Valley of Shadows

“Miranda? Are you still there?”

“I’m here, but I can’t come home yet, Max. Not until I can prove that I’m innocent.”

“We’ll find the proof together.” The pain in his voice was palpable, stretching across the phone line and wrapping around her heart.

“I love you, Max. Thanks for being such a great big brother.”

With that she hung up the phone, her pulse pounding, her mind racing, the truth of what she’d just done a hard, cold knot in her stomach. She’d cut her ties with home, turned her back on Max and put her life in the hands of a man she didn’t know and wasn’t sure she trusted. She could only pray she hadn’t made a terrible mistake, because she was sure there would be no turning back. Only moving forward into the terrifying unknown.

FOUR

“Did the phone call not go the way you wanted?” Hawke broke into Miranda’s thoughts, his voice gravely and harsh.

“You knew it wouldn’t.”

“I knew that it would give you a truth you might not have accepted from me.”

“What truth? That I’m wanted for accessory to murder?”

“That returning home isn’t the answer to your troubles.”

“And staying with you is?”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Your body rotting in a shallow grave somewhere.”

“You act like it’s a done deal.”

“Walk away from me and it is. Stay with me and we’ll find what we need to prove our innocence. Once Liam and Green are behind bars, you can safely return to your family.”

What family?

As much as Miranda loved Max, he had a life completely separate from hers, his Chicago apartment too small to offer guest quarters, his accounting firm busy enough to make vacationing nearly impossible. Lauren was the opposite, traveling the world as a runway model and only stopping to visit Justin when she couldn’t put it off any longer. Or that’s what she’d done before. Now that her son was gone, Lauren would probably never return to Maryland. Which meant Miranda would be returning to an empty house, a business and memories.

She shoved the thought aside, forcing back the sorrow that came with it. “How long will it take?”

“I don’t know.”

“I need to be home tomorrow.” For Justin’s funeral. She didn’t add the last, knowing the words would mean nothing to the cold-eyed man beside her.

“Sorry, babe. That’s not going to happen.”

She’d known it, but she’d hoped anyway, the small part of herself that refused to believe that things were as bad as they seemed telling her that everything would be okay in the morning. A few more hours of darkness and she’d wake from the nightmare. Wasn’t that what she’d told herself when she’d been a kid, the darkness pressing in around her, filled with monsters? “Then what? A few days? A week? I’ve got a business to run. I can’t be away from it for long.”

“Will your business matter if you’re dead?”

There was nothing to say to that, so she remained silent, turning away from Hawke and staring out the car window.

Outside, life continued as always, people traveling home from restaurants, friends and parties, making plans for the next day as they ended this one. A week ago, Miranda had been doing the same, leaving home on Friday evening to attend a bridal shower on the eastern shore. With Lauren committed to caring for Justin until the following night, Miranda had imagined hours spent window shopping, sampling pastries from local bakeries, enjoying the simple pleasure of no responsibility for the first time in way too many months.

And in one moment of senseless tragedy it had all changed.

Even if she made it home in one piece, life would never be what it had once been. Hot tears filled Miranda’s eyes, but she forced them away. Crying couldn’t bring her nephew back. Nor would it change her situation. Only God could do that, and she wasn’t sure He would. Watching Justin die while she prayed for him to be healed had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. In the dark hours after his death, she’d wondered if God heard her frantic pleading or if He even cared. Now, she wanted desperately to grasp her tattered faith, to believe that He would work everything out for the best.

“You’re crying.” The gritty texture of Hawke’s voice matched the rough callus on the finger he swept down her cheek.

Her skin heated in the wake of his touch and she brushed her hand down the same path his finger had traced, wiping away tears she hadn’t realized she was shedding. “No, I’m not.”

“I suppose the moisture on your cheeks is nothing.”

“A few tears on my cheeks doesn’t mean I’m crying.”

“No? Then what does it mean?”

“That I’m releasing some pent-up emotion.”

Hawke chuckled, a deep rumble that was a soothing balm against her frazzled nerves. “You’re an interesting lady, Miranda.”

