“Did you think I was joking when I gave you the stipulations for taking this case?”
Miranda grunted out loud. Parker and his stipulations. “I thought you were being overprotective.”
“It’s my prerogative as your employer to protect my investment in you.” Spitting out the words, he took a step toward the table.
“Hah,” she snapped. “You weren’t protecting me as an employer. It was personal.”
His eyes narrowed. “It was professional.”
“Bullshit.”
He shot a hand out, dismissing her comment. “That hardly excuses last night.”
She closed her eyes, fighting the mounting frustration. “I said I was sorry.”
He gave his head an exasperated shake. “This isn’t about a phone call. Do you expect me to be pleased that you went street racing in the middle of the night with a notorious gang leader?”
So that was it. She flicked a nail against her cup.
“Did you have any idea what kind of ruthless killer you were dealing with?”
She met his piercing gaze. “Yeah. I had an idea. Wilhelmina Todd told me about him.”
“Wilhelmina?” Now it was his turn to stare.
Hell, it wasn’t like she had chased Santiago down. She spread her hands. “I wasn’t looking for the guy. He happened along. It was an opportunity. What was I supposed to do? Walk away?”
His jaw tightened. “That’s exactly what you should have done.”
He couldn’t be serious. “Oh yeah? Is that what you would have done?”
He ignored her question. “Carlos Santiago? A notorious drug lord who tortures and kills anyone who opposes him? Who’d just as soon rape a woman as look at her? Are you out of your mind?”
“Okay, it was a little dicey.”
“A little dicey?”
“Isn’t investigative work dangerous at times? Doesn’t a good investigator take a calculated risk once in a while?”
“Calculated, not reckless.”
“It wasn’t reckless. I wasn’t jeopardizing the investigation, Parker. I was only putting myself at risk.” And there was the rub.
His lips became a hard line. “You’re intractable, Miranda.”
“What?”
“Difficult to control. Impossible to manage.”
She laughed. “Me? Intractable?” Well, if that wasn’t the sauté pan calling the deep fryer black.
His eyes blazed. “For God’s sake, Miranda, you’re an IIT. A trainee.”
She clenched her hands, forcing back a wave of anger. “You forgot to say ‘mere’ trainee,” she sneered and got to her feet. “But you know what? It was in your classes I learned that a good PI takes calculated risks. It’s Judd who always says a good PI uses her instincts. Last night, my instincts said ‘go for it.’”
His entire body igniting with rage, Parker turned away from her. He leaned against the railing, glared at the rose beds lining the yard. What if those instincts had been wrong? What if he’d gotten a call telling him she was dead?
Slowly, he willed control back into his voice. “The fact remains that you broke the rules.”
Miranda’s eyes stung with disbelief. How could he be so blindly stubborn? “Is that how you got to be such a hot shot PI? By following rules? By playing it safe and never taking risks?”
His grip on the rail tightened.
She put a hand on her hip, took at step toward him. “Isn’t that why you quit police work? Because you were frustrated with the red tape and having to follow the rules while the guilty got away?”
He turned to glare at her, opened his mouth, then shut it.
Got him.
She folded her arms around herself tightly, struggling not to shake with the anger peppering her nerves. “You should be proud of what I did last night. I got a real lead. Carlos Santiago told me he sold Usher the PCP that killed Desirée Langford. He might have put a hit on Usher.”
Parker grunted, raising his hands in the air. “My point exactly.”
Her lip curled. “Do you think I can’t take care of myself? Hey, I was tussling with men bigger than me long before I met you, bud.”
He glared at her. “But did you take on a bloodthirsty drug lord?”
She blinked, unable to respond. One for one.
“Do you expect me to be happy that you flirted with a man like that? That you talked an officer into letting you share his jail cell?”
He just didn’t get it, did he? “Yes, I do. I got a lead. You ought to be happy.” Tears stung her eyes. She’d risked her ass. How could he demean it? She glared at him. “Am I a real detective, Parker? Or am I just someone you’re playing detective with?”
He took a step toward her, his face blazing “I don’t play games when it comes to my profession.”
“Like hell, you don’t.”
He closed his eyes, drew in a tight breath as he turned to stare out at the garden again. Several silent moments went by. “You’re wrong, Miranda,” he said softly. “I’m not playing. Insubordination is insubordination.” His tone was intensely quiet. The eye of a hurricane. It took her breath.
“What are you saying?”
Parker ran a hand through his hair, regretting this moment with all his being. He despised having to clip her wings, but she gave him no choice. He’d thought she would flourish under his careful watch. Grow to maturity. But she was too headstrong. Too uncontrollable. He’d lost two women he’d loved to death. He wasn’t about to lose another.
He turned to her, calmer. She was safe now, after all. He’d do all he could to make sure she stayed that way. “I’m taking you off the case.”
His words were like a punch in the chest. “What?”
“You’ll finish your training with the rest of the IITs. No more special assignments.”
Make that a one-two punch. “No more working with you, you mean.”
“Correct. When training is complete, you’ll have a choice of doing background checks or working with the clerical staff.”
