The Watcher (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 4)

by Linsey Lanier

  She was lying about the phone. But why?

  He could only hope it had to do with some surprise for their upcoming anniversary. But he couldn’t press her about it now. At the moment he had more important things on his mind.

  “I just got a call from an old friend,” he told her. “She’s in trouble.”

  Miranda blinked at her husband in surprise. She? “Who is it?”

  “She was a friend of Sylvia’s. They studied at the university together.”

  Miranda put her hands in her pockets feeling a little awkward at the mention of Parker’s first wife. It had been four years now since he’d lost Sylvia to ovarian cancer. “What kind of trouble?”

  “She’s been receiving death threats.”

  The awkward feeling turned to outrage. “Death threats? That’s terrible.”

  “That’s why I promised we would come right away to see what we could do.” Actually, he had wanted to go alone.

  Though his professional respect for Miranda had grown with every case they’d taken for their new consulting adventure, he was tired of his wife putting herself at so much risk. Seeing her in a room with a madman with a gun on their last assignment had made up his mind to cut back on Parker and Steele Consulting.

  But he knew what this work meant to her. Telling her she would have to stay home for this case would only bring on a lengthy, heated argument. He couldn’t afford that right now.

  “Where’s the client? Local?” Miranda asked.

  Parker shook his head. “She’s in Brazil.”

  Her brows shot up. “Brazil, the country?”

  “The one in South America, yes.”

  She hadn’t expected another case outside of the US so soon, but she was up for it. “Well, I’ve had my shots and my passport’s in order. I’m good to go.”

  He gave her a short nod. “We’ll be leaving in three hours.”

  He’d already made arrangements? He must be worried about this woman. “Okay.”

  He reached for her arm. “Let’s get going.”

  “Sure. I’ll just get my stuff.”

  She picked up her shopping bag at the table, said a quick goodbye with an even quicker explanation to her friends, and headed for the car. But as Parker held the door and she slipped into the Lamborghini’s passenger seat, she wondered why he hadn’t reminded her it was his turn to be in charge.

  Chapter Three

  In the first class seat of the 747 Miranda opened her eyes and stretched.

  After rushing home, packing, rushing out again to fight the Atlanta afternoon traffic, then making it through the International section of Hartsfield and customs, she had been bushed. She’d fallen asleep almost as soon as they were in the air.

  Beside her Parker regarded her with a tender smile. “Good morning.”

  He looked bright and alert, not a wrinkle in his button down shirt or dress slacks—dressing down for Parker. But she could see the five o’clock shadow on his handsome chin.

  “What time is it?” she asked with another yawn.

  “A little after one thirty.”

  Scowling, she raked fingers through her tangled hair. “In the morning?”

  He nodded. “Brazil time. I’ll get us some coffee.”

  She wasn’t used to drinking coffee in the middle of the night, but she let Parker indulge her and listened while he filled her in on some of the details of their new case.

  The client was Portia Querubina Dominguez, daughter of a wealthy sugar cane plantation owner. Years ago she had been an exchange student when she and Parker’s first wife had been sophomores at Agnes Scott College in Atlanta. She had stayed with them in their home and Sylvia and Portia had become great friends.

  Miranda listened closely to his words. “You couldn’t have been married long at the time.”

  “Just two years.”

  The wistful way Parker spoke of his first wife shouldn’t have made her uncomfortable. Miranda had known about her from the beginning of their relationship. Still, she felt uneasy.

  “Tia was company for Sylvia while I was setting up the office and going to school at night.”

  And working risky cases Sylvia didn’t know about. “Tia?”

  “Her nickname. Brazilians use them liberally. They tend to be very laid back.”

  “I see.”

  “Tia and Sylvia studied together and shared each other’s culture. She taught us both a bit of Portuguese.”

  Nice. “So what happened after the exchange program?”

  “Sylvia and Tia kept in touch. Her senior year, Portia decided to marry a wealthy older man who wanted to court her.”