Interesting? Quiet, sweet, helpful, those were the words most often used to describe her. Never interesting.

Before she had a chance to respond, Hawke’s cell phone rang and he lifted it to his ear.

“What’s up?” The words were his only greeting, his scowl deepening as the caller spoke. “What time? We’ll be there.” He dropped the phone onto the console, pulled the car onto a side road, then another and another until Miranda wasn’t sure where they were or which direction they were headed. Finally, he pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store and turned to face her.

“We’ve got a decision to make.”

“We?” He acted as if they were a team, working together toward a common goal. And maybe they were, but it didn’t feel that way. Not when Hawke knew so much more about what was going on then she did. And not when he seemed so determined to keep it that way.

“We.” He winced, putting a hand up to the back of his head and bringing it down again, something shiny and moist staining his fingers.

“You’re bleeding.” Miranda reached out, wanting to help, but Hawke’s quick, hard glance froze her in place.

“I’ll live.” His hand fisted around the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “We have more important things to worry about. We’ve got six hours to make it to Lakeview, Virginia. Do you know it?”

“No.”

He nodded. “We’ll map it out in a minute. My friend will have transportation waiting for us there. If we’re late, we may not have a second chance.”

“A second chance at what?”

“Someone set me up, Miranda. Planned everything that happened tonight to make me look guilty of a crime I didn’t commit. Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know what I believe.”

“You’re honest, at least.”

“And you haven’t answered my question. What won’t we have a second chance at?”

“Getting out of the state. Out of the country.”

“Out of the country?” She tried out the words, found them bitter on her tongue. “No.”

“If we stay here, we’ll be caught. I’ve got few friends that I can turn to. No one that I’m willing to drag into this mess. My home is in Thailand. The DEA recruited me there. They hired me to come to the States and bring down a drug trafficker named Green.”

“Harold Green?” He owned several businesses in Essex. A moving company, a local grocery store. The funeral home.

“Right. He’s been importing drugs from Thailand for years, selling them, then laundering the money through his businesses. The DEA knows it, but finding the proof to close him down and put him away has been difficult.”

“So they sent you to do it for them?”

“I was sent in deep under cover. The only people who know I’m working the case are in Thailand. Their hope is that once they pull Green in, he’ll give them the names of his overseas contacts. I think someone in Thailand doesn’t want that to happen. Someone working for the DEA. I plan to find out who it is. It’s the only way to clear my name. And yours.”

“The DEA here…”

“Thinks I murdered one of their agents.”

“But—”

“Babe, we’re out of time. It takes five hours to get to Lakeview. Before we get there I need to know you’re with me on this.”

Was she? Miranda wasn’t sure she trusted her own judgement in the matter. The stakes were too high. She was too scared. “Do I have a choice?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He grimaced, his jaw tight. “You saved my life. I don’t want to leave you here to die because of it.”

There was truth in his words, in the grim determination in his eyes as they met hers. And despite herself, despite her doubt, Miranda knew she had to go with him. If there was a way out of this, it lay in the direction Hawke was going. That, at least, she felt sure of. “I guess I’m with you on it, then.”

Hawke smiled, the expression softening his face, changing it from danger to safety, from ice to warmth. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

“So, now what?”

“Now, we head for Lakeview.” He turned toward the backseat, swayed, then slumped toward Miranda, his weight pushing her back toward the door and stealing her breath.

“Hawke? Hawke!” She pushed at his chest, her heart pounding. She slid her hand up to his neck, feeling for his pulse and finding the slick warmth of blood there.

“Hawke!” She shouted in his ear, desperate for a response.

This time he groaned, shifting slightly, his chin brushing against her cheek, razor stubble scratching at her skin. She shivered, pushing at him again and finally managing to maneuver him into his seat. His head slumped forward and she could see blood pooling in the hollow of his throat.

Miranda brushed a hand against his forehead and cheek, feeling for a fever the same way she had so many times when Justin was sick. But Hawke wasn’t a boy, he was a man, and he wasn’t sick, he was hurt.

And Miranda had no idea how to help him.

