and a cherry-colored gloss to her rosebud lips.

  She stared back at her reflection with a sullen smile and frowned slightly as she absentmindedly caressed the sling that kept her left arm immobile.

  The sling was only a precaution now – her physiotherapist, Mark, had told her she would be able to begin a limited range of further activity in a few more days.

  As it was, the slow, cautious exercises she had been doing to rebuild and recuperate the damaged muscles under the physiotherapist’s direction had begun to incorporate light weights and other strengthening tools.

  Mark was certain she’d have full use of her arm in no time, no time at all.

  She assumed that was good news...

  Miranda was downstairs watching Oprah’s channel with Lynn when the doorbell rang.

  Chapter Four

  Miranda glanced at the clock – it was ten to five, nearly supper time.

  Was it him?

  Brian Logan?

  Her hero?

  She couldn’t help but notice the way Lynn straightened in her seat and fluffed her mane of long red hair. Her college-aged cousin hadn’t bothered to hide how much she fancied Brian Logan. It showed in the length of time it had taken her to get ready for supper, showed in the immaculate set of her heavy makeup and even the short leatherette skirt she wore with her boob-baring Lycra spandex top.

  “You aren’t going to believe your eyes,” Lynn whispered to Miranda, her light green eyes round with anticipation as she rose to the sound of the buzzer.

  “What is it about him that has you so captivated?”

  “Everything about him is big. Big hands, big shoulders, big feet. And you know what they say about men with big feet?”

  “Yeah, Lynn. That they have big socks.”

  “Whatever.” She sighed in rapture. “He’s breathtaking.”

  “I’ll reserve judgment of that for when I see him,” Miranda replied, smiling at her cousin’s youthful anxiety.

  Yet, as neutral as she was trying to sound, she kept her eyes fixed on the entrance, as Lynn went to answer the door.

  She had tried keeping her curiosity in check but was now falling miserably short of her goal.

  What did her hero look like?

  Lynn was renowned for her incredible taste in men and though the pain of losing Richard was quite fresh in her heart, Miranda couldn’t help but wonder what this Brian Logan might look like.

  She remembered the nurse’s description adequately enough but when the large dark haired man entered the foyer to her cousin’s cheery welcome, she found that Nurse Sally’s description of Brian Logan did not do him justice.

  He was well over six feet in height, with a swimmer’s build, his broad shoulders and powerful looking arms tapering down into a muscular chest and lean waist. The black T-shirt he wore w
as snug fit to him, betraying everything beneath the thin, dark cloth.

  His hips were narrower than she had expected, giving way to thick, strong looking thighs, narrow knees and calves that were just barely hidden by the material of his khaki colored dress slacks.

  Stylish leather shoes, polished to a military shine, covered feet that were indeed big.

  Big socks, that’s all, Miranda admonished herself.

  It was upon raking her gaze back up his legs, hips and torso that Miranda realized she had been so utterly awed by his body that she had forgotten to pay attention to his face.

  What she saw there, upon looking, made her breath halt in her chest.

  To say that he was ruggedly handsome, in Nurse Sally’s words, was a dire understatement.

  To say that he was breathtaking, as Lynn had insisted, was perhaps a more accurate description.

  His pitch black hair was every bit as dark as her own, glossy with the sheen of health and short cropped in thick waves.

  His face was a collection of valleys and ridges, masculine and angular in a manner that was appealing to the female eye.

  His was a lean face composed of high cheek bones and deep laugh lines, a stubborn, defiant jaw and a nose that appeared to have been broken once.

  She guessed that he was in his mid-thirties.

  His lips were firm looking and very male, in a kissable sort of way... yet most appealing of all were his eyes.

  As he neared, she could tell that his eyes were the dark grey of storm clouds, with an innate darkness that seemed authoritative, though at the moment their depths seemed more friendly than stern.

  She sensed that he was a man capable of a great range of emotions, most of them earnest.

  As he smiled at her, showing an attractive flash of white teeth, she found herself smiling back, with enthusiasm.

  Miranda was fascinated by her attraction to Brian, as surely as she was taken aback by it.

  Was Richard to be so easily forgotten, with the appearance of one lone, virile man?

  She shamed the memory of her former fiancé even further as she tore her glance away from his face, her gaze fell to his left hand, where she noticed there was no wedding ring.

  So far as she could tell, he was unmarried...

  “Miranda,” he began, his Australian voice thick with warm recognition as he extended his right hand. “I’m Brian. Brian Logan.”

  She reached for his hand and took it in hers.

  His was so much larger, firmer, stronger than hers and yet gentle was the pressure of his hold, a grip that was reassuring, friendly.

  She was amazed by the warmth of his hand and the awareness of what that warmth did to her... A current not unlike electricity flowed through her hand, up her wrist, to her arm, numbing the crook of her shoulder.

  Her knees weakened a little at the contact.

  All the while, she was staring up at his smile.

  Miranda was by no means a short woman, at five feet nine inches tall but he towered over her, a looming, formidable form.

  He was the personification of male sex appeal.

  Every incredible inch of him.

  She caught the scent of his cologne and decided that it was well matched to him.

  An earthy, enigmatic, unmistakably male fragrance.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Logan.” She managed to utter this in reply and in realizing that she had been holding both her silence and his hand for too long. She released that warm hulk’s hand as though she had been stung by it. “Australian, is it? Your accent, I mean.”

  “It is.” He grinned at her. His dark eyes softened with amusement, as he added, “Good ear on you.”

  “Thank you.”