Her throat went dry. Was this the same man she’d been making love to all these weeks? The same man who’d heaped praise on her? “You expect me to be a secretary?”
“Not a secretary. You would transcribe testimony, examine collected evidence, review field notes for worker’s comp and insurance fraud claims.”
“Paperwork. Yippee.” Her knees suddenly felt like jelly. She wanted to throw up.
“No outside cases,” he continued. “No field work.”
“No murder investigations, you mean.”
He took on a lofty, authoritative air. “Perhaps, after a number of years. After you’ve developed some discipline.”
“Years?”
The pained look on her face tore at his heart, almost making him change his mind. But the decision was made. It was for her own good. If he didn’t stop her, she would get herself killed.
“Years?” she repeated.
“That’s what I said.”
She pulled herself up. “And what if I refuse?”
The gray coldness was back in his eyes. “There’s always the option of resigning.”
She dug her fingers into her hair, reeling from the shock of his words. How could he take this case away from her? She thought he loved her. She thought he understood her. She thought she’d found the impossible—a man who respected her. What had all those compliments been for? Had it just been a sham to get her into his bed? Had he been stroking his own ego because he’d trained her? Or was he just as big a control freak as—
She stepped to the table and picked up her plate. She put it back down. Let the servant get it. Or Parker. She turned to him again. “You know what? I’m sick of this bullshit.”
“I assure you, Miranda, this is no bullshit.”
“Yes, hell it is. All of it. We’ve both been playing games, haven’t we? Pretending we’re really working together. Pretending I’m a real investigator. I guess we’ve been pretending we have a relationship, too.” She turned and headed fo
r the kitchen.
He rushed to her, caught her by the arm. His sudden grasp almost hurt. “What do we have, Miranda? I’ve waited for an answer from you and you’ve given me nothing.”
She glared into his face. How dare he bring that up? All she felt was rage and insult. She wanted to hurt him back—just like she knew she would. “That’s because we have nothing,” she spat. “We never did.”
He let her go, stepped away from her.
“You know, I think I’ll take that last option you mentioned. Consider this my resignation from the Parker Agency.” She reached for the door handle, then stopped. “And you know what else? I’m moving out. This house belongs to you. It always has. I sure as hell don’t want it. I’ll call your father and cancel my lease.”
“Miranda,” he said sharply.
She spun around. “What?”
She’d never seen such a dark look on his face. “If you walk out again, this time I won’t take you back.”
Anger hammered in her chest. She could hardly breathe. Take her back? Don’t worry, buddy. I won’t be back. She narrowed her eyes at him, wishing her gaze could bore holes through his stubborn heart. “Go to hell, Parker.”
* * *
Fighting back tears of frenzied rage, Miranda charged up the steps of the carved mahogany staircase as fast as she could go.
When she reached the master bedroom, she stomped to the closet, pulled out the boxes she’d stored there.
Her heart felt like it had been pummeled with a meat pounder. Heaving with pain, she stopped and looked around. It was too much. She wasn’t going to make twenty trips down to her car while Parker watched.
She grabbed a duffle bag and threw as much underwear, clothes and toiletries she could stuff into it. Then she reached for the laptop she hadn’t used since she’d moved in.
She’d come back for the rest of her stuff later. When Parker wasn’t home.
Tossing the bag over her shoulder, she scrambled down the stairs and out the front door, slamming it as hard as she could.
She sprinted to the driveway, threw her things into the passenger side of her old blue Lumina. She knew there was a good reason she’d never parked her car in the garage.
It made her final exit easier.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Bewildered, she drove around aimlessly for over an hour. Her head throbbing, her heart in agony, she alternated between stinging pain and dead-cold numbness.
How could Parker do this to her? Okay, she got that he had been worried. And furious at her. She could accept that. But how could he suddenly be so aloof and indifferent? How could he take her off the Desirée Langford case? She’d been making progress. She’d wheedled important information out of Santiago. But Parker hadn’t even asked for an explanation about last night. He’d just dismissed it as if it meant nothing.
And he wanted her to wait years before he’d let her on another murder case? Years? How could he be so cruel?
She glanced at the bright red flowers filling the median, blinked at the steel-and-glass high-rises lining either side of the street. She was on Peachtree again, headed south. She’d been driving in circles. Impulsively, she took a side lane and found herself on a road alongside a city park.
She pulled over to the curb, turned off the ignition. She sat there awhile, feeling dizzy with shock, sick with the sense of loss. Finally, she put her head down on the steering wheel, and let herself cry. More than cry. She bawled.
Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed like a baby. It wasn’t just this case. It wasn’t just her future at the Agency.
It was Parker. She realized that now.
She’d been sucked in by his charm. Drawn in by that suave allure. Mesmerized by his magnetism. Duped. Bamboozled. She’d let herself care about Parker. She’d let herself fall in love with him. Hard. That had been her first mistake.
She didn’t even know who he was any more.
She’d always told herself being with Parker was too good to be true. That it would all come crashing down on her head. And now it had. She just didn’t think it would be so soon. Well, better sooner than later.
