Vanishing Act Read online

  Vanishing Act

  A Miranda and Parker Mystery

  Book 13

  Linsey Lanier

  Copyright © 2018 Linsey Lanier

  All rights reserved. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to your online distributor and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work and helping her earn a living.

  Felicity Books

  ISBN: 978-1-941191-54-5

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  Five thousand miles away from Atlanta.

  A young man is killed.

  A young man with secrets.

  When Parker’s father asks him to travel to Ukraine to find someone who’s been missing over a decade, Parker flatly refuses. But Miranda can’t say no to Mr. P.

  And so they board the plane.

  After a long flight and a futile search, they are about to give up. Until they rouse the ire of a very dangerous group. People with secrets. People who will kill to keep them. People who now want Parker and Miranda dead.

  You’ll want to read this next adventure, because secrets are about to be revealed.

  Edited by

  Editing for You

  Books by Linsey Lanier

  Linsey’s Amazon Author page

  THE MIRANDA’S RIGHTS MYSTERY SERIES

  Someone Else’s Daughter

  Delicious Torment

  Forever Mine

  Fire Dancer

  Thin Ice

  THE MIRANDA AND PARKER MYSTERY SERIES

  All Eyes on Me

  Heart Wounds

  Clowns and Cowboys

  The Watcher

  Zero Dark Chocolate

  Trial by Fire

  Smoke Screen

  The Boy

  Snakebit

  Mind Bender

  Roses from My Killer

  The Stolen Girl

  Vanishing Act

  (more to come)

  OTHER SUSPENSE BOOKS BY LINSEY LANIER:

  Chicago Cop (A cop family thriller)

  Steal My Heart (A Romantic Suspense)

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter One

  It was two o’clock in the morning.

  The motor of his cycle growled beneath him as fear pounded in his temples.

  Faster. Faster. Faster.

  The cold November wind whipped his hair over his face, into his eyes and his mouth. Above the highway, streetlights twinkled against the blue velvet of the sky and the river below.

  Kiev lay to the left of him, the lights of its majestic old buildings and ancient cupola-topped churches shimmering with the mystique of a beautiful woman attempting to seduce him.

  He had always fallen for her charms, though he wished he hadn’t. Tonight he wished he had stayed in his little village and been content.

  Too late for those wishes.

  He could not think about home now. He could not stop. He had to keep going.

  He had to get away.

  He had left the club perhaps only fifteen minutes ago. He had taken what he had in his satchel and snuck out the back.

  He had thought he had not been seen.

  But now, as he raced along the wide highway that bordered the Dnieper River, he knew someone from the club was behind him.

  If he could just make it across the river. Back to Troieshchyna and his bleak little apartment, he would be all right. That dingy living space fourteen stories up in the cheap Soviet era building. Olga deserved better than that. He had wanted to give it to her.

  He had failed.

  Just as he made it to the straightaway, a shot rang out from behind him.

  Sergei. He had followed him.

  He swerved, and the bullet missed him.

  But he could taste the fear in his mouth.

  Where was the politsiya? The police did not patrol this part of town so well as the wealthier sections.

  Sergei was the enforcer. A huge man five years his senior. He could beat him to death with his bare hands if he caught him. He could easily shoot him. But it was difficult to aim well on a motorcycle.

  Another shot spat over his shoulder. Sergei’s aim was better that time.

  The vehicles around him began to slow, the drivers no doubt wondering what was going on. Why was there a gunfight on Naberezhno-Rybalsak in the middle of the night?

  He sped up, swerved around a car on his left, another on his right. He took the curve to the bridge as fast as he dared.

  He could not fall now.

  Focusing on the tall buildings far away in the distance across the river, he ignored his pounding heart.

  He could get there. He had to.

  His motor roaring, he reached the bridge and swung out onto traffic without yielding. A little Lada blared its horn at him as they nearly collided.

  Ignoring the driver’s protests, he zoomed ahead.

  He was over the river now. In a month, the water would be frozen and children would come to skate along the banks.

  But tonight the Pivnichny Bridge seemed to stretch across the world.

  No, it was only a few more kilometers to home.

  Would Sergei follow him there? The little flat would not provide much protection. He had not thought of that. Perhaps he should head south and into the forest, toward his old village instead.

  He was almost to the left bank now.

  He swerved past a Renault on the side closest to the railing. Between the iron barrier and the road lay a path bicycle riders used to travel back and forth across the river to their jobs on the right bank.

