It was from Gail. And not at all what he’d expected.
Totally off the record... Brian O’Connor was diagnosed with terminal lung disease four months ago. Mesothelioma, is what I was unofficially told. Maybe the “vacation” is to get treatment?
Shit. The news hit him hard. Just...damn. Gail’s point about the vacation made sense. O’Connor clearly didn’t want Tad to know he was dying. Treatment would explain why he hadn’t told him he was on vacation. And why he’d said he couldn’t come immediately because he had “business that I can’t leave unattended.” It could also explain the apparently drunken state the man had been in. Chemo and other treatments, with heavy pain meds, could’ve had the same effect. Or he could have been drinking as he’d said. The medications could also explain the unusual irritation. The mood changes.
Dropping his phone on the bed, he walked to the living room, looked outside, entered the kitchen, then left again. Miranda and Ethan were going to get back with her father only to watch him die? She’d lost the last years with him?
Back at the sliding glass door leading out to the small balcony, he stared at the ocean in the distance. And...
God, no.
Had Brian contracted his services to find her, in spite of the danger to all of them, because he couldn’t die without seeing them?
Had he fudged that coroner’s report? Was that why he’d been so adamant about refusing to let Tad know any more about Miranda’s ex, Jeff? Because the man really wasn’t dead?
The string of words that came out of his mouth as he headed back to his bedroom weren’t ones he normally used. They were profanities and referred to improbable sexual acts. And eased his anger not at all.
Forgoing a shower, he shoved his legs into jeans. Pulled a shirt off the hanger and let the clothes holder lie untouched on the floor where it landed after flying off the rod. He grabbed socks, leaving the drawer open, and, yanking on tennis shoes, left them untied as he collected his keys, wallet and both phones and hightailed it out of the apartment.
Miranda was pretty certain she was being followed. If Brian O’Connor had lied to him—and he had by omitting his illness as it would be at least part of the motive for Tad’s employment—then there was every possibility that Jeff Patrick was still alive.
And, because of Tad, right there in Santa Raquel. Lying in wait.
* * *
Ethan’s little tushy looked too darned cute as, in jeans and a T-shirt, he ran toward the school building wearing his backpack Tuesday morning. Watching from the car, as she always did, she saw him turn at the door and wave at her. She waved back, and he was gone. For another day.
And this afternoon she’d have some alone time with Tad. Right after the High Risk meeting they were going to her place. Pulling out into traffic after checking for black sedans, heading down the street toward work, she couldn’t help the little thrill of anticipation that shot through her. In fact, she reveled in it. She could use a huge dose of naturally induced euphoria.
Her phone rang, and thinking it was work with some schedule adjustment—a patient cancellation or the addition of one who’d woken up too sick to go to school—she pushed the button on her steering wheel to answer.
“Hi, it’s me,” Tad said. “I’m a couple of cars behind you.”
She glanced at the rearview mirror. Didn’t immediately see Tad’s SUV. And then she did.
Another thrill shot through her. He really had her back.
The only other time she’d felt like that since her mother died had been with Jeff.
“I’ve seen no black sedans, gray baseball caps or any other indication that anyone is watching or following you, but I need to talk to you, if I can. Is there any way you could skip going into work this morning? I realize it’s a horrible thing to ask, but I hope you trust me enough to know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
She could call Annabelle, the PA who was off on Tuesdays. There were three of them who worked for Dr. Bennet and they were permitted to exchange hours however they saw fit. She’d just never asked before.
But she’d exchanged shifts with Annabelle a couple of times when the other woman had requested it.
“I’ll have to make a call... I’ll see what I can do. I can’t leave patients at the clinic unattended.”
“I understand. Call me back as soon as you know.”
Looking in the rearview mirror again, she saw that he was still only two cars behind her and nodded. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I just have something to tell you that I think you’d want to know.”
“Are you leaving Santa Raquel?”
“Make the call, Miranda. Please?”
Less than a minute later, she had him back on the phone. “All set. You want to go to my place?”
“No. And not mine, either. You know that car dealership out by the freeway?” He named a cash-for-your-car type of lot. One that didn’t ask many questions if you had enough money, which made her even more uneasy.
“Yeah.”
What was he doing? What could he possibly have to say?
Unless he’d found out who was watching her...
“Head over there,” he told her. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“You’re sure I’m safe?”
“Yes.”
“You’re really scaring me now, Tad.”
“Call Chantel,” he said. “She’ll assure you that my request is valid.”
“You’ve talked to her today?”
“I had to tell her I wouldn’t be at the High Risk meeting.”
Oh. So he was leaving. Which didn’t explain why she was on her way to a car lot.
And suddenly she didn’t want to know. Life without Tad was inevitable. But did it have to happen right now? When the rest of her world could be caving in?
Chapter 25
Tad didn’t want to scare Miranda, but his first priority was to keep her and Ethan safe. His first call as soon as he got on the road to Miranda’s place that morning had been to Chantel Fairbanks. In short, distinct sentences, he’d told her everything he knew.
