Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) Page 21

  Shaking his head at the lump on the floor that had been Shrivel, he chuckled. “If only half my men could fight with such passion. But now, I’m afraid it’s back to business.” Slowly he drew a revolver from his waist. Looked like a .357.

  Terror braided her organs into knots as, still smiling, he slowly strolled over to Parker and put the gun to his head.

  No. “Are you crazy?” she gasped.

  He laughed. “We’ll see who’s the crazy one. All you have to do is tell me where the Marc Antony dagger is and your partner lives.”

  She blinked at him, wondering if she were having a nightmare. How could he think she knew where the dagger was? “The police said Jewell sold it on the black market.”

  He let out a low, ugly laugh. “Of course they do. They’re idiots.”

  Parker must have made Shrivel think he had the dagger somewhere. It was how he got the thug’s attention. But that didn’t mean she knew where it was. Then she realized Scorpion couldn’t know whether she knew or not.

  He was taking a gamble, hoping Parker had told her.

  It didn’t matter what she told him. If she convinced him she didn’t know where the dagger was, he’d still kill them both. If she made something up, he’d kill them, too.

  There was no way to win.

  “You’re wasting my time, Ms. Steele.” She heard the click as Scorpion cocked the revolver. “I will kill him. You know I will.”

  Yeah, she did. He was too far for her to try to get the gun away from him. He’d shoot long before she reached him.

  She stood staring at the evil man, her chest heaving with terror. Was this the end for them? Failure and defeat? Would she never get home? Never see her daughter again? Never hold Parker in her arms again?

  The sound of the van’s engine rumbled over her thoughts, ironically annoying her. Damn thing was still running. And then it came to her.

  One chance. Only one chance. She had to take it.

  As fast as she could, she spun and raced to the van’s door. She yanked it open, climbed inside, put the thing in gear, revved the motor.

  “Let’s play a game of chicken, you slimeball.”

  She hit the accelerator. The tires squealed and took off. Her gamble paid off. Scorpion was too shocked to pull the trigger. She watched the bastard’s face turn to horror as she headed right for him and Parker.

  He didn’t move. He thought she wouldn’t do it, didn’t he? But what did she have to lose? At least they’d go out in a blaze of glory.

  As she barreled toward the pair, her courage wavered. Move, damn it. Run. Could she really run both of them down? Kill the only man who’d ever loved her? The front fender was inches away from its target.

  And then he caved.

  Scorpion dropped the gun and scampered away from the headlights like a roach crawling under the stove. She swerved, barely missing Parker, the tires crying out in protest.

  In the headlights she caught Scorpion running for the far wall. Now that was just perfect. She hit the gas and aimed straight for the concrete.

  The van lurched forward, slammed into his body with a loud thud, hit the cement wall with a crash loud as Judgment Day.

  Miranda flew forward banged her head against the windshield, cracked the glass. She was slung back again. She must have lost consciousness for a few moments.

  When she came to, she was sitting still, the engine sputtering against the wall, a burning smell in her nose. Scorpion’s dead eyes stared at her through the shattered windshield.

  Outside she heard the whine of a foreign siren. Wample or somebody was on the way.

  She touched her forehead. Blood. She couldn’t feel any pain. Yet. And then she woke up.

  Parker. She had to get to Parker.

  She jerked open the van door and ran across the floor, leaping over the debris.

  “Parker! Parker! Are you all right?”

  She reached him just as someone broke through the window. “Police!”

  “Over here. We need an ambulance.” She grabbed his shoulders, saw his head roll back. “Parker,” she cried again, not daring to shake him. “Parker.”

  But he didn’t answer.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  All hell broke loose.

  Suddenly the shop was flooded with people. Police shouting and trying to keep everyone away from the crime scene, officers yelling directions, medics trying to get to the injured.

  Total chaos.

  Someone found a light and switched it on and Miranda blinked dizzily at the bloody scene of gory violence and destruction around her.

