All Eyes on Me (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 1)

by Linsey Lanier

  At the door, he gave O’Toole a fatherly pat on the arm. “I’m proud of you, Sid. You’ve come a long way.”

  The sergeant beamed. “Thanks for inspiring me. Especially you, Steele.”

  “No problem.”

  He gave her hand a hearty shake and she felt her heart warm. Maybe there was an upside to this case, after all.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Two hours later, Miranda sat in the window seat of the jet that would take them home, staring out at the tarmac.

  Was this really her destiny?

  This case had been so different from the others she’d worked. No sense of victory here. She didn’t feel like she’d won. There was a sense of accomplishment, sure. But it was bitter. Very bitter.

  Beside her Parker murmured softly in that low, tender voice. “You were right, Miranda.”

  She turned around to face him, surprised not that he had read her thoughts but at his words. “What did you just say?”

  “I said you were right. This case couldn’t go unresolved. It took your resilience to follow it through. You even inspired our reluctant sergeant.”

  She blinked at him, stunned. “When I snuck into Forest’s house, I thought about what you’d said. About risks and all. I knew you were right. I knew it was too risky. But I still had to do it.”

  “I know. It’s who you are.” As if to prove he meant it, he took her hand and pressed the palm to his lips in a kiss of intense sincerity. Then he looked at her with those wise gray eyes. “This is hard for me, Miranda.”

  Instead of bristling, he made her heart melt. She understood what he meant. What he’d been through. He’d lost a lover when he was eighteen. He’d lost a wife of twenty-two years. And less than a year ago, he’d almost lost her. She got that.

  “I know,” she whispered to him and reached up to touch his cheek. “But we have to work things out.”

  “Yes, we will. We’ll discuss it when we get home. When we’re rested.”

  And had some distance from this case. She opened her mouth to reply when her cell buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket and saw a message. As she read it, deciphering the acronyms and teen-speak, she let out a squeal. When she finished, her smile was so wide, she thought she might block the aisle with it.

  “What is it?” Parker asked.

  She bounced a little in her seat with excitement. “A text from Mackenzie. She says she’s sorry she hasn’t been in touch for so long. They lost track of the time. She’s been teaching Wendy to skate for competition. Wendy’s going to enter the Atlanta Open next month. They can’t wait ’til I get home so they can show me her moves.”

  Parker’s handsome face melted into a loving smile. “They’re still your children after all.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She couldn’t wait to see Wendy gliding over the ice as gracefully as Mackenzie used to. And that meant Mackenzie was really on the mend now.

  The captain came on the intercom and the stewards and stewardesses did their thing about masks and flotation devices and such. Miranda watched Parker lean back and close his eyes. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  Her phone buzzed again. Excited that it might be Wendy now, she scrolled to the text. Her smile faded and a bolt of fear shot through her as she read it.

  I know who you are.

  What the hell did that mean? she thought, her heart pounding. She read it again. A third time. Who would send her something like that? It was anonymous.

  Her mind raced. Her ex was gone. She hadn’t made any enemies on this case. Had she? Who was this?

  As she sat there staring at the screen, that resilience Parker had mentioned must have kicked in. She felt herself calm down. Her heart rate slowed. It was a prank. A mistake. Some kid playing a joke on a friend, who’d fat-fingered the number or something.

  She stole a glance over at Parker. His eyes were still closed, thank goodness. Holding the phone at her side, she slid her thumb over the screen and deleted the text. She put her cell back in her pocket and kept her gaze steady on the runway as they took off.

  They could discuss the future of the consulting business when they got home, all right. But they weren’t going to call it quits. She refused to let that happen.

  She’d handle Parker. She took his strong hand in hers, watched him smile with his eyes still closed. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as well.

  And as she snuggled into the headrest, with a flush of excitement she wondered what their next case would be.

  ###

  To continue Miranda and Parker’s story, click here.

  Heart Wounds, the second Miranda and Parker mystery, is available now.

  Thank you for reading All Eyes on Me, the first Miranda and Parker mystery.

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  You can contact me at linsey at linseylanier dot com.

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  I love my readers and am truly grateful for all your support!

  Excerpts

  I hope you’ve enjoyed the first book in the Miranda and Parker Mystery series. Below is an excerpt from Book 2, Heart Wounds.

  Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) #2—Excerpt

  The drive to London was uneventful and when the chauffeur dropped him off at the museum’s rear entrance and Sir Neville stepped out of the car, his heart swelled.

  He inhaled a deep breath of city air as he smiled up at the tall ionic columns, the Greek Revival gables and cornices, the expansive wings of the sprawling building. The London Museum of Antiquity. This place was much more of a home to him than Eaton House. That was Davinia’s domain.

  The museum was his. And today would be his greatest coup to date. The acquisition of a dagger worth millions of pounds, though its historical significance was much more important than money. The story of Antony and Cleopatra, the two star-crossed lovers, had been revived in the media and all the country was abuzz with anticipation.

  This was something he would be remembered for.

  His dreary home life forgotten for the moment, he hurried up the steps with a spring in his gait.

