Guarding Miranda
Published by Amanda M. Holt at Kindle Direct Publishing
Copyright 2013 Amanda M. Holt
Visit Amazon to discover other titles by Amanda M. Holt, author of:
Contemporary Romance ~ Paranormal Adult Fiction ~ Erotica ~ Horror
Kindle Direct Publishing Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold
or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,
please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did
not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to
Amazon.com and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author…
Dedication:
For Ian, fellow adventurer.
Guarding Miranda
By:
Amanda M. Holt
Chapter One
Brian Logan had just finished printing off the last batch of digital photos when the cellphone in the holster on his belt began to ring.
The onyx haired Australian quickly added the photos to the previous stack and answered the insistent ring of the little phone, a tiny device that seemed even smaller as it was swallowed in the grip of his large and capable hand.
With fingers larger and more dexterous than those of most men, he held the phone with firm but gentle attention.
He looked at the call display and was annoyed that he did not recognize the number.
Few people had the number of his private cell.
Paying customers, mostly.
The really well paying ones.
“’ello?” He answered, feeling impatient even as he uttered the greeting.
To anyone listening, there would be no mistaking his Australian accent even in so short a word.
“Good morning, Brian. Any news?”
Brian recognized the voice immediately.
It was that of his best paying and most persistent client, a voice he had come to know very well over the last few months.
Russ Gundy had insisted on dealing directly with the man in charge.
As owner and operator of Logan Security and Investigations, Brian Logan certainly was that man.
Everything about him suggested raw masculine power and authority, from his solid six-foot-four frame to the two hundred and forty pounds of muscle that went with it.
If there was any doubt left in an observer’s mind as to who was in charge at Logan Security and Investigations, one needed only look into Brian’s eyes.
His were eyes with irises the color of dark steel and an innate hardness that suggested he was a man used to getting his own way.
Russ wasn’t the most demanding client that Brian had ever known but the guy certainly liked to be updated on a daily basis.
It wasn’t Brian’s style, to give status reports first thing in the morning, every morning of every day but if the price was right then his customers always got what they wanted.
Gundy paid him very well for his services.
Very well indeed...
“I don’t have much to give you, Mr. Gundy,” he began, as he pictured the anxious red headed man on the other end of the phone. “But what little I do have is solid. Irrefutable. I obtained it myself.”
“Good.” The single word was clipped, impatient.
“You sound …strained. Is everything alright?”
He could almost see the pained look on the face of the man he was talking to, as surely as he could hear the frustration in his voice.
“As alright as it can be, given the circumstances,” replied the older man. “You left a message on my voice mail. Something about evidence?”
Oh, that.
Now that Brian had some concrete evidence for his client, he hoped that the morning phone calls would cease.
Yet he couldn’t blame Gundy for his level of involvement, as he was obviously very concerned about the safety of his niece.
“Well, I’m glad to say we’ve made some progress on this case.”
“But Brian, is it good news or bad news?”
Brian looked at the photos being spit out of his printer.
As his gaze fell on the blond haired man pictured in many of the frames, his stormy grey eyes narrowed with cool speculation.
“Well, I’m not sure that you would take it as good news.”
“Well, out with it – what did you find out?”
“Richard Alba is definitely in the business of trafficking drugs.” Brian was referring to the photo that he had taken with the help of a zoom lens. The image of Richard Bent over a table, drawing a line of cocaine through a straw to his nose, testing the product he was about to purchase.
“Are you certain?”
“Pictures don’t lie. And these ones in particular tend to tell a few more truths than this Alba character does.”
“I knew it.” Russ sounded pleased – more than that, relieved. “And you really do have concrete proof?”
“Photos taken by telescopic lens, video and in-room recordings taken by directional microphone. There’s a recorded phone call, as well.”
Brian was proud of his work, the long months of research that had culminated into the surveillance of the drug deal.
His own pride in a job well done thickened his Australian accent and deepened his baritone voice. “An entire drug deal, caught digitally. These last three months of non-stop investigatory work have finally paid off for you, Mr. Gundy.”
“I knew that son of a bitch was scum.” The older man sounded nearly ecstatic with the news. “And what of my niece, Miranda?”
Brian’s stormy gaze sought out the image that was his favorite of the batch.
He allowed his eyes to linger on the photo that his digital camera had captured the day before.
Miranda was, in short, a photogenic beauty.
The camera loved her, from every angle, in every lighting condition...
The young woman pictured there, he knew, was twenty seven and drop dead gorgeous by his own tastes, what with her sexy full lipped grin, high cheekbones and long, silky black hair.