Yes, you do. You’ve taken first-aid classes. You know what to do. Stop panicking and think. Check respiration and pulse. Find the wound. Stop the bleeding. Get him to a doctor.

A doctor! That’s exactly what they needed. She could call 911, get an ambulance to take Hawke to the hospital while she spoke to the police and told them Hawke’s story and her own. The plan seemed reasonable, good even. Except for a few small things—Hawke was wanted for murder, she was wanted as an accessory and at least one person wanted them both dead.

Miranda frowned and leaned over the seat, searching for something to staunch the flow of blood that seemed to be coming from the back of Hawke’s head. She found a backpack on the floor, a map on the seat. She grabbed both, opening the first and pulling out packets of dried food, a bottle of water, a T-shirt and hat. At the bottom of the bag, she found a small plastic container. She opened it quickly, her hands shaking with adrenaline and fear. Gauze, bandages, needle, thread, several white pills packed in plastic bags, antiseptic wipes, an EpiPen—Hawke had prepared for minor medical emergencies. The only problem was, Miranda wasn’t sure minor was what she was dealing with.

She pulled out the gauze, then shifted Hawke’s head to the side, trying to find the wound. Her fingers probed the flesh behind his ear, wound through silky strands of hair. At the back of his head, close to the base of his skull, a hard lump oozed warm, sticky blood. She pressed the gauze to it, wincing in sympathy, though he seemed completely unaware of her ministrations. That couldn’t be good.

“Hawke?” He didn’t answer, and Miranda shook his shoulder, praying for some reaction.

His eyes remained closed, his head a leaden weight against her hand.

“Now what?” She whispered the question out loud, her mind scrambling for a plan, her eyes scanning the interior of the car. Hawke’s cell phone lay on the console between them, and she grabbed it. Maybe she could find the number of the person they were supposed to meet in Virginia.

She scrolled through the options, searching for an outgoing call log, praying that she’d find what she was looking for.

“What are you doing?” The words were a harsh growl, the hand that wrapped around her wrist just short of painful.

She gasped, her heart skipping a beat as she met Hawke’s cold gaze. “Trying to decide if I should call for help.”

He stared at her, his gaze never wavering as he straightened in his seat, slid his free hand over the gauze Miranda still held, and nudged her hand away from it. “It wouldn’t have been a good idea.”

His tone matched his gaze—icy and unyielding, and Miranda knew he wasn’t a man who would take betrayal lightly; that he’d demand his own justice for any wrong done to him. She swallowed back her fear, tugging at the fingers still wrapped around her wrist. “You were unconscious and unresponsive. You need a doctor.”

“I need to catch our ride. I need to find the man who betrayed me. I do not need a doctor.” Hawke tried to add emphasis to his words, but they came out weaker than he intended. The fact was, he probably did need a doctor, but he didn’t have time for one. They didn’t have time for one.

“You’re bleeding pretty badly.” Miranda leaned in close, the scent of apples and cinnamon enveloping him.

No woman had a right to smell that good.

And Hawke had no business noticing.

Unless he missed his guess, Miranda was one of those rare people who remained untarnished by the world. He, on the other hand, was more tarnished than most.

He scowled, frustrated as much by the direction of his thoughts as he was by his physical weakness. “Bleeding is a whole lot better than being dead. Which is exactly what we’d both be if you’d been foolish enough to call an ambulance.”

At his harsh words, Miranda jerked back, her face pale in the dim light, her dark hair a mass of curls around her face. Hawke knew enough about fear to recognize it in her eyes. Guilt at putting it there made him want to wrap an arm around her shoulders and reassure her that everything was going to be okay.

Instead, he kept the gauze pressed to his head with one hand and grabbed the road map with the other. “Our six hours are ticking away while we sit here arguing. Put your seat belt back on and let’s go.”

The fear he’d seen in Miranda’s eyes disappeared, replaced by stony resolve. “I may not be able to make you see a doctor, but I’m not going to let you drive. Not when you could pass out again.”

