Miranda went down to the floor just as something slammed into her shoulder, an inch above her breast.
62
Knight was more than ready to get out of this Little House on the Prairie town and back to reality. As soon as he grabbed a sandwich and thanked his hostess—he did know the proper manners for when someone had gone out of their way for him like Flo Talley had—he was going to accept Joel Masterson’s offer to drive him to a car rental place a few hours away. He’d get a hotel room there and drive home early in the morning instead.
Miranda had already taken care of the end-of-case protocols, despite him telling her he wanted to be included. He’d found that out minutes after the woman had left.
No doubt she’d done it on purpose.
That irked him. But he got it.
She was hiding from him, too. Maybe it hadn’t started out that way, the two of them attracted to one another, but neither one of them was naive enough to misunderstand what was happening. Nor stupid enough to not stop that attraction from growing.
Miranda’s strategy was to hide, apparently.
He was going to accept Joel Masterson’s offer to drive him to the nearest car rental place. He’d use the drive back to St. Louis to come up with an actual game plan. He wasn’t giving up the new division. Not because of her.
He also wasn’t about to hide because of a woman ten years his junior who had a gorgeous smile and a killer body.
If he was going to take the PAVAD appointment, he was going to have to work with her occasionally. He didn’t want that to be on a sour note, or anything like that. One thing he could say after this case—he respected how that woman worked. She was very, very good at what she did. Had it not been for the inconvenient fire that burned him whenever she so much as breathed in his direction, he’d be requesting her on his team. As his second-in-command.
Now, he understood why she’d been one of the few St. Louis agents who hadn’t been reassigned when PAVAD had been formed.
He was halfway to the Talley Inn after leaving the sheriff’s office, where he’d stashed his duffel bag that morning, when he saw the dog.
Saw the blood.
Knight recognized the pile of fluff immediately. “Chloe?”
At first, she didn’t move, and he was convinced the Talleys’ dog was dead. He’d expected her to keel over at any moment the entire time he’d been in town. Almost would have made bets on that.
He didn’t want to be the one to have to tell Miranda that her dog was dead. She loved the animal very much. “Chloe, baby? Are you ok? Damn it, dog. Don’t do this today. As pissed as I am at her, I don’t want her to have to deal with this today.”
He dropped his bag on the sidewalk and stepped closer. Just as the furry head raised and she gave a whimper when she saw him.
There was blood on her face. Her muzzle. She pulled herself to her feet. Knight knelt down next to her, running gentle hands over her. The dog was mostly fur. It was hard to tell if she was injured. Had she been hit by a car? The dog never got in the road that he’d noticed. She mostly just laid inside the white wood fence he’d found so stereotypical when he’d first seen it. Just laid there, watching the world go by.
She whined again. Knight ran his hands over her body, checking for any injuries.
He didn’t find one anywhere.
Until the dog started walking back toward the inn and he saw the way her front leg dragged.
He swore and scooped the dog into his arms.
The vet’s office was just up the street; he’d carry her up there, and then find one of the Talleys and let them know where he’d taken their dog. That would be the end of his obligation. “It’s ok, baby. The vet probably knows what he’s doing. He’ll fix you up in no time.”
Chloe growled, shocking him. She twisted in his arms until he put her down, afraid he’d hurt her worse by trying to hold her and her squirming loose. She was old and frail but determined.
She took off at an awkward run—back to the inn, growling the entire way.
Knight just followed. There was always a lead hanging next to the door in the kitchen. He’d leash her and get her to the vet. Talley women, even the canine kind, were just far too stubborn for their own good sometimes.
63
Miranda spit the blood from her mouth and wiped her lip with the hand she didn’t have attempting to hold her ribs together as she tried to find a way back to her feet. She hadn’t lost consciousness, at least not for long.
