Кей Хупер - Out of the Shadows

Not that the circumstances would ever be the same.

He never made the same mistake twice.

No, this Miranda, this woman he had faced today across a gulf of eight years and too much pain and loss, was not the girl he remembered. She had perfected her previously erratic control and learned not only to shield herself but to extend that bubble of protection outside herself to enclose others.

He knew why, of course. Because of Bonnie.

The human mind was a remarkable instrument, the human will even more so. Miranda had needed to protect Bonnie, and that intense, desperate need had driven her to hone her extraordinary ability.

He wondered if she had any idea just how extraordinary.

It was ... an unanticipated complication. He was confident of getting through her shields by touch; after all, his spider-sense had, as she had noted, functioned normally despite them. And he did have an advantage over most other people when it came to her. But her strength had surprised him. It told him Miranda would give up nothing against her will.

If he forced his way past her shields, he doubted either of them would emerge from the battle without untold damage.

Bishop allowed himself a moment of grimly amused self-mockery. For eight years, he had focused on the simple need to find her, deluding himself that the wounds he had inflicted could be healed quickly once he was able to face her again, to talk to her. He had imagined that her pain and bitterness had faded with time, making it even easier for him.

But it was not going to be easy to earn Miranda's forgiveness. If it would even be possible.

"Hurting me was the least of it."

She was wrong about that, as far as he was concerned. What he had done could not be undone; the dead could not be brought back to life. For that, he expected no forgiveness, because he would never forgive himself. But he meant to make things right between him and Miranda.

Whatever it cost him.

Miranda broke the news to her sister and Mrs. Task when she got home, but she kept it brief. Lynet Grainger's body had been found, that's all they needed to know. For now, at least.

Bonnie wasn't surprised; Miranda had told her before she'd gone to the lake that she was certain they would find another body.

The housekeeper was horrified; she'd been saying over and over "that Grainger girl" had just run away, most likely, and would probably come home any day now.

Whistling in the graveyard.

Like everyone in town, she didn't want to believe that a monster lurked nearby. A monster that looked human.

"Poor Teresa," Mrs. Task murmured as she put on her coat. "You told her?"

"Yes, before I came home," Miranda said. "And called her sister to come stay with her."

"She wasn't drinking?"

"Not as far as I could tell. In fact, I think she's been cold sober since she woke up to find Lynet gone. It's just a pity she didn't wake up sooner."

"I'll take something over tomorrow." Like many of her generation, Mrs. Task believed life's hurts and death's shocks could be eased with food.

"I'm sure she'd appreciate that," Miranda murmured, sure only that lots of neighbors would bring lots

of food to try to fill the terrible void left by the death of a child.

Mrs. Task shook her head as she picked up her purse. "Poor thing. To lose a child ..."

Bonnie waited until after the housekeeper had left, then said, "One of Mrs. Task's friends called and told her the FBI agents had come. Had they?"

Miranda nodded.

"Well? Is it him?"

"Three agents. Naturally, he's the one in charge."

Bonnie looked at her anxiously. "Did you talk to him?"

"About the investigation." Miranda shrugged. "He was entirely professional. So was I."

"But he remembered you."

"Oh, yes. He remembered." Too damned well.

"Did he ask why you'd changed your name?"

"He didn't have to ask."

"Did you tell him what you saw?"

"No. No, of course not. He doesn't need to know about that. Not now. Not yet."

After a moment, Bonnie said, "Why don't you shower and get ready for bed while I heat up supper?"

"I'm not very hungry."

"You have to eat, Randy."

Miranda was too tired to argue. She went upstairs and took a long, hot shower, trying to soothe weary muscles and wash away tension and the stink of death. She did feel better afterward, at least physically. When she returned to the kitchen in robe and slippers she felt a twinge of appetite as she smelled stew.

Automatically, Miranda reached for a coffee cup, but found herself holding a glass of milk instead.

"The last thing you need tonight," Bonnie said, "is more caffeine."

Again, Miranda didn't argue. She drank her milk and ate the stew without tasting it, wondering how long she could delay the conversation her sister undoubtedly wanted to have.

"Has Bishop changed much?"

Not long at all.

"He's older. We're all older."

"Does he look different?"

"Not that I noticed."

"Is he married?"

The question startled Miranda. "No," she said quickly, then added, "I don't know. He isn't wearing a ring."

"And you didn't talk about personal things."

I never meant to hurt you.

"No," Miranda said steadily. "We didn't talk about personal things."

"Because you're all closed up?"

"Because there's no reason for us to discuss personal things, Bonnie. He's here to do a job, and that's all."

"Can he still..."

"What?"

"Can he still get in even when you're all closed up?"

Miranda stared down at her empty milk glass. "I don't know."

"But—"

"We didn't touch."

"Not at all?"

"No."

Bonnie frowned. "You have to find out, Randy. If he can't get in, he won't be able to help you when the time comes."

"I know."

Bonnie hesitated, then said gently, "If he can't get in, you'll have to let him in."

"I know that too."

"Can you do it?"

"You said it. I'll have to."

Bonnie bit her lip. "I know you said leaving wouldn't change anything, but—"

"Even if we could, it's too late." Because Bishop was here now. Because events had been set in motion and there was no stopping them, not until they reached their inevitable conclusion.

Not until it was finally over..

Sunday, January 9

The Cox County Sheriff's Department was housed in a building less than twenty years old. And back when it was designed, the city fathers had envisioned continued economic growth along the happy lines of what the town had then been experiencing. Unfortunately, they'd been wrong, but at least their optimism had led to a building with numerous offices and a spacious conference room, which was used mostly for storage.

Miranda had left orders, and by the time she and two of the three FBI agents met there early the following morning, the conference room had been cleared of boxes of old files and supplies, and provided a decent base of operations for the task force. Extra phone lines were already in place, as were fixed blackboards and bulletin boards, and the three large partner desks contained all the usual supplies. There was a conference table big enough to seat six, several pieces of antiquated audiovisual equipment, and one five-year-old desktop computer hastily shifted from one of the outer offices.

The coffeemaker, at least, was new.

Miranda didn't bother to apologize for the inadequacies of her department; since Dr. Edwards had brought her own equipment along, and both Bishop and Harte arrived this morning with the latest thing in laptop computers, she figured they'd expected small-town deficiencies from the get-go.

And if they didn't like it, tough.

She got them settled in the room with all the files on the investigation, assigned a regrettably awed and nervous young deputy to fetch and carry for them, and retreated to her office to handle the morning's duties.