Guarding Miranda (35 page)

“Home.” Home was with her, wherever she was. 

He knew this now and felt as though his heart would burst with the intensity of this newfound truth and of his feelings for her. 

Home.

She
was his home.

He felt as though he were dreaming. 

If he was dreaming, he hoped never to wake.

He brushed her lips with his. “I couldn’t have said it better myself...”

Chapter Fifteen:

It was late, the morning of July seventh, when the phone began to ring.

It was barely eight thirty by the glance Brian stole at his watch. 

He answered the phone before it could fully wake Miranda. “H’lo?”

“Brian, it’s me.” Russ Gundy. 

He likely wanted an update on how Miranda was doing, as Brian had not called him in three or four days...

“Mr. Gundy.” Brian began, relaxing a bit in his seat. “How are things in ‘Cisco?”

“Getting better by the minute, Brian.” There was near manic joy in the stout man’s voice.  Brian pictured him on the other end of the conversation, in his study, red haired and smiling. “Is Miranda up?”

“Naw, still in bed.” Brian glanced up the stairs at her closed bedroom door.

He had left her side only an hour before. 

They shared a bed now, among other things. 

Having her all to himself was something he was going to enjoy immensely over the next two months...

“I had expected as much.” Russ was clearly made impatient by her habit of sleeping in. “She’s still giving me the silent treatment, hmm?”

“So far as I know...” Miranda was still upset with her uncle for having kept the true nature of Richard Alba secret for so long.

She had told Brian that Russ had made a fool of her. 

She had forgiven Russ for sending Brain to watch over her but only just. 

Russ Gundy laughed on his end of the phone. “Well be a sport and get her ass out of bed to come speak with me, will you?  It’s rather important.”

“I’ve a feeling she won’t speak to you for anything less than the discovery of her shooter or a death in the family, sir.”

“Well that just happens to be the nature of this call, Brian.  The police believe they’ve found Barry – the man who shot Miranda!”

“You’re kidding.” Brian was at once as relieved as he was devastated. 

His heart began to pound fiercely.

If the police had indeed located Barry, then Miranda would be safe. 

Which of course was a good thing, on its own merit.

On the other hand, that would mean that his services would no longer be required. 

There would be no reason for him to be here.

So much for having her to himself for the summer...

“No, I’m not.  Get her up, will you?  She has to be in San Francisco as soon as possible to see if she can identify the man.”

“Just a minute.” Brian set down the corded phone and bounded up the stairs two at a time. 

His progress slowed as he reached the top and his heart began to feel the total burden of Russ’ news. 

He didn’t want to lose Miranda yet, so soon after beginning to discover what a truly beautiful person she was, inside and out. 

Once they got back to San Francisco, the hustle and bustle of the real world, what could possibly become of them? 

He would lose her, lose her to some wealthy financier playboy or some hotshot divorce attorney or gallery owner. 

The thought made his blood boil.

He hesitated in the doorway, watching her at rest. 

She was an angel really, what with her long dark hair fanned out on her pillow beneath a face more beautiful than any he had ever known. 

Her skin, now the softest color of tan, glowed with health. 

Her mouth, slightly open, was pink lipped and peaceful.

Miranda, oh sweet Miranda
, he willed his thoughts to reach out to her,
will you love me as dearly when we return to the San Francisco?  Or will the flames of your love, once burning high and bright, whither down into soft embers, only to be snuffed out?

A frown on his lips, he crossed the soft carpet of the bedroom floor and sat next to her on the king sized bed. 

He didn’t want to disturb her and yet, he had little choice in the matter.

“Miranda,” he said, gently touching her arm. His fingers were trembling and he knew why. She stirred but did not wake. “Miranda, get up, love.  There’s an important phone call for you on the telly downstairs.”

One beautifully rounded green eye opened, peering up at him and then was joined by the other.

“What?” She asked, her voice slightly hoarse, husky, sexy... “A phone call?  Who?”

“It’s your Uncle Russ.” He told her and became defensive at the glare she gave him at the drop of her uncle’s name. “He’s got some very important news for you, m’love. Seriously. You have to take this call.”

Brian rose from the bed, as did she.

“What time is it?”

“Barely eight thirty.”

“Then it must be important.” That meant it was six thirty in San Francisco. She yawned and walked stiff legged down the short hallway and then down the stairs, wondering what her uncle could possibly have to say to her at so early an hour...

“Hello, uncle.”

“Miranda!  How’s everything in Waterhen?”

“Fine,” she replied dryly, giving Brian an obtuse look for having wakened her for the call. 

Whatever the emergency was, her uncle seemed rather pleased about it.

Pleased enough to exchange pleasantries with a niece who was still not the least bit impressed with his cloak-and-dagger methods.