She had a point, even if Hawke didn’t want to admit it. His head throbbed with each heartbeat and sudden movements made him dizzy. Losing consciousness again was a real possibility no matter how hard he might fight against it. Passing out while driving could get them both killed. Then again, giving Miranda control of the car might do the same. It would be easy enough for her to drive to a police station and turn them both in. “I’ve driven under worse conditions.”

“And tonight you don’t have to. I don’t see a problem. Unless you don’t trust me.” She was issuing a challenge, but Hawke wasn’t in the mood to meet it.

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“That makes two of us.” She opened the car door, got out. “So, I guess we’ll just have to figure out how to accomplish our goals anyway.”

Hawke figured he had a few options—tell her to get out and go it alone, or pull out the gun and demand she get back into the passenger seat or let her have her way.

The first appealed only in as much as he could convince himself he didn’t care if Miranda lived or died. Which wasn’t much. The second might have worked, but imagining the fear and horror on her face when he pointed the gun at her made Hawke hesitate, a strange and alarming development in an already frustrating night.

“I don’t like losing.” He ground the words out, but Miranda just smiled.

“I guess that’s another thing we have in common.” With that, she shut the door and started around the side of the car, leaving Hawke wondering how a woman who didn’t look capable of hurting a fly had bested him.

FIVE

Miranda’s heart slammed in her chest as she rounded the car, Hawke’s words echoing in her head. The anger on his face told her just how much he didn’t like losing. Yet, here she was heading around the side of the car with every intention of doing things her way. What was she thinking? He had a gun for crying out loud.

But if he planned on using it, he already would have.

Maybe she should make a break for it, run into the convenience store and ask for help. She doubted Hawke would try to stop her. Unfortunately, the same instincts that told Miranda that Hawke wouldn’t hurt her, told her that she was better off with him than without. She needed answers before she could return home. Without them, she risked putting her brother and sister in harm’s way—and staying with Hawke seemed the only sure way to get those answers.

She pulled open the car door, saw that Hawke had moved into the passenger seat, and did her best to act confident and unperturbed. “Where to?”

“I’ll mark the route on the map. Then we’ll drive straight there. No stops for anything. We’ve already lost enough time. We can’t afford to waste any more.” He met her gaze, his expression unreadable, his anger concealed as he opened the glove compartment and pulled out a pack of highlighters.

“All right. Let’s do it.”

It took less than a minute for Hawke to highlight a yellow path from their location to a small town near a lake. When he finished, he highlighted a second route in blue. “The yellow route is the quickest. The blue uses the most back roads. We’ll try yellow first. If there’s too much police traffic, we’ll switch to blue.”

“Okay.” Miranda’s hands were moist against the steering wheel, the reality of what she was about to do pulsing through her veins. Until now, she’d felt more like a victim than an active participant in Hawke’s escape, but she could no longer deny the role she was taking. Running from the police, aiding an accused killer.

If they were caught…

“You’re doing this because you have to, Miranda Sheldon.” Hawke’s voice broke into her thoughts; his words offering assurance before she’d even voiced her doubts.

“Do I?” She whispered the question, not expecting an answer.

“If you don’t, we’ll both die.”

“That’s a worse-case scenario.”

“If you really believed that, you would have run into the store and called for help instead of getting back into the car with me.”

“I need answers so that I can go home. It’s the only way to make sure my family is safe.”

“You’ll get the answers you need. We’ll get them. And once we do, you’ll have no worries about those you love.” He rubbed at the back of his head, his hand coming away bloody again.

“You need to keep applying pressure to that.”

“I need to get to Lakeview.”

Miranda took the hint and started the engine, pulling out of the parking lot, following Hawke’s directions back to the highway. It was late, traffic sparse, what few cars there were passing in flashes of light. Miranda should have been lulled by the darkness that stretched out before them, by the quiet hum of the car engine and by Hawke’s silence.

Instead, she felt wired, her body trembling with adrenaline, everything in her begging for action. Finally, she could stand the quiet no longer. “What exactly is going to happen when we get to Lakeview? Are we taking another car? A train? A plane?”

