Silent Night (29 page)

T
HE SOUND OF
gunfire pressed Tucker low into the snow, his hands over his head as he listened, waiting, his heart beating so fast, he was getting dizzy.

Miranda.

A deep scream followed the sound, but Tucker couldn’t tell who it might belong to. He had to find a way in.

He’d been foolish not to expect a gun. Just because the victims hadn’t died from a gunshot wound didn’t mean Anatole hadn’t had a gun on him in case things got sticky. Christmas wasn’t exactly a Kevlar town, but it wasn’t his life Tucker was worried about.

He found the back door locked. If he broke it down, there’d be no hiding his approach. There had to be another window, something. He checked the far side of the building and was further discouraged. The only window on that side was boarded up.

He’d instructed the ambulance to come in quietly, to save their lights for their trip off the property, and to park as far away as possible. Now he was probably going to have to blow his own cover in order to get his ass inside to save Miranda and Simon.

M
IRANDA
’
S EARS RANG
and the cloud of gunpowder filling the room burned her eyes. Her watery gaze shot to Simon. He lay before her, his hands gripping his foot. Blood spilled between his fingers.

“You’re going to be all right,” she whispered, praying it would be true. She shifted her gaze. Anatole was pacing again. Rambling as he looked at the ceiling.

Something brushed her ankle and she nearly screamed. Simon held out the long silver blade. She gripped it in her shaking hand, and waited until Anatole turned his back to her. When Anatole dropped to his knees and raised his hands in prayer, Miranda lunged.

The knife cut deeply into his arm. Anatole howled in pain; the gun fell to the floor. She grabbed it, holding it awkwardly in her left hand. Before she could form a plan, Anatole grabbed her leg, pulling her off balance. She crashed to the floor, the wind knocked out of her, both weapons falling from her grasp.

“Grant eternal rest unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine. May her soul, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.” He straddled her, his hands closing around her neck. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned . . .”

Miranda spread out her hands in search of either the gun or the knife. If she died tonight, she would do her damnedest to take him with her.

Her fingers touched cold steel, but she couldn’t grasp the gun. Spots danced before her eyes. Her lungs screamed for air. Blackness shrouded her. Her fingers locked around the barrel. With the last of her strength, she swung. The butt of the gun slammed against Anatole’s temple. He collapsed against her.

Miranda struggled to free herself from his weight. Blood oozed from the gash on his temple. His breath was shallow, but he wasn’t moving.

Pushing to all fours, she crawled to Simon. “We have to run. Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I’ll . . . He pushed himself up to his feet, hobbling on his one good foot, the other bloody and shattered. “Just go. I’ll slow you down.”

He wasn’t wrong. But she couldn’t just leave him behind. If he wasn’t fast enough, Anatole could wake and finish what he’d started. She should kill Anatole. Shoot him where he lay. He’d caused so much pain. So much death.

She thought of Bobby, raised the gun.

Then lowered it again. She wasn’t a killer. She couldn’t . . .

Rushing to the bag by the altar, she dumped the contents on the floor. Folding the white, silky robe, she wrapped it around Simon’s foot, then used the sash to hold it tightly in place.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, brushing his damp hair from his eyes.

“So sorry. I—I didn’t. I couldn’t . . . I stabbed him . . . when he took me. He came for me at my shed and I . . . I stabbed him. God, I wish I’d killed him!”

She glanced at the door. “We’re going to be okay.”

Simon gave a tentative test of his foot, but it was no good. “Jesus, just go.”

Anatole stirred, and as he started to push himself to his knees, Miranda pointed the gun at him and all doubts of her capability to kill dissolved in a rush of rage.

She fired.

Click.

Her blood ran cold. The gun was out of ammo. She looked fervently around for the knife, but could see very little on the floor in the darkness.

“Listen to me,” she whispered to Simon. “If I run, he’ll chase me. Stay in the corner. He’ll have no choice. Understand?”

“What if he catches—”

“Just stay hidden until he runs after me. Then go as quickly as you can to the road, or the trees . . . wherever you can hide . . . and stay there. Don’t let him find you. I’ll be back for you. Understand?”

Anatole was moving again. He gripped his head, his murderous gaze locked on her.

She looked at Simon. “I’m not leaving. I swear I’ll be back with help. Just go when he follows me.”

When he nodded, Miranda took a deep breath.

Then, she ran.

T
UCKER MADE IT
back to the front of the house, determined to burst in regardless of what it cost him. He had to get to Miranda. He hadn’t heard anything since the gunshot and there was no telling . . .

As he approached the front door, it burst open and Miranda came flying out, running like the devil was at her heels. He opened his mouth to call out to her, but another figure stumbled out behind her.

Miranda shot past Tucker without even noticing him. He chased after her, biting down on his tongue to keep from hollering out her name. If she didn’t realize he was there, neither did Anatole. Tucker wanted to keep it that way.

