“We won’t,” her dad said with a wave.
“Wait!” her mom called just before Jackson opened the front door. “You two never ate.”
Miranda asked, “Think Chef Morgan would mind packing something to go?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t. Wait here. I’ll ask.”
On the ride to her office, Miranda and Jackson ate thick turkey and swiss sandwiches, homemade potato chips and dill pickles. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been truly hungry, but the relief of knowing this whole mess would soon be behind her combined with the pleasant surprise of their first kiss made her a little punch-drunk. Yes, she was still devastated by the loss of her friends, but she was also looking forward to a fear-free future.
“At the next stop sign, we should put the top down,” she said. “It’s a gorgeous night.”
“That would be a no. Not that a rag top offers that much protection, but it’s something.”
“Wait—” Her happy bubble burst. “You don’t think Mark’s behind everything?”
He winced. “It’s possible, but all those messages felt more personal. Too discreet for Mark’s look-at-me agenda. If he did torch your bar, all those outbuildings, and the WWI statue, his motive was to make you look ineffective at your job.” After a few minutes’ silence, he asked, “The night I first got here, you mentioned that an old shrimp trawler had also been destroyed. Who owned that?”
“One of the guys at dad’s car lot here in town. He has dealerships all over the state, but this one is most like a family. I think Frankie used the boat on weekends. He and David—you met him this afternoon—run the detailing department.”
“Tell me more about him.” He turned right onto Magnolia Avenue.
“David? Or Frankie?”
“David.”
“He’s a sweetheart. He’s a few years older than me. I’m pretty sure he’s worked for my dad since graduating high school. He started out doing odd jobs, but worked his way up to his current position.”
“Could he have a thing for you?”
“David?” She laughed. “No way. He’s like a big brother. Besides, at this very moment, he’s probably asking Betsy to marry him.”
“Right. Anything about Betsy that seems off?”
“She’s a doll. Seems like David met her in New Orleans. He’d been on a guys’ trip. She moved here not long after and when he asked my dad for help finding her a job, since she had hotel maid experience, she was a perfect fit for the inn. Trouble was, she did such a great job that Mom poached her from me. She did get a sweet raise to make the move. Plus, she gets to live rent-free in their garage apartment.”
“Hmm…” Waiting at a red light, he drummed his fingers against the wheel.
“Jackson, stop. I can practically see the gears moving in your head. Mark is behind all of this. I feel it. He ran for mayor ages ago—back when I was still in high school—but lost to the incumbent. I’m guessing he’s been harboring a grudge ever since. It makes sense.”
His grunt didn’t sound so sure.
City Hall was creepy in the dark. Surrounded by century-old live oaks draped in Spanish moss, with brick sidewalks lined by flickering gas lamps, they could have been stepping back in time.
After Jackson parked in her assigned spot, Miranda led him to the side door used for after-hours.
The sheriff, Reginald Sharp, an African American who towered over her, waved when he left his marked SUV. Lenny emerged from the passenger side. “I picked up a friend along the way.”
“Good.” She held open the door for them both. “Lenny, you and Jackson met earlier, but Reginald, this is the man I told you about who’s here looking into the fires.”
They shook hands.
“Nice meeting you,” Reginald said. He was still in uniform. “Some kind of mess we’ve got going, huh?”
“I’ll say…” Jackson shook his head. “Beats anything I’ve ever seen.”
They all entered the building.
Miranda locked the door behind them.
The trek to her office seemed unusually long—maybe by the eerie lack of overhead lights? Maybe the adrenaline of Jackson having caught Mark in his own game had worn off and exhaustion took its place? Regardless, she couldn’t get this meeting over with fast enough.
By the time they sat at the small conference table overlooking the WWI statue’s shadowy rubble, the weight of her mayoral responsibilities felt like a couple of those broken chunks of marble riding on her shoulders.
“I don’t mean to rush you, ma’am,” the sheriff braced his forearms on the table, leaning forward, “but my daughter is expecting our first grandson any moment. My wife already has the car packed for Shreveport. The only thing missing is me.”
“Reginald, I’m sorry.” Miranda pressed the heels of her hands over her eyes. “This mess made me totally space out on your happy news. Of course, let’s keep this brief. After the explosion, Lenny, Jackson and I all felt we were looking at a blatant arson.”
The fire chief said, “I’m going to take that a step further. Of course, I won’t have definitive answers until lab results are in, but my guess is that we’re looking at a homemade bomb much like the one that took out the City Hall statue.”
“Okay.” Reginald seemed confused. “Hand me a suspect and I’ll lock them up for probable cause.”
“That’s just it,” Miranda said. “Until less than an hour ago, we didn’t have one. But then Mark Wells tipped his hand. I could tell you about his outrageous threats, but thankfully, Jackson had the foresight to tape him.” She turned to her hero. “Could you please start the recording?”
“Already pulled it up.” Jackson pressed play.
Mark’s booming voice filled the otherwise quiet room… “Lenny wants to call the incident at your bar arson, but to do so would—”
“Of course, it was arson. Jackson and I heard four distinct explosions.”
