Valley of Shadows and Stranger in the Shadows: Valley of ShadowsStranger in the Shadows

by Shirlee McCoy

  “There must be people in Thailand who can investigate.”

  “I also told you, I don’t trust anyone.”

  “You go, then. I’ll stay in Lakeview.”

  “And what? The police know who you are. They’ve already issued an APB. It’s only a matter of time before they find you.”

  “I thought…” She shook her head, knowing that she hadn’t thought. If she had, she would have known exactly what Hawke meant when he talked about leaving the country.

  “What did you think?” His words were quiet, his tone more kind than Miranda expected.

  “Nothing. I guess I just hoped this would all be over by tomorrow.”

  “There’s no way that’s going to happen, babe. We’ve got real trouble and real trouble takes time to resolve.” There was sympathy in his voice, the first he’d shown her, and Miranda’s throat tightened in response.

  She swallowed back tears and tried to keep her voice even. “My nephew’s funeral is tomorrow. I need to be there. My sister is counting on it.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Sorry you can’t be there for your sister.” He shifted beside her, his palm sliding against her cheek, capturing a tear she hadn’t known was falling. “But allowing yourself to get arrested will only cause your family more sorrow.”

  “I know.” She refused to let more tears fall, refused to allow herself to lean into Hawke’s touch. He was a stranger, after all. A stranger who had more hardness in him than sympathy.

  “Is your nephew the reason you were at the funeral home tonight?”

  “It seems silly now.” She stared out the windshield, the dark night and nearly empty road stretching out before her.

  “Why?”

  “It’s not like Justin needed me there. I just…didn’t want to let him go.”

  “You were close?”

  “I’ve raised him since he was two.” He’d been a son to her, though saying as much would have made her feel disloyal to her sister.

  “His parents are dead?”

  “No. I’m not sure who his father was. My sister is a model. She traveled too much to be his caregiver.”

  “Your sister is a model?” He tensed, and Miranda felt her own muscles tighten.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Someone the general public is familiar with?”

  “She’s not a supermodel, if that’s what you mean, but she’s been on her fair share of magazine covers. She also does runway modeling.”

  “So, not only do the police know who you are, but the world knows your sister. This isn’t good, babe.”

  “The world knows Lauren, but they don’t know I’m her sister.” Lauren had never allowed the press any information regarding her son. In that way at least, she’d done what was best for Justin.

  “It won’t take long for the press to find out. Once it does, your name and face will be plastered on every news station and newspaper in the country.”

  “Maybe the local news, but I doubt what’s happened will be of much interest anywhere else.” But even as she said it, Miranda had the sinking feeling Hawke was right, that the double tragedy of losing a son and then having a sister turn felon would be enough to make Lauren headline news.

  “I think you know you’re wrong.”

  Miranda nodded, wishing she could believe otherwise. “At least Lauren doesn’t have any recent pictures of me.”

  “Someone else will. The press always finds a way.”

  “They’ll be hard-pressed to find anything that doesn’t show me thirty pounds heavier and ten years younger.” In the years since she’d been caring for Justin, Miranda had had little time to spend in activities that might have involved picture taking. Except for the occasional bridal or baby shower, the past few years had been spent at her bakery, at home or at church.

  “Heavier. Younger. It won’t matter. Your face is one people will notice and remember.”

  “I’m not that memorable.”

  “No?”

  “No.” Miranda could feel Hawke’s gaze as she maneuvered the car around a slow-moving vehicle, and her cheeks heated.

  “Perhaps you just don’t know what people find memorable.”

  “And you do?”

  “I’ve made it my business to know people.” The words seemed almost a threat and Miranda wondered exactly how he used the knowledge he possessed.

  “That makes one of us anyway.”

  “You know enough about people to stick with me. That’s a start.”

  “I just hope I’m not making a mistake.” The words slipped out and Miranda regretted them immediately. Letting Hawke know how scared she really was, letting him see how unsure she felt, could only be a mistake. And she’d made enough of those for one night. “What I mean is—”

  “Exactly what you said. Don’t worry, sticking with me isn’t a mistake. Whether or not you’ll regret it, I can’t say.” He spoke quietly, all gruffness gone from his voice. In its smooth timbre Miranda heard echoes of exotic worlds, hard realities and a loneliness she understood all too well.

  “Hawke—” She wasn’t sure what she meant to say, how she planned to finish. Before she had a chance to figure it out, the high-pitched shriek of sirens rent the air.

  She jumped, her hands tightening on the steering wheel, her gaze flying to the rearview mirror. Lights flashed in the distance, brilliant against the darkness and coming fast.

  “The police. They’ve found us.” Her voice shook, her foot pressing on the gas pedal in a knee-jerk reaction that sent the car lunging forward.

  “Ease up, babe. Speeding will just call attention to us.” Hawke rested a hand on her shoulder, his palm warm through her T-shirt.

  “Call attention to us? They’re right on our tail.” And getting closer every minute.

