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

by Shirlee McCoy

  But somehow, as he pushed through thick foliage, Miranda panting along beside him, he had the strange sense that his prayer was being heard, that what he’d never quite been willing to accept had accepted him long ago. That all he had to do was reach out and grasp what was being offered. And more than anything, that’s exactly what he wanted to do.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Miranda couldn’t decide which terrified her more—running blind through wet trees and knee-high grass or hearing the oncoming vehicle’s engine growing louder with every step. Miranda didn’t just want to run from it, she wanted to fly—spread invisible wings and soar above the danger like she had in a million nightmares. But this wasn’t a nightmare, it was reality. And as much as she wanted to fly, all she could do was command her feet to move faster. Faster, though, seemed an impossibility. Her legs churned in slow motion, only Hawke’s firm hold on her hand keeping her moving forward.

  Blackness pressed in around her, stealing her breath, the sting of branches as they hit her face and the clawing tangle of vines and thorns her only clue as to the kind of landscape they were running through. She didn’t need to see to imagine what might lurk in the depths of the foliage. Snakes. Spiders. Rats. Tigers.

  Men with guns, ready to kill.

  How far was Hawke’s house? Miranda could no longer see the tiny light he had pointed out earlier and she wondered how he could possibly know they were running toward it. She wanted to ask, but knew he’d been right when he told her to save her breath. Her lungs were already on fire, her legs burning with the effort to keep pace with Hawke. Speaking would only use precious energy.

  The engine cut off, the sudden silence so complete, Miranda stumbled.

  “They know we’re on foot.” She gasped the words, terror pouring through her in futile waves of adrenaline. Her body was too tired to respond, her resources dried out and used up long ago.

  “They passed the place we left the motorcycle before they stopped. They’re going to have to backtrack to find it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Does it matter? We’ve got to run either way.” His hand tightened around hers, his grip almost painful.

  “It matters to me. The more time we have before they start after us, the better I’ll feel.”

  “Then I’m sure. Now, stop talking. Sound carries a long way here.”

  As if in response to his words, the sound of an engine broke the stillness again, the slow, throbbing chug of it telling of a vehicle moving with care rather than speed. Hawke’s pace quickened to a sprint, his hand jerking Miranda forward, her feet slipping in moist soil as she tried to keep up. He jerked her arm, keeping her from going down on her knees, but not slowing the pace.

  Miranda’s heart galloped, every breath seeming shallow and useless, every step a trembling torture. Just a few more minutes, just another mile and they’d be safe. She silently chanted the words to the beat of her pounding feet, but didn’t believe them. She’d seen how far away Hawke’s home was. Getting there would take more than a few steps and a few miles.

  Sweat trickled down her forehead and into her eyes, mixing with the tears that she hadn’t known were falling. Good out of bad. The Bible promised it. She believed it. But with Justin’s death things had gone horribly wrong and all she saw was more trouble, more tragedy following. Where was the good that she so desperately needed to believe in? If she and Hawke were caught, there was no doubt they’d be killed, their bodies left for the beetles and vultures to devour.

  Could there be any good in that?

  Miranda didn’t think so, but then, she couldn’t picture the full tapestry of her life as God did, couldn’t see the totality of His plan. If she could, maybe she’d understand all that had happened, all that was still happening, a little better.

  Please, Lord. Get us out of this. I know You can. I want to believe You will.

  She imagined the prayer drifting toward the sky, catching on the thick canopy of leaves above her and remaining there. But God wasn’t in the sky, the heavens, someplace far above where she and Hawke raced through the jungle. He was here. In her mind, her soul, her heart. And in the quieting of her panic, she felt His silent reassurance. Whatever happened, God was in control of it. She’d just have to trust that His plan didn’t include her body lying forgotten on the floor of the Mae Hong Son jungle.

  The engine sounds stopped again, the silence an ominous warning. Miranda didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare ask Hawke how much distance they’d put between themselves and their pursuers, afraid her words would carry back to the men who followed.

  Small drips of water landed on her shoulders and rolled down the neck of her borrowed T-shirt, each drop coming faster than the next. Rain. Despite the thick canopy of leaves, it poured down, making the ground even more slick than it had been.

  Hawke slowed to a jog, pulling Miranda close to his side, his breath whispering near her ear. “They’ve found the motorcycle. The rain will slow us down, but it will slow them down, too, and make it harder for them to follow our tracks. We’ll move slower, so we can keep as quiet as possible.”

  Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Miranda didn’t speak the thanks out loud. Nor did she respond to Hawke’s comment. The dark world was silent but for her harsh breathing and the roaring slash of rain falling through the trees. Whoever was coming after them was doing it silently, and Miranda willed her breathing to slow, her lungs to fill, afraid the gasping noise she made would draw their enemy toward them.

  It seemed a lifetime passed while the downpour continued, the trudging half jog Hawke led them in more painful with every moment. Miranda’s clothes were soaked, her hat catching on branches and trees. She wanted to tear it off and leave it lying in a soggy heap of straw and silk on the ground, but was afraid to leave behind evidence that she and Hawke had been there.

