Justice for Miranda

by Reina Torres

  Closing her eyes, she realized that he hadn’t answered her. Hadn’t made a sound.

  “Well, I’m going to tell you anyway.”

  “Like I could stop you.”

  There he was. Grumpy as usual. No, he was surly. He would hate the word grumpy. And surly fit him when he was in one of his moods.

  While others would tiptoe away from him when he was like this, she’d just prod him a little more.

  “At least you know me that well, Trace.”

  She heard him grumble under his breath and it only made her smile widen.

  “I know you too, because I can see beyond that ‘back off’ stare of yours. I can see under that buttoned-up-to-the-neck rigidity.”

  “Did they issue you x-ray goggles as well as night-vision? You know you’re supposed to turn that in when you quit.”

  “I don’t need goggles to see it, Trace.”

  “See what?” She heard the harsh rasp of his voice but knew that it wasn’t directed at her, not really.

  Not him.

  “To see that you’re fighting this. Fighting me.” She yawned, unable to stop the exhausted shudder that rolled through her body. “And it would be so much easier for both of us if you’d just stop, but that’s like asking you to stop breathing. Or to give up your work.”

  She licked at her lips and realized that what she wanted was going to have to take a far backseat to letting Trace work out the tug of war within him.

  “And you are the kind of man who won’t listen when you’re this dead set on your course. So, I’m going to tell you that I’m here, Trace. I’m here if you want to talk. Here if you want to… want to kiss me more. I’m all for that.”

  “Miranda-” she heard the heat in his voice and it wrapped around her.

  “So, you figure out what you’ve got going on in that head of yours and I’ll be here… waiting.”

  He stared at the screen of his phone and resisted, barely, the urge to throw it against the wall. In an apartment with concrete walls and frosted tile windows that didn’t allow him to see the trees or birds outside while he was drinking his morning coffee.

  And the room at the end of the hall had a bed and an attached bathroom, but the closet looked half empty and even the gun safe he had purposefully installed on the ‘other’ half looked back at him with a baleful stare when he’d locked his service pistol away for the night.

  Setting the phone down beside him on the couch, he thought better of it and turned it so that the screen faced down to the cushion. Having it face up would only tempt him to call her back.

  Miranda.

  A woman as capable as she was beautiful.

  And she was beautiful enough to make him long for the slightest sight of her.

  It was that failing that was likely the reason why he’d touched her over and over when he’d been at the wildlife rehabilitation center. It certainly hadn’t been his intent to do it.

  And yet every time he got close enough, and that was his fault too, he’d reached out and touched her.

  He could have made an excuse that it was necessary with the close quarters in the exam room, but it wasn’t. There was more than enough room to fit the four of them around the table without bumping into each other. Especially given the lack of frenzy during the exam.

  He leaned back against the couch cushion and toed off one boot and then the other before he set his feet on the coffee table. Staring at the dark television against the nearly blank wall, he came up with half a dozen reasons why he should just make the final decision to stay away from her.

  It would be easy enough on his own time. And for work, as long as they took animals to a reputable facility, he wouldn’t have to see her for that either.

  The thought lay there in his head, dead in the water. Listless.

  It was just that easy to cut her out of his life.

  He just couldn’t seem to make himself agree to it.

  Trace lifted his arm up and covered his eyes. He had a hell of a headache starting. The problem was it was starting in his chest.

  The next morning, about an hour into their shift, Trace was ready to kick his partner out of the car. “Are you always so happy?”

  Conor laughed and tapped out a short rhythm on the steering wheel. “It’s the driving thing, isn’t it?” Conor signaled for a turn and slowed as he turned onto a back road. “If you wanted to drive, you could have just said so.”

  “Really, Paxton?” His mood lifted a bit.

  The car straightened out on the road and Conor looked over at him. “Nope, but I thought I’d throw you a bone.”

  Trace pushed the button to lower this window, earning him a glare from his partner.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “I wanted to feel the wind on my face.”

  Conor replicated the movement and then turned off the air conditioning. “You know, you’re not a cocker spaniel.”

  Trace didn’t answer him, his gaze on the road ahead. Pointing at the barest hint of color off to the left. “We’ve had some reports of deer in this area. And reports of shots as well.”

  Conor slowed the truck and leaned down to look out through the windshield. “You think we should set up a decoy here for a day or two and see if we can catch people road hunting?”

  Leaning back to look at the area around them, Trace could see the slanted flats of residential roofs in his line of sight. “I’m concerned about the proximity to the houses. Last year, Miranda and I had a call to a house in that neighborhood.

  “A bullet went through a living room window and it landed in a child’s toy box.”

  Conor cursed under his breath.

  “That’s why I packed the decoy in the back of the truck,” Trace explained, “while you were jumping into the driver’s seat, I was taking care of the equipment.”

  He could see Conor rolling his eyes but he ignored it. It wasn’t all his fault that something was sticking in his craw. “Let’s go ahead and get the decoy set up while the area’s quiet. Reports of gunfire have been coming in just after four o’clock.”

  Conor nodded as he moved the truck a little faster toward the side road. “Sounds like folks are waiting until after school?”