  “No. They’re not. They’re on the way somewhere else. We just happen to be between them and where they’re heading.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “No, I can’t. But this car’s not registered in my name. There’s no way they can know I’m in it. All we have to do is slow down and pull out of their way.”

  “But—”

  “Babe, my neck is at stake here, too. Pull over and get out of the way before they start wondering why we’re speeding ahead of them.” His words were calm, but there was underlying tension to them. Not fear. Something else. Frustration. Worry. Anger.

  She nodded, easing her foot off the pedal, forcing herself to pull to the shoulder as the police cars sped toward them. The sirens crested to a screaming frenzy, lights flashing their dire warning. Every muscle in Miranda’s body tensed, her mind shouting that she should get out and run while she had the chance.

  If Hawke was wrong, if…

  In a wild, shrieking chorus, three police cruisers sped by, their lights illuminating the car, then leaving it in darkness once again. Silence settled over the night, the hushed chug of the engine a quiet backdrop to the racing beat of Miranda’s heart. She knew she should pull back onto the highway, get the car moving again, but she was shaking so hard she wasn’t sure she could manage it.

  “They’re gone now. You’re safe.” Hawke’s voice was a whispered breath against her ear, his fingers stroking down her arm and capturing her hand, his palm warm against her clammy skin. His touch much too comforting for her peace of mind. “Everything is all right.”

  “No, it isn’t.” She took a deep breath, tugged her hand from his and pressed down on the accelerator. “I’m with a man I don’t know, driving hundreds of miles from home so that I can catch a ride to a country halfway around the world. The police think I’m a murderer. Some drug dealer I’ve never had any contact with wants me dead. My nephew…” She shook her head, stopped herself before her sorrow could take wi
ng. “It’s not all right.”

  Hawke figured it would be better not to argue the point. Mostly because Miranda was right. While they might be all right for now, there was no telling how long that would last. “No, but we’re safe for the time being. That’s something to be thankful for.”

  She shrugged, taking one hand off the steering wheel and rubbing at the base of her neck, the bicep in her arm firm beneath pale, silky skin. Hawke resisted the urge to brush her hand away and feel the strong line of her neck under his palm, the softness of her hair against his knuckles. That would be a mistake. One he couldn’t afford to make.

  “Telling me we’re safe for the time being doesn’t make me feel safe at all.”

  “Then what will?”

  “Waking up to find this is all a nightmare.” Her voice shook, the hollows beneath her eyes darkly shadowed. For the second time that evening and probably only the second time in a decade, Hawke felt the hard edge of guilt nudging at him, telling him he’d gotten an innocent woman into the kind of danger she might not survive.

  “If I could make that happen for you, I would. But I can’t.”

  “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep driving and pray we both manage to make it through this alive.”

  “You may want to keep me off that request, babe. God might be more willing to answer.”

  She glanced in his direction, the curiosity in her eyes unmistakable, but she didn’t ask what he meant. Maybe she already knew. “God doesn’t play favorites. He’ll watch out for us equally.”

  “Maybe.” Hawke’s head was pounding too hard for him to engage in philosophical debate. Besides, while religion wasn’t his thing, he’d experienced enough of life to believe there was something more to it than what could be seen; that a power greater than his own will and strength existed. What he had yet to decide was whether or not that equated to a loving God who took a personal interest in His creations.

  “Sometimes I have a hard time understanding it all. How He works. Why He answers some prayers with a yes, others with a no, but I guess what it boils down to is faith. Just believing that no matter what happens, He’s there.” Miranda spoke so softly Hawke barely heard the quiet words that seemed more for herself than for him.

  This time he gave into temptation and slid his hand under the thick weight of her hair, his palm resting on the silky skin at the nape of her neck. “Someone like you never need worry that God won’t be there.”

  She glanced his way, her eyes shadowed. “Like I said, neither does someone like you.”

  She didn’t seem to expect a response and Hawke didn’t give one. Instead, he let the silence of the night and the darkness beyond the windows envelop them.

  Chapter Six

  Home. The word danced through Miranda’s mind as the first glimmer of dawn streaked the horizon. She’d wound her way through the Blue Ridge mountains, stopping only once to get gas with a credit card Hawke fished from his glove compartment. The name on it was unfamiliar and, according to Hawke, untraceable. Miranda supposed she should have found comfort in that, but the longer the night had stretched on, the more the idea of returning home appealed.

  Last night, she’d been desperate to escape the empty house and Lauren. Now, she’d give anything to step into the bright yellow kitchen, listen to her sister’s footsteps on the tile.

  And she could.

  Hawke’s eyes were closed, the gun peeking out from beneath the T-shirt he wore. All it would take was one quick yank and it would be in her hands. She could use Hawke’s cell phone to call the police. Then wait somewhere until they arrived. If she could have imagined a good outcome, she might have attempted it, but all she could picture was a cold jail cell and a quick brutal death.

  “What are you thinking?” Hawke broke into her thoughts and Miranda jerked, hoping guilt wasn’t written all over her face.

