He was gone.
Dead.
Miranda knew only too well what dead meant.
She was no stranger to Death.
Dead meant lost, lost to her forever.
Abandoning pride, she sobbed freely and loudly before the Gundys, spilling her glass of water in the process.
Chapter Three
Brian and Miranda were hardly alone.
The hospital’s hall was full of people and the nurses’ station was right outside the door.
The sickeningly chipper blond haired nurse with whom Brian had pleaded for a few moments alone with the patient would be back any minute.
Despite all of this, Brian could not shake the feeling that the entire world had been reduced to just the two of them and the two of them alone.
Her roommate was gone, transferred to another room, so at least Miranda now had some privacy in which to heal. The dozen coral colored roses he had brought her were swallowed into insignificance by the horde of flowers and get well cards that adorned every inch of the ledge and small table that was in her half of the room.
A few bouquets of flowers had been placed in the second half of the room, now vacant.
She had many well-wishers but none so devoted as he.
He stood near the doorway, watching her at rest.
In spite of his best efforts to keep his attention fixed on her lovely face, so serene in the dark, so content, his gaze was drawn again and again to her chest.
Not to her breasts, which he had always been attracted to but to the bandaged wound that he knew he was in part responsible for.
He watched her breathe and was grateful to God that she was alive.
Had she been shot a few inches lower, she would be dead, the nurse had said.
Her heart, other vital organs.
If she had been shot any higher, as Richard had been, well…
Brian didn’t want to think about that.
Miranda was alive.
Alive and stable, healing satisfactorily.
That was what mattered most.
Her breaths came slowly and evenly, the only noise in the room, besides the soft beeps coming from the intravenous pump and the hum of activity drifting from the nursing station outside.
She was deep in sleep.
Recovering, to the best of the hospital’s ability to ensure it.
Even at rest, in the dark, Miranda was beautiful, with a body that could tempt the saints from heaven.
He knew her lithe body well, in watching her from afar and in treating her wound...
As he looked at her, he felt a myriad of emotions.
He wanted to protect her, as had been – and still was – his job.
He wanted to hold her, to tell her that everything was going to be all right, that the doctor was sure she’d regain full use of her left arm, that good things happen to good people...
Brian knew, looking at her, that it just wasn’t right, that a girl so lovely, so full of life could be reduced to laying so helpless in a place so stark and antiseptic.
She belonged to the world outside of the hospital, the world of gala openings and parties and performances and the long list of men, young and old, who would be lining up as candidates waiting to take the place of Richard Alba.
Richard.
How Brian hated the dead man, hated how close his criminal ties had come to getting Miranda killed.
Brian looked again at Miranda, at the ivory face that seemed nearly as white as the pillows she was propped up on.
He looked at her dry lips, lips that were normally so soft and pink and kiss inviting...
He looked at the various tubes that were connected to her, at the alien shapes of the machines she was attached to and again thought to himself, this isn’t right.
As he looked at the bag of blood that was being fed to her intravenously, he was glad that he made a point of donating blood semi-annually.
It likely wasn’t his blood in the bag but at least he had done something right.
She had lost so much of her own blood in the shooting...
He remembered the slick pool of it that had filled the driver’s seat of the Mercedes, remembered how the blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage of his shirt and many more bandages en route to the hospital, in the back of the ambulance.
He ached inside as he thought of what could have become of her, had he not been so close at hand to staunch the bleeding.
He shuddered as he realized how close to death she had been, how very close indeed...
But then, if he had been doing his job properly, she wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place.
His poor judgment had very nearly gotten this young woman killed.
He should have been closer, quicker, wiser!
Should have recognized the danger, seen Barry coming.
There were a hundred and one things he should have done differently...
In truth, none of them mattered now.
Hindsight was twenty-twenty, after all.
As he looked again at her restful face, he was surprised to see her stir in her sleep...
* * *
Miranda was waking. Through her drug haze, she sensed that there was someone else in the room.
She caught a whiff of men’s cologne and her suspicions were confirmed.
“Daddy?” She said weakly, trying to open her eyes.
She just caught a glance at the back side of a tall and broad shouldered dark haired man leaving her room for the hallway beyond.
Whoever that was, he’s gone now, she thought and fell immediately back to sleep.
* * *
Brian had felt the need to leave her room hastily, despite the intense longing he had to speak with her, to explain his shortcomings the night she was hurt.
There was no need to upset her with his strange face, especially not when this was the time she needed to be surrounded by those who knew and loved her most.
So long as he was on Russ Gundy’s payroll, paid to look out for Miranda’s needs, he would try to keep his distance.
Outside the door, he turned to the two young security guards who were seated there in black Logan Security and Investigations uniforms.
They were in their early twenties but nearly the size of Brian himself.
Brian knew better than anyone how size could intimidate people into obeying a man.
His employees would have no trouble in getting people to adhere to the security parameters they had installed in the Miranda’s best interests.