She’d been on board immediately. It had been her decision to have Miranda take Ethan to school as usual. She’d assigned an officer who’d be positioned with Ethan in sight until further notice. Until Tad could talk to Miranda, and maybe after that, they were going to act as though Jeff Patrick was in town, looking for his chance to snatch his family back.
While he’d been sitting around the corner from Miranda’s house, waiting for her and Tad to leave for school, keeping his eyes on the place at all times, he’d emailed Chantel the documents he had on Miranda. He’d slid the SIM card into his phone only long enough to do that and then returned it to an inside pocket of his wallet. Chantel had already begun a full investigation of Miranda’s past.
He followed Miranda into the car lot, parking directly behind her, and, with a hand at her back, walked her inside.
“How much would it cost me to rent a car for a few hours?” he asked the older guy behind the counter drinking coffee and eating a doughnut. “I’ll leave you the keys to both of ours, sitting out there...” He nodded toward the lot. Put his keys on the counter and asked Miranda to do the same.
She clicked to unlock her car first, saying, “I need to get my bag...”
Tad flashed his detective badge, a North Carolina detective badge, while Miranda had her head turned toward her car. The badge wasn’t technically valid in California, but he didn’t figure the guy was going to know that.
“Cost you nothing,” the older man said, handing him a set of keys. “As long as you return it in a coupla hours, not wrecked and full of gas. We’ll call it a test drive.”
Yeah. He could’ve just asked to take a car on a test drive. Might have if he hadn’t been surging with adrenaline.
Not the good
kind.
It was a warning to get himself in check. He had to be a cop first.
Their ride was a newer-model lowest-end Cadillac. Blue.
“I need my bag,” Miranda said again, going for the hatchback on her car rather than the front seat where he’d assumed she would’ve left her purse.
Watching the area for anyone who might be watching them, Tad hoped that whoever was following Miranda, if anyone really was, assumed she was on her normal routine. That this person wouldn’t know she wasn’t until he cruised by the clinic and saw her car missing.
He noticed that she was fooling with the spare tire on her car.
“You need help?”
“No! No,” she said, shoving her hand into the front pocket of her scrubs, as though she’d hurt it and didn’t want him to see. “I accidentally pulled the tire up when I went for the bag.” The duffel had been hidden in the wheel well. He pretended not to notice that he’d noticed. With a quick side trip to the front seat, she got her purse, and put both in the front passenger seat of the Cadillac.
The guy with his doughnut had been watching them the whole time. Let him think he was taking Miranda to a quickie at a motel. Tad didn’t care.
On the road again as quickly as possible, away from cars that might be known to them, he drove back into town and straight to the police station.
Frowning, Miranda looked at him. “We’re going to the High Risk Team meeting?”
He shook his head, leaning over to kiss her on the lips. He was sure the move was completely inappropriate and equally sure he had to do it.
Her lips lingered on his, kissing him back, and when he pulled away, he said, “Trust me for a few minutes longer and then you’ll be fully in the know.”
She nodded.
And he hoped to God he hadn’t just had her trust for the last time.
Or kissed her for the last time, either.
* * *
Miranda knew her way around the police station. She’d been there many times in her scrubs, as she was that Tuesday morning. She’d planned to be there later that morning, for the team meeting. And it felt weird as hell, being shown, with Tad, into a different area. One she’d never seen before. Various desks dotted the room, and as Tad approached one in particular, Chantel stood up.
She greeted Miranda with a smile, and then said, “You can use this room right over here. It used to be a storeroom, but it’s become a place where we can go for quiet conversation among ourselves.”
Ushering them into a room with a couple of worn tweed couches in black and beige stripes with scarred wooden legs, and a single equally scarred coffee table, Chantel closed the door behind them.
She was no longer in fear for her life, but Miranda still felt uneasy.
Standing by the first couch, she faced Tad—aware of Chantel’s presence just outside the door. “What’s going on?” Maybe she and Ethan weren’t on the verge of running or dying, but this wasn’t good, whatever it was.
Taking her hand, he sat down. “Sit, please.”
It was Tad. He was touching her. So she sat.
“I know who you are.”
Heart thudding, she felt as though the cereal she’d had for breakfast was coming up. Clogging her airway. Swallowed a couple of times.
“I’m Miranda Blake.”
Chantel’s smile a second ago had been...compassionate. Was it Sara? She’d told them?
She’d told Miranda not to say anything!
Which could only mean...
“He’s here.” Shaking, she stood. She had to go. Get out. Now.
Tad pulled her back down. “There’s no evidence that anyone’s following you,” he said. “And no evidence that you’re in any immediate danger.”
Immediate.
Ethan! She had to get to Ethan. Jumping up, she reached in her pocket for her keys. Didn’t have them.
Tad had ditched their cars—the cars someone might recognize as theirs.
“I have to get Ethan.”
“Chantel has an officer assigned to him until further notice. It’s probably not necessary. But we’re taking no chances.”
