Valley of Shadows. Shirlee McCoy

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СКАЧАТЬ the waistband of his jeans, his movements economical and practiced, as if he’d done the same a thousand times before.

      And somehow, looking at his chiseled face and the scar that bisected it from cheekbone to chin, Miranda had a feeling he had. She slid closer to the door, wishing they were in bumper-to-bumper traffic or that she dared jump out of a car traveling sixty miles an hour. But they weren’t, she didn’t. She was reduced to sitting terrified as she was driven farther and farther from home.

      She eyed the man, the door, the traffic speeding by. Maybe she could attract someone’s attention with a gesture or an expression. Maybe—

      “Whatever you’re thinking, forget it.” He wasn’t even looking her way, yet seemed to sense her intentions.

      She stiffened, turning to face him again. “I’m not thinking anything.”

      “Sure you are. You’re thinking about opening the door and jumping for it. Or maybe attracting someone’s attention.” He shrugged. “It’s what I’d do if I were in your position.”

      “And if I were in your position, I’d stop the car and let my prisoner out.” She tried to put confidence in her voice, tried to sound less scared than she felt.

      “You’re not a prisoner.”

      “Then what am I?”

      “The newest member of the witness protection program.”

      Miranda blinked, not sure she’d heard right. “Are you with the FBI?”

      He hesitated and Miranda had the feeling he was trying to decide how much of the truth to tell her. When he finally answered, his tone was much more gentle than it had been before. “No, but I plan to be just as effective in keeping you safe.”

      “I don’t need you to keep me safe. I need you to let me go.”

      “Then it would have been better if you’d walked away and left me to deal with Jefferson on my own.”

      “He was trying to kill you.”

      “And now he’s going to try to kill us both.” His tone was grim, his jaw tight, and Miranda had no doubt he believed what he was saying.

      She just wasn’t sure she did. “Why?”

      “Because I’m a threat and because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time and were foolish enough to let him know it.”

      “What else was I suppose to do? Let him kill you?”

      “Let whatever was to happen, happen.”

      “I couldn’t.”

      “Then maybe you’ll understand why I can’t let you go.” His tone was softer than Miranda would have expected from such a hard-looking man and she studied his profile, wishing she could read more in his face.

      “Who are you?” The question popped out, though Miranda wasn’t sure what answer she hoped for—a name, an occupation, some clue as to who she was dealing with.

      “Hawke Morran.” He answered the question without actually answering it. The name doing nothing to explain who Hawke was or why Liam had been trying to kill him.

      “Who are you to Liam?”

      “Liam? You know Jefferson?” The gentleness was gone, replaced by a harshness that made Miranda cringe.

      “Everyone in Essex knows him.”

      “I’m not interested in everyone. I’m interested in you. You say you know him. Does he know you? Your name? Where you live?”

      Did he? Miranda was sure he knew her name, and there was no doubt he knew where she worked, he visited the bakery several times a week. It would be easy enough to get her address. “Probably.”

      Hawke muttered something in a language Miranda didn’t recognize, the words unintelligible, the frustration behind them obvious.

      Her own frustration rose, joining the fear that pounded frantically through her blood. She’d done what she thought was right. Now, she’d pay for it. That seemed to be a pattern in her life. “I own a business in Essex. Lots of people know me. Liam just happens to be one of them.”

      “He also just happens to be a murderer.”

      Miranda didn’t need the reminder. She’d seen Liam in action; watched him pull a gun on a bound and blindfolded man, had seen the cold determination in his eyes as he’d caught sight of her. She had known then that she was seconds from death. “We need to go to the police and tell them what happened before Liam hurts someone else.”

      “No.”

      “What do you mean, no?”

      “Exactly what I said. I’ve got a phony criminal record. The police won’t believe anything I have to say. You’re with me. It stands to reason they won’t believe you, either.” He glanced her way, his gaze searing into hers before he turned his attention back to the road.

      “Why—”

      “We’ll discuss it all later.” His tone was curt and dismissive, the kind that brooked no argument.

      And Miranda didn’t want to argue. She wanted to let things play out the way they would. Just as she had so many times before. With her sister. Her mother. Her father. Boyfriends. It always seemed so much easier to go with the flow than to fight against the tide. This time, though, the tide was dragging her out into dangerous waters and she had a feeling that if she didn’t fight it she’d be pulled under. “Later isn’t good enough. I want answers now.”

      He shrugged, but didn’t speak as he steered the SUV onto an off-ramp.

      The neighborhood he drove through was battered, the houses 1970s cookie cutters, every street lined with pickup trucks and scrap-metal cars. Miranda knew the area—a tough, crime-ridden neighborhood on the edge of D.C. When Hawke pulled into a driveway, she put her hand on the door, ready to yank it open and flee, but he grabbed her arm, his hand a steel band trapping her in place.

      His breath fanned her cheek as he leaned close. “We’re getting out my side, walking around to the back of the house, getting a new ride and you’re not going to do anything foolish. Time isn’t on our side and I don’t want to waste any of it chasing after you. All right?”

      The memory of the gun he’d tucked into his waistband spurred Miranda to do as he said, her heart pounding a sickening beat as Hawke tugged her across the front seat and out the door.

      The moon shone bright and yellow in the navy sky and the crisp air chilled Miranda’s clammy skin as Hawke hurried her around the side of a house.

      An old garage stood at the back of the property and he punched numbers into a security pad on the door, then tugged Miranda to a dark sedan inside.

      “Get in.” His words were gruff, his hand gentle as he pressed it against her shoulder, urging her to do as he’d commanded.

      The car door slammed with a finality that stilled the breath in Miranda’s lungs. She СКАЧАТЬ