Clowns and Cowboys (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 3) (14 page)

“Mmm,” Parker murmured and let his gaze rove over his wife’s lovely, lean body.

He loved watching her work, watching the fiery passion in her come to life with the skills he had taught her. At the moment, the sight distracted him, aroused him. At the moment, he didn’t mind one bit.

“Okay. What do we do now?” Miranda pivoted around in the chair to face him.

“Now?” He lifted a strand of her hair, moved it between his fingers as his gray eyes locked on hers. “We do this.” He slid his hand around her neck and drew her lips to his.

Their mouths met and her heart flooded with a sharp pang of joy.

He kissed her gently, caressed the back of her neck softly, as if she were a china doll, so fragile she might break.

The heck with that.

She jumped to her feet, yanked her sleeveless blouse over her head and reached for his knit shirt.

As she struggled with the fabric he sank his face between her breasts. “Miranda,” he murmured.

“Parker,” she whispered back to him, relishing the very sound of his name on her lips.

She gave up on the shirt and simply let her hands slide under it, let her fingers run over his muscled back. It felt so good. He felt good. It was as if they’d just met again after being separated for years.

He ran his fingers around her waist sending shivers through her core, and then he undid the button of her jeans and slowly pulled down the zipper. She did the same for him. Together they stepped out of the clothes and kicked them aside as if they were doing a choreographed dance move.

He pulled off his shirt, then went for her bra.

And then they both stood their panting and naked, eyeing the other’s body as if they’d never seen each before. She wanted to touch him. Feel his flesh. Feel his skillful hands all over her.

She leapt into his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist, then regretted it when she saw him wince.

“Are you—?”

“I’m fine.” And he took her mouth with his in a voracious kiss that was hot and furious and filled with the pent-up passion of weeks.

He moved them both to the bed, with her still clinging onto him and laid her down on her back. He began to work her over like a top MMA fighter in the ring works an opponent. His fingers seemed to take on a life of their own as they moved over her skin, her arms, her sides, her stomach, her breasts. He was driving her insane. She felt crazed and giddy and more aroused than ever from the impossibly delicious sensations bombarding her. Surge after surge, wave after wave, until she cried out from sheer pleasure.

This was what she wanted, what she longed for. She loved him. Only him.

“Parker,” she murmured, her voice little more than a soft muddled gasp. She wanted him inside her. Deep inside her. Now. She couldn’t wait another instant. Though she was too overcome to form the words.

As if he read her thoughts, as if the desire he aroused in her had sparked from her body and into his like a lightning bolt, he locked his gaze on hers, hovered over her, and finally, at last took what was his.

In the white lab coat she thought of as her uniform, she paced the sterile floor of the observation room. As she did every night, she scrutinized the readings on each of the bank of monitoring machines and recorded her findings.

“D242, vitals satisfactory,” she said into the speaker in her hand. “E311, progressing nicely.” She moved to the next screen and frowned. “F412, development still appears somewhat stunted.” She moved on.

Overall this new batch was doing better than the last. She hoped they wouldn’t have to destroy any of them this time. Though the process was painless, it disturbed her.

But no need to be discouraged. Not at this point. They’d come a long way after more than twenty-five years of research and experimentation. Those first years had given them false hope. Success they hadn’t been able to duplicate since. Out of an even dozen implantations nine had survived. A promising ratio.

But one by one, the successes had turned to failures and had had to be terminated. All but three.

The following year all the implantations had failed and she’d almost suspended the project. The Director wouldn’t hear of that and so she’d continued on with her faithful staff. The third year there had been five successes out of nineteen. Only one had made it to full maturation.

They had kept on. After all the research was vital. It would change the world. They tried to keep the implantations alive. They performed surgeries as needed, provided the best care. But most lingered in an unsatisfactory state.

And so she had put all her hopes on the one success begun twenty-one years ago.

And now? What would happen to that success?