“The point I’m trying to make is that it doesn’t have to be. If we make this a criminal matter as opposed to say… a simple grease fire, all of our lives will get a whole lot more complicated.”
“Son of a bitch…” While the recording played on, Reginald whistled.
“The rest of the council and I met an hour ago, and in light of this deadly fire we’re prepared to impeach. I will become the acting mayor until a special election can be held.”
“Just wait,” Jackson mumbled. “It gets better…”
“Even if I did arrange for your dive bar to be blown to kingdom come, it would have been for a noble cause. You think you know how to run this town, but you don’t have a clue. Time to step aside and let a grown-up tackle the job.”
Once the recording finished, Reginald slammed the heel of his hand against the table. “I never did like that pompous ass. Okay, so I’ll head over to his place to make an arrest myself on suspected arson charges as well as improper influence of a public official. I’ll also call Judge Blaylock to get an expedited search warrant for his home and office. Considering we have four deaths, I’ll have the DA petition for no bond. Sadly, looks like my wife will have to make the Shreveport trip on her own. This needs to be handled strictly by the book.”
10
“I KNOW IT’S in here somewhere—ah, there you are.” Miranda emerged from her bungalow’s fridge with champagne. “It’s been so long since I celebrated that it was lost behind the mustard and mayo.”
From his seat on the sofa, Jackson tipped his head back and groaned. “I think you’re being premature. Don’t get me wrong, Mark is buried up to his neck in something, but my gut tells me he’s not our guy for arson or the notes.”
“Stop being a worrywart and party with me. Reginald runs a tight ship. There’s no way he’d have signed off on this if he felt we were headed down the wrong trail.”
“But you left out the personal parts. There’s something we’re missing.”
“You’re right.” She popped the champagne’s cork, sucking the foam spilling from the top. Stradli
ng him she took another sip before offering him the bottle. “We’re missing the party that comes after completing what I figured would be an impossible task. And it is Friday night. I’ve got a full inn and a beautiful wedding planned for this weekend. Thank goodness for my manager, Josie, handling the event. I’ll introduce you to her in the morning.” She wagged the bottle. “Drink up. By next weekend, you’ll have all of my security perfect for your friends. They’ll have the most gorgeous wedding ever.”
Against his better judgement, Jackson took the bottle, swallowing a few gulps.
When Miranda nuzzled his neck, he wanted to resist her, push her away, make her understand that with every breath in his body he didn’t think this was over, and that he believed the true arsonist was still out there. But this case had him so mixed up he was even doubting himself. Miranda, Reginald and Lenny all believed Mark was their man. What if he was? What if all the sick notes and snakes had been part of Mark’s plan to make Miranda feel crazy?
It was possible.
Probable.
Harding had been true to his word and the new rental SUV sat outside, loaded with gear. Life was good. Why was he making things more complicated?
He took another long pull from the bottle before returning it to Miranda.
“Know what I think we should do tomorrow?” she asked.
“I think I should sweep for bugs and install the new locks.” FedEx had left the box on her front porch.
“Okay, well, while you do that, I’m going to visit Lex, Julio, Uncle Ray and Tommy’s families. I want to tell them how sorry I am and offer to cover the costs for their burials.”
“That’s nice.”
“It’s the least I can do.” She took another swig. “They all had great insurance policies. At least their loved ones won’t be financially hurting—not that cash in any way makes up for a lifetime of lost love.”
He skimmed his hand over her cheek and up into her hair. “God, you’re gorgeous—not just physically, but you’ve got a great heart.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. What else did you want to do tomorrow?”
“Something normal. Maybe see a movie or go on a picnic.”
“Sounds good. Whatever you plan, I still think I should be with you—just in case.” He took the bottle for a few more swigs.
“I can live with that.” She took back the bottle, finishing it before reaching behind her to set it on the coffee table. “What I can’t live without is you.” She scooted backwards, allowing room to open his fly before dragging her father’s golf shirt over his head. “If I never see that shirt again, it’ll be too soon.”
“Agreed,” he said with a laugh before drawing her tighter against him for an open-mouthed kiss that left no doubt as to the level of his desire. “What’s happening? How can we have only known each other a couple days?”
“Maybe because we’ve shared so much in that time, it feels somehow accelerated—like those couples who met and married only a few days before soldiers shipped off for war.”
“It’s as good a theory as any.” He kissed her over and over again. “But what if I just really like you?”
“I wouldn’t complain,” she said with an adorable giggle.
Clutching her to him, both laughing when he tried rising from the sofa only to fall backwards, landing them right back where they’d started, he said, “That was an epic fail. Think you can get to the bed under your own steam?”
“I could probably manage.”
He eased her off his lap, standing before offering her his hand. When she took it he asked, “Sure you’re all right with this?”
She nodded.
Jackson’s pulse raced as if he’d just finished a morning run. What was this woman doing to him? She made him want things he’d never wanted before. To go to sleep beside her every night and wake up beside her every morning. It wasn’t normal. He didn’t commit. He protected. When needed, he fought. What happened if Mark truly was the arsonist and before Jackson learned Miranda’s favorite food, color or song it was time for him to move on to his next case?