“You don’t know my—”
Tad took her hand again. “Dana, it’s okay.”
Trembling like she’d never trembled before, she couldn’t answer him. And wasn’t sure she could even stand.
She had to get Ethan. Go.
“Please, just listen to me for a minute?”
She nodded. Mostly because she needed a minute to get herself under control. To figure a way out. She had her bag in the car. Had stashed the money in it.
She didn’t have a car, didn’t have access to her own.
“There may not be any danger at all,” Tad told her. Not at all what she’d expected to hear. Chantel was involved. Ethan was under guard.
She wasn’t an idiot.
“You don’t know him like I do...”
“We think he’s dead, Dana.”
“Don’t! Don’t call me that. My name is Miranda. Miranda Blake.”
“You don’t have to be! That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Chantel’s just waiting on final confirmation, but it would appear he really is dead.”
Elation flooded her system. And then immense grief. Relief. And...disbelief.
“How?” She could only get out a whisper.
“Overdose.”
Fitting, and yet, other than alcohol, her father had never taken drugs of any kind. Not even aspirin. It had to be another one of his tricks. Playing with her head.
“Dana...”
Her gaze shot from her hands up to Tad’s. “Do not call me that,” she said through gritted teeth. And then, “I’m sorry. But please, don’t ever call me that again. I’m Miranda now.”
And then, slowly, her mind started to work. “How did you find out?”
When he looked away, she got scared again.
“What?” she asked.
He took both her hands. Kissed them. “I’ve known all along,” he told her. “Your father, he knew that Jeff was dead, that you were free to come home. He hired me to find you. And then to watch over you until he thought it was time to get in touch with you himself.”
Anger smoldered through her. White-hot. Burning her from the inside out. Pulling her hands from his, she jumped up. Ran for the door. Tried to open it, but couldn’t get a grip on the handle. Her hands weren’t functioning.
“Miranda.” Tad was there, his arm around her.
“Don’t touch me,” she screamed, elbowing him away. And then, “Chantel! Detectives!” she cried out.
Chantel was at the door almost instantly, along with a couple of other detectives. She saw them and began to gasp for air. Could feel it slowly filling her lungs again.
“He’s... Don’t let him take me,” she said, motioning to Tad. “He’s...”
“Okay.” Chantel’s tone was understanding and commanding at the same time as she led Miranda away from that little room, down the hall and into a women’s restroom. “We’re alone here,” the detective said, her blond ponytail moving as though to punctuate every word. Miranda focused on that hair. And then let herself look into the brown eyes an inch or so above hers.
“He’s working for my abuser,” she whispered. “I...invited him into my home. I... I...slept with him. I let him near my son...”
Ethan was safe. Chantel had an officer with him.
Tears blinded her, and sobs took her air again as the horror overwhelmed her. Sinking down to the floor, she leaned against the wall, curled in on herself and let the emotion out. She had no power to do anything else.
At some point Chantel sat beside her. Maybe within seconds. The door opened. No one came in, and it closed again. And Miranda cried. She tried to think but was blinded by pain. Mentally and physically.
And then, slowly, the
rage of emotion inside her stopped. Calm started to seep in. Maybe just exhaustion that felt like calm.
She had to take care of this. Of Ethan.
“I need a way out of here,” she told the detective, looking her straight in the eye. Sara and everyone at The Lemonade Stand trusted Chantel. Dr. Bennet not only trusted her, he was the reason Chantel was in Santa Raquel. They’d been friends for longer than either of them had known their spouses. “I have a bag in the car. And money. I need Ethan, and a way to escape. We can figure out the rest from there.”
Shaking her head, Chantel said, “You don’t have to run, sweetie. It’s over.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, the words surprisingly strong and clear. “Tad’s working for my father.”
“I know. He told me this morning.”
With horror, it dawned on her. They could all be under Brian O’Connor’s thumb. He was insidious when he believed he was right about something. He got away with it because most of the time, he was right.
“Have you talked to Sara?” Miranda asked. If she had, then Miranda knew she couldn’t trust any of them.
“Not yet. I put a call in to her, but she’s with a resident who was admitted early this morning.”
For a long moment she stared at Chantel. “You were Max’s first wife’s partner,” she said, verifying what the doctor for whom she worked had told her himself.
“That’s right.”
“You saw her die.”
“Yes.”
“And your sister-in-law, Julie. She was a victim.”
“Yes.”
“One who wasn’t believed for over a decade because her abuser had a lot of power...”
“Her brother always believed her. And it was her abuser’s father who really had the power, but he believed his son.”
Chantel was exhibiting patience, seemingly willing to take whatever route Miranda needed to get where they were going in this conversation.
“I can trust you.”
“Absolutely.”
She hadn’t been asking a question. “Tad told you that Jeff was my abuser,” she went on, guessing, but sure, too, based on what he’d said in the other room. Your father, he knew that Jeff was dead. As if that made her free. No shit he knew. She’d told him.
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