  Trace hissed out a breath from the corner of his mouth. “Probably just folks who start or get off work early, blowing off some steam.” Still he considered Conor’s words. “But if it is kids that are out here, I hope we scare the stupid out of them.”

  Conor’s bark of laughter was satisfying as well. “Amen, partner. Amen.”

  Even at night, the heat in the truck climbed with the windows open and Trace stepped out of the truck, well hidden from the road.

  Sitting in the dark probably wasn’t an ideal situation since it gave him a lot of time to think, but so much of their job was waiting to help or stop things from happening. It required the kind of patience that he was famous for.

  Was.

  His radio hissed. “Trace. I’ve got a truck coming from the other direction.”

  Trace replied back quickly. “You covered?”

  “I’ve got cover, be ready to move.”

  “Yep.”

  Trace shook off his frustration and climbed back up into the game warden truck. He closed the door and put on his seatbelt before leaning forward to ready his hand to turn the key.

  “The truck slowed down but passed by. Coming in your direction.”

  Training his ears on the road off to his left, Trace heard the distinctive sound of another truck on the dirt road and from his hidden vantage point he saw the front end come into view.

  He sat still like stone waiting to see what they were going to do.

  Trace lowered the focus of his night-vision goggles to the license plate at the front of the truck. Lifting his hand from the steering wheel, Trace clicked on his radio and gave the dispatcher his badge number and ask them to check the plate.

  As he waited for the dispatcher to look up the information, he noticed the truck slow and come to a complet
e stop.

  Trace froze in place and narrowed his gaze to try to see into the cab. He could see one figure behind the wheel and one in the passenger seat, but beyond that it was just a bunch of vague shapes in the back.

  The radio turned back on but then the truck started to move.

  Picking up the radio, Trace called back to Conor. “They’re turning around. Stay out of sight.”

  He heard an answering click and waited until the truck turned the corner before letting out a pent-up breath. Hopefully they could take care of this quickly.

  “They’re slowing down.” Conor’s voice was steady, but Trace knew that didn’t mean that his heart wasn’t pounding hard in his chest and he wasn’t focused in like a laser on what was unfolding around them.

  “Their windows are down, and someone is coming out of the passenger window, he’s got a rifle and taking aim.”

  Trace twisted the key and the engine roared to life just as the unmistakable report of a rifle split the air.

  It only took a handful of seconds to turn onto the road and flip on his headlights. The driver and the passenger turned to look at each other and then relaxed.

  They were caught.

  And they knew it.

  Now all that remained to be seen is how they were going to handle this.

  Trace left the car running so that they’d have light enough to see the men. And it turned out to be helpful, because when they’d gotten the men out of their truck and lined them up alongside of it, there were five of them.

  The smallest was probably one of their younger brothers by the look of him. His head came barely up to the shoulders of the other men.

  Letting Conor take the lead in questioning, Trace watched the five males hoping to get some understanding. Two of them, the ones he believed to be the driver and the passenger with the rifle seemed to be the ones keeping the others in check.

  But no matter how many times they gave the youngest hard looks the littlest kept turning back to look at the covered bed of the truck.

  It had one of those old-style camper covers that had probably been one color when it was new. Now, even in the dark, Trace could tell that the panels were a crazy quilt of shades at the very least.

  Still, it wasn’t the look of the camper that had his interest.

  With a look at Conor he moved around to the back of the truck.

  He could tell by the scuffle of noise that at least one of the men was starting to cause trouble, but Conor got them quickly under control.

  Trace spoke aloud. “Anyone want to tell me what you have in the back?”

  A couple of loud refusals met his ears, but when another second went by he didn’t have to worry about getting permission to search.

  A thump was heard against the side of the camper and then a few more. “That’s not just something falling over, is it boys?”

  The men looked back and forth at each other, but Trace kept his gaze at the youngest of them. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them again Trace could see his eyes were watering. The boy had a heart, he’d give him that much.

  “Paxton, you keep an eye on these boys, I’m going to have a look around back.”

  He got his partner’s affirmative and continued on.

  When he was close enough to put his hand on the handle, another frantic trample of sound was heard and Trace lifted the top to look inside.

  “Well, I’ll be…”

  There was a doe looking back at him, eyes wide with pain. A quick sweep of his flashlight in the space told him what he needed to know.

  The animal’s hind leg was broken. A simple fracture thankfully. A compound fracture would have lessened their options.

  Worried that the animal might try to leap from the truck bed, he halfway shut the camper door with a soft, “Stay there.” And stepped back into view of the men standing beside the truck.

  The youngest started to babble and while Conor was better versed in Spanish, Trace understood enough to hear ‘mistake’ and ‘sorry.’

  With Trace taking over the guard duties, Conor got on his phone. As soon as he started to speak, Trace realized just how difficult his evening might end up being.

  “Hey, Miranda. I’ve got an injured doe. Do you think you could- Really? Great! Thanks, let me send you our location.” Conor sent a file with the GPS location and a few seconds later his text alert sounded.

