Clowns and Cowboys (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 3) (30 page)

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let anyone know about this little project.”

He squinted at her. “Not even Parker?”

“Especially not Parker.”

He seemed a little apprehensive but friendship was friendship. “Whatever you say, Steele. Mum’s the word.” And he made the locking his lips gesture.

They stepped back inside and found that Wendy had emerged from the dressing room and everyone was applauding and cheering and hugging her. It looked like the party had already started.

Miranda worked her way over to Parker’s side. He beamed at her as he slipped one arm around her and the other around Wendy and declared them both winners.

She smiled up at his handsome face, her heart full of love for him.

They had just closed down a secret lab and saved the lives of over two dozen kids. She had family and friends and people who loved her. Life, as they say, was good.

She returned Parker’s hug. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

Deep in her heart she knew everything was going to be just fine.

###

To continue Miranda and Parker’s story, click
here
.

The Watcher
, the fourth Miranda and Parker mystery, is available now.

Thank you for reading
Clown and Cowboys
, the third Miranda and Parker mystery.

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Review it.
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You can contact me at linsey at linseylanier dot com.

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I love my readers and am truly grateful for all your support!

I hope you’ve enjoyed the third book in the Miranda and Parker Murder Mystery series. Below is an excerpt from Book 4,
The Watcher
.

The Watcher (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) #4—Excerpt

He watched her.

Hidden beneath a canopy of cool green mountain laurels at the edge of the property, he watched her emerge from the elegant home and stride across the lawn to the road.

His heart swelled, the folds of her expensive silk suit of frosty cream mesmerizing him as she moved. Her lovely neck was graced with jewels. Her long black hair was caught up in the back, neat and straight, as always. Oh, how he wished she would let her hair flow free to blow in the breeze as he’d seen her do in her own garden.

She moved down the road with purpose, her long, luscious legs turning every step into a work of art. He studied the curve of her calf, the flex in her muscles as she walked. Longing burned in his breast. She was breathtaking.

Strength, grace, determination. Too much determination.

Butterflies skirted along the tall grass, making the view even more perfect. He loved the fresh mountain air. He loved this land of Campos de Flores. Twenty-four hundred kilometers below the equator and fifty-six to the sea. It was a land like no other.

He rubbed his arms. At last the days were beginning to grow chilly. The hydrangeas were still in bloom, their wide blue blossoms covering the ground. Winter was late this year but he welcomed the cool weather.

She was almost to the end of the lane now. Heading just where he feared she might be.

He followed her.

It was not hard to keep himself well hidden from sight. He knew these forest paths, as the gringos say, like the back of his hand. He was right about her destination.

Without a sound or the rustle of a leaf he matched her stride and kept pace until she reached the steps of the
Boteco do Sabor
.

A young man in the standard white coat and black slacks greeted her, led her across the room.

The
garçom
seated her at a table with another, older man. He wore a dark tweed suit and thick horn-rimmed glasses.

Oh, no, Portia. She could only be up to one thing. The last thing he wanted her to do. The thing he would never allow her to do.

And yet there she sat, such a serious frown between her dark brows. The man pulled out papers from an attaché case to show her. Conducting business? No, this was more than business.

He watched the two of them order drinks and sip them slowly as they continued to chat. The man had plain coffee. And Tia? She would choose Caipifruta with mango. Only the freshest for her.

Quietly he clucked his tongue as if he were scolding a child.

If she kept behaving like that, he would have to take action soon. If she kept behaving like that, he would have to stop her. But she couldn’t go through with what he knew she was discussing with this man. Could she? Could she truly betray him? Watching the intent look on her face as she listened and slowly nodded, he knew she could.

His heart sank in bitter disappointment. This meant he would have to make good on his promise soon. He would have no choice. He would have to act. What a shame.

It would break his heart to lose her. But she would remain a beautiful memory in his heart forever. He wished it was not so but there was no other way.

As much as he admired her beauty and grace, he would have to kill her.

To continue reading click
here
.

The Watcher
, the fourth Miranda and Parker mystery, is available now.

###

If you missed the Miranda’s Rights Mystery series, below is an excerpt from Book I,
Someone Else’s Daughter
where Miranda first goes to work for the Parker Agency—and gets into all sorts of trouble.

Someone Else’s Daughter: Book I (A Miranda’s Rights Mystery) — Excerpt

She could make it to the trees. She was too far away for him to catch up now. It started to rain. A soft rain. The kind, somebody had told her, that often came up in Georgia without warning. Beneath her, the ground sloped steeply as the grass grew wet. She slipped, tried to stifle a yelp, but it escaped her lips.

The cop heard her. His light found her. “Stop,” he yelled.

Man, she was having a bad night.

But the rain slowed him down, too. She could hear him grunting and cussing behind her as he struggled down the slippery incline. She reached the bottom and the land became flat again. Almost there. She sprinted across a patch of grass to the first clump of trees. Hesitating, she stopped to catch her breath.

The bright moon cast an eerie glow on the rocks and wild growth. She’d never liked wooded areas. She thought about murders in the forest preserves where she’d grown up. She thought of stories she’d heard about snakes in the Georgia woods. She glanced behind her.

The cop’s light bobbed about halfway down the hill.

No choice. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself and stepped into the tall grass. Her foot went down on a squishy surface of pine straw and matted grass, a twig snapped, but it held. She took another step, reached out and felt tree bark in front of her. She sidestepped and moved around it. The ground was uneven and muddy. The drizzling rain fell against the leaves with a sound like soft cymbals. The air smelled cool and freshly washed. Brush tangled around her shins. Her hair and clothes were wet, but she couldn’t think about that now.