Raising her head, she wiped the tears from her cheeks with both hands. A jogger passed her car on the path beside the road, plodding away. Fountains blithely spouted water into the air. The jogger turned at a strange-looking statue. Circular and rust-colored, it reminded her of a sculpture she’d seen at the Brentwood Gallery.
Anger roused in her gut. Ferraro Usher was dead. They ought to be figuring out who killed him. Instead, Parker takes her off the case. She couldn’t believe her work meant so little to him. That hurt as much as losing him.
She put a hand to her aching head. She’d gotten spoiled by his compliments. Used to the thrill when he said she had promise. Addicted to the glow when he told her she was becoming an “excellent investigator.”
Had he meant any of it?
Once more she saw Desirée Langford’s battered face in her mind. The woman had been murdered, and nobody cared enough to find out who did it. Except her.
Two months ago, she wouldn’t have given a rip. Oh, she’d have been sympathetic, but she wouldn’t have felt this driving need to solve the case. Why did she care so much now? She couldn’t answer that. She only knew she did. That she wanted to solve this case with all her being.
And now she never would.
Parker once said she was born for this work. Whether he’d meant it or not, it was true. She knew that now. Knew it in her bones. The need to set things right, to discover the truth no matter the cost, was in her blood. She was born for this work.
She sat up, blinked, stunned by the revelation. And her mind began to clear.
She could solve this case. She had all the data. All she had to do was put the pieces together. She didn’t need Wade Parker. She could do it herself. She could be an investigator, and a darn good one, without him. She didn’t need anyone’s permission or approval. Hadn’t she already solved the Taggart case?
There was the little matter of a license. She hadn’t needed one while employed by the Agency. But technically, she still worked for them until they processed her exit papers. That would take a few days, at least. Maybe more, if Parker stalled, waiting for her to change her mind about his offer.
Hah. She’d solve Desirée Langford’s murder before they finished.
And after that? She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. In Georgia, it was the Agency itself that was licensed. To open her own office, she’d need to pass tests, wait for results.
Hell, she didn’t need to stay in Georgia. She’d go to some state where they didn’t require PIs to be licensed. Wyoming, maybe. Then she could take her own cases and handle them exactly as she saw fit. No more therapists. No more rules about not working on her own. No more “stipulations.”
No more Parker. Her throat constricted as the urge to cry again came over her. She shook it off.
Leon always told her she was nothing. Her mother thought she was stupid. No wonder it took her so long to see her life’s calling. But here it was, right in front of her. And she didn’t need Wade Parker to see it.
He may have started her on this path, but she didn’t need him to continue it. It was her own identity, not his. It felt right. It felt good.
She reached in her bag for a tissue and blew her nose.
Right now, she needed a place to stay. And to work. She could go back to her old apartment, but her landlord would insist on a six-month lease.
She still had the lease agreement with Mr. P. She could go back to the mansion and kick Parker out. She smiled at the thought, but only for a moment. She couldn’t face him again. And with his arrogance, Parker would assume she was crawling back to him. Or that she couldn’t live anywhere but a mansion now, like the kind of women he was used to. He’d never get that satisfaction.
Maybe she’d look for a fleabag hotel, though she ought to save her money if she was going to open her own business.
She turned the ignition and start
ed out of the parking spot. Hell, she’d lived in her car before and she’d do it again if she had to. She’d just need a spot near a wi-fi. She didn’t need luxury. She didn’t need Parker. She didn’t need anybody.
Men. What good were they? Just like Fanuzzi said last night.
She turned onto Peachtree and grinned. That’s where she could go.
* * *
When she pulled up to the single-story bungalow in Avondale Estates and saw Fanuzzi’s station wagon filled with toys, she felt a tad guilty. The single mother had enough on her hands.
But it wasn’t just a place to stay she needed. She wanted someone to talk to. And a place to work. Just until she solved the case.
Then she’d be off.
She grabbed her laptop and duffle bag and trekked up the walk to the front door. She rang the bell.
No answer. Then she heard footsteps inside.
Gosh, Fanuzzi worked second shift. She’d probably been asleep. Miranda was about to turn away when the door opened and Fanuzzi appeared in a bathrobe.
“Murray.” She sounded shocked.
“Sorry to bother you. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“You didn’t.”
Miranda eyed the bathrobe. “Are you sick?”
Fanuzzi ran a hand through her disheveled hair. “No, I’m not sick. I’m glad to see you’re okay. I called Parker last night.”
“I know. He told me. In fact, we had a big fight.”
“A fight? God, Murray.”
“I, uh, kind of need a place to stay.”
“That bad of a fight?”
“Yeah. Can I come in?”
She glanced inside the house, nervously. “Uh, sure.” She opened the door.
Miranda stepped into the small kitchen and set down her duffle bag. There were breakfast dishes in the sink and two coffee cups on the dinette table. Did Fanuzzi have “company”?
“If I’m an imposition, I can go somewhere else.”
Fanuzzi picked up the cups and took them to the sink. “It’s okay, Murray.”
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