  Conor read it and turned to look at Trace. “Well, partner, I hope you’ve got your big boy pants on, because she’s coming to help. She was out at the lake so she’s about five minutes out.”

  Trace let out a breath. Fate, it seemed, was out to get him.

  Chapter 3

  By the time she arrived on scene, Miranda let out a low appreciative whistle at what she saw. The five men from the truck had been detained. Sitting on the ground, each a few feet away from the other, they had their hands bound behind them with plastic ties as there just weren’t enough handcuffs in their vehicle for five.

  She caught Conor’s eye first. “You boys made quick work of the scene. I almost miss it.”

  “You miss the mosquito bites and the ticks? Honey, you can come to my backyard and get your fill.”

  She put her Jeep in park and left it running, adding her own headlights to the scene. “You better ask your lady to clean out your ears! I said nothing of the kind.” She grabbed up a hair tie from around the gear shift and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Leaning back into the Jeep, she grabbed her kit from the back and heard a few inelegant comments from the peanut gallery. It rankled, but she had bigger fish to fry.

  Bringing the bag with her, she started to move toward the unfamiliar truck and stopped short. One of the men sitting on the ground was staring at her.

  Oh, she was used to men staring at her when she was a game warden. Sometimes men thought it was sexy. She had a badge and a gun. Oh, and she wrestled wild animals down and trussed them up. There had been a number of times when she’d had to subdue an alligator or crocodile to transport them to a better area for the animal, and one of the men watching the transfer would say something. Mostly they just thought it was hot to have a woman in a job that was traditionally for men.

  But there were also the special idiots that wanted to know if she’d tie them up the way she restrained the gator, or better yet, let them do it to her.

  She saw the look in the eyes of the man sitting before her and she saw lust. Not just sexual attraction, but basic male dominance that glowered in his eyes.

  Turning away she heard him mumble something under his breath.

  He probably didn’t know she could understand him easily. Most folks that looked at her saw the Japanese in her and knew there was ‘something’ else in her DNA. Even Trace hadn’t recognized it until he saw that her last name was Jimenez.

  She gave the man a dead stare and crooked an eyebrow at him with a shake of her head.

  “Something wrong, Miranda?”

  It took less than a second for her skin to sizzle at the sound of his voice.

  Turning to meet his concerned gaze, she gave him a brave smile.

  Nothing shook her as much as feeling ‘less than.’ Sure, she may give a jerk a withering stare, but deep down inside there was another crack added to the thin layer of self-confidence inside of her. “I’m good,” she offered as an answer. “Let me go and get a look at our patient.”

  Trace walked beside her as she moved to the back of the truck. He kept his gaze on the five detained men, but he walked by her side, explaining the situation as if she was still a game warden come to add some backup.

  Lifting the top of the camper, Miranda reached in and released the latch for the tailgate and lowered it down.

  The doe barely raised her head and she could see the pain in the luminous depths of the injured animal’s eyes.

  “Oh, sweetie,” she crooned as she reached out her hand and moved another inch closer, “what happened to you?”

  The deer was exhausted. Her lungs inflated and then h
er sides dropped heavily. And the animal sat quietly as she examined her legs. “Wow,” she shook her head as she felt the animal tense up when she prodded her hind leg, “I’m impressed.”

  “Hmm?”

  She knew where Trace’s attention was and it was a good thing.

  Sometimes as a game warden you worked alone and events like this could get dicey quickly. Having two or three on a scene was a luxury.

  So, she would tend to the deer while the guys took care of the rest. It helped that the injured animal was still enough that she didn’t need help securing it. Miranda had seen a number of injuries caused by a frightened and injured wild animal. And, she’d taken a few blows herself. Kicks, scratches, she’d even had a first-time fisherman snag her leg with a hook while she was checking the catch from another man on a pier.

  Danger came in all shapes, sizes, and species on the job.

  Probing the doe’s back leg, she winced in sympathy as the poor thing gave a soft sound of distress. “I know, I know… some big bad men hit you with a truck. Don’t you worry, we’ll have you fixed up right quick.”

  Trace’s soft chuckle sent shivers across her shoulders. “Well you go ahead and baby the deer, Conor and I are going to finish writing up tickets for these guys.”

  She opened her kit and pulled out a small battery-operated camp lantern from the base of the box. In the enclosed space, it would give her enough light to check for more injuries before she got the deer prepped to move it to her vehicle. By then, she would be able to get some help with it.

  Miranda kept one ear on the action behind her. Apparently, she hadn’t distanced herself from the job enough. Her thoughts were still partially stuck in the job.

  Although with her dad as a retired game warden and at least one nephew eyeing the job, she’d likely remain connected to it for years.

  Setting her clipboard down on the tailgate, she wrote up a few notes of things to check for later. With a hit from a vehicle there were always complications that could pop up later and she didn’t want to miss anything.

  “I don’t want to jinx it,” she told the deer, “but so far it looks like it’s just your leg. My cousin and I will fix you right up and then you’ll be back out in the wild.” Then as an afterthought, she gave the truck bed liner a couple of raps with her knuckles. “Knock on wood.”