Hair as black as night.
Hair as dark as his own.
Her eyes were perhaps her most notable feature. Though the photo he now held was in black and white and shades of grey, he knew her eyes well.
Set in a face of the purest ivory, as large as they were luminous, her eyes were the dark green of pine needles and were glancing up at him from the photo with curious intelligence.
Brian knew that she had spotted him taking the picture.
She had been looking directly into the lens so there was no way she couldn’t have seen him.
She had not seen fit to alarm Richard as to his presence, so that had to account for something...
Had she just assumed him paparazzi, trying to snap a few frames for one of the rag magazines that extolled her exorbitant lifestyle as a Silicon Valley heiress?
If she was involved in Richard’s dealings, she would have been wary of a strange man taking her picture in what was obviously a surveillance measure.
Rather than seem alarmed, she had actually smiled for the camera, smiled at him and as a result, her beauty had been caught in that moment, frozen in time.
A lovely smile, hers...
What a girl like Miranda was doing with a lousy waste of flesh like Richard – surfer blond coke head scum of the Earth that he was – was a mystery to Brian and Russ alike.
Their working theory was that she had no idea that Richard was involved in criminal activities, the drug-dealing and gun-running that supplemented his wealth, as cornerstones of his
exporting business.
A sigh upon his lips, Brian looked again at the picture of her smiling and his thumb brushed it with what might have been a gesture of longing.
With a smile of his own, he remembered her impossibly long legs and slender, athletic body.
He remembered the fullness of her breasts and the way that she often held her head so highly with pride that was stately rather than arrogant. He had been watching her and watching out for her for three months now, mostly from afar.
To his knowledge, aside from the day she spotted him taking her picture, she had no idea that he even existed.
Yet he had been her shadow for much of those three months…
Then again, of course she wouldn’t know.
He did his job well and with a great degree of stealth.
He wondered how she would react if she knew that her dear Uncle Russ was having her and her fiancé followed, almost around the clock…
“Brian?” The tone of his client was sharp with impatience. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, yes – I’m on the line. Sorry. I... got distracted.”
“What have you found out, about Miranda?”
“So far, there hasn’t been a single shred of evidence that she’s been involved with any aspect of Richard’s illegal activities.”
Brian stroked her picture again and felt the familiar rush of blood to his loins.
Just the image of her had the power to turn him on.
One glance at her in person, even from a distance, had the distinct ability to do the same.
Somehow, she had gotten under his skin, which was quite a feat for a woman that he had never even come within two feet of.
Every day, Brian looked forward to seeing her.
Once his contract with Gundy was up, he’d have no reason to be near her.
The thought saddened him greatly.
He was certain there’d be a period of withdrawal.
Miranda was more addictive to him than chocolate, which was saying a lot...
He was very fond of chocolate.
“So she’s innocent, then?” Russ was pressing him for a certainty.
From some of the outfits and footwear she wore, he couldn’t consider her a complete innocent but…
“So far, I’d say she’s faultless. Flawless.”
Flawless.
That’s what she was.
A perfect ten.
“Thank God for that.” Russ sounded relieved as he sighed, despite the tension in his voice.
“Do you have further need of my services?”
“My God, yes!” Russ spoke without hesitation. “Miranda has tickets for the baroque performance at Tillings Hall tonight. Richard will likely join her. I want you to follow them and watch out for her, until we can make absolutely certain she isn’t involved. I won’t turn this matter over to the police until I know for certain that she’s blameless.”
“And if she isn’t blameless?” Asked the Aussie, losing all train of thought for a moment as his gaze again came to rest on her photograph. He hungrily swept the length of her image with his eyes, drinking in her beauty like the soul-satisfying tonic it was. “What then?”
“We’ll clear that hurdle if and when we get there, Brian.” Russ replied, sounding inconvenienced by the possibility. “The performance starts at seven. Be there.”
“I’ll be there,” he promised.
With that, Russ ended the call and Brian returned his cell to his belt.
“For her, I’ll be there.”
* * *
As Miranda Fowler walked with Richard Alba down the stairs of Tillings Hall her forest green eyes shimmered with delight as she recanted her experience of the performance.
“All I can say is that the guy on the clarinet must have lips of steel,” she told her fiancé. “What an amazing performer!”
Richard eyed his fiancé with renewed hunger.
She was breathtaking, in her slinky black Christian Dior gown and sexy Manolo Blahnik heels.
The gown was strapless and sleeveless, exposing her creamy white shoulders while effectively holding in the fullness of her full breasts.
