He grimaced. “That sounds … disgusting.”
“You, sit.” Miranda pointed to one of the chairs at the table, then marched across to the pantry for the peanut butter and bread. She slathered the nut butter on the bread, sprinkled on the cereal, then added the top slice of bread to both sandwiches. She poured them each a glass of milk—double checking the expiration date first—then brought it all to the table.
She took the chair across from him. “Take a bite of the sandwich, then a swallow of milk.”
He didn’t look convinced, but did it anyway. “Not bad,” he said, munching, expression thoughtful. “You invent this?”
“Nope. My brother Robby did.” As the words passed her lips, an image filled her head. She must have been five, maybe six, sitting around the table munching on the amazing delicacy her brother had whipped up.
“Mom had left Robby in charge,” she said. “I think she had to go into work, and daddy hadn’t come like he was supposed to. I remember being scared, and hungry. Real hungry.” She smiled at the memory. “That sandwich made everything better. At least that afternoon.”
Jake took his last bite, then chugged his milk.
“We made up,” she said softly. “Robby and I did.”
He reached across the table and she caught his hand. “I’m happy for you.”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “Met his wife and little girl. Her name’s Chrissy. She looks like me.” Her throat closed and she cleared it. “I’m looking forward to getting to know them better. Hopefully it won’t be through prison mail.”
“Not funny.”
She finished her sandwich and milk. “Not in the least.”
He stood, collected their plates and glasses, rinsed them, and put them in the dishwasher.
“You get a lawyer?”
“I did. Daniel Stanley.”
“Good choice.”
“He said something to me, as I was leaving. That I needed to figure out why all this was happening to me.”
He held out his hand. She took it and he helped her up. “I think that sounds like a good idea. But I have a better idea.”
She frowned. “What’s that?”
“Come here—” He tugged and she landed against his chest. “And I’ll show you.”
He lifted her and carried her back to the bed. They made love again, this time slowly, savoring each kiss, nip, and caress, each reveling in bringing the other pleasure.
How could everything change so quickly? Miranda wondered. How could it go from so wrong to so right or from so right to so wrong? Her and Jake, her feelings about her family, her job, reputation, and relationship with Buddy?
In the next moment, thoughts of anything but Jake and the waves of pleasure crashing over her fled her mind.
Afterward, they lay entwined, arms and legs, damp skin pressed to damp skin. This time in comfortable silence. Two people lost in their own thoughts, but connected by something deep and strong.
And totally unexpected.
“You awake?” he asked softly.
“Mmm hmm.”
“He thinks you did it.”
“What?” She tipped her head so she could see his face. “Who?”
“Buddy. He thinks you killed them both.”
For a moment she wondered if she’d ever breathe again. When she did, it was with a terrible, choked sound. “He said that?”
“Not to me. To Ian Stark and his wife. I heard him.”
She fought the urge to curl into a ball and sob. Buddy thought her a murderer. Her mentor and friend, a man she had believed in and trusted. She had thought he felt the same way about her.
“I’m sorry I told you.”
“I’m glad you did.” She drew in a deep, strengthening breath. “I need to know what I’m up against.”
“I think Buddy suspended me yesterday because something’s going down this week. Maybe even in the morning. And they don’t want me involved or connected in any way.”
“Afraid you’re going to feed me information?”
“Probably. And they’d be right.”
“You don’t think—” She stopped, the words sticking in her throat. But she had to ask, so she forced them out. “You don’t think that do you? That I killed them?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I did.”
Miranda let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Deep down she had known his answer, but she’d needed to hear it from his lips.
“Buddy’s next move…” She thought a moment. “Search warrant, it’s got to be.”
“Or an arrest.”
“Stanley didn’t think they had enough.”
“Yet.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “Search warrant it is. Which means you have to go.”
He started to argue; she cut him off. “I’ve gotten you in deep enough. And if Buddy is so obsessed to think I could do this, he might be crazy enough to try to tie you up in it.”
“I’ll leave in the morning,” he promised. “Before it’s light. But not now, not this way.”
She could have argued, but the truth was, she didn’t want to. She didn’t know what tomorrow might bring, but she knew what she had tonight. And she wasn’t ready to let go.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
7:55 A.M.
At eight sharp, Miranda heard the slam of car doors. She was dressed and ready; she’d had breakfast and several cups of coffee, had called Stanley and shared what she learned from Jake.
Jake left at first light. After, she’d tried to grab another hour of shut-eye; instead, she’d tossed and turned, unable to fully let go and let her mind turn off. Her thoughts kept circling back to the same fact: Buddy Cadwell, her superior officer and friend, thought she was a killer. How did she wrap her head around that?
The several times she managed to drift off, she’d dreamt of running for her life from unknown assailants.
And now, they were here. Jones, she saw when she opened the door. Williams and Garcia as well. “Wow, I didn’t know I was having a party this morning.”
Jones looked uncomfortable. He held out the warrant. “Sorry about this, Rader.”
“Just doing your job. I get it.” She took the document from him and skimmed it. Her house and vehicle. A full search, every nook and cranny. Among other things, they were looking for a rhinestone button, a black Sharpie marker, and packing tape. The order had been signed by Judge Jay Clark.
Miranda handed it back. “It’s your time to waste. Come on in.” She stepped aside. “You don’t mind if I tag along, do you?”
Obviously they did, but she was within her rights and they couldn’t refuse her. She followed them from room to room, standing by while they picked through her drawers and rifled through her closets. The worst was her underwear drawer; she wasn’t certain which was more embarrassing, watching them handle her unmentionables or wondering what they were thinking.
There were just some things your colleagues should never see.
Four hours later, they were gone. It was four of the longest hours of her life. They collected everything they’d come for, plus her running clothes and shoes from the day of Wheeler’s murder, and a handful of other items she couldn’t imagine could have any connection to the investigation.