He took the path to the right of her, desperate to get in front of her where he could make her see him without Anatole being the wiser. When she stumbled into the clearing ahead, he holstered his weapon, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her tightly to his chest, covering her mouth and silencing her scream. “Shh, I got you.”

When she sagged against him, he removed her hand. She spun in his arms. “Tucker, it’s Anatole,” she whispered.

“I know. I know, babe.”

Anatole broke into the clearing and Miranda screamed.

Tucker shoved her behind him and slid his gun from its holster. “Peter Anatole, you’re under arrest. Put the gun on the ground and place your hands behind your head.” He flipped the safety off. “There’s no need for anyone else to get hurt.”

“You tried to kill me,” Anatole snarled, his gaze looking through Tucker to Miranda. He jerked the slide, ejecting a bullet and reloading the chamber. “If you do evil, be afraid, because I am the minister of God, a revenger to
execute
wrath upon those that do evil.”

“Well then.” Tucker raised the gun. “May God have mercy on your soul.”

He pulled the trigger.

T
HE AMBULANCE LIGHTS
whirled in a blur of red and white. Miranda huddled under the blanket the paramedics had provided and watched as they carted Anatole’s bagged body into the back of one of the vans. A man was dead. She should feel something. But she was simply glad to be alive.

Other than her bruised and battered body, the only real harm done had been to her psyche and her heart. She’d been right all along. No one had believed her, and had even gone as far as to make her doubt herself.

Simon lay in this ambulance with her, and sitting on the tailgate was Lisa, her forehead being bandaged while Simon’s foot was being examined. He glanced at her from his gurney.

“So many people hurt. Because of me.”

“No, Simon—”

“We’re taking him to Knoxville,” a paramedic said. “He’s going to need surgery.”

Lisa and Miranda were helped out of the ambulance, and they stood shoulder to shoulder until the lights disappeared.

Lisa gripped her hand, and there were no words to express how grateful Miranda was that she’d actually made a friend here in Christmas. Lisa had dragged her wounded body behind Miranda, had followed a madman to a secluded place to help her. She would never forget that, not if she lived a whole other lifetime.

“How’re ya holding up?” Lisa asked, tentatively touching the bandage wrapped around her leg. The dashboard had sliced it up pretty bad, and her head had looked like a slab of beef before the paramedics had bandaged it.

“I’m—I’ll be okay.” She pointed toward the second ambulance. “I think they’re getting tired of waiting on you.”

Lisa sighed. “They’re taking me to Sevierville on Tuck’s orders. Have him bring you by when he’s finished here?”

“I’ll do that.” On impulse, she gave Lisa a tight hug. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how—”

Lisa returned the hug. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do.”

Miranda watched the ambulance drive away before searching for Tucker again. There were so many people that she couldn’t find him in the chaos. She hadn’t seen him since he’d carried her to the ambulance.

She sat on the hood of the nearest squad car and cradled her head in her hands. This place was going to forever hold bad memories for her, but the thought of leaving him now, after all this . . . What if it was only just beginning to get good between them? What if this was supposed to be the start of something amazing? Did location really matter? She’d told him she was leaving as soon as the Rosary Killer was stopped. But did she have anything calling her back to California?

She was still trembling when a pair of boots filled her vision. Lifting her head, she smiled at Finn while looking over his shoulder to see if Tucker was close by. She still didn’t see him.

“You okay?” he asked, surprising her with a hug. She let him hold her, took comfort in his strong arms though they weren’t the arms she wanted around her.

“I’m fine. Where’s Tuck? I need to see him.”

“On the phone with Detective Langley in Dayton. He wanted him to know what was going on right away so they could get started on getting your brother out as soon as possible.”

Was it really going to be so simple? She pictured Bobby’s face when he found out the news. She sobbed against Finn’s chest, felt him release her, then hold her again. But this time, his arms felt right. She looked up and found Tucker smiling down at her, his fingers gently rubbing the small of her back.

“Tell me again that you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” She pulled his head down and kissed him. His warm lips chased away the last of her fear. “Guess there’s something to be said about running like a little girl.”

His arms tightened almost painfully around her waist. “Nothing wrong with running unless you’re running from something good.”

She smiled and played with a button on his uniform. “It’s just . . . I’ve dedicated the last year of my life to this. To proving Bobby’s innocence. What am I supposed to do with myself now?”

“I have a couple of ideas.”

“I bet you do.” He bent and kissed her again, this time so feathery soft it tickled. “For now, can you just get me out of here?”

Tucker released her and slid his hand into hers, guiding her away from the cruiser she was sitting on to his.

“I just don’t get it,” Tucker said. “How was killing Simon going to erase Anatole’s sin of having a kid?”