Her long, black hair was piled loosely on top of her head, in a manner that was intended to look casual and chic but left her looking glamorous and sexy, exposing her long neck, the dark tendrils framing her captivatingly feminine face.
Richard hated these sorts of things.
These damned cultural performances that she loved dragging him to every chance she got.
When it wasn’t a concert, it was an opera.
When it wasn’t an opera, it was the theater.
When it wasn’t the theater, it was the ballet.
Every fucking Friday night, it was something.
Something annoying and from the realm of – how he hated the word – art.
Tonight, it had been baroque.
Baroque!
He would have faked an episode of diarrhea if it wasn’t for the fact that missing the date would mean he’d have to miss out on one of her amazing date night blowjobs.
“So am I to take it that you enjoyed the performance, my dear?” He asked her blithely, steering her toward the parking lot, where he could see his pewter colored Mercedes gleaming beneath the lot lights.
“Immensely, Richard. And you?”
“Yes?”
“What did you think of the baroque?”
“What did I think of it?” He echoed her, stalling for time while he formulated the response that she would most like to hear.
“Definitely my cup of tea,” he lied, his jaw clenching as he spoke.
In truth, Richard had struggled to stay awake during the two hour performance.
Even the half hour intermission had been a bore.
He of course preferred live baseball games and televised football broadcasts over violin solos and harpsichord dramas.
In short, he had hated the baroque, hated every passing second, every minute of it.
It was too much like elevator music.
Worse than that, it was chamber music...
Classical garbage.
Stuff that psychotherapists probably loved to fuck to.
His hand at the small of her back, he urged her toward the car.
The quicker he got her to the car, the quicker they would get back to his penthouse.
The quicker they got to his penthouse, the quicker he could get her into his king sized bed, where her mouth would be less busy with curious questions and gushy reviews and more intent on satisfying him.
He smiled at the thought of the dirty things he could get her to do simply by professing his love for her.
Love.
He had to stifle a laugh as the word crossed his mind.
The only things he really loved about her were her hot body and inherited fortune.
For now, he had to make do with the hot body – the fortune, he knew, wouldn’t be his until after they married and once she had the accident that he intended the insurance company to additionally compensate him for.
It was a shame, having to kill her down the road but dumb rich bitches like her were easy to come by.
Richard glanced sidelong at her breasts straining against the material of the strapless gown.
Yes, her hot body would do.
For now.
He kept his hand on the small of her back and steered her through the rows of parked cars, guiding her in the direction of his car.
Miranda warmed at Richard’s touch, thinking that he was making a gesture of affection, rather than hurrying her along. She glanced at him from the side and felt her breath leave her chest.
He was so handsome, in his charcoal designer wear, what with his sun tanned skin such an attractive contrast to the white of his dress shirt.
Surfer-blond and mind-numbingly attractive, he was thirty years of age and she figured he was just beginning to mature in the looks department. She had known him for nearly two years now and the more he weathered, the more
gorgeous he seemed to become.
His baby blue eyes always beheld her with such interest, such playful intent, just as they did now. She was always aware of how incredibly good looking he was and so she always tried to keep herself up to date where fashion, hairstyles and other routine maintenance was concerned.
She knew that she was lucky to have him.
He was the kind of fish that a girl like her didn’t want to get away.
He was always so doting on her, so attentive, so affectionate...
What was more, he loved her!
He always told her so.
And he showed his passion for her often, both in and out of the bedroom.
As she looked at Richard, she couldn’t help but wonder what his father looked like or if perhaps he more closely resembled his mother.
She wouldn’t ask him, though.
Not ever again.
The last time she had asked him about his family had also been the first.
The conversation had turned into their first argument.
Richard spoke of his parents very rarely and when he did, it was without favor, none to fondly. At his insistence, his parents were not going to be at their wedding, which in her eyes was a pity.
Miranda thought it was unfortunate that he would have such a poor relationship with his parents, when in truth he should have been glad to be lucky enough to have both of them alive.
She wondered what tragedy, what great horror could have put him at such odds with his parents.
What could be so horrible that the Albas could not work it out?
She herself had lost a mother, father and brother in one tragic evening, ten years before.
Not a day went by that her heart did not ache for them.
Not a day went by that she did not feel the pain of what she had lost when she was seventeen. She was grateful to her Uncle Russ and Aunt Nancee for taking her into their home and their hearts but no surrogate love, no surrogate family could ever replace the one that she had lost…
Family was important to her.
The Gundy clan was her most valued most beloved thing in the world.
Not to mention, her greatest support.
Guarding Miranda Page 1