Shirlee McCoy - Valley of Shadows

“Kidnapping? Is that what you call this?”

“What would you call it?”

“Returning a favor. You saved my life. Now I’m doing the same for you.”

“It’s hard to believe that’s what you’re doing when you’re pointing a gun at me.”

“Sorry.” Hawke tucked the gun into his jeans.

Miranda eyed the man, the car door, the traffic speeding by. Maybe-

“Whatever you’re thinking, forget it.”

Miranda stiffened, turning to face him again. “I’m not thinking anything.”

“Sure you are. You’re thinking about opening the car door and jumping for it. Or maybe attracting someone’s attention.” Hawke shrugged. “It’s what I’d do if I were in your position.”

“And if I were in your position, I’d stop the car and let my prisoner out.” Miranda tried to sound less scared than she felt.

“You’re not a prisoner.”

“Then what am I?”

“The newest member of the witness protection program.”

has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of four, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in Maryland and share their house with a dog and a guinea pig. You can visit her Web site at www.shirleemccoy.com.

This is what the Lord says: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it.”

—Jeremiah 6:16

To Jude—musician, budding scientist, young man

of God. May the path God has set for you be clear,

may your faith be strong and may you always know

just how much I love you and just how proud I am

to be your mother.

To Jeannine Case. Piano teacher extraordinaire.

Thank you for all the years of hard work and

dedication you’ve given to your craft. May every

day, every moment be filled with joy and every

memory one to cherish.

To Ms. Dawn of Docksiders Gymnastics

in Millersville, Maryland, who gives children

wings and teaches them to fly. What you do

really does matter.

And to Melissa Endlich. Editor. Cheerleader.

Conference buddy. I promise I’m not going to say

one more word about redheads, or knights

or even accountants! Maybe.

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

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

The warm September day had turned chilly with sunset, the brisk air heavy with approaching rain. Miranda Sheldon shivered as she stepped outside of her three-story town house, goose bumps rising on her bare arms as clammy coolness seeped through her cotton T-shirt. A jacket would have been a good idea, but she’d been in a hurry to escape the house. Grabbing one had been the last thing on her mind and, as much as she knew she’d probably regret it, she wouldn’t return for one now. Not when her sister Lauren was there.

And not when memories filled every corner, sorrow every silent room.

Instead, she moved quickly, setting a rapid pace, hoping it would warm her as nothing else had in the past few days. People milled around her as she hurried down the busy Essex street. Many she recognized as patrons of the small bakery she owned. A few called out to her, some offering quiet condolences before moving on to whatever they’d planned for Friday night. Their words echoed in her ears, whispered through her head and lodged in her throat, nearly choking her with their potency. Comfort, sympathy. She wanted neither. What she wanted was to rewind the clock, to change the past, to make different choices that would lead to different outcomes.

But, of course, she couldn’t do any of those things. All she could do was grieve and move on with a life that seemed empty and void.

Two blocks down and around a corner, the neighborhood grew quiet, the sounds of traffic and voices muted, the busy Maryland town hushed. Miranda hesitated at the top of a cul-de-sac, the darkness not able to hide the truth of where her walk had taken her. Not just any street. Not just any place. This was where she’d spent the better part of two days. A place where she’d greeted those who’d come to share her sorrow. A place that she’d be happy to walk away from and never see again.

Earlier, the lawn of the huge Greek revival had gleamed brilliant emerald in the sunlight. Now, it was a blanket of shifting shadows, the half-bare trees that lined the driveway skeletal. Light glowed from the lower level of the building, but the remainder of the house was dark, the tall windows eerie in the moonlight. At night, more than any other time, Green’s Funeral Home looked like what it was—a place for the dead.

Miranda shivered, but moved forward anyway, knowing that she couldn’t turn back now. She hadn’t planned to come, but she was here and maybe it was for the best. If someone was still working at the funeral home, she might get a chance to say a final goodbye. A private goodbye. It was the last opportunity she’d have before the burial. She couldn’t pass it up.

The foyer of the building was brightly lit and visible through the panes of glass on either side of the door. Miranda knocked, then twisted the knob. It was locked as she’d expected, the funeral home empty. She should go home, finish the baking she was doing for the funeral and check over the list of things that had to be ready before tomorrow. That was the practical thing to do. But with her nephew Justin gone, practical didn’t seem quite as important as it once had been. Nor did home seem the comfortable place she’d thought it to be. Maybe once Lauren returned to her work and travels, Miranda could return to the quiet life she’d built for herself.

Maybe, but she didn’t think so. Her life had changed irrevocably—it would never be the same.

She clenched her jaw against a sob and stepped around the side of the building. The darkness was complete there, but the past two days had given Miranda plenty of time to become familiar with the grounds. Here, where the shadows were deepest, stone benches sat in shrub-lined alcoves. She sought one out and lowered herself onto it, ignoring the cold that seeped through her jeans. The night enfolded her, the muffled sounds of traffic a backdrop to her thoughts.

She rested her elbows on her knees and lowered her head into her hands, wanting to pray, but not sure what to pray for. Peace? Acceptance? Forgiveness? The words wouldn’t form, her thoughts refusing to coalesce. How could she pray when she didn’t know what to ask for? And how could she know what to ask for when she couldn’t even begin to imagine tomorrow, let alone a week, month or year from now? She’d spent the past ten years planning her schedule around Justin. With him gone, the future stretched out in front of her, a blank slate—empty and more frightening than she wanted to admit.