There was a knock on the door. It opened and the Director entered the room. He was a handsome man, in his late fifties now, with distinguish gray at his temples. She’d always thought him attractive.

“Have you made any progress yet?” he said.

She shook her head. “I have no idea where she is.”

His face told her he wasn’t happy with that answer. “None at all?”

“I told you. If only you had allowed tracking devices to be implanted before we released them—”

“And I told you that was too risky. What if they went through an airport and the devise showed up on some scanner? It would lead straight to us.”

She sank into a chair feeling bone weary. “Yes, you’re right.”

They couldn’t let this facility be discovered. Not yet. Not before they were ready to make their findings public. Once they were truly successful, humanity would be advanced beyond anything that could currently be imagined. Many would not understand that. Many would try to stop them.

She refused to let that happen, to let all her years of work and struggle come to nothing.

She turned to a system, pressed a few keys on the keyboard. “I’ve been trying to plot her thought patterns. Extrapolate where she might have gone with the data we’ve collected on her since she was born.”

The Director bent down and together they studied the complex maze of lines and graphs on the screen. She felt his breath against her neck and it made her skin tingle. Her mind filled with memories of the love they’d shared once upon a time. A love that had evaporated away years ago, like the dew.

“I think she might go west.”

“That’s all you have?” He was angry.

“All for now. I’ll keep working at it. We know her. We created her. Surely we can find her.” Though deep inside she feared it would take too long.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” The Director rose and went to the door. His hand on the knob he turned back, his face betraying a deep seated dread. “You’d better hope we get to her before the authorities do.”

“Yes, yes. I know.”

“I hope you do. If they find her first there will be hell to pay, Dr. Tenbrook.”

The air was warm and scented with wildflowers. She smiled at the rush of it blowing against her face, through her hair as she rode along. The cycles’ motor purred gently in her ears.

She felt free.

The highway was wide and smooth and they easily rounded the gravel embankment dotted with yucca trees. The air was hot and dusty but she felt happy, lighthearted.

She hugged her arms tightly around his lean, muscular body and leaned her head against the strong back that lifted fifty pounds of drywall material all day. She could smell his earthy cowboy scent. Yes, she was happy. She hadn’t felt this way since…not for years.

But it wouldn’t last. She knew that. Knew she had to live for the moment. For special moments like this one.

The craggy mountains loomed in the distance, covered with cactus and sage. They were heading there for a picnic. A picnic that would probably end up in some sort of romantic wrestling match.

A tingle flittered through her belly at the thought.

And just as it did, the sky went dark. Overhead thunder clapped and black clouds twice as big as the mountains began to form.

Suddenly they were in the mountains. Racing down dark, narrow paths that twisted around the cavernous rocks, a stomach-churning drop on the other side.

And he was gone. She was alone.

Her fingers gripped the cycle’s handles. The motor beneath her growled and sputtered. And then she heard another sound. Another motor.

Someone was behind her.

She was heading around a hairpin curve. As the cycle took the bend, she dared to glance behind her. She saw him. The black slits of his eyes, the dark stringy hair, the face full of hate.

No.

She rolled the throttle and sped up, the cycle’s tires squealing around the turn. The engine sputtered again. A loud crack of lightening erupted over her head. A brilliant flash sizzled through the handlebars.

The engine gave out.

The cycle broke into pieces against the mountainside. She tumbled down, down, down until she was swallowed up in darkness.

And then she heard that too familiar voice in her ear.

I always said you were a whore
.

Miranda woke with a start.

Her chest tight, her heart pounded wildly she gasped in air and tried to figure out where she was. She could barely breathe. Still half in her dream she groped the mattress for Parker.

Empty.

She opened her eyes. He wasn’t there.

She raised her head in alarm—and heard the sound of the hotel room shower.

Exhaling an open-mouthed breath of relief she let her head fall back on the pillow. She ran her hands over her face.

Why in the world had she dreamt of Leon?

She hadn’t had a nightmare like that since Lake Placid. Did his ghost haunt the Arizona desert?