  Inside, the first person to greet him was his Chief Collections Manager, George Eames.

  “Sir, I’m so relieved you’re here.”

  The man was as much as a friend as a colleague, ever since their days at Cambridge together. He had a sturdy frame some people would call big-boned. Taller than Sir Neville with a heartwarming rounded belly stretching the waist of his worsted wool suit, he had the deep-set eyes and heavy jowls of an old English bulldog.

  His thinning brown hair was neatly combed, his brows trimmed, his suit pressed. But he looked tired. Well, he’d been working late here last night.

  Sir Neville wished he could have been with him. He should have been here last night. But Davinia had insisted on going to the philharmonic and as usual, he’d given in.

  “Everything in order, George?”

  “Yes, yes. Of course. The reporters are assembled in room seventeen, the designers, the security staff, everyone is there. We’ve just been waiting for you to check everything out before the presentation.”

  “Excellent.” He followed his man down the labyrinth of corridors, down two short flights of stairs, and into the holding area of the storeroom.

  There in the center of the large expanse, among other deliveries, stood a cart covered in black velvet. Perched atop it was a small crate.

  “Is that it?” Sir Neville whispered with reverence.

  Toby Waverly, a young intern with longish, curly red hair nodded with his broad, friendly smi
le. “It is indeed, sir.” He looked very smart this morning in his dark vest and crimson necktie.

  A woman in a severe, dark blue skirt suit consulted her clipboard. “The plan is to roll the crate out first, then you’ll be introduced, sir.” The pleasant hint of her Indian accent under the crisp British reassured Sir Neville of the efficiency he relied on.

  “Very good, Emily.” Sir Neville gave the nod and followed his staff through the large double doors and inside the lift. When it opened, two workers rolled the cart across the Great Hall and into Room Seventeen, the Special Exhibitions room.

  He waited at the door and peeked inside.

  There among the hieroglyphics, the ancient coins, the busts of assorted pharaohs, and the newly constructed replication of Cleopatra’s mausoleum, stood a crowd of people.

  Friends, patrons, and reporters. Everyone from the BBC to the London News.

  Excitement coursed through his veins as George made some introductory remarks that were far too flattering. Then George gestured to him and Sir Neville entered the room to loud applause.

  The press of the crowd combined with the smell of artifacts made him feel a bit dizzy. No, it was what that crate held that was doing that. The most important acquisition of his career. If only Davinia were here to share this feat.

  “Thank you,” he said smiling brightly. “On behalf of all of us on the museum staff, thank you all for coming today. As you know, it’s been over a year and a half since the artifact we’re receiving today was first discovered.”

  Briefly, he detailed the difficulties of the excavation, the tedious negotiations with the government, the rivals who demanded the piece be put up for auction. “But in the traditional British spirit, we have carried on and weathered those storms. Thus we stand here today about to put this historic find on display for all to see. And so, without further ado, I give you, Marc Antony’s dagger.”

  Emily handed him a hammer and he worked the claw against the metal braces, loosening them one at a time. One, two, three. His heart soared. He thought of the Roman legions, the ships of ancient Egypt. Antony and Cleopatra at the helm, then the lovers being driven into a tomb.

  He could feel antiquity at his fingertips as the last brace came loose. He handed the brace and the hammer to Emily, and lifted the wooden lid.

  The container was filled with Styrofoam peanuts as was usual. Emily showed him a plastic bag she was holding open. He nodded and began to scoop the peanuts into the bag. One handful. Two. Three. When he’d emptied half the crate, he stopped.

  The dagger should have been in the middle of the crate encased in bubble wrap for additional protection. He shot a frown of concern to George. His brow was always furrowed but just now, the creases were deeper.

  Perhaps the packers weren’t exact. The dagger must be somewhere. He scooped out more peanuts. More. More. He could see the bottom of the box. Surely he hadn’t missed it.

  Emily handed the peanut bag to Toby and began frantically searching her clipboard. “The bill of lading is right here,” she whispered, showing it to Sir Neville.

  He scanned it. Everything looked intact.

  And then his heart stopped as he realized what had happened. The troubled excavation, the rivals, the publicity. Spasms of confusion and panic and embarrassment reverberated up his legs, into his torso, through his chest.

  Merciful heavens, was he having a heart attack?

  The crowd began to murmur as he reached for the side of the box to steady himself. He gasped for air.

  George rushed to his side. “Sir, are you all right?”

  Sir Neville reached out for the man’s hand and whispered in his ear. “Call Scotland Yard. The dagger has been stolen.”

  George’s eyes went wide with shock, but he knew it was true. “Take care of the crowd,” he said to Emily and began to lead Sir Neville out of the room.

  She nodded and turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, it seems there’s been a slight mishap.”

  As Emily’s voice rang in Sir Neville’s ears and his head spun wildly with bewildered dismay, another thought stuck him.

  By the time they had crossed the Great Court he knew, in addition to the police, he had to make another call to an old friend. To his friend’s son, actually.

  Wade Parker.

  To continue Miranda and Parker’s story, click here.