“I had hoped so,” said Russ, over the long distance line. “You haven’t begged me to send Brian away yet, so I thought that had to account for something.”

“I’m enjoying his company.  A lot.”

“Brian said you were still giving me the silent treatment?”

“I was.” Miranda was losing what little of her patience remained for her uncle. “Now really, Uncle Russ, what’s this call about?”

“The police are half-certain that they’ve found the Barry character who shot you.” Russ disclosed the information with pleasure. “They need you to come in and identify him at your earliest convenience.”

Miranda’s face hardened with upset. 

Had Barry been found? 

So far as she was now concerned, Richard had probably gotten what was coming to him. 

But the assault upon her person was not forgiven with near so much ease.

She answered, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“There’s a noon hour flight leaving Dauphin for Winnipeg,” Russ was quick to inform her, “And a direct flight from Winnipeg to San Francisco at three.  Shall I book the flights for the two of you?”

Miranda blanched at having to rely on her uncle’s organizational prowess.

“Certainly,” she said tersely, glancing at the clock. “But as soon as this business is finished, I’ll have you know that I intend to return to Waterhen, for the rest of the summer.”

“So you’re enjoying it out there?” Her uncle queried.

“Immensely,” she glanced at Brian, who seemed immersed in thoughts that were proving difficult.

A feeling of dread settled on her like a heavy weight.

If they had found Barry, what was to become of them? 

Would Brian…?

“I thought you would,” came her uncle’s cheery reply. “I’ll have a car pick the two of you up at the airport, when your flight comes in tonight.” He chuckled. “I don’t suppose my thoughtfulness will warrant a thank you?”

“Thank you,” she replied begrudginly. “I’m saying good-bye now, Uncle Russ.”

“I’ll call your cell and let you know which counter to pick your tickets up at,” he said, in parting. “Good bye, dear.”

Miranda put the phone back into its cradle with force.

“I’ll forever be under his carefully placed thumb,” she groaned aloud, looking at the clock. “I have to shower and pack and-”

“Miranda?” There was such vulnerability in his voice, Miranda half expected to see him in tears.

“Brian, what is it?”

Never before had she seen him look so devastated, so forlorn. 

Incredible sadness darkened his stormy eyes as he formulated the words in his mind that he was to speak.

“When we get back to San Francisco, if they have found Barry, if you’re safe now, then... what becomes of us?”

“We continue seeing each other,” she hastily replied, meeting his wary gaze with honesty in her own. “That is, if you still want me after this vacation from reality.”

Brian’s heart swelled with emotion.

He stepped forward, captured her in his large hands and brought her to his chest.

“Of course I still want you, Miranda.  I can’t imagine a life without you in it!”

She kissed him with hope in her heart.

“Good,” she told him, as finally, they parted. “Because I have no intention of losing you.”

It was raining when they finally landed at the San Francisco International Airport, some five plus hours after departing Winnipeg. 

Their baggage collected, greetings with their driver exchanged, they were soon on their way to Fifteen Micmac Crescent, their pit stop where they would pick up her Uncle Russ before continuing on to the precinct where Barry
The Jester
Anderson was being held.

The police precinct turned out to be a far more handsome building than Miranda had been expecting. What with its tall wide white columns supporting an overhang inlaid with a lion’s head medallion, it looked more like an ornate library than a cop shop.

Distracted by her task here, without further thought on the matter, Miranda left the hired car and strolled up the steps with Brian leading the way, ever vigilant.

Where the exterior of the building had been quiet and serenely so, the interior was quite the opposite, alive with activity. 

Here were officers coming and going, some with handcuffed company, others with manila folders or steaming cups of coffee in hand. 

Uniformed and plain clothed officers spoke animatedly into telephones and to each other. 

Miranda could almost smell justice at work here...

Deeper into the belly of the organized insanity of the place, Miranda and Brian discovered a number of scantily clad women sitting on a low bench. 

Their flashy, trashy garb clearly identified their line of work, these were prostitutes.

They whistled and cat called at Brian as he walked by them, annoying him and irritating the Hell out of Miranda.

“Hookers,” said Brian, who gave a noncommittal shrug.

They finally found the office of the man they sought.

Lieutenant Clay Lauderdale was the heavyset man who had interviewed Miranda countless times while she had been in the hospital, the man who was overseeing her case. 

Now the portly bald headed officer had a felon to show her.

“Miss Fowler.” Lauderdale’s dour face lit up slightly at her arrival.  He seemed the type of man who was always frowning, so when he cracked a smile for her, she couldn’t help but smile back. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll get this over with quickly.”

Brian waited outside the screening room while Miranda herself was lead into its dimly lit confines. 

It was a small room, with no table and no chairs, its only notable feature being a wide panel window looking into another room, where a short line up of six men was being assembled in orderly fashion.