  But all she cared about was Parker.

  Three paramedics carefully cut off the duct tape binding him and took him away on a stretcher. Inspector Wample appeared out of nowhere and wanted a statement from her. She told him to fuck off and talk to her later and got in the back of the ambulance with Parker. They raced through the streets, sirens screaming.

  Someone slapped a piece of gauze on her forehead, wiped the blood off her face, asked if she was in pain anywhere.

  She waved him away and stared at Parker lying there, motionless, strapped to the gurney. While the paramedics hooked him to a monitoring machine, stuck an IV into his arm, treated his wounds, all she could do was watch.

  They were speaking in medicalese with British accents, and her ears were still ringing with shock, but she caught snatches of what they were saying. Contusions, facial abrasions, head trauma, subdural hematomas. They were worried about brain damage.

  Brain damage? Oh, God. That couldn’t be. She couldn’t lose him now.

  If only he would wake up. Wake up, Parker. Please. But when they reached the hospital, he still hadn’t moved.

  Inside the hospital, they rushed Parker away while nurses ushered her into a room. They cleaned her up, scanned her head, put a bandage over the cut on her forehead.

  What were they doing all that for? She wasn’t the one with the problem.

  “I want to see my husband,” she told a youthful looking girl in scrubs.

  The girl nodded, and when they were finished with her, she took Miranda to the waiting room near the trauma unit.

  All they could tell her was that the doctors were still working on him and someone would be out to speak to her as soon as they were finished.

  She stumbled into the room, sank down into a chair near a potted plant.

  An hour passed. Two. Assistant Chief Officer Ives found her, took down her statement, and she had to live the nightmare all over again. But he did his job quickly, thanked her, said she wouldn’t be charged and left.

  As she watched his flowing raincoat disappear down the hall, she put her head in her hands and burst into tears.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  It must have been an hour later when a blond-haired young man in teal scrubs told her Parker was being taken to a room.

  He turned out to be one of the doctors that had worked on him. As he escorted her through elevators and a maze of halls, he explained Parker’s injuries.

  She wished she had a medical dictionary but she understood the basics. Two bruised ribs, a dislocated jaw, a concussion. No brain damage.

  No brain damage. Tears filled her eyes again. Thank God, thank God. “Can I talk to him now?”

  The doctor’s face grew grim but he nodded. “You can see him. He hasn’t woken up yet.” He turned the knob to Parker’s door.

  She stepped inside the room.

  The lights were low. Parker lay on a standard hospital bed, with its head propped up.

  His forehead was bandaged. One eye was dark and purple, puffy and swollen shut. There was a tube up his nose, another in his mouth, an IV in his arm. Machines and monitors blinked softly and beeped away. The air smelled of antiseptic.

  Quietly she pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. She took his hand in hers.

  No response.

  “Parker,” she whispered. “I’m here. It’s Miranda.” He lay still, breathing in and out, in and out. “We got the bad guys.”r />
  Nothing.

  Tears began to stream down her face. She remembered the doctor telling her concussions were tricky. Couldn’t predict what might happen. Would he never wake up? What was she going to do if he didn’t?

  No, he had to. He had to.

  She brushed the tears away from her face and put both her hands on his. She traced the outline of his knuckles with her finger. This strong hand that had helped her out of so many jams. That had trained her, comforted her, soothed her, made love to her.

  How could she lose him now? How could she live without him? He meant the world to her. She didn’t know what to do. How long would she have to wait before he woke up?

  He had to wake up. He had to. She had so many things to say to him. She had to tell him how much she loved him. She had to yell at him for going off on his own and getting himself into this fix.

  Off on his own. Like she always did.

  Was this what he’d gone through when she was in a coma? No wonder he was always so protective of her. No wonder he always fumed when she went off by herself.

  But he’d been the one to do it this time, dammit.