“It would be difficult to take a train or car to Thailand.” His words were so matter-of-fact they almost didn’t register.

When they did, Miranda cast a quick glance in Hawke’s direction, saw that he was watching her with a dark, intense gaze.

“You don’t mean Thailand as in the country?”

“Do you know of another Thailand?”

“No, but I’m hoping there is one, because there is no way in the world I can go to Southeast Asia.”

“Sure you can. Everything is taken care of. We’ll have a passport and paperwork waiting for you.”

“That’s great, but I won’t be needing them. I can’t go. When you said out of the country I was thinking Mexico or Canada, not halfway around the world.” Miranda’s hands were shaking on the wheel.

“I told you that the person who betrayed me to Green has to be in Thailand. No one here knew who I was or what I was doing.”

“There must be people in Thailand who can investigate.”

“I also told you, I don’t trust anyone.”

“You go, then. I’ll stay in Lakeview.”

“And what? The police know who you are. They’ve already issued an APB. It’s only a matter of time before they find you.”

“I thought….” She shook her head, knowing that she hadn’t thought. If she had, she would have known exactly what Hawke meant when he talked about leaving the country.

“What did you think?” His words were quiet, his tone more kind than Miranda expected.

“Nothing. I guess I just hoped this would all be over by tomorrow.”

“There’s no way that’s going to happen, babe. We’ve got real trouble and real trouble takes time to resolve.” There was sympathy in his voice, the first he’d shown her, and Miranda’s throat tightened in response.

She swallowed back tears and tried to keep her voice even. “My nephew’s funeral is tomorrow. I need to be there. My sister is counting on it.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. Sorry you can’t be there for your sister.” He shifted beside her, his palm sliding against her cheek, capturing a tear she hadn’t known was falling. “But allowing yourself to get arrested will only cause your family more sorrow.”

“I know.” She refused to let more tears fall, refused to allow herself to lean into Hawke’s touch. He was a stranger, after all. A stranger who had more hardness in him than sympathy.

“Is your nephew the reason you were at the funeral home tonight?”

“It seems silly now.” She stared out the windshield, the dark night and nearly empty road stretching out before her.

“Why?”

“It’s not like Justin needed me there. I just…didn’t want to let him go.”

“You were close?”

“I’ve raised him since he was two.” He’d been a son to her, though saying as much would have made her feel disloyal to her sister.

“His parents are dead?”

“No. I’m not sure who his father was. My sister is a model. She traveled too much to be his caregiver.”

“Your sister is a model?” He tensed, and Miranda felt her own muscles tighten.

“Yes. Why?”

“Someone the general public is familiar with?”

“She’s not a supermodel, if that’s what you mean, but she’s been on her fair share of magazine covers. She also does runway modeling.”

“So, not only do the police know who you are, but the world knows your sister. This isn’t good, babe.”

“The world knows Lauren, but they don’t know I’m her sister.” Lauren had never allowed the press any information regarding her son. In that way at least, she’d done what was best for Justin.

“It won’t take long for the press to find out. Once it does, your name and face will be plastered on every news station and newspaper in the country.”

“Maybe the local news, but I doubt what’s happened will be of much interest anywhere else.” But even as she said it, Miranda had the sinking feeling Hawke was right, that the double tragedy of losing a son and then having a sister turn felon would be enough to make Lauren headline news.

“I think you know you’re wrong.”

Miranda nodded, wishing she could believe otherwise. “At least Lauren doesn’t have any recent pictures of me.”

“Someone else will. The press always finds a way.”

“They’ll be hard-pressed to find anything that doesn’t show me thirty pounds heavier and ten years younger.” In the years since she’d been caring for Justin, Miranda had had little time to spend in activities that might have involved picture taking. Except for the occasional bridal or baby shower, the past few years had been spent at her bakery, at home or at church.

“Heavier. Younger. It won’t matter. Your face is one people will notice and remember.”

“I’m not that memorable.”

“No?”

“No.” Miranda could feel Hawke’s gaze as she maneuvered the car around a slow-moving vehicle, and her cheeks heated.