  The scent of him was making her feel a bit... fuzzy headed.

  She remembered the first time she had smelled the combination of his cologne and body and decided to confront him on it.

  In as friendly a tone as possible, she said, “You came to visit me, when I was in the hospital but you left as soon as I woke up. Why did you leave?”

  He looked pained by the memory.

  “I didn’t think you’d care to see a strange face, when it was family and loved ones you needed to be surrounded with.”

  “Yet you weren’t on the visitor’s list,” she concluded, intrigued.

  “You’re right. I wasn’t.” His words were full of mystery.

  She took his bait. “Then how did you get by the nurses and guards? There were two very intimidating young men perched outside my door the entire time I was there.”

  “The nurses, I had to charm,” said Brian, dazzling her with another smile, “But as for the guards, I happen to be their employer. I’m owner and operator of Logan Security and Investigations, you see.”

  “I see.” Miranda intentionally breathed deep through her nares, inhaling more of his enticing scent. “Well, I suppose I have a lot to thank you for, Mr. Logan-”

  “- call me Brian, love.”

  “Brian, then.” She took another breath. This time, a steadying sobering one, through her mouth. God, he smelled amazing… “They say that I would have bled to death if not for your swift action.”

  Miranda watched as his mouth curled down into a frown and then wondered why it seemed as though he had to force his lips back into a smile.

  His eyes darkened for the span of a few heartbeats and then lightened.

  She wondered at the emotions crossing his face.

  “Miranda, I did what anyone with First Aid would have done, that’s all.”

  “Still, I owe you my life.”

  “So they say.” Brian gave a heavy sigh that made her all the more curious about the brooding look in his stormy grey eyes.

  “Please know that I appreciate what you did. I really do owe you a lot.”

  “Love, you don’t owe me a thing.”

  His eyes had a hardened look in them now.

  He seemed to be struggling with the memory of the night.

  Miranda wanted to press the issue, wanted to understand his shift in mood.

  In good taste, she decided to lighten the conversation. “I’m curious – were you there for the baroque, that night?”

  “The what?”

  Her brow furrowed with confusion. “At Tillings Hall. The baroque performance...”

  “Uh, yes – it was, uh, wonderful.” Brian lied, though he hated having to lie to so beautiful a dove.

  Russ had already explained to him that Miranda was not to be made aware of the investigation.

  Not now, possibly not ever.

  He sighed, raked a hand through his dark tousled hair and tore his eyes away from the inviting curves of her cherry-red lips.

  “Wonderful until… well, what came next.” Miranda shivered at the chill of the memory.

  Brian felt his heart flood with sympathy at the sight of the frown on her sweet lips. “It’s a shame that the night had to end in tragedy.”

  “Indeed,” said Russ, joining them in the living room. “Nancee says that supper is ready, so won’t you come along to the dining room?”

  “Certainly.” Brian extended his hand behind Miranda. “After you, love.”

  She stiffened as his hand brushed the small of her back.

  It was the same gesture Richard had used, time and again, to urge her in some direction or another.

  The likeness of the motion was enough to give her a moment of pause, made her heart lurch with longing.

  Richard. As his name touched her mind, she was stricken with grief. How I miss you…

  Struggling to keep from crying, battling with herself to keep her senses in check, she placed one foot in front of the other and bravely made her way to the dining room, though she feared her legs might collapse beneath her at any moment.

  Miranda felt as though she were walking on rubber bands.

  Whether it was thoughts of Richard that caused it to happen or the guilt of feeling drawn to Brian or the attraction to the tall dark haired hulk itself, she couldn’t
be certain.

  Brian pleasantly surprised her by seating her before he himself took a seat, another gesture that was as full of chivalry as it was, similarity.

  How many times before had Richard seated her, in the same genteel manner?

  As Brian seated himself next to her, his thigh brushed hers and she started as though she had been brushed with electric current.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  She felt heat rush to her cheeks, her throat.

  Her mouth went dry and she hoped no one had seen her reaction to his nearness.

  “Security and investigations,” said Miranda finally, finding her voice. “That must be an interesting field.”

  “Sounds glamorous,” Lynn added, a sultry smile on her painted lips.

  Brian gave a light laugh. “Oh, it’s not nearly as interesting or glamorous as some would think. It has more than its share of dull moments.”

  Miranda found Brian’s modesty rather becoming of him.

  He turned toward her in his seat, giving her the full attention of his slate grey eyes. Their stormy depths seemed to see right through her, through her facade of cool collectedness.

  That eye contact was almost too much for her.

  She felt like her every thought was being revealed to him with a single glance.

  Could he see how deeply his nearness disturbed her?

  “My work?” He continued. “Loads of married couples digging up dirt on each other, a lot of Silicon Valley security detail... Lots of photos to sort through, a literal shit-tonne of paper work if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  “Still, what a fascinating line of work.” Lynn piped up, from the opposite side of the table.

  Lynn propped her head upon her fist, a dreamy smile upon her pink lips.

  Brian gave another small laugh and turned his gaze unto Lynn who looked apt to coo when he turned his attention on her.

  For that Miranda was grateful as the intensity of his stare had nearly burned a hole right through her.

  Being near him like this was very unsettling for her.

  Exactly what it was about him that unsettled her down to her very core… she couldn’t exactly name it.

  But he was… unnerving.

  “Fascinating?” Brian smiled at Lynn. “Tell that to the guards I have to fire for falling asleep on the job. Not that you can blame them, at times. Some of the work is pretty dull. Still, it’s the principle of things that leads to some of them losing their jobs.”