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  She didn’t offer up reassurance like she always did. That was kind of strange, too. He glanced back again, to confirm it was safe to talk. His heart did another lap around his chest, thoughts of Miranda driving its speed.

  “Holiday?” he asked.

  “Uh … he’s in the middle of something. I’m sure he’ll call you back. He told me you were supposed to be back here yesterday. He stayed up late last night waiting on you. He’s been worried and didn’t want to call you in case … it caused trouble.”

  “I told him not to worry. What’s he in the middle of?” Perry went to rake a hand through his hair, then dropped it when he recalled seeing his dad do the same. If there was a man he wanted to emulate it was Burnett. Not his real father.

  “He said what you were doing could be dangerous, Perry. You need to step away.”

  “I can’t leave just yet. But I didn’t call about that. Is Miranda okay?”

  “How did you … Who called you?” she asked.

  “No one. I just … I had a feeling. What is it?”

  “What kind of feeling?” she asked.

  “Is something wrong? Is she okay?” Please be okay, Miranda. Please!

  The sound of a twig snapping sounded behind him, pulling his heart from one problem to another. Someone was there. He racked his brain to remember if he’d said anything terribly incriminating.

  “Who the hell are you talking to?” The voice, angry and tight, sounded behind him.

  * * *

  “Please be okay, Miranda.”

  A hand touched her good arm stirring her awake, but the voice she heard seemed to come from somewhere else.

  Miranda tried to open her eyes, but they felt so heavy. Probably the drugs. When setting her arm, the doctor, after Miranda had let out a good moan, had given her a pill to help her relax.

  “Tell me you’re okay?” The tone whispered tenderness and something so genuine that her soul trembled. Sometimes just knowing someone cared that much could almost hurt.

  She worked to identify the deep male voice. Perry. Had he come here? Had he heard she was hurt and come running home for the first time in months?

  Her chest felt like it opened up in a way that it hadn’t since he left. Something like relief, a special kind of joy, a Perry kind of joy filled her heart.

  “You came.” She finally opened her eyes.

  “Of course I did.”

  Miranda blinked. Once. Twice.

  On the third time the face came into focus. And so did her heart.

  Not Perry.

  Shawn.

  Sweet. Warm. Kind. All of it defined Shawn.

  “You couldn’t keep me away.” He leaned down and pressed a soft and gentle kiss to her lips. One that spoke of just the kind of guy he was. When he pulled back, the emotions in his eyes echoed the same sentiment and told her how much he cared.

  And she cared back. She did. She really did. Pushing thoughts of Perry from her mind, she felt her chest tighten.

  “You scared me to death!” He looked at her cast and winced as if her pain was his. “Are you hurting?”

  “No, not now.” She looked around, unsure how long she’d been asleep. “Have you heard anything about Tabitha?”

  “No. I came right to your room.”

  “Where’s Burnett?”

  “He’s arguing with police about something. I just got here. I don’t know what’s going on, but I talked your nurse into letting me sneak back.”

  “They think I’m a drug dealer.”

  “What?” Shock filled his blue eyes.

  “The house that blew up—”

  “A house blew up?” His mouth hung open.“What house?”

  “The witch’s house.” She tried to sit up but her ribs still hurt, so she slumped back on the bed.

  “What witch?” His brow tightened in puzzlement.

  “The fortune-teller with the armadillo.”

  He stared at her, his eyes filling with a new kind of worry. “Are … you okay?”

  And by okay, she was pretty sure he meant mentally. “Burnett didn’t tell you?”

  He still hesitated before answering. “He said you and Tabitha were in an accident. I thought car.”

  “Not a car,” she said.

  He blