Flight

by Laura Griffin

  “Any fingerprints?”

  “No. But we learned that the rifling marks match the other slugs.”

  “So, the same weapon as all the others,” she said.

  “Yep. And since none of the neighbors reported hearing a gunshot, the shooter likely used a suppressor.”

  “Also like the others.”

  “Yep.”

  “I sent this picture to a friend of mine in the crime lab where I used to work,” Miranda said.

  Joel frowned. “Why? We’ve got the state helping us now.”

  “This guy specializes in footwear identification. He’s kind of a geek about it, really.” Miranda smiled. But then her stomach started churning, as it had been since her phone call with him.

  “He tells me this is a Nike running shoe, size eleven, one of their most common styles. So, it doesn’t do much to narrow our suspect pool. However, there are some distinguishing characteristics about this particular print. So we’re lucky.” Miranda forced a smile. “This shoe shows a distinctive wear pattern. See the nicks on the side of the tread here? That gives us more to go on in terms of matching it to a specific shoe, if and when you zero in on a suspect.”

  “Okay.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “Miranda, what is it?” Joel leaned forward, clearly picking up on her stress.

  She took another photograph from the file and slid it in front of Joel.

  “This photo shows a muddy shoe print that looks remarkably similar. In fact, it’s so remarkably similar, my friend believes it was made by the same shoe.”

  Joel pulled the picture closer and frowned down at it. “Where’d you get this?”

  “My deck.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Joel glanced up, sure he must have heard her wrong. “Your deck?”

  “The other night—”

  “Wait. When?”

  She took a deep breath. “Wednesday night. After I saw you at the marina.”

  He leaned closer. “He was at your house?”

  “I think so. At least, that’s what it looks like. I came home and took Benji out, and I noticed some muddy footprints on my stairs. Looked like someone had walked up to the door and looked inside.”

  “Miranda, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I thought it was nothing.”

  “You thought it was nothing, but you took a photograph?”

  “Force of habit.” She shrugged. “I wanted to document it. But then I checked with my landlord to see if maybe he’d stopped by the place. He said he hadn’t, but he’d sent his handyman by to fix the floodlight on the deck. It’s been out for a few weeks. So I figured that was who it was, no big deal.”

  Joel stared at her, unable to believe what she was telling him. But the photos didn’t lie.

  “So . . . basically, I’m wondering if this person is maybe aware of me,” she said. “And if he has some sort of, I don’t know, interest in me because I’m involved in the case.”

  Joel squeezed his eyes shut. She’d just spelled out the very thing that had been grinding away at him for days.

  “Miranda . . .” He leaned forward and took her hand. “I don’t want you staying there alone anymore.”

  “Staying . . . in my house?”

  “Not alone.”

  She watched him.

  “Not at all, really. You should come to my place.”

  He held her hand, hoping she’d listen. She looked wary.

  “But . . . what about Benji?”

  “Bring him with you.”

  She continued to watch him, and he could see the debate going on in her head. She was overanalyzing again, making this complicated. But the answer was obvious—he just had to convince her.

  “Think about what we know,” he said. “The shoe print. The fire. You can’t stay at that house by yourself.”

  “I know. You’re right. I’m just—I feel weird about asking you this right now when you’re completely slammed with everything else.”

  “You’re not asking. I offered. And anyway, what does it matter?”

  “But you’re working all the time.”

  “My place is better than your place. The back of your house is all glass. Mine’s got much better security, especially when I’m there.”

  She stared at him. Then she stared down at the photos.

  The undercurrent of anxiety that had been with him all week had become a full-blown fear. Whoever was doing this, whoever was killing these people, had Miranda on his radar. He didn’t know why, but they could no longer pretend otherwise.

  Joel squeezed her hand. “Miranda, how many crime scene photos have you taken over the years?”

  She looked startled by the question.

  “How many?” he repeated.

  “I don’t know. Thousands. Tens of thousands.”

  “Right. You know what these pictures mean. And you wouldn’t be showing them to me if you weren’t worried.”

  She looked down at the photographs side by side on the table.

  He was right, and they both knew it.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Benji trotted along behind her as Miranda mounted the steps. Country music drifted from next door, where a man stood on his boat dock, cleaning a fish at a wooden sink. On a deck across the canal, a couple in lounge chairs watched the sunset. Miranda wondered what they thought of her as she pulled Joel’s key from her purse and unlocked his door. Benji waited beside her, wagging his tail as she let herself in.

  The house was dim and silent. Benji darted straight inside and started sniffing around the furniture as Miranda secured the lock.

  Joel’s home smelled like him. She couldn’t pinpoint the scent, except that it was good, and it filled her with reassurance as she looked around. The place was just as she remembered it, minus the tuxedo draped over the sofa. He must have returned it. Some file folders were spread across the coffee table, and it looked like he’d been up late—or possibly early—working on the case.

  Benji rounded the sofa and then did a lap around the breakfast table, wagging his tail as he checked out the new surroundings.

  Joel’s words came back to her as she slipped the key into her pocket. I’ll take off as soon as I can. Make yourself at home.

  She dropped her duffel bag onto the sofa and went into the kitchen to unload her grocery bag.

  “Over here, Ben,” she said, filling one of his bowls with water. She put it on the floor by the sink, and he lapped it up as she filled his second bowl with food. He gave her a curious look and then dug right in. With Benji more or less settled, she stashed his food in the pantry and returned to the living room.

  Butterflies filled her stomach as she glanced around. It felt strange to be in Joel’s house without him, but he’d insisted. Miranda had pushed back, but not really. She didn’t want to tell him, but she was just as worried as he was—probably more. From the moment she’d compared those shoe prints and understood what they meant, the mere thought of being in her secluded cottage by herself unnerved her. She had planned to ask him to stay at her place for a few days. But his place was a better option. It had a solid front door, sturdier locks, and plenty of neighbors just a stone’s throw away.

  Miranda pulled out her phone and tapped a text. We r here. All good. No need to rush home. Hitting SEND on the message, she felt less like an intruder.

  She wandered to the window by the breakfast table and peered outside. Most of the homes on Joel’s side of the canal appeared to be occupied by year-round residents. Were his neighbors nosey? Would they take note of her Jeep in the driveway and wonder what she was doing here when Joel wasn’t around? Not that she cared, really, but after months of living in her solitary house, it felt weird to be surrounded by people on all sides.

  Her phone buzzed as a te
xt landed.

  Lock up. Help yourself to anything.

  Benji trotted over and circled the sofa again. He sniffed at Joel’s running shoes and then went over to check out the back of the house. Miranda followed him. The house’s layout was remarkably similar to hers, with two small bedrooms and a shared bathroom off the hallway. Simple but functional.

  Miranda leaned her head into the bathroom. It was impressively clean, with a gleaming white tub and a row of shaving products lined up beside the sink.

  She checked her watch. He’d said nine o’clock, which gave her half an hour to herself. She turned on the shower and was thrilled to see the powerful water pressure. She retrieved her overnight bag from the living room and shut herself in the bathroom to undress as the air filled with steam. Benji whined and pawed at the door.

  She let him in. “No scratching, Ben. This isn’t our house.”

  Benji made a few circles and settled on the bath mat.

  Miranda stepped into the tub. Tipping her head back, she stood under the spray and let the blissfully hot water sluice over her. Ten long weeks. That was how long it had been since she’d had a piping-hot shower with actual water pressure. The water pummeled her neck, pounding out the tension as she stood there and tried to decompress. She tried to clear her mind, tried not to think about work or violence or the reason she was here. Instead, she focused on the water streaming over her, relaxing her muscles and washing her worries down the drain.

  Benji barked and ran from the room, and Miranda’s heart lurched. She peeked around the shower curtain.

  “Miranda?”

  “In here. I’m almost finished.”

  Joel stepped into the doorway. He wore his work clothes, minus the gun, and his hair was windblown.

  “Hi,” she said. “I had to clean up.”

  His gaze heated as he looked her over.

  “Want to join me?”

  He stepped into the room and stripped off his shirt.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  She ducked back under the water, heart thrumming as she heard his boots thud to the floor. Then he stepped into the tub behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder.

  She smiled. “Hi.”

  He kissed her. Sliding his arms around her, he turned her to face him and pulled her against him.

  “You taste good.” He trailed kisses over her neck as she tipped her head back. And then his hands were everywhere, gliding over her wet skin.

  “I missed you,” she said.

  “Me, too.”

  He turned them both as he stepped under the spray, and she combed her fingers into his hair and brought his head down for a kiss. She’d missed the way he kissed her and touched her, as though he could never get enough. His mouth locked on her nipple, and she felt a jolt of need.

  Hot water sluiced between them as he hitched her thigh up to his hip. He looked up from her breast, his gaze intense as he watched her through the steam. He took her hand and wrapped it around his neck.

  “Hold on.”

  She gripped his shoulders as he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around him as he eased her back against the cool tile. Then he took her mouth again. The kiss was hard and needy, and her whole body responded. She wanted him inside her.

  “Joel. Condom.”

  “It’s on. Hold on to me.”

  He shifted her weight and carefully eased her onto him.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Don’t let go,” he said.

  She squeezed her legs tighter as he started pumping into her.

  “Oh, that’s good,” she gasped.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t stop.”

  She tipped her head back, clinging to his shoulders as he moved against her, pinning her against the tile.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, clenching him as tightly as she could as he pounded into her, harder and harder.

  “Babe.” His voice was tight. “Tell me when.”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  His skin was slick and warm, and she dug her nails into his shoulders.

  “Now. Please.”

  Another hard thrust, and she came in a blinding flash.

  She dropped her head onto his shoulder. The world was spinning. Water streamed down her side, reminding her where they were as her mind reeled.

  She blinked up at him, and his head rested against the tile.

  He opened his eyes. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Careful,” he said, easing back and setting her on her feet. He held her arm as she got her balance.

  He stepped out of the tub, leaving her alone in the cloud of steam.

  She rinsed her hair one last time and turned the water off. Joel handed her a folded blue towel. She wrapped it around herself and tucked the corner as she watched him dry off.

  He slung the towel around his narrow hips, then leaned over and kissed her. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  She stepped out of the tub and gazed up at him. His dark hair was slicked back, and his eyes looked even bluer than usual.

  “You said make yourself at home, so—”

  He cut her off with a kiss. “I meant it.” He took her hand and led her from the room, grabbing her overnight bag off the counter. She followed him into his bedroom, where a king-size bed took up most of the space. He dropped her bag beside the bed and slid his arms around her.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You hungry for dinner?”

  “A little. You?”

  He tugged her towel loose, and it dropped to the floor.

  “Not yet.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Miranda awoke to a clatter of pans. She blinked into the darkness, then sat up and looked around. Beside her the bed was empty. She glanced at the red digits of the alarm clock: 11:45.

  Swinging her legs out of bed, she glanced around. She grabbed a T-shirt off the chair in the corner and pulled it over her shoulders. It was roomy and soft and smelled like Joel.

  She stopped by the bathroom to wash her face and then followed the sound of Joel’s voice into the kitchen, where he stood at the stove talking to Benji. He wore khaki cargo shorts, no shirt, and he had a spatula in his hand.

  Benji stood at attention. Joel tossed him a chip.

  “I saw that.”

  Joel turned around. “Uh-oh. Busted.”

  Benji didn’t even look at her. One hundred percent of his attention was focused on his new friend.

  “Watch this.” Joel grabbed another tortilla chip from the bag on the counter and held it up. He tossed it, and Benji chomped it out of the air.

  “Gee, that’s impressive.” Miranda walked into the kitchen and scratched Benji’s head. Then she looked up at Joel. His stubbled jaw and bare chest looked ridiculously sexy. She couldn’t believe she was actually here, shacked up at his house.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked.

  “I tried.”

  “You did?”

  “You were out cold.” He slid his arm around her waist. “Hope you’re hungry. I’m making migas.”

  “I’m starving.”

  “Here.” He handed her a bottle of water.

  “How can I help?”

  “You can’t. Just relax.”

  Miranda took a swill of water, and it felt wonderfully cool on her parched throat. She’d worked up a thirst. And an appetite. Just the scent of whatever he was cooking was making her stomach growl.

  She hitched herself onto the counter and watched him.

  “You crashed.” He glanced up from the pan where he was sautéing onions and peppers.

  “Yeah, what was that? Two hours?”

  “Two and a half. You okay?”

  She caught the worry in his tone.


  “I haven’t been sleeping well,” she said. “Guess I needed to catch up.”

  He took an egg from the carton beside the stove and cracked it one-handed into a cereal bowl. He set the shell on a napkin and cracked two more.

  He reached for the drawer beside her, and she scooted over as he opened the drawer and took out a fork.

  “Stress?” He glanced up at her as he whisked the eggs.

  Miranda studied his face. His tone was casual, but his expression was serious.

  Nerves flitted in her stomach. They’d reached a turning point. She sensed it. She could either let him in or keep him at arm’s length. The safe bet would be to gloss over his question and keep the conversation light. But after everything he’d done for her over the past three days, that seemed wrong.

  She cleared her throat. “I’ve had insomnia on and off for the last few months.”

  He didn’t look up. “Since you left your job?”

  “Since before that.”

  Using the spatula, he moved the vegetables to one side of the pan and then poured in the eggs.

  He looked up. “Bad case?”

  “Yeah.”

  He tipped the pan.

  “It was a murder case,” she said. “A child murder. It went to trial last fall.”

  He didn’t look up. “The Lindsey Bonner case.”

  Her stomach clenched. “You heard about it?”

  “Yeah.”

  He stirred the eggs, still not looking up. Miranda watched his expression. His eyes looked somber as he tilted the pan again.

  After years of being a cop, Joel would understand. He’d seen violence and cruelty and soul-crushing loss. But still she felt reluctant to talk about this. She didn’t want him to think less of her. Just the idea of it put a knot in her stomach.

  He switched off the burner. Then he picked up a towel and wiped his hands.

  “What happened?”

  She took a deep breath. “We got the call one night last August. Me and my team. I was the lead CSI. It was an outdoor crime scene.”

  “Bexar County?”

  “Yeah. This was a rural area at the edge of some woods. Some teenagers were out there shooting beer cans and they found her. He’d left her in a shallow grave, but some animals scattered the remains.”