  “Court her?”

  “The Brazilian ways were a bit old fashioned back then.”

  “Okay.”

  “The man, Rico Dominguez, turned out to be among other things, the owner of a mountain resort in Campos de Flores. It’s where they live now.”

  Campos de Flores. Sounded exotic. “Have you been to this place?”

  Parker nodded as he sipped from his Styrofoam cup. “Sylvia and I visited several times when our children were little. She has two daughters. They must be grown now. We lost touch with Tia before Sylvia passed…” His gaze moved to the night sky out the window.

  Miranda ran a mouthful of coffee against her cheek before swallowing. Parker had a rough time after his first wife died. She hoped this case wasn’t going to mess with his mind. They needed to stay focused on business.

  “Do you have any idea who might be threatening her?”

  He finished his cup and came back to the present. “Tia didn’t give me a lot of details. She was afraid she might be overheard.”

  Miranda looked out the window to ponder that.

  The brightly lit buildings of a city blazed ahead of them and seemed to stretch on forever. The multitude of lights reminded her of a cluster of tiny diamonds. So many of them, if they had been real jewels they’d make their owner a billionaire.

  “That’s São Paulo,” Parker told her.

  “Big place.”

  “Indeed.”

  The captain made the standard announcement that they’d be landing in a few minutes. Well, she thought, fastening her seatbelt, guess they’d be starting from scratch on this one.

  ###

  The ten hour flight with an hour’s time difference had them landing at Guarulhos International Airport in São Paulo at two a.m.

  Parker checked them into a chic modern-style hotel room for a few more hours sleep and later in the morning, after a hearty US style breakfast, they headed north out of the city in the classy BMW M Series he had rented.

  Parker navigated through the heavy traffic that was about as treacherous as Atlanta’s. Slowly they moved past ancient churches and elegant old art houses ensconced among tall skyscrapers, modern art work, and rows of palm trees.

  There seemed to be acres and acres of skyscrapers. About ten times as many as back home. Maybe even more than in New York. Just as Miranda was starting to believe they’d never end, the buildings flattened, spread out and after another half hour, the rental was rolling down a long, boring country road.

  Miranda dozed again, more out of boredom than travel fatigue, and after a couple of hours she felt the car turn left. She kept her eyes close, falling in and out of a dull stupor, until the BMW swerved and her eyes popped open.

  Mountains.

  An endless bright blue sky littered with fluffy white clouds stretched over an endless expanse of cool, blue green mountains. Mountains covered with trees of all shapes and sizes. Green everywhere. A forest. Make that plural. Mountain forests.

  Miranda’s ears popped as the curve in the road turned and Parker swung the car the other way, making her feel like she was on the tilt-a-whirl in an amusement park. Her stomach lurched as she looked down.

  “Holy moly!” The drop went straight down into a misty haze. She hoped there was a valley down there somewhere. “How far up are we?”

  Making another turn, Parker chuckled. “Approxi
mately sixteen hundred meters.”

  She scowled. “Translation, please?”

  “About fifty-three hundred feet.”

  Now her stomach began to quiver with excitement. “You mean we’re over five thousand feet above sea level?”

  “Hence the peaks surrounding us.” He veered around another curve and yet another drop loomed below.

  “Smartie.” She’d teach him.

  She rolled down her window and stuck her head out. Cool mountain air blasted against her skin and her hair whipped around her face. Giggling, she pulled herself up until she was halfway out the window and spread her arms, scene-from-Titanic-like.

  “Cowabunga!” she cried, giggling hysterically.

  “Miranda!” She felt Parker’s hand grasp her shirt and he pulled her back into the car.

  “Chicken,” she teased, still laughing.

  His dark sexy brows drew together. But instead of giving her the lecture on taking unnecessary risks she was expecting, he reached for her hand and kissed her fingers. “My dear, adrenaline junkie wife,” he sighed.