She didn’t have her weapon. Not in her grandmother’s house, when she had thought the case was over. She wished she had that gun. She looked at the person standing over her, brandishing what looked to be an old garden tool handle. A broken, jagged handle that looked more like a stake worthy of dispatching any of the meanest vampires out there.
Dixie hadn’t moved, and there was blood on the front of her scrubs. In her long, blond hair. Miranda wanted to check on her cousin, but she knew better than to take her eyes off the threat. “You have to know this is beyond stupid, Monica.”
“Is it? Why did you have to get involved, Randi? Always trying to jump in and save everyone? Be the heroine. You’ve ruined everything again. Just like always. Why can’t you just mind your own business? Mom told you everything you needed to hear. And so did Jimmy, no doubt.”
Miranda pulled her knees up beneath her. One more push, and she’d be back on her feet.
Monica hissed at her movement. “Stay put!”
“You really think that’s going to happen? I’m six inches taller than you and a second dan black belt in tae kwon do now.” Miranda shot a level look at the disheveled woman standing in the middle of her grandmother’s kitchen brandishing a stake. Monica looked very much like her mother, right down to the ugly attitude. “And I’m with the FBI.”
“I heard. Lesley told me when he called me two hours ago. Said you were badgering him with questions. Thinking you were better than the rest of us. He told me all about you and your fancy FBI friends and that new boyfriend of yours who almost killed him at his job. How smart you all thought you were. Not smart enough, though.”
She’d known Lesley Beise was lying when he’d said he didn’t know where Monica was. That was the last thing she’d discussed with Clint and Joel before she’d left the precinct. Finding Monica. Clint’s people were supposed to be following up, tracking down Monica and tying up all the loose ends. “Did you kill your grandmother that day, Moni?”
Miranda’s phone was in her pocket. But there was no way she could get to it now. Miranda needed a way to defend herself. Yes, she was bigger and trained in martial arts—but she also had injuries. She’d no doubt reinjured her ribs and had a concussion. And she’d been jabbed hard with that rake. Hard enough to draw blood. Her chest was already covered with blood. “What are you doing this for?”
Her ears were still ringing, and she was fighting the nausea. All it would take would be for Monica—who outweighed her by fifty pounds despite the height difference between them—to get in one more good swing, and Miranda would be down for the count. She couldn’t help Dixie then.
First order of business was to not pass out. It was going to be harder than she could think about.
Second order of business was to get that stake away from Monica.
Miranda strongly suspected she was looking at the weapon that had struck Helen Caudrell the second time. No one had seen Monica go outside that day—but that didn’t mean she hadn’t.
Pauline had never confessed to striking her mother that day.
She’d just asked Jim to bury the body.
That had been an important distinction Miranda hadn’t caught. She’d been stupid, and blinded by the trust she’d had in the girl she’d thought Monica had been.
“You never did hold the bat right, Moni—that was one reason why you never could hit it past the infield. You sucked at softball. We both know that. Wouldn’t have even been on the team if it wasn’t for me.”
“Perfect Randi Talley. All the
guys loved you, the other girls, the teachers, coaches, your family, everyone at school.” Monica tightened her grip on the jagged end of what had to have once been a garden rake or hoe or something. “I didn’t, though. I saw right through you. So did my grandmother. I’ve hated you since we were like ten.”
“You sure didn’t show it.” Monica had been her best friend. Or so Miranda had thought. Just how she’d misjudged was starting to tap dance around in her head, just like the pain. “What did I ever do to you specifically? I’m trying to think, but I have one hell of a headache right now. Thanks for that, by the way. I’ll return the favor as soon as I can.”
“You’re going to be dead soon. Flo Talley will come in and find her precious granddaughters bleeding all over her fancy tile floor.”
She swung again.
Miranda barely got out of the way in time. As she jumped out of the way, a wave of dizziness hit her, almost bringing her to her knees.
It was just enough to put her in the path of that stake.
Wood slammed into her left arm. Hard.
Monica had grown into a very muscled woman.