  What if their roles had been reversed tonight? What if she’d been the one to go after those thugs? She would have if she had thought of it first. What if she were the one lying there. What if they had done God know what to her? What if they had killed her?

  Parker would feel responsible. He was the one who’d brought her into the Agency, trained her, sparked her passion for this work, come up with the consulting idea. He’d blame himself if anything happened to her. He’d never be able to live with it.

  Why hadn’t she seen that before? Was it too late to fix that? It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.

  She took his hand, squeezed it gently. “Parker, I get it,” she told him. “I understand now.”

  But he didn’t move.

  Oh, God. She might never get to tell him. She might never get to hear his voice again. Never know the sound of that sexy southern rhythm. No, she couldn’t let that happen. She wasn’t going to let that happen. She’d think of something. Something. But right now, fatigue hit her with a sucker’s punch and suddenly she was spent. Exhaustion hung over her like a dark cloud.

  She had to get some sleep. And when she woke up, Parker would be awake, too. Awake and alert and ready to read her the riot act for going to Tottenham so late at night alone. Yeah, she’d set him straight on that.

  Still holding onto Parker’s hand, she leaned back in the chair, closed her eyes, and listened to the beeping monitors as she drifted off.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  When she woke, sunlight was streaming in through the window and a nurse was checking Parker’s vitals.

  Miranda shot up in the chair, ignoring the pain that shot through her muscles. “Is he awake?”

  The nurse shook her head, but she could see that herself. He hadn’t moved.

  The nurse smiled at her with the standard sympathy. “Why don’t you go down and have some breakfast?”

  Sure, she thought. Why not? She didn’t want to leave Parker’s side but she needed a walk at least. She was as stiff as a brick, and all her muscles were bitching at her for what she’d put them through last night.

  She got up, stretched, and headed down the hall.

  She wandered the halls for a while, decided she couldn’t get breakfast down, and found a vending machine where she could get a cup of coffee.

  She stood in an empty waiting room as she drank it, staring through the tall windows at the glorious city with its ancient monuments in the early morning light. She should call someone, she thought. Parker’s daughter, Gen. Her father. She was stunned to realize he’d be a comfort to her now.

  She’d never have found him if it hadn’t been for Parker. Never have found Mackenzie. Her life would be that miserable endless treadmill of mere survival she’d been on when she met him.

  She wiped her hand across her eyes. What was she going to tell her father? Gen? Everyone at the Agency?

  That they’d gone off in search of a stolen treasure and nearly lost their lives? That they’d come up empty-handed?

  Why had they come to this city? Had it been worth it? For a lost dagger that would never be recovered? No, for an old friend. A friend who had also lost.

  Old friend. Old friend.

  Her mind began to race with the recent events. The polo match. Soho. The wake. Actions, gestures, words. They all played together in her mind like a movie.

  And then it clicked. The pieces fell into place. She knew.

  Trenton Jewell had been telling the truth.

  Damn if she would let this one go.

  She had the number. She’d gotten it from Parker when they’d first arrived. She pulled her cell out of her pocket and dialed.

  As it rang, she knew she was making the call that would set everything straight. And maybe even make what they’d all sacrificed worth it.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Davinia unlocked the door to the flat in Chelsea and stepped inside.

  She strode across the wooden floor, drinking in the smell of the place, taking in its details.

  The homey pillows on the divan, the roses on the coffee table, the whatnot cupboard with her favorite china. He’d furnished it with a modern look that showed off his creative style, but with her tastes in mind.

  Ah, these rooms, this place where they’d spent so many hours of mindless bliss. Talking, kissing, touching. The day they’d almost made it to the bedroom. She’d longed to be with him that way, but she hadn’t dared. If she did, she was sure he’d leave her. And the rapturous fantasy she’d indulged in would evaporate like the morning dew.

  What was he doing with a woman twice his age anyway?