  Drinking in the sensation of his lips shooting electricity up her arm, she gave him a smile. “You knew that when you married me.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  There was a slight stiffness in his tone, as if there were something more behind that statement. Probably his usual paranoia about her. Okay they had a profession that could be dangerous at times. But they shared it together. They looked out for each other.

  Besides, this was her destiny. What she was meant to do. Sometimes personal cost didn’t matter.

  They fell silent as Parker maneuvered them through a set of treacherous hairpin turns. Around another curve they began to see civilization. They passed a covey of tiny local shops, a road sign warning of cows up ahead, an old man on a bicycle, and several potholes Parker had to maneuver around.

  Finally, beyond a row of skinny trees that looked like green Q-Tips the scenery opened up. In the valley below Miranda spotted what looked like a picture from a fairy tale. Clusters of friendly looking red and yellow and cream colored buildings were nested together as if posing for a postcard. Their gabled roofs and decorative beams seemed as warm and welcoming as an Alpine village.

  Wait a minute. Alpine?

  “Did we take a wrong turn somewhere?” Miranda peered down at the picturesque town. “Are we in Brazil or Switzerland?”

  Parker’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Sylvia and I thought the same thing when we first came here. There are a good number of German folk in Brazil, but I believe the design of this area is mostly to attract tourists. They call it the Switzerland of Brazil.”

  “Yodel-ay-eee-ooo.”

  He made another turn and they began to descend, heading for a lavish structure set off from the rest of the town along a low peak.

  Miranda still couldn’t figure out why the place wanted to be Switzerland when Brazil itself was plenty exotic, but who was she to question the locals?

  Besides, they were here.

  Parker brought the car to a halt in front of a majestic ivory structure with several stories of balconies trimmed in a delicate white pattern. A pretty blue sign with fancy lettering stood before them.

  Parker read it aloud. “Esquecer. It means escape,” he explained.

  It sounded like he’d said, “East kiss her.” But the resort looked like just the place for a getaway.

  Miranda got out of the car and, ears popping again, headed for the main building.

  It was cool up here and she was glad for the long-sleeved charcoal blazer Parker suggested she wear. The air was the freshest she’d ever breathed, with the faint hint of the blue and yellow flowers she saw dotting the intense greenery.

  It was hard to imagine anyone sending death threats in a place so serene. But she knew there were a lot of sick puppies in this world, even in vacation resorts.

  At a sign marked “Office” in several languages, Parker held the door for her.

  “Time to go to work,” she told him and stepped inside.

  Chapter Four

  Front office, huh? It was more like a cathedral. A cathedral with an Alpine lodge twist.

  High ceiling with a stained glass dome overhead where sunlight streamed through. Walls of smooth glossy wood with light tones and clean lines. Elegant Old World style sitting areas near huge windows showing off the spectacular mountain range surrounding them.

  Miranda’s steps were the only sound as she strolled across the floor, also of polished wood, to the front desk, past whitewashed antique furniture with busy designs. Ornate chandelier scones on the walls made the mahogany gleam but there was no one behind the desk to greet them.

  An old-fashioned brass bell sat on the counter. She gave it a ding. The sound echoed against the walls and disappeared somewhere up in the ceiling.

  She turned to Parker, who wore a concerned frown. “Where is everybody?”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s just past noon. Perhaps they’re shorthanded due to some luncheon event.”

  Miranda tapped her fingers on the counter.

  Parker studied the room for a moment then headed for a hallway in the back.

  She followed him, a funny sensation burrowing in her stomach. As soon as they were around the corner, she spotted a closed door with a sign that said Diretor.

  “I thought I remembered the main office was back here.” He knocked gently.

  There was no answer.

  Miranda raised her palms. “What do we do now?”

  Instead of replying, Parker opened the door.

  Good thing he did. The first thing Miranda saw in the fancy office done in deep greens and golds was a dark haired woman slumped in the chair behind the desk.