  He had such a job once. And he had Olga. What would she think of him now?

  He would never know.

  A
nother bullet came from Sergei. This time it hit his rear tire. He spun, veered in a circle. He lost his balance and the cycle went down and slid out from under him. The pavement dug into his jeans, tearing his flesh.

  No time to think of that now. He put a palm onto the asphalt to lift himself up.

  Before he could rise, Sergei was on top of him, the short red curls atop his head glistening in the street lights.

  His massive body hovered over him like the prize oak in the Buda village.

  “Where is it?” His face was like a snarling leopard.

  He would pretend not to know. “Where is what? Why did you shoot at me, Sergei?”

  “Where is it?” Sergei shouted, ignoring the ploy.

  He tried again. “I do not know what you mean.”

  It was not a good answer. He saw the reply come in the form of Sergei’s boot.

  He rolled, but not in time. The kick caught him hard in the kidney and he cried out in pain.

  Yet somehow, he managed to get to his feet. If it was a fight Sergei wanted, he would give it to him.

  He swung and grazed his chest as Sergei stepped back. Then the large man returned a jab.

  He ducked, an American move, and Sergei missed.

  He swung again, but once more missed the treelike target.

  “Sraka!” Sergei growled. “How dare you steal from us? From those who care for you?”

  He wanted to deny it, but he could not lie to this man. Looking down at the pavement, he tried to find the words to say.

  The hesitation was a mistake. He looked up just as Sergei’s fist flew toward him like a flash of lightning.

  It connected with his jaw, shooting incredible pain through his skull. He stumbled back, tasting his own blood in his mouth.

  He should not be tangling with Sergei. This man was one of the top fighters in the MMA club where he worked. Sergei’s footwork and balance were impeccable. His blows were like iron.

  But he had little choice now.

  He swung again and somehow landed a punch to the stomach. The leather of his jacket softened the blow, yet he heard Sergei groan.

  And then Sergei’s face became a wall of stone.

  “That was your last chance.” Sergei’s arm flew back. The blow sped toward him, too fast for him to duck this time.

  He felt the cartilage crunch as Sergei’s knuckles landed against his nose. He crumbled to his knees, blood dripping onto the pavement.

  And then he saw it.

  His satchel lay along the railing, its strap just beyond reach. Biting back the pain, he crawled forward. Grabbing onto the leather band, with all his effort he pulled himself to his feet.

  “What are you doing?” He heard Sergei yell behind him.

  Too late. He took the satchel and hurled it over the railing as far as he could.

  Into the air it went, then down into the river below. Never to be found again.

  Bracing himself against the railing, he turned around. “And now we are even, no?”

  Sergei did not reply. Instead he drew his pistol and aimed it at his chest. “You have betrayed us. You know what happens to traitors.”

  He did.

  There was no reasoning with the man now, if there ever had been.

  And so he was not surprised when Sergei pulled the trigger and the final bullet hit him dead center in the chest.

  His body recoiled with incredible pain. He felt himself fall backward. Felt his feet leave the pavement. His arms flapped the air like a young bird trying to take flight.

  But he was no bird. He could not fly.

  Instead he plunged head down into the river. All the way into the depths of the Dnieper.

  And disappeared.

  Chapter Two

  With a yawn, Miranda Steele strolled through the entrance hall of Parker’s penthouse and past the illuminated niches holding antique porcelain vases.

  “Nightcap?” Parker murmured in her ear, sending tingles down her spin.

  “Why not?”

  She let him remove her coat. As he hung it in the closet along with his own and headed for the wet bar, she passed the blue marble pillar near the spiral staircase and made her way across the glossy mahogany floor. With a sigh, she flopped down in the corner of one of the two ivory sofas.

  Parker poured brandy into a snifter. “Did you enjoy your dinner? You didn’t say much about the food.”

  “How can I complain about Chateaubriand?”

  Tonight she’d let him indulge in one of his favorite pastimes—feeding her. They had just pigged out on a sumptuous meal with all the trimmings at Parker Towers. She was utterly sated.

  Well, maybe not in every way, she thought, eyeing his gorgeous physique.

  Parker didn’t reply to her question.

  She turned her head to stare at the floor-to-ceiling bookcase against the wall and thought of the first time she’d seen it. When his daughter was in trouble and she’d answered his summons. Parker had been standing there in his shirt-sleeves and Glock, ready for battle.

  She’d fallen in love all over again when she’d seen him that day. But so much had happened since then.