Bone shattered.
Miranda couldn’t help herself—she screamed. The inn was close enough to the neighbors next door—Dr. Shane Lowell and his sister, Sage. Joel’s deputy. She hoped to high heaven someone could hear her now. Miranda screamed again.
The more noise she made, the faster Dixie got the help she needed.
“Quit that! Or I’ll hit you again. Just like I hit her! My grandma wasn’t so tough after I hit her. I hit her just like she hit Luke. Made her feel it for once. Right upside the head. With this. I kept this with my softball bat, so I would never forget how I’d felt defending myself and my brother from her. Usually Luke was a little butthead, but he was so sick that day, I felt sorry for him. At first, I thought he was going to die. He didn’t deserve to be hit like that when he was sick. I had to do it. I had to protect my sisters and brothers. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what a Talley does, Randi? Protects her family? You always did. Always talked about taking care of the rest of them.
“Perfect Miranda, the perfect oldest child. Always so dependable. Your grandmother didn’t beat you just for the hell of it, did she? Not like mine. Well, I’m not letting you take anything else from me. You’ve already arrested my mother. All she did was wrap Grandma in a quilt and give Jim a blowjob to get him to dig the hole. Poor Jim, he’d do anything to get his toy sucked off. I learned that early on. We were fourteen the first time I did that for him to get him to give me some money. I needed money for the softball uniforms. Not like you. You just got what you wanted from your daddy and your grandma. Didn’t have to give a pervert some fun to get what you needed.”
“What happened next?”
“What do you think? Mom dealt with the rest of the kids, while I snuck back outside to help Jim get it done quick.” She swung out again; Miranda barely moved out of the way in time. “He always did need someone to tell him what to do. Dumb as a turnip, my grandmother would say about him.”
Monica was a big woman; just like her grandmother. Miranda was a few inches taller, but sixty-five pounds separated them. Monica had the weapon—and Monica wasn’t the least bit injured.
Miranda had no choice. Nor was she stupid.
She screamed as loudly as she could. She needed help. Fast.
64
The dog went stupid nuts and started lunging toward the inn, almost running. The damned female was in obvious pain, but she wasn’t stopping.
Something at the inn was wrong. Otherwise, the dog wouldn’t be doing this. Knight increased his pace. It wouldn’t hurt to check. If that door was still unlocked, it was entirely possible some stupid punk was helping himself to some of the valuables inside. Or to one of the beautiful women who lived there.
It was like a beckoning treasure trove to a good burglar or rapist.
He was practically jogging to keep up with a fourteen-year-old, thirty-five-pound, half-blind dog.
When he heard the scream, Knight forgot all about the dog. He grabbed the Sig Sauer P226 that had been his constant companion since his release from the hospital and ran.
The back door to the inn stood wide open.
65
Jac was getting impatient. She liked being in Masterson, and it was hard not to adore Miranda’s grandmother, but Jac wasn’t used to peopling on a consistent basis. At least, not with people who actually cared about her. Outside of PAVAD, that was.
She just needed to get away from Flo and all the rest of the Talleys, who had welcomed her like she was a long-lost cousin. Just because she’d met them all three times before. The family was really good at the whole hospitality angle.
Miranda was so lucky to have such a loving family.
Miranda needed to get herself there, so that Jac didn’t have to carry the conversation with Flo Talley and Rhea Masterson. Flo’s closest friend—Sheriff Masterson’s mother—had a definite matchmaking gleam in her eyes, and apparently seven nephews spread throughout the county. No offense to the ranchers and cowboys around Masterson, but Jac was definitely not into the small-town, everyone-knows-your-business types.
There was a guy nearby who was built just like Max, but with warm auburn hair. A Tyler, she thought. There were a lot of Tylers in Masterson County. She’d met many of them before when Miranda had somehow convinced her to be an extra in that Rowland Bowles movie that had been filmed in Masterson. They’d started out as extras and morphed into minor characters—then had to get it cleared from their division director to be named in the credits.