  Heart Wounds, the second Miranda and Parker mystery, is available now.

  ###

  If you missed the Miranda’s Rights Mystery series, below is an excerpt from Book I, Someone Else’s Daughter where Miranda first goes to work for the Parker Agency—and gets into all sorts of trouble.

  Someone Else’s Daughter: Book I (A Miranda’s Rights Mystery) — Excerpt

  She could make it to the trees. She was too far away for him to catch up now. It started to rain. A soft rain. The kind, somebody had told her, that often came up in Georgia without warning. Beneath her, the ground sloped steeply as the grass grew wet. She slipped, tried to stifle a yelp, but it escaped her lips.

  The cop heard her. His light found her. “Stop,” he yelled.

  Man, she was having a bad night.

  But the rain slowed him down, too. She could hear him grunting and cussing behind her as he struggled down the slippery incline. She reached the bottom and the land became flat again. Almost there. She sprinted across a patch of grass to the first clump of trees. Hesitating, she stopped to catch her breath.

  The bright moon cast an eerie glow on the rocks and wild growth. She’d never liked wooded areas. She thought about murders in the forest preserves where she’d grown up. She thought of stories she’d heard about snakes in the Georgia woods. She glanced behind her.

  The cop’s light bobbed about halfway down the hill.

  No choice. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself and stepped into the tall grass. Her foot went down on a squishy surface of pine straw and matted grass, a twig snapped, but it held. She took another step, reached out and felt tree bark in front of her. She sidestepped and moved around it. The ground was uneven and muddy. The drizzling rain fell against the leaves with a sound like soft cymbals. The air smelled cool and freshly washed. Brush tangled around her shins. Her hair and clothes were wet, but she couldn’t think about that now.

  She looked back again, could barely make out the cop. That meant he couldn’t see her either. She’d done it. She’d escaped. But he’d be hunting her in these woods soon. Probably call out the cavalry, too. Maybe she could make it to the other side. It was part of a subdivision, after all. She couldn’t remember the layout of the forest from her map.

  Better move faster. She took a quick step, then another. Found a spot where the trees opened up. She started to sprint. Wrong move. Something caught her foot.

  Down she went.

  She tried to catch herself on a tree, but her hand scrapped across its bark. Her palms skidded across the muddy ground.

  Damn. She didn’t need this now. What had she’d tripped over? She brushed her hair out of her eyes, hoping she hadn’t landed on a slithering snake.

  Then she froze.

  Inches away from her face, lay a shape. A familiar shape. She stared at it, her breath coming in snatches. Was she hallucinating? It looked like a kid’s sneaker. Peeking out from a pile of wet twigs and pine straw, like it had been lost there. Or buried. She reached out and whisked away some of the debris covering it.

  Her chest tightened. The sneaker had a foot in it.

  She got to her knees to sweep off more dirt. An ankle. A sock. A hem of denim. Oh, God. It was a leg. A human leg. Small. A child’s leg. A girl’s leg. A young teen.

  She found the other sneaker. She was shaking all over by now.

  Her heart choking her throat, she crawled to the side of what she now realized was a mound. Desperately she shoved away the muck and grimy pine straw, the dreck someone had used to…she couldn’t even think it…to bury someone?

  Two legs appeared under her hands, clad in a pair of designer jeans.
The type hip young girls liked to wear. She kept going and found the bottom hem of a fancy, girlish T-shirt. Then two young hands…tied with thick rope, clasped together as if in prayer. Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening. Tears burned her eyes. She couldn’t stop herself. Madly, she brushed away the rest of the dirt, and at last, the face appeared. Young. Pretty. More than pretty. Beautiful. And perfectly still.

  Dead.

  Miranda’s mind reeled. This was the missing girl everyone was talking about. This was Madison. Had to be. But how did she get here?

  Her whole body shuddering, she put her hands to her head. She had seen death before, knew the look of a body in a casket. An uncle she barely knew who’d passed away when she was a child, a fallen officer who’d been a buddy of Leon’s, her own mother lying so still in her coffin with her hard, stony face. But she’d never seen death like this.

  So close, so stark, so…undeniable.

  The air had a dank smell. Long, dark hair lay damp and matted on the ground. Gnats and flies buzzed around the swollen face, glistening with the raindrops that fell on it. Instead of a childlike expression of innocence, there was the whisper of a smile. An air of superiority, as if she had felt far above whoever had left her this way.

  It was the eyes that got her. Open, staring, lifeless. Looking at them, Miranda felt as though a fist had reached inside her chest and yanked out her heart.

  She forced her gaze away from the eyes. Her breath caught, as her mind cleared. The girl’s neck. She had to take a look at the girl’s neck.

  She crept closer and saw that a wide, white ribbon had been tied around the young girl’s neck. What was that for? She didn’t know, but she had to look under it. She shouldn’t touch it. It was evidence. But she had to know.

  Slowly, she reached out with trembling fingers and lifted the soft cloth, moist with the rainwater. Her hands shivered so hard, she could barely slip it down, but somehow she managed.