The thought of leaving her proved more frightening than any mission…
MIRANDA TURNED ON the bedside lamp, then tossed the designer throw pillows to the comfy overstuffed armchair she used for reading on the rare evenings she had spare time. She pulled back the floral comforter, hoping Jackson wasn’t uncomfortable in her ultra-feminine room with its yellow and white-striped wallpaper and mix-and-match floral chintz.
The queen-sized bed with its antique, whitewashed wrought iron frame usually seemed plenty large, but a sideways glance at Jackson’s over six-foot frame had her wishing for a king.
“Having second thoughts?” he asked.
“Not at all.” She smiled. “I’m seeing my room through your eyes and hoping you don’t feel awkward.”
“Why would I feel awkward?”
“It’s awfully girly and my bed’s too small and you’re…” Cheeks flushed, appraising his bare chest in all his muscular glory, she flopped her hands at her sides. “Well, you’re you. Strong and handsome and smart and—”
“Hey…” Taking both of her hands in his, he said, “If I’d had my way, we would have done this thing back in that fleabag motel the night we first met. I’m not one for flowery words, but you make me feel something I can’t explain. Extra alive.” He bowed his head. “If that bomb had hurt you…” His breathing accelerated. “I’m not sure what I would have done.”
On her tiptoes, she kissed him. “Thank goodness for both of us you didn’t find out.”
Walking backwards, still holding his hands, she led him toward the bed.
From outside came the faint sound of splashing and laughter by the pool.
The fact that her guests were enjoying themselves made her happy, but not nearly as happy as when Jackson playfully tackled her, and they fell laughing onto the bed.
Lighthearted fun turned to kissing. Her mother had always said everything happens for a reason, and if finding Jackson was the reason behind the heartache she’d been through, she considered herself inordinately blessed.
He swept her T-shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor before removing the sports bra he’d put on what seemed like a lifetime ago. His gentle kindness when she’d been so afraid only made her appreciate him, want him, more.
When Jackson trailed open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down her throat and chest, Miranda stretched and groaned, feeling transformed. Cherished. Adored.
He turned his attention to her breasts, suckling and teasing her nipples until the draw formed an invisible link to the growing hum between her legs. Skimming his hands over her hips, he eased lower in the bed, brushing her abdomen with his lips until he was tugging at her waistband. Helping him, she raised her hips, wriggling free of her panties and yoga pants.
Lying naked before him, feeling like a feminine buffet before his hungry gaze, Miranda’s pulse pattered in the most chaotic, yet intoxicating way.
Moving his attentions lower, he urged her legs open, thrilling her with a trick of his tongue that made her gasp in dizzying pleasure.
Miranda eased her fingers into his short-cropped hair, moving her hips in time with his established rhythm until her spirit rose in an ever-spiraling path fueled by sheer intensity. She came hard and fast, crying out his name.
There was a brief pause while he left her to transfer his gun from his waistband to the bedside table. He removed his wallet, then rifled through it until he found a condom. He ditched his pants, then ripped open the packet, rolling on the last thing standing in the way between them knowing each other in the most primal way a man and woman could.
Her body ached for him and when he rejoined her, she grabbed for his shoulders, drawing him in for hungry kisses and desperate sweeps of their tongues. Parting her legs, she found her hands on his backside, guiding him home.
While his hips rose and fell, her heart opened and swelled until tears stung her eyes from deep dusky
pleasure. She clung to him, gripping his biceps, his back, wanting him everywhere all at once. She couldn’t remember life before him, couldn’t bear the thought of life without him. And then all thought gave way to the shimmering white light of pure joy.
She clung to him through his last few thrusts, shivering despite a fine coat of sweat.
“Damn…” he said.
“Yeah…”
He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips. “You are beyond beautiful.”
“You, too…” She flushed beneath his heated appraisal. No man had ever made her feel as wanted and adored.
She was on the verge of asking him for a second round when he froze. His gaze rose from her to the wall behind her bed. “What was that?”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“There was a scratching—like something’s back there.”
“It’s nothing. This place is old. Probably a mouse.” She skimmed her hands over his impressive biceps.
“Are you shitting me?”
“About the mouse? Sadly, no,” she said with a half-laugh. “I’ve got a live trap—”
“Cover yourself.” He bolted upright, leaving her and the bed to grab a serene oil painting of a wildflower-strewn meadow and jerk it so hard that the nail it hung from clattered onto the wood floor. “I saw you, you freaky little bastard!”
He pounded on the wall, and this time, she heard an odd rustle within the wall itself. Clutching the sheet and comforter to her chest, she watched in horror as Jackson reached for his gun, then tore out of the bedroom, chasing the sound.
Sitting up, she turned to see what had caught his attention, then cried out in horror, covering her mouth with her hands. Clearly visible on her cheery yellow and white wallpaper was a dime-sized peephole.
She inched from the bed, grasping her painting’s gold frame. In the grayish-blue of a majestic oak’s shadow was a second, corresponding hole. The reason she always felt as if she was being watched? Because she was!
A gunshot ripped through the quiet night, then another and another.
Where laughter had once drifted from the pool, now came screams.
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