She looked back again, could barely make out the cop. That meant he couldn’t see her either. She’d done it. She’d escaped. But he’d be hunting her in these woods soon. Probably call out the cavalry, too. Maybe she could make it to the other side. It was part of a subdivision, after all. She couldn’t remember the layout of the forest from her map.

Better move faster. She took a quick step, then another. Found a spot where the trees opened up. She started to sprint. Wrong move. Something caught her foot.

Down she went.

She tried to catch herself on a tree, but her hand scrapped across its bark. Her palms skidded across the muddy ground.

Damn. She didn’t need this now. What had she’d tripped over? She brushed her hair out of her eyes, hoping she hadn’t landed on a slithering snake.

Then she froze.

Inches away from her face, lay a shape. A familiar shape. She stared at it, her breath coming in snatches.
Was she hallucinating?
It looked like a kid’s sneaker. Peeking out from a pile of wet twigs and pine straw, like it had been lost there. Or buried. She reached out and whisked away some of the debris covering it.

Her chest tightened. The sneaker had a foot in it.

She got to her knees to sweep off more dirt. An ankle. A sock. A hem of denim. Oh, God. It was a leg. A human leg. Small. A child’s leg. A girl’s leg. A young teen.

She found the other sneaker. She was shaking all over by now.

Her heart choking her throat, she crawled to the side of what she now realized was a mound. Desperately she shoved away the muck and grimy pine straw, the dreck someone had used to…she couldn’t even think it…to bury someone?

Two legs appeared under her hands, clad in a pair of designer jeans. The type hip young girls liked to wear. She kept going and found the bottom hem of a fancy, girlish T-shirt. Then two young hands…tied with thick rope, clasped together as if in prayer. Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening. Tears burned her eyes. She couldn’t stop herself. Madly, she brushed away the rest of the dirt, and at last, the face appeared. Young. Pretty. More than pretty. Beautiful. And perfectly still.

Dead.

Miranda’s mind reeled. This was the missing girl everyone was talking about. This was Madison. Had to be. But how did she get
here
?

Her whole body shuddering, she put her hands to her head. She had seen death before, knew the look of a body in a casket. An uncle she barely knew who’d passed away when she was a child, a fallen officer who’d been a buddy of Leon’s, her own mother lying so still in her coffin with her hard, stony face. But she’d never seen death like this.

So close, so stark, so…undeniable.

The air had a dank smell. Long, dark hair lay damp and matted on the ground. Gnats and flies buzzed around the swollen face, glistening with the raindrops that fell on it. Instead of a childlike expression of innocence, there was the whisper of a smile. An air of superiority, as if she had felt far above whoever had left her this way.

It was the eyes that got her. Open, staring, lifeless. Looking at them, Miranda felt as though a fist had reached inside her chest and yanked out her heart.

She forced her gaze away from the eyes. Her breath caught, as her mind cleared. The girl’s neck. She had to take a look at the girl’s neck.

She crept closer and saw that a wide, white ribbon had been tied around the young girl’s neck. What was that for? She didn’t know, but she had to look under it. She shouldn’t touch it. It was evidence. But she had to know.

Slowly, she reached out with trembling fingers and lifted the soft cloth, moist with the rainwater. Her hands shivered so hard, she could barely slip it down, but somehow she managed.

And then she saw it. The mark on her neck. Dark, round, distinct.

She put the soaking ribbon back in place. Her hands shook violently, shot to her mouth, her head. Her chest felt like it would burst. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingled with the rain, dropped onto the forest floor.

This was Amy. This was her baby.

Someone Else’s Daughter – Book I

If you enjoyed this book you may also enjoy a novel about another strong woman, Maggie Delaney.
Chicago Cop
is a police thriller featuring GUTS team lead Lieutenant Maggie Delaney, a tough cop—with troubles at home—who must hunt down a crazed mafia hit man bent on revenge before everyone she cared about ends up dead.

This time it’s not business. It’s personal.

Chicago Cop (A cop family thriller) — Excerpt

The floor of the Timberwood Station had a polished glow, giving it that familiar, sterile feel of government buildings, a nearly futile attempt to disinfect the ugly gore that often permeated police work. As Maggie’s heels clicked stoically on the linoleum, she noted two grim-looking suits emerging from a room down the hall.

“Internal Affairs?” she murmured to the man beside her.

“That would be my guess, Lieutenant.”

Her escort was Captain Wallace Nye. A thin man, maybe in his fifties, with a blond, old-fashioned crew cut that made his protruding ears more pronounced and bulging, bloodshot eyes that told Maggie he wasn’t used to the night shift. He looked like he could use some coffee.

Without fanfare, he stopped at the door the IA men had just exited, opened it for her. “The suspect’s in here.”

Annoyed at Nye’s callous reference to a fellow officer, she peeked inside the room.

The “suspect” sat at the low table under the harsh florescent lights, still dressed in his uniform, his head buried in his hands. Some of his partner’s blood was still caked along the sides of his fingers. His despair seemed to fill the room.

It was him. Cousin Jen’s son, Tony. Dear God.

Well, maybe she could do something to save his hide before she had to recuse herself. She stepped inside the cramped room as Nye closed the door behind her and stared down at the young man.

Slowly he raised his head.

His eyes were swollen, his dark hair disheveled, his youthful face streaked with tears. He looked like he had aged ten years in one night. “Aunt Mag?” He sounded like he thought he was dreaming.

“Hi, Tony.” Her heart broke for him.

Her mind flashed back to long ago scenes. The christening celebration at her mother’s house when Maggie was barely eleven, holding the wriggling baby boy in her arms. The phone call several years later and trying to comfort him after his father was killed in the line of duty. Driving to his house when she was a teen to babysit him for spending cash. The night he’d told her so seriously that he was in love with a neighbor and wanted to know what girls liked. She’d told him flowers and candy. And that they liked to be listened to.