Last night came back to her. Parker’s hands and body. All the delicious sensations of his powerful lovemaking. At last they’d had a chance to express what they felt for each other with raw animal lust again. She thought everything was fine between them again. How could she have dreamed of Sam after a night like that?

What kind of a person was she?

She didn’t have those kind of feelings for Sam. How could she? She’d left him high and dry back in Phoenix. It had been over before it started.

Then an odd thought came to her. What if she hadn’t left? What if she had tried to make a go of it with Sam all those years ago? Would it have worked out? Could she have loved him? Had she loved him? Did she now?

That was crazy. She loved Parker. Sam was just a guy.

No, he wasn’t just a guy. She’d had feelings for him in the past. Stronger than she’d realized apparently. But not anymore. What was it that made her dream about him then?

What did it matter anyway? She was married to Parker and that was that.

Parker was the one she’d chosen, the one she’d said
I do
to. She loved him more than she’d ever thought she could love anyone. She was nuts about him. She’d never do anything to hurt him.

Not intentionally anyway. Unintentionally, she’d hurt him a bunch of times.

Feeling shaky again, she got up, reached for a robe and went to the window. She looked out at the city she thought she knew. Did Leon’s ghost haunt this place, too? He’d lived near here once.

Was Layla out there somewhere, hoping someone would come and rescue her? Or maybe it was her ghost haunting the place.

Miranda didn’t know. All she knew was she felt something deep down that was making her very uneasy.

Somewhere out there was something very bad.

There was a knock on the door and she almost jumped out of her skin. That had better not be Sam, she thought, stomping across the floor to answer it.

“Room service.”

She opened the door and a bellhop rolled in a small table laden with silver-covered dishes. The smell of bacon and fresh-brewed coffee hit her nose, and her mouth started to water.

The bellhop uncovered the dishes for her perusal and Miranda leaned over to have a look. Shiny polished silverware, fancy china cups and saucers, steaming plates of delicious-smelling breakfast food.

It was so Parker.

He had thought of everything, hadn’t he? Sam might know she liked hot sauce, but Parker knew more than that. He knew she liked her coffee black, her eggs hard-scrambled, and her bacon extra crispy.

She got some cash from a drawer, tipped the bellhop, and he headed out the door with a smile.

The next instant the bathroom opened and Parker stepped out, a towel around his waist. His dark, salt-and-pepper hair was wet and falling over his forehead. His muscular chest and shoulders seemed even hotter and sexier than they had last night.

She hurried over to him and gave him a big sloppy kiss. “Good morning,” she said, her lips still against his.

“It seems to be,” he murmured, kissing her back.

She ran a hand down his side, heard him wince. She pulled back and saw the pale marks along his ribcage. She touched them gently with her fingertips. “Did we make it worse last night?”

He smiled lustily. “It was worth it.” Then he caught her hand. “And if you don’t stop that, we may never get any work done today.”

She let her arms go around his neck and lingered there, wondering if that wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

He looked past her and eyed the table with a frown. “I meant to finish in the bathroom before breakfast came. I didn’t want to wake you. You had a restless night.”

Had he known she’d been having a nightmare? She pulled away from him, feeling awkward. “I was already awake.” She pulled a chair over to where the food sat. “Hey, let’s eat before this stuff gets cold.”

“All right.” He grabbed another chair, disregarding his ribs and held it out for her.

She indulged him and sat, watched him while he took his place opposite her, bare-chested and still in just a towel. This was where they belonged. On a case, together. Body and soul.

She waited for him to pour coffee, then gulped it greedily. She needed fortification. She doused her eggs with hot sauce and dug in.

After a few bites, her mind began to focus. “So we’ve got Harvey Hackett with a grudge against the vic, a crush on the vic’s fiancée, and a bottle of the same wine used to kill the vic wedged in his rosebushes.” She sighed aloud. “Pretty good circumstantial case.”