  No, that wasn’t the reason she’d turned him away that afternoon they’d almost made love. Deep down she knew she could never betray Neville, no matter what he’d done to her.

  But the pretty fantasy she’d lived here was gone now. Everything had changed.

  She found him on the balcony gazing out over the square, the wind playing with the thick blond waves of his hair she’d loved running her fingers through. He was wearing a lounge suit of sky blue, a color that accented his fair features. It was cut in a style that made his youthful form all too tempting. His casual posture evoked memories of the plans they’d made together, fingers entwined, hearts full of desperate hope and dreams of a future together.

  But everything they’d had was just that. A dream. One that would never come true. One she hadn’t really wanted to come true.

  She knew that now.

  “Davinia.” He turned to her with that boyish twinkle in his cobalt eyes that always set her heart aflutter. His face went somber as he reached out for her.

  She stepped away and shook her head. “No, Sebastian. Not now.”

  “As you wish.” He straightened himself, obviously displeased.

  “You told me on the phone you found Prentis.”

  He nodded and looked away, leaned his elbows on the balustrade. “He was in Bristol.”

  She gasped. “So far away?”

  “When the story broke out in the news he panicked and went to his mother’s. I found him there yesterday.”

  How close they had come to losing it altogether. “Where did the delivery company think Prentis was?”

  “They weren’t concerned. Before he left, he called in and quit his job. Right after the police questioned him.”

  “That didn’t arouse suspicion?”

  “Apparently there’s a high turnover in the security business. Though he had good references and a spotless record. I paid him twice what I said I would when he agreed to do what I proposed.” She could hear the guilt in his voice, felt it cutting into her own heart.

  So they’d destroyed a career of an innocent friend along with everything else with their foolish scheme. “The poor boy must have been terrified.”

  “Out of his wits. Still is. The police are reinvestigating the lor
ry company.”

  “Oh, dear Lord.”

  He was quick to comfort her. “But there’s no evidence. Everything went as planned. Prentis did everything according to my instructions.”

  “He replaced it with the counterfeit you bought?”

  “Yes.”

  She let out a breath. “So Trenton wasn’t involved.”

  “Not in our part. Or should I say your part?” There was rancor in his tone now that roused her temper.

  That was unfair. “It was your idea, Sebastian,” she snapped.

  He waved an arm, eyes flashing. “Inspired by your constant complaining over Neville’s obsession with the damn thing. And you didn’t say no when I suggested it.”

  That much was true. “I didn’t believe you could pull it off.”

  “But I did.”

  She turned away, pressed her fingers to her temples. “No, Sebastian. I can’t blame you. Everything that’s happened is my fault.”

  He was at her side in an instant, pulling her into his arms. “Oh, my darling, no. Forgive me. I didn’t mean what I said. It was I. I’m the one who carried it out. But neither of us could have known what Trenton had done. That there was a gang after the thing.”

  They should have known every ruthless criminal might have made an attempt to take the dagger, might have killed for it. If they had thought that through….

  Gently, she pushed him away. “It isn’t that simple, Sebastian. Not anymore.”

  He stood staring at her, his chest heaving. “Dear God, I wish I’d never heard of that blasted dagger.”

  She turned away and stared over the balustrade. Two young children were playing beside the fountain of Venus down below, laughing and carefree.

  She sighed as if her heart would break in two. “All I wanted was one last chance.”

  She felt him reach for her arm, spin her around.

  He glared at her. “And how’s that working out, Davinia?”

  His cruel jealousy stung her. She knew he’d only gone through with this to prove Neville didn’t care for her any longer. To make her leave him. But he’d hit the right nerve. It wasn’t working out at all.

  She’d never wanted to ruin Neville’s big day, never wanted to cause so much trouble. She never meant for anyone to know anything was wrong but him. She’d wanted him to turn to her. When he got home that day, to confide in her, bear his soul to her, tell her he’d failed in his quest, that he couldn’t figure out how it had happened.