  It was mid-February—never the best time of year for her—and a month since their last case.

  It still haunted them. Most cases did, but this one more than most. Miranda couldn’t shake the empty feeling it had left her with. The dark cold weather Atlanta had been having lately didn’t help. Neither did the memories of her past.

  Parker came toward her, handed her a glass.

  She took a sip, eyeing his handsome face, his sexy salt-and-pepper hair, his beautiful muscles clad in a tailored dark blue suit.

  His expression told her his mind wasn’t on love making or their dinner, but on something more serious.

  “What?” she said as he sat down beside her and kissed her cheek.

  He narrowed his eyes. “My, you’re the suspicious type.”

  “I thought that’s what you loved about me.”

  His gray eyes twinkling at her comment, he sat back, arm stretched casually along the back of the sofa. “How as your visit with Dr. Wingate today?”

  Had to bring that up. It seemed she was always going to see her shrink. She set the snifter down on the elegant coffee table and checked her cell phone. She was proud of herself for not looking at it once during dinner. But the mention of Dr. Wingate made her think of Mackenzie and the fact that her daughter hadn’t texted her in a week.

  Parker’s voice came to her, smooth and low. “Miranda?”

  She put her phone down on the table next to her drink. “The doctor gave me a clean bill of health.”

  He raised a brow. “Did she?”

  “Now who’s being suspicious?” She leaned back, nestling her head against his shoulder.

  His lips touched her temple. “What exactly did she say?”

  Of course, he wanted a full report. She gave him the short version. “That she can’t see any lingering symptoms of the substance I was given.” The mind control drug that had thrown her for a loop a few cases ago. “And I haven’t had a nightmare in two weeks.”

  Which was really something in mid-February.

  He nodded thoughtfully. “My shins can attest to that.”

  She winced, hating what her subconscious did to him in her sleep. But she hadn’t seen any visions of her past while awake either. Not since the case in the Outer Banks. Maybe she was on the mend for real.

  Parker let out a slow breath and set his drink down beside hers. “I know this time of year is bad for you.” It was why he’d taken her out to fancy restaurants all week. “But Los Angeles was exceedingly disturbing. And not just for us.”

  He was right. Others had been involved in their last case. The team. Wesson’s sister. Becker and Holloway.

  Miranda thought of the words that gangbanger had said to her when he’d had her down on the ground. We’ve been watching you…This was about you. You and your ace detective husband and your team.

  She hadn’t seen much
of her team since they got back. All of them had taken time off. Becker worked at home a lot since Fanuzzi was now five months pregnant and was still headachy and crabby and feeling more like a beached whale than ever. Holloway’s ex-wife had decided to write a book about her ordeal and Holloway was going to visit her every chance he got. Even Wesson was quiet, though Miranda had spotted her going out to lunch with Cindy Smith a few times.

  Miranda had kept to herself, going over reports in her office with the door closed. Or pretending to. A good way to avoid the paperwork and her colleagues at the same time.

  The truth was she felt responsible for what her team had gone through.

  But they had won. The bad guys were in jail. Ostap Savko was in Federal prison, facing a laundry list of charges. It was over.

  Still, there had been carnage.

  “We’ve been through a lot the past few months,” Parker said softly.

  She turned to meet his gaze. “We’ve been through a lot since we met.”

  “My point exactly.”

  Her back tensed. She’d heard that tone in his voice before. Bracing herself, she said, “Which is?”

  Parker fixed her with a gentle gaze. “I’m wondering if it might be time to retire.”

  “What?” She felt as if he’d punched her in the chest.

  “Our kind of work takes its toll, Miranda. A heavy one, lately.”

  He wanted them to quit? Both of them? In sheer disbelief she stared at his handsome face. And suddenly she saw weariness behind his eyes. Was he talking about her or himself?

  Needing fortification, she reached for her glass. “Parker, I don’t—”

  Before she could finish the thought, something chimed, sounding like church bells.

  It was only the door, but Miranda jumped at the sound. She’d never heard it before. No one came to visit them.

  “Are you expecting someone?”

  “No.” Scowling at the interruption, Parker rose and went to the door.

  After a moment, Miranda heard voices echo in the entry hall. The visitor’s was unmistakable.

  Still she was surprised when Parker’s father strolled into the penthouse as if he owned it.

  Did he own it? she wondered. She’d never asked. No, Parker wouldn’t have a penthouse in a building his father owned. But it didn’t matter.