Shattered promises, p.6
Shattered Promises, page 6
About to ask her more, he turned around and found a totally different type of painting, almost abstract. Something about the structure, the pattern and the colors struck him. Moving closer, he looked in the lower right-hand corner to see the signature.
He whirled to face her. “You’re Kathy Hix?”
She shrugged and lifted the corner of her lip in a grin.
He couldn’t believe the coincidence. And Special Agent Wade Malone of the FBI did not believe in coincidences. Yet, that was all this was. Right? “I’ve got one of your paintings.”
That took her by surprise. “Really? Why? I mean, where did you find it?”
“Art gallery in Kansas City, two years ago.”
A slight smile creased her lips. “Oh, yes. Nelson’s. I think that was around the time I started placing my art with them. They’re good people.”
Taking a step back, he studied the picture. “The one I bought isn’t as abstract as this, but it reminded me of…” He trailed off. Telling her his picture had reminded him of one she’d painted while they were in art class together as teenagers wouldn’t do.
An awkward silence passed between them. Well, more awkward than it already was.
Finally, she cleared her throat, then said, “I guess you liked it enough to buy it. I do quite a few abstracts.”
“Freestyle.”
Her green eyes widened as her hand came up to her throat. “Yes,” she whispered. “You—you remembered my pet name for it. The art teacher hated that I refused to call my paintings abstract, but I needed something that was uniquely mine. I’ve since learned to be more practical, especially when marketing my work.”
“Makes sense.” Now it was his turn to shrug.
Then he spied the painting on the easel. Shocked, he couldn’t take his eyes off of the horror and destruction depicted on the canvas. Why hadn’t that been the first thing he’d seen when he walked into the room? Miranda had obviously “free styled” it, letting what she’d seen early that morning flow out of her.
Wade had been there, had seen everything there was to see at the crash site, and expected to have nightmares about it. But knowing a civilian, Miranda in particular, had seen it and would also have similar nightmares, punched him in the gut.
Arms wrapped around her waist, she stood stiffly, leaning against the doorjamb and not looking at the painting. Her face had paled. His first impulse was to drape a cloth over the painting, and then give her a reassuring hug. Instead, he checked the windows and drew the curtains before he herded her farther into the hallway, doing his best to not touch her. He then closed the door behind him.
There was one more room to check…her bedroom obviously. “Are the windows in your room locked?”
She shot him a look. “Of course. As I said, you’re wasting your time.”
“And I told you, I need to make sure everything is secure.”
“It is. Locked up tight as a drum. I have a shotgun and know how to use it. I figure the sound of the gun being racked would certainly scare anyone away. Plus, I keep a can of wasp spray as a nonlethal deterrent next to my bed. I’m not naïve, and I’m certainly not careless. Nor helpless.”
No. She wasn’t. “Would you actually shoot someone? Or try to talk them out of the house first?”
“If my life was threatened, you bet I’d shoot. Hesitate and you’re dead.”
Smart girl. Wade didn’t want to admit it, but his respect for her went up. First, he finds out she’s a top-notch artist, then learns she knew how to defend herself. A far cry from the withdrawn girl he’d left behind.
They still needed to have that discussion about their past, but it was late, and every bone in his body ached. Someone out there had shot at them, and whether he was the target or her, it didn’t matter. He’d stand watch to make sure nothing happened during the night.
“Go to bed, Miranda.”
“And where do you intend to sleep?” She glanced at the closed door to her bedroom, then back at him.
“I don’t. If I get fatigued, I’ll take a short nap on the couch.”
She looked as if she might challenge his statement, then gave her head a small shake. Retrieving a pillow and a light blanket from the hall closet, she took them to the living room and dropped them on the couch. “In case you get too ‘fatigued’ and need some rest, you’ll be more comfortable with these.”
Giving him one last searching look, she went back down the hall. A moment later her door closed. He sighed. What was he doing here? With her? Too tired to delve into it deeper, he turned out all the lights except the light over the stove, which served well as a nightlight.
He spent the next couple of hours pacing from one end of the house to the other. That included checking the outside perimeter as well. Eventually, though, exhaustion pulled at him and, after a couple more rounds of checking the house, he sank down on the couch. He’d rest his eyes for a few minutes, then he’d go back to his patrolling. The rhythmic ticking of the wall clock relaxed him. His eyelids drooped as his body slumped on the cushions.
The old recurring nightmare hit him with a vengeance.
Chapter Five
Randi felt Wade’s gaze on her back as she walked down the hall. Why was it so long all of a sudden? She squelched the urge to run, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. The man came across so intense, a complete opposite of the boy she’d grown up with.
Finally, she stepped into her bedroom and Sebastian brushed past her before she firmly closed the door. Wondering where her well-ordered world had gone, she sat on the side of the bed, and then pulled the white photo album off the nightstand’s lower shelf. Keeping the precious memories close comforted her. Flipping to the first page, she smiled at the picture of her daughter the day she’d been born. Randi gently ran her fingers over the image of her little girl, all pink and pretty wearing a bow bigger than her head. Longing stabbed her. If only she’d been able to keep the baby.