Thoughts of Max had her wincing.
Rhea Masterson studied her. “Are you ok, dear?”
“Of course, just a stray thought.”
“So, are you involved with anyone? As young and pretty as you are…with that red hair of yours, you remind me of my daughters-in-law. Beautiful girls.”
“Uh…no. I’m not involved with anyone right now. The job, you know. It takes up a great deal of my time.”
The woman shook her head. “I do understand. I was lucky enough to meet my Daniel when I was in med school. It was hard, but we made it work. Of course, I had to seduce him, but some men are just a little slower than others in that regard.”
“It must have been.” Rhea had built the Masterson County hospital into what it was now. Her legacy would last forever. Jac often envied women like Rhea. Rhea had probably just been born knowing who she was. Jac was still trying to figure herself out.
Maybe she’d get it by her thirtieth birthday. Or maybe her fortieth. Maybe.
What had happened with Max had shaken her entire world. Enough to show her she had a lot of soul-searching still to do. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I may have left my tablet at the sheriff’s office. I’m going to go search for it before I forget. It’s bureau issue, and I’ve lost one before.” She pushed aside the guilt for the lie. She just needed to breathe for a minute.
And find Miranda and get reinforcements, before Rhea had Jac engaged and ready to elope with some tall, handsome, Masterson rancher or something. The woman looked diabolical enough to do just that. And was making noises about a nephew that was a lawyer, and how he and Jac would have lots in common—including their nicknames. He was a Jack, too.
Jac really needed to get away before she ended up married with little Jacks-and-Jacs on the way.
“Of course. Please tell my granddaughter she needs to eat something. She’s been running herself too thin lately,” Flo said, patting Jac on the back lightly.
It took everything Jac had to fight the urge to pull away slightly. She never had been comfortable being touched by people she didn’t fully know.
Of course, Flo Talley was one of the very few non-bureau people in the world that she half knew at all. Jac forced herself to relax and look at the woman who was an elderly version of Miranda. Flo Talley had a good heart. That mattered more to Jac than anything else in the world. “Of course. She tends to do that sometimes. But don’t wo
rry; the people of PAVAD tend to take care of each other in return.”
“Of course, sweetie. You’re a good friend. I’m glad Miranda has you.”
Jac just smiled and nodded. She had to get out of here. All of this small-town, loving-family stuff was starting to make her feel like she was drowning.
Jac left the diner quickly after a small smile and hello to the big auburn-haired cowboy who had definitely been shooting her an interested look. Maybe next time she was in Masterson—she suspected there would be one; Miranda could be convincing and liked to drag Jac into situations she wouldn’t normally go into—maybe next time she’d grow a bit of courage and actually go on a date with a cowboy.
She was smiling over that when she rounded the corner and spotted the black duffel bag in the middle of the sidewalk.
Jac recognized it immediately, but she bent down and checked the ID tag just to be certain.
Dr. Allan Knight. He wouldn’t have just dropped his duffel bag for no good reason. Not Mr. Stickler.
No. Something was wrong. She’d bet good money on that.
Jac knelt down and pulled the small pistol from her ankle holster. Thanks to her father’s training, she never left home without a weapon. Ever. She grabbed the duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder.
It took her less than two minutes to make the walk to the inn.
She dropped the duffel bag just inside the front porch. The front door was wide open. Every instinct she had flared, and Bureau training kicked in.
Something was wrong. Deadly wrong.
Jac stepped inside.
66
Knight heard the scream first. He vaulted over one of the small white fence panels and ran over the cobblestone path that led to the kitchen entrance, almost tripping over one of those ducks. The dog had beaten him there, growling and snarling at the back door. Knight wasn’t about to let her inside.
Buried Secrets: PAVAD: FBI Case File #0005 (PAVAD: FBI Case Files) Page 23