The press, both the respectable papers and tabloids alike, were having a field day with the story of her injury and the shooting death of her equally famous fiancé.
Brian’s mind was filled with disgust as he recalled the image of the Mercedes on the front page of many of San Francisco’s dailies.
Yes, the press hounds were out and sniffing about because the curious public wanted to know what was happening to the infamous Miranda Fowler. They were speculating about the extent of her injuries, eagerly awaiting a leak from a hospital staff member.
Brian didn’t want those vultures anywhere near her.
Not if he could do anything to help it.
“Let me see that list of approved visitors again, mate,” he directed the nearest bodyguard gruffly.
“Yes, sir.” The brunette obediently passed his boss the clipboard.
Was he in trouble?
He would do anything the boss instructed him to do, just as he had in the past.
He respected his employer immeasurably. Brian Logan himself was not officially on the list, at his own request but Chris had let him in to see Miranda Fowler, anyway – Russ Gundy had okayed it.
Thee Miranda Fowler... He hadn’t actually seen her yet but he knew she was in there, not only because he had read the newspapers and seen her on TV but also because Mr. Logan told him so.
“As you are well aware, besides the doctors, nurses and police officers who’ll be seeing her from time to time, I’m to be the
only exception to this list.” Brian handed the clipboard to the second bodyguard and tapped its single sheet of paper, indicating the short list of names in large black print. “Check every ID badge from anyone claiming to be seeing her in any official capacity. Got it?”
“Got it,” they said in unison.
“Only Russ or Nancee Gundy can authorize any other visitors, no matter what that visitor’s claim to fame may be. Understand?”
They nodded and made noises of agreement.
They had already been briefed on the subject – twice.
“Good.” Brian offered the young men a smile. “Keep up the good work.”
“Oh, sir?” The brunette guard addressed him.
Brian had been ready to leave. “Yes Chris?”
“They’re calling you a hero, on the news.” The young man’s golden eyes were proud. “I rather like working for a hero.”
“Yeah, that’s me – big hero.” Brian frowned, remembering how far he had been parked away from Richard’s Mercedes, remembering how he should have been parked closer, been quicker to react and watching more closely.
These last few days, he chastised himself for his mistakes with every waking breath.
Chris was confused. “Sir?”
Brian couldn’t bear the adoration in the younger man’s eyes.
He turned away and began to walk down the hall. “Don’t believe everything you hear on TV, mate.”
* * *
“Nurse, who was that man who was in here just now?”
The peppy blond nurse had returned, in neon pink scrubs this time.
Her name was Sally and she was again annoyingly chipper. “Oh, now he didn’t upset you, did he?”
“He who?” Asked Miranda, brow furrowed in confusion. “I was told that only my family, close friends, the police and hospital staff would be allowed to see me.”
“That was Brian Logan,” Sally whispered in an excited rush of air. “The man who saved your life.”
“The man who what?”
“He was there, when it happened. He called the ambulance, dressed your wound, rode with you in the ambulance.”
That was news to Miranda.
No one had mentioned this man to her before.
The nurse pointed at the dense jungle of flowers and get well wishes that had gathered next to her bed.
“Miss Fowler, he brought you roses. A dozen pink roses. How very thoughtful...”
Miranda had a dim recollection now of a dark haired man in the ambulance that had brought her here, to Letterman General Hospital.
“Brian Logan, huh?” She mused.
“It’s been all over the news, in all the newspapers. They say that the City of San Francisco wants to give him a citation for bravery.”
“I’m sure he deserves it...”
“They say that you owe him your life, Miss Fowler.” With a big smile, Nurse Sally drew open the heavy blue curtains that had darkened the room.
“My own personal hero, huh?” Miranda wondered why he hadn’t stuck around to introduce himself. Why hadn’t Uncle Russ introduced him? “Well it will be nice to meet him.”
“You don’t remember him, then?”
“Not really. All I know is that he’s huge, with dark hair.”
“That’s him in a nutshell, all right. He’s built like a football player – a real brick outhouse of a man, as my grandfather used to say.” Sally rearranged a few of the flowers nearby, in the huge bouquet of yellow lilies that Judge Aitken had sent. “With arms like that, he must lift weights. He’s huge.”
“I kind of gathered that.”
“He’s not handsome, like all-American Tom Cruise handsome but more rugged handsome, like Pierce Brosnan. He has slate grey eyes that tell you he means business and the sexiest grin I think I’ve ever seen on a man.”
Sally paused to come around the bed and check the IV machine and then continued, “His skin is tanned a golden brown, like he sees a lot of the outdoors. And muscles. Holy Heaven! I swear, I’ve never seen a man fill a threadworn t-shirt so well, except maybe in magazines or on TV... Yet he’s not scary fit, like a steroid user or anything.”
Miranda yawned and smiled at her nurse. “Sounds like you have a bit of a crush on him?”