“I think Anatole was trying to cleanse his son of his illegitimacy by inducting him into the church, completing the rite—holy orders. I guess his sick mind thought that would free them both from sin. He was rambling about Abraham. I think he saw himself that way. Sacrifice your own son to prove how much you love God. But I think he had to perform
all
of the rites to feel as though Simon’s death completed some sick ritual. He brought Simon here. Made sure he had a job. I’m guessing with Bobby locked up, Anatole was all Simon had, so he came. That was all Anatole was waiting on before starting the killings again.”

“You probably saved Simon’s life by running.”

Miranda shook her head. “No. He saved mine. The only reason I was able to get away was because Simon hadn’t been able to follow orders and kill me. Not even to save his own life.”

“Guess I owe Simon more than just my gratitude.” Tucker buried his face in her hair, then reached around her to pop open the passenger door. “I thought I lost you tonight.”

Miranda didn’t care how many people were close by or who might overhear. She smiled at him. “Why don’t you take me back to your place and show me how great it is to be alive?”

M
IRANDA STOOD ON
the steps outside the Dayton courthouse. It had been a long six weeks, but finally, Bobby’s release date had arrived. She’d been in the courtroom when Tucker, Finn, and Detective Langley had presented the case to the judge. Had openly cried when the judge ruled that Bobby was free to go.

Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted questions. And Bobby stood just outside the door beside his attorney. A huge smile spread onto his face as he took his first breath of air as a free man.

“Mr. Harley just wants to thank the courts, Chief Tucker Ambrose, and Detectives Finn Donavan and Ben Langley for working so diligently to get to the truth,” the lawyer declared, ushering Bobby slowly down the steps, pausing every now and again to answer another question being shouted from the crowd.

“A full statement will be released shortly,” he said. “Right now, Mr. Harley just wants to put this behind him. He and his family would appreciate it if you’d give them a little time, and a lot of privacy.”

Not able to wait another minute, Miranda sprinted up the steps. She could hear cameras clicking, but for once, she didn’t give two shits about appearing in the press or what they might say about her and her brother. She launched herself at Bobby. He caught her around the waist and squeezed the breath out of her.

“I can’t decide if I should spend the rest of my life thanking you for what you did or be so pissed off that we never speak again.”

“I knew you were innocent. I had to do something.”

Bobby set her on her feet. “You could have been killed.”

“I got lucky. I found someone who believed me.”

Tucker strolled up beside her and snaked his hand around her waist. “Take your time, babe. Have dinner, enjoy your brother, help him get settled. I’ll be by with the moving van in the morning.”

Bobby stuck out his hand. Tucker shook it. “You sure, Chief? You’re practically family now.”

Miranda smiled. “Hey, I haven’t moved in yet. There’s always a chance he’ll do something stupid before tomorrow and I’ll just take the moving van back to California instead of to Tennessee.”

“Like hell you will,” Tucker said. “Doc Sam is expecting you to start Monday.”

And Miranda couldn’t wait. It wasn’t exactly what she’d thought of when she’d gotten her nursing degree—helping a small-town coroner, dealing with death and dead bodies. But after what she’d lived through, she’d taken Sam Murray’s assistant position within twenty-four hours of it being offered. She’d gotten into this profession to help people, even if they were dead.

“So you guys are heading back to Tennessee in the morning?” Bobby asked.

Miranda shook her head. “Finn’s driving the moving van back for us. We have a detour to make.”

“You didn’t mention a detour.”

She cleared her throat. “I get to meet his family.”

Bobby laughed.

“Stop it. I’m looking forward to it. His dad just got out of the hospital and—”

“And I’ve already apologized in advance for the experience,” Tucker said. “My family can be a little much. But it’s time to put the past to rest.”

She smiled up at him. “Yes. It is.”

“Oh, almost forgot,” Tucker said. “Mind if I steal her for one sec?”

Bobby nodded, shook Tucker’s hand again, and followed the lawyer to the waiting car at the curb. Curious, Miranda followed Tucker to his truck and waited while he dug something out of the cab.

“A gift.”

She smiled, her heart full. Falling completely in love with Tucker over the last few weeks had been the most amazing thing she’d ever done. And to think she never would have met him if it hadn’t been for Father Anatole.

“What is it?”

“Well, for starters . . .” He pulled a black Stetson out of the bag and put it on, flashing her a grin. “You said—”

“I know what I said! I love it!” She laughed, her body purring at the sight of him dressed precisely the way she’d asked him on their first real date so many weeks ago. “I think it will look even better when it’s all you’re wearing.”

“Well, I’d say the same about these, but I’m not so sure.” He pulled out another box and held it out to her.

She lifted the lid and choked on another bubble of laughter. Inside the box lay a pristine, brand spanking new pair of Converse.

She looked up at him, curled her hands around his neck. “I love you, Tucker.”

“I love you, too, Miranda.”

They kissed again, and the explosion of lights and camera clicks began anew. Miranda ignored them, lost in the man nibbling her bottom lip. Let them take their pictures. Let the whole world know that Miranda Harley, pariah and outcast, finally had a family again.