  “We’re close.” Hawke leaned in again, wrapping his arm around Miranda’s shoulders. “When we step out of the trees, we’ll be on top of a hill. We’ve got to make it to the bottom, then up another hill. All of it clear. There’s no cover. No place for us to hide.”

  “Let’s go.” Miranda started forward, afraid if she thought too much about what he’d said, she’d be frozen with terror and unable to do what had to be done.

  “Wait.” He pulled her back against his chest, then let out a low, haunting whistle that reminded Miranda of a mourning dove’s call.

  Seconds later, a higher-pitched whistle sounded above the pouring rain. Distant, but clear, it could only be a signal of some sort.

  “That’s it. Apirak knows we’re coming. Let’s go.” His arm dropped from her shoulder, his hand claimed hers and they were running again, racing through trees and out into an open field, rain still pouring, the sound of breaking branches and a muffled shout coming from somewhere behind them.

  “Faster!” Hawke’s shouted command spurred Miranda on, her feet slapping against waterlogged grass, a scream lodged in her throat. She wanted to let it loose, shout loud enough to wake whatever creatures had made beds for themselves in the thick grass and decaying leaves, but bit her lip to keep from doing what she knew she’d regret, the salty taste of her own blood a horrifying reminder of what would happen if Sharee’s men found them.

  The world tilted beneath her, the steep slope and slick ground forcing her to move faster than was safe. She tripped, her foot catching on something hard. Hawke’s grip tightened, but even he couldn’t stop her fall this time. She tumbled head over heels, the crash and crack of grass and branches a cacophony of noise that must have been audible for miles. Her body sliding in muck and puddles until she landed with a thud and splash in what felt like a small stream of rushing water.

  Stunned, she lay still, starring up at the night sky, the sound of distant shouts and crashing footfall barely registering.

  “Babe! You okay?” H
awke knelt beside her, black against the indigo sky.

  “Yeah. Fine.” But neither of them would be for long if she didn’t get up and get moving.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Does it really matter? I can hear Sharee’s men. They’re getting closer. Let’s get out of here.” She started to rise and Hawke grabbed her hand, tugging her upright and dragging her into a run.

  “See the blackness at the top of this rise? That’s the fence that surrounds my compound. There will be men at the top, watching our progress. Men out here, too, probably coming up behind Sharee’s men.” He was barely breathing hard, and Miranda couldn’t even force one word past her straining lungs.

  She glanced up, nearly groaning when she saw the steep slope in front of them, her legs churning, her feet moving, but her body protesting every movement. “I don’t see any lights.”

  “They’ve been turned out to keep us from being backlit while we’re coming up the rise. We’re already moving targets. We don’t want to be well-lit moving targets. Come on, you’ve got more speed in you.” He raced on and she had no choice but to join his frantic run up the steep hill, her legs burning, her lungs straining, stars dancing in front of her eyes.

  Someone shouted, the Thai words unintelligible to Miranda, but Hawke must have understood. He pushed her down to the ground, throwing his body over hers as a barrage of bullets slammed into the earth a few feet away.

  More gunfire followed, this time coming from somewhere in front of Miranda and Hawke’s position. “My men are covering us. Let’s move.”

  Hawke stood in a smooth movement, bringing Miranda with him as bullets continued to fly, the sound deafening. There was no time to discuss a plan, no time to think things through, just a swerving chaotic run upward toward darkness and a house Hawke insisted was there.

  Then, as quickly as it had begun, the gunfire ended, the silence ringing in Miranda’s ears. Dark shadows swarmed toward her from all sides, tall and deeper black against the night. At first Miranda thought they were a figment of her imagination brought on by her oxygen-starved brain. Then the shadows took on more solid form, men carrying guns, their faces shrouded by the night, and Miranda realized how real they were.

  “Hawke…” His name came out a high-pitched squeak carried on her panting breath.

  “Don’t worry. They’re my people.” He didn’t stop running, though Miranda sensed a change in him, his tight grip on her hand easing a little. Together, they crested the rise of the hill and Miranda blinked. A clear expanse of grass stretched toward a tall fence. Beyond that, a house soared up toward the sky, its steep roof and rounded turrets reminding her of the Gothic mansions she’d seen on the covers of her mother’s old romance novels.

  “This way.” Hawke urged her along the line of the fence then around a corner. A large gate slid open as they approached and Hawke hurried Miranda into the compound, the shadowy figures who’d surrounded them following along. A soft slide of sound and a clang of metal announced that the gate had closed, but Hawke didn’t pause in his run, just continued up a long drive and onto a wide porch. There was still no light, but the front door of the house swung open before they reached it.

  Hawke pushed Miranda in through the doorway, his gentle shove nearly toppling her. He moved in behind her, the quiet thud of the closing door followed quickly by blinding light.

  As Miranda’s eyes adjusted, she realized the hallway she stood in was filled with people. Six or seven men and women dressed in black and carrying the kind of weapons Miranda had only ever seen in movies, stared at her through dark almond eyes.

  She tried to smile, but she was shaking too hard, her overworked muscles threatening to give out. Hawke said something in Thai and the men and women dispersed, some of them leaving the house, a few walking up stairs that led to the second floor. Finally, only one man was left, a small-built Thai man with a well-worn face and a short, compact body.