“Can you blame me?” Sally sighed. “He speaks with an accent too, as though he’s English or Australian or something.” She pressed a button on the IV machine and offered Miranda a smile. “He begged and begged me to let him see you, before your Uncle Russ gave us the approved list of visitors. There was simply no resisting a smile like his...”
“Can’t wait to meet him,” said Miranda half-heartedly.
She knew that her words were a lie.
The only man she had ever truly cared to see was Richard.
And now he was gone...
Any other man would pale in comparison.
For her, there would never be another Richard.
Never.
“The police will be here shortly,” said Sally, combing her fingers through her short blond hair. “Now that your dose has been lowered and you’re more intact and everything, they have a great number of questions they need to ask you, about the shooting. Do you feel up to it?”
“Not really but I’d better get it over with...”
At the mention of the shooting, she was assaulted by images of all that had come to pass.
She willed the images away but was not all that successful.
With her mind’s ear, she heard the voice of her assailant.
Say goodnight, princess...
“Goodnight, princess,” she mused aloud, with a grimace.
“What was that?” Asked the cheerful young nurse.
“Nothing.” Miranda replied. “Nothing at all.”
* * *
Brian walked up to the dark red door of Fifteen Micmac Crescent and rang the doorbell.
The three story house was huge – more of a mansion, really, than a house – with a stucco exterior, brown wood accents and tall windows in which the curtains were all drawn shut.
The high peaked roof was Spanish tiled, as were many others in the ritzy cul de sac. The front yard was of a more than generous size and immaculately trimmed. Yellow and white chrysanthemums surrounded the house from the front. The attached garage had room for three vehicles and a fourth vehicle was parked in the driveway, a red Mitsubishi Eclipse belonging, he knew, to Lynn Gundy, the Gundy’s daughter.
Miranda’s mode of transportation, the silver Lexus SUV he had seen her driving on many occasions, was parked inside the garage, waiting for her to come out of the hospital.
At last, the door to the house creaked open and he was staring down at the tiny blond Nancee Gundy, a smile on her pretty face.
“Mr. Logan,” she greeted him warmly, stepping aside to allow him entrance. “Please, do come in.”
“Is Russ?”
“In his study,” she answered. “He’s been expecting you.”
Brian had been in the elegant house before but the interior of the place always gave him a moment of pause.
Decorated to Nancee’s incredibly tasteful eye for luxury, there were fine paintings hung on every wall and fresh flower arrangements on every table. He took the grand oak staircase to the second floor and turned left, heading for Russ’ study. He knocked once on the closed door and was called in.
“C’mon in.”
Upon opening the door, Brian saw that Russ wore a deep frown. He was sure that was not because of his Aussie presence so much as the purpose of his visit.
“G’day Mr. Gundy.”
“That’s it?” Asked Russ, of the large manila envelope Brian had in his hands. “All there is to it?”
“All that I have.” Brian told him, though the truth was, he had kept a copy of the black and white photo of Miranda for himself.
“Then let’s have at it.”
“You won’t enjoy what you find.”
“Still, I want to know, Brian. I trust your judgment in the matter but I
want to see it with my own eyes. Hear it with my own ears. Before I let the rabbit out of the hat so to speak.”
Brian opened the manila envelope, withdrew the stack of photos and the disc unto which he had burned the videotaped meetings and recorded telephone conversations that Russ had wanted to hear, first hand.
Russ sifted through the pictures, a frown upon his face.
He paused at the first one of Richard using cocaine and snorted in disgust.
“It figures,” Russ said and flipped to the next.
“Play the DVD from the beginning?” Brian asked him, going to the stereo system behind the desk.
“I want to hear the whole thing.”
“I thought you would.” Brian inserted the DVD into the player and pressed play, turning up the volume.
“Turn it down a bit, Brian,” Russ instructed. “I don’t want Nancee to hear it just yet.”
The private investigator did as he was told and the two men listened, their expressions a grim reaction to the three recorded conversations.
The first was a brief discussion between Brian and a man named David about a shipment coming in, in a few days’ time. Boring talk of prices, times and dates.
The second call was regarding the lateness of the shipment and Brian’s suspicion that a man named Barry was trying to screw them over.
The third and final conversation was a discussion entailing how Brian planned to get rid of Barry, with the help of David who was again on the other end of the conversation.
It was the third conversation that really got Russ’ attention, a recording of Richard’s office phone, which one of Brian’s employees had bugged.
“-just a minute, David - I got a call on the other line, it’s my stupid little bitch, hang on. BEEP! Hello?”
“Richard, it’s me.”
“Miranda baby – what’s up?”
“Fine. Listen honey, with date night tomorrow I’m just calling to see if you wanted to go to a baroque performance at seven.”
“Where at?”
“Tillings Hall. I’ve got tickets to two great seats.”
“Sounds wonderful. Babe, I have a business partner on the other line. Can I pick you prior to that, say at five-ish for supper?”
Guarding Miranda Page 4