  They were too late.

  “Tia?” Parker’s dark voice rang with alarm.

  They raced to her side. Miranda got there first and laid two fingers alongside her neck to check her pulse.

  As soon as she touched the woman she jerked back and opened her eyes. “Meu Deus!” She put a hand to her breast and a paper fell to the floor.

  Miranda let out a gasp of relief as she studied the woman to see if anything was wrong with her. Thank God they didn’t have a corpse on their hands.

  She was a stunning figure with sort of an Ava Gardner look. In a sapphire blue, formfitting sheath with a thick band of ornate silver around her neck, she exuded power. Add to that thick expressive brows, perfect olive skin and shiny straight ebony hair pulled back in a knot, and she came off as the type who could be downright intimidating. But at the moment, her rich exotic eyes were full of anxiety and underlined with dark circles, probably from lack of sleep.

  She looked scared out of her wits.

  “Sorry,” Miranda said. “I thought you might be...”

  The woman’s gaze drifted past her to Parker and she broke into a troubled smile. “Wade. You are here.”

  “Yes, we’re here, Tia,” he corrected as he stepped around the desk.

  Tia took both his hands in hers and pulled him down for a kiss on the cheek.

  Miranda flinched. Sure was a friendly sort.

  The woman turned to her. “And this must be your new wife.”

  “Yes. This is Miranda. Miranda, this is Portia Dominguez.”

  “You are so formal, Wade. Please call me Tia.” Her voice was low and warm and thick with her exotic accent. She reached for Miranda’s hand and squeezed it like she was a long lost friend. “Welcome to Campos do Flores, Miranda. And belated congratulations on your wedding.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I am so glad you are both here. I am so relieved.” Her gaze drifted to the floor. “It seems you came just in time.”

  Miranda bent down and picked up the piece of paper that had fallen from Tia’s lap. It was a letter created with words cut out of a newspaper. Had to be in Portuguese. She couldn’t make heads or tails out of them.

  Parker took the paper from her and read it. His eyes went dark. “You will die soon,” he t
ranslated.

  A chill ran down Miranda’s spine at the words.

  Tia ran a hand over her face. “Ana, one of my clerks brought it in with this morning’s mail. I must have passed out when I read it.”

  Miranda didn’t blame her. It was downright creepy. She picked up the envelope on the desk. “It came in this?”

  Tia nodded. “Yes.”

  No postmark. No return address or identification of any sort. Parker narrowed his eyes as he studied it and she knew he was thinking the same thing. Somebody local sent it.

  Tia picked up a small key from her desk, rose gracefully and swept across the room to a cabinet. She unlocked a drawer and took out more papers.

  “The letter I received today is the third one. Here are the other two.” She handed them to Parker.

  His expression grew even darker as he read them. “If you go through with it, I will kill you.” He handed the first paper to Miranda. “I know what you are…”

  “Planning,” Tia helped translate. “I know what you are planning and if you go through with it you will be dead soon. Do not go to the police.”

  “And have you?”

  “Contacted the police?” The woman shook her head, worry lines growing deeper on her forehead. “No. I do not dare.”

  “Do you have any idea who may have sent you this, Tia?” Parker asked.

  “I know exactly who sent it, Wade. Rico.”

  “Your husband?”

  Tia closed her eyes as if in pain. “He is my husband only in name now. We are separated.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. How long has it been?”

  “Three years now. Rico opened a modeling agency in Rio de Janeiro. The top modeling agencies are in São Paulo but Rico opened his in Rio, thinking he could beat his competition. I suppose it worked for him. He spends his time there now.”

  Miranda gave Parker a wary look. “How could he send this letter if he’s in Rio? There’s no postmark.”

  Looking bewildered and tired, Tia shook her head. “I do not know. But Rico comes back occasionally to check out the resort and see the girls.”

  The two daughters. “When was the last time he was here?”