  “Miranda, this is my business partner, Apirak. Apirak, Miranda Sheldon.” Hawke made the introductions, his stormy eyes scanning Miranda’s face, her soaked and mud-spattered clothes.

  “Nice to meet you.” Miranda held out her hand to Apirak and was surprised when he ignored the gesture and bowed instead.

  She followed his example, dropping her head, and bowing from the waist. It was a mistake. As she straightened, the world spun, twisting and turning around her in a sickening array of colors. She swayed, knocking into a picture on the wall.

  “Hey, careful there.” Hawke’s warm, callused palm gripped hers, his other hand resting on her shoulder and holding her steady.

  “Sorry.”

  “For what? You just ran ten miles. I’d say you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

  “You go sit down. I’ll bring some tea.” Apirak’s voice had a soothing melodic quality, his offer of tea making Miranda feel as if she’d stepped from a nightmare into normality.

  “Orange juice would be better, Apirak, and some crackers. Also, see if we can find some dry clothes Miranda can use.”

  “Will do. It’s good to have you back, Hawke.” The Thai man gave Hawke a quick salute and disappeared down the hall.

  “We’ll go in the living room and wait there.” Hawke started toward an open door, and Miranda tried to follow, but her legs refused to move.

  “That sounds great, but I don’t think I can move.” The words came out half laugh, half sob, all the terror and anxiety of the past few hours welling up and spilling out in barely contained hysteria.

  Hawke’s expression softened, his eyes going from icy silver to warm gray. “Then I guess it’s good you don’t have to.”

  Before Miranda realized what he was going to do, he scooped her into his arms and strode through the open doorway.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Put me down. You’ll break your back.” Miranda wiggled against his hold, but Hawke ignored her struggles. She’d been serious when she’d said she couldn’t move. He’d seen it in her eyes, could feel it now in her trembling muscles. They’d run close to ten miles at a breakneck speed. If she weren’t exhausted he’d be surprised.

  “You don’t weigh enough to strain my back, let alone break it.” He set her down on the sofa, water dripping from her hair and clothes onto the soft brown leather. “We need towels.”

  “Why? I’m kind of getting used to being soaking wet.” Her teeth were chattering, her skin was ashen, but she smiled, the curve of her lips tugging at Hawke’s heart in a way not much had in recent years.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not going to let you catch pneumonia on my watch. Stay here. I’ll grab some towels and be back in a minute.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Her eyes were dark with fatigue and worry as she started to rise.

  He pushed her back down onto the couch, feeling the narrow width of her shoulder, the spastic tremors of overworked muscles. “You’ll stay here and rest. Apirak is bringing juice. I want you to drink it all.”

  She blinked and Hawke was sure there were tears in her eyes. He wanted to sit beside her, throw an arm around her shoulder, let her know that they really were okay, but there were things that needed to be done. Sitting would accomplish none of them.

  He strode from the room, calling for his housekeeper and not at all surprised when Doom stepped from the office across the hall, her lined face filled with concern.

  “The farang is okay?” She spoke in Thai and Hawke responded in the same.

  “She needs a hot shower, something to eat and some sleep. Can you make up the room at the top of the stairs?”

  “I will. Have you heard anything of Simon?” The fear in her voice was obvious. Doom had been hired to help Hawke’s mother the year Simon was born. She’d been working for the Morrans ever since.

  “Sharee has him.”

  “No.” She
shook her head, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.

  Hawke took her hand. “Simon is tough. He’ll be fine until I get to him.”

  “Let us pray you are right.” She hurried up the stairs and Hawke followed, grabbing towels from the linen closet, then returning to the living room, a timer ticking in his head, counting down seconds and minutes. He had to get in touch with Sharee, arrange a meeting, get Simon back.

  Miranda was where he’d left her, shivering on the couch, a glass in her hand, juice sloshing over the edges. Apirak leaned against the wall, his dark eyes meeting Hawke’s.

  “A call just came in on the office line. When you get Ms. Sheldon settled, we need to talk.”

  Hawke nodded, took the glass from Miranda’s hand and placed it on the table before wrapping a towel around her shoulders. “My housekeeper will be down in a minute. She’ll show you to your room.”

  “Where will you be?” Her eyes were mossy green and deeply shadowed, her dirt-stained face surrounded by heavy strands of dark hair.

  “In my office. Apirak and I need to plan Simon’s rescue.”

  “Good. Let’s do it.” She stood, swayed, managed to stay upright.

  “Babe, you need to sleep.”

  “So do you.” Her chin jutted, her eyes flashed, the stubbornness that had brought her through the rain and jungle not diminished by exhaustion.

  “I will, but not yet.”

  “I don’t want to—”

  “You ready, miss? Your room is prepared and I have found some dry clothes you can change into.” Doom peered in the open doorway, her face still streaked with tears.

  Hawke knew there was no way Miranda would refuse her.

  He was right. She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. Thank you. You’re going to be here when I’m done, right?” The question was directed at Hawke. He nodded, ushering her to the door as he spoke.