  “That I want to go home.”

  “To your sister and brother?”

  “They don’t live with me.”

  “Then what is home to you? A house? A community?”

  “Justin. But he’s no longer there, so I guess my job. My routine. My life the way it was before.”

  “Before last night?”

  “Before Justin died.”

  He nodded. “I think many people have times they’d like to go back to.”

  “Even you?”

  “Even me.” He didn’t seem inclined to elaborate and Miranda told herself she should let the subject drop. After all, this wasn’t a casual conversation between friends or an intimate discussion with a man she was dating. Hawke was a stranger, a man she didn’t know and wasn’t sure she trusted.

  She stole a quick glance at his profile—the hard line of his jaw, the scar that bisected his cheek—and couldn’t keep herself from asking the questions she knew she shouldn’t. “What times do you wish you could go back to?”

  His mouth curved in a half smile and he shrugged. “Right now, I’ll just settle for getting back to Thailand.”

  “Do you have family there?”

  “A brother. I haven’t seen him in almost a year.”

  “You must be happy that you’ll be seeing him soon, then.”

  “I won’t be happy until I know he’s safe.”

  “Do you think he’s not?”

  “He should be, but what should be isn’t always what is. The fact that you’re here with me is a perfect example of that. You should be home safe. Instead, you’re running for your life.” He paused, reached for the pack that sat in the backseat and rifled through it, pulling out a bottle of aspirin.

  “Still have a headache?”

  “If you can call a sledgehammer in your skull that, yeah.” He swallowed three pills dry and recapped the bottle. “But I’ll live. That’s our exit. We’re looking for a church outside of town.”

  The switch in topic was so sudden Miranda almost missed it and her turn. She swerved toward the exit just in time, taking the off-ramp too quickly. The car fishtailed, sliding toward the shoulder as Miranda gripped the steering wheel and tried to remember what she’d heard about reacting to a spin. Should she slam on the breaks? Jerk the steering wheel toward the spin? Away from it?

  Her sleep-deprived brain couldn’t hold on to a thought long enough to react and she was sure whatever she did would be wrong.

  Hawke’s shoulder pressed into hers, his hands clamping over Miranda’s, his stubble-covered jaw rubbing against hers. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

  The car straightened and Miranda let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her hands were slick on the wheel, her pulse pounding, her body shaking so hard she was sure Hawke could feel the vibration of her fear.

  “No, it’s not okay. I’m not okay.” She whispered the words, not meaning for Hawke to respond, but he did, his hand cupping her shoulder, his touch warm and more comforting than it should have been.

  “It will be okay and you will be, too. I promise.”

  “Promises are a dime a dozen.” She’d heard them all before—from her mother, her father, her sister. From every man she’d ever dated. And she’d believed them all until, one after another, they’d been broken.

  “Not mine. I never make a promise I don’t intend to keep.” The gruff assurance in his voice held a dark edge, but his hand remained gentle, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin near the neckline of Miranda’s shirt, their warmth easing her shivers of fear.

  For a moment, she allowed herself to believe his words, to accept his comforting touch. Only the knowledge that she’d done so before with people she’d known better and trusted more, kept her from leaning into his touch, accepting his assurance.

  “‘He means well’ is useless unless he does well.” She muttered the dark reminder, the words acid
on her tongue.

  “Plautus.”

  She glanced his way, surprised. “That’s right.”

  “Here is one for you, then—‘He who promises more than he is able to perform is false to himself; and he who does not perform what he has promised, is a traitor to his friend.’”

  “George Shelley. But we’re not friends.”

  “We will be. Besides, I am never false to myself. If I didn’t believe I could get you home safely, I would take a chance and leave you here with my friend and his family.”

  “You could leave me here anyway.”

  “It would be too dangerous. For you and for them. Noah’s wife is expecting a baby soon. His mind is on other things. Being distracted from a mission is the first step to death.”

  “Another quote?”

  “Yeah. From Hawke Morran’s guide to survival.”

  “You know a lot about survival?”

  “I know everything about survival. If I didn’t, I’d have been dead a hundred times over.” His hand slipped from her shoulder and Miranda shivered—whether from the cool air that slid across her skin or from his words, she didn’t know.

  “It sounds like you live a dangerous life.”

  “Did you think otherwise?” His tone was clipped and he leaned forward, staring out into the hazy morning light, his tension filling the car, seeping into Miranda’s already taut nerves.

  She clenched her jaw against the tremors that raced through her and tried to keep her voice calm. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s quiet.”

  “It’s six in the morning. It’s supposed to be quiet.”

  “Not like this. Something is off.”

  Miranda liked the sound of that about as much as she liked trusting a man she didn’t know. “What?”

  “Maybe a trap. Maybe just me being overcautious. Pull over.”

  “What? Where?” The road was narrow, too narrow to stop the car safely even if she pulled as far over as she could.

  “The cornfield. Drive into it and stop the car.”

  “But—”