She sighed, then reeled in the emotions. Giving up the child for adoption had been the best option for the baby…and the only option for Randi. Life wasn’t fair and she’d learned to live with it a long time ago. Her saving grace had been the adopting family had agreed to an open adoption so Randi had kept in touch with them over the years. Katie, her sweet daughter, lived in Fayetteville, only a couple of hours away and her parents were doing an amazing job of raising her. Randi’s daughter was in the best possible place and she would do anything to protect the child.
What would Wade do if he found out? Try to rip her away from her parents? Too afraid to ponder that question, Randi flipped through the album, reliving each moment of Katie’s life. From first steps, to teething, to kindergarten graduation, to last year’s soccer games and all the holidays in between. Randi had gone and watched Katie play soccer whenever possible. She was a talented athlete. Pride for her offspring settled in her chest, making her smile. She loved that child with every ounce of her being.
Laying the book on the dresser an hour later, Randi turned and went into her bathroom and got ready for bed. Not that sleep would come. Not with Wade down the hall. She’d heard him quietly walking the hallway several times, the squeaky floorboard near her office giving him away. It was strange, knowing he was in her home, keeping her safe. Physically, anyway. The danger to her heart was another matter altogether.
By the time she was ready for bed, Sebastian was curled up next to her pillow instead of at the foot of the bed like he normally did. Bless his heart. He knew she needed more comfort tonight. How animals always sensed that was beyond her, but she was grateful. She climbed between the sheets and pulled the cat close, his purr lulling her to sleep.
Randi tossed and turned, her dreams plagued with the horrific images from this morning, alternating with visions of the man from her past who had invaded her home. One mixed with the other until they had almost merged into one confusing nightmare. Daylight and darkness. A longed-for wish come true…to death. She was lost in a world where there was no way out.
Sudden pressure on her stomach jolted her awake, releasing her from her prison. Sebastian licked her face a couple of times, but when she moved to stroke the cat who’d landed on her belly, he abandoned her to go to the door, then jumped back to her side. Before she had time to react, he went to the door again. What in the world? His pitiful wails sounded as if he were going to be sick so she climbed from bed to let him out. Only he didn’t run down the hall to the litter box, nor did he throw up as she’d half expected. He stood in the doorway and looked back at her, waiting. Then she heard it. A loud, soul-rendering moan. Wade.
Shaking off the remnants of her own horrible dream, she pulled on her robe and scurried barefoot down the hallway, the cat leading the way. He stopped at the side of the couch and looked up her, almost as if he was asking her to fix Wade. Randi swore the cat was part dog the way he acted sometimes. Wade let out another loud groan. For a brief moment, she wondered if the bullet that had shattered her storm door had hit him and he’d somehow managed to conceal it from her. But when she reached his side, it was obvious he was sound asleep, having a nightmare. No bullet wound. No blood, thank goodness.
She knelt next to the sofa, debating what to do. His moans were loud and he sounded as if he were in terrible pain. He had to be hurting, even if it was only a dream. But how to help him? She’d never been around anyone who had nightmares, but Melody had told her about soldiers with PTSD who had severe nightmares and that you needed to be careful waking them. For one thing, you could get punched. Or worse.
Randi glanced at the gun Wade had left on the coffee table. Any sudden moves on her part, and she had no doubts he’d be able to reach and draw the weapon faster than she’d be able to react. The thought almost drove her back to her bedroom. Before she could rise, he let out a heart-wrenching groan. She had to do something…anything, so she did the first thing that came to mind and began talking to him in a soothing voice.
Initially, he didn’t respond to her and kept thrashing and moaning. The thought of what had happened to him to cause a nightmare like this tore at her. For some reason, she didn’t think it was from today’s crash. Her heart went out to him and she gently laid her hand on his shoulder.
Touching him again, after all these years, brought back a flood of bittersweet memories. Of him holding her, making her feel as if she were the most cherished person in the world. Of always feeling warm and safe within his arms. Of making tender, sweet love, then later in the night, more passionately as if they couldn’t get enough of each other. Of falling asleep in each other’s arms, clinging to each other for as long as possible. The next day, he’d left on that flight and never returned. Over the years, she’d relived their one and only night together over and over in her mind. If only they’d had more time. If only he hadn’t left…
Gripping his arm tighter, she said, “Wade. It’s all right. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you.” She took a long breath, her heart swelling, then added, “I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’m here.”
As soon as she murmured those last words, he settled. Almost immediately, his breathing evened out and he was fast asleep again. She sat there, still touching him, still remembering their past. Then, she slowly withdrew. He didn’t want her anymore, had no need of her. And if he ever learned about the baby, he’d hate her for the rest of his days. A tear slid down her cheek for all they’d lost, for the life she knew in her soul they’d never have together.
Quietly, she stood, picked up Sebastian, and tip-toed back to her room.
****
Wade couldn’t believe he’d spent the night at Miranda’s. Granted, they had thought her life was in danger, but what had possessed him to think he could stay there and keep his emotions in check? His recurring nightmare from the jungle had come back full force during the night. Miranda’s presence had been the only thing that had helped. Her soft cooing and gentle touch surprised him, making him want more. Even the darned cat wanted to help him and had kept touching Wade’s hand with his nose.
It had taken everything in him to not let Miranda know her softly spoken words had woken him, and that he was aware of her presence. The one thing he’d learned while a captive was to fake sleep while wide awake. With her so close, it had been harder than he would have thought.
Thankfully, she hadn’t stayed by his side too long, and she and the cat had returned to bed. Her light floral fragrance had lingered, though, making it difficult for him to go back to sleep. Although, the thought of revisiting the horrible dream that had plagued him since his return to the States was enough to keep him awake. He’d listened to every creak, every subtle sound of the older house. The continued work at the crash site served as white noise, but at least there hadn’t been anything else alarming around the house. Refusing to stay on the couch, he had made a few more trips inside, avoiding the squeaky board in the hall that gave away his presence.
Just after dawn, satisfied Miranda was safe, he’d left without bothering to wake her or tell her goodbye, then stopped at the motel for a change of clothes…and a cold shower. He wasn’t sure if he needed the shower to dispel the images of a jungle going up in flames with people trying to kill him, or of her scent that permeated every inch of her home. And now him. At any rate, he was determined to concentrate on why he was here in the first place…his friend’s dead face flashed across his mind.
He shook off the image as he pulled into the parking lot of the Tangled Rose Café and found a spot on the far side. A small bell above the door announced his presence when he entered the establishment. The place lived up to its name. A huge wild rose bush had been painted on the back wall. The artist had even included the thorns. Had Miranda painted the mural? Possibly. Probably. Had she signed it? He resisted the urge to go look.
Vinyl records, pictures of movie stars from previous eras, and various football logos took up space on a side wall. A long counter and the kitchen were off to the right. Freshly brewed coffee, along with the sizzle of frying bacon, made his mouth water.
“Welcome to The Tangled Rose.” A very pregnant waitress sat on a stool at the register and handed him a menu. “Take a seat anywhere you can find one. Someone will be with you shortly, but please be patient. We’re a bit overwhelmed right now.”
He could see why. Only one other waitress was working, the woman who’d served them sandwiches at Miranda’s the day before, and she was moving at a whirlwind pace.
Several people turned to stare at him. His jacket, embossed with the FBI logo, stuck out like a sore thumb. Normally, such scrutiny didn’t bother him, but this morning he was still disoriented from the prior evening, and he found the unwanted attention unsettling. To make up for it, he scowled, resulting in most everyone averting their gazes. Good.
Wade nodded to the sheriff, who sat at the crowded counter, then found an empty table in the middle of the room. Seeing Bennett was a stark reminder Wade had neglected his job, again, by not checking the woods for more clues as to the shooter before leaving Miranda’s this morning. Being around her was a major distraction. One he couldn’t afford.
He resisted the urge to growl at himself for being so careless. Instead, he concentrated on the menu. Not surprising, it contained what he’d found in hundreds of other diners and cafes across the country. Sooner than he expected, the waitress appeared at his table.
“Morning, agent. What can I get you?”
“Melody, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s nice of you to remember.”
“It was kind of you to feed everyone yesterday. It sure was appreciated.” Wade gave her a brief smile.
“No big deal. Glad Randi and I could help. Now what would you like to eat?”
He felt bad for making small talk when she was obviously so busy and wondered why Miranda wasn’t helping her out. Then again, maybe she wasn’t much of a waitress. Who knew? “Coffee and the number one.”
“You got it. It’ll be right out.” She hurried away, returning a short time later with his coffee, before waiting on another table.
The small building was packed with customers. From the looks of them, the vast majority were reporters, but some were locals. Of course, some could be people who simply got a thrill out of someone else’s misfortune, like the scavengers who’d gotten there before the National Guard had arrived, cleared everyone out, and then cordoned off the area.
So how had someone gotten close enough to Miranda’s house to shoot at them? That question continued to nag at him. Perhaps a local who had come in through the woods. Was there a back road or even a path someone could take? How far around the National Guard perimeter would they have to go to get to the house? He pulled out his notebook and made a notation, adding it to the list of things to check. He wanted to find out before he left.
He glanced up at the sheriff, who was casing the room while he ate, the same as Wade was doing. From the dark circles under Bennett’s eyes, he hadn’t gotten much sleep. No one did during one of these situations. Except I managed to sleep long enough to have that nightmare.
Wade had just taken another sip of coffee when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, the same as they’d done at the crash site yesterday. Moving his head as little as possible, he scanned the room. With the look of a tiger ready to pounce, a female reporter watched him closely. Wade wanted to tell her she was wasting her energy if she thought she’d actually get an interview with him. He had to give her credit for not barging over to his table, though. Perhaps his dark scowl kept her at bay. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with the press.
His spine kept tingling. No, the reporter wasn’t the reason for his unease. Several of the locals kept glancing his way, and he dismissed all of them. Except for a man at a back table. He might appear to be local, but Wade would bet otherwise. There was something about him that gave Wade pause. Over the years, he’d come to recognize a person who had spent time behind bars…or who needed to be behind bars. Despite the fact the man kept looking down at his food, every time Wade looked his direction, he’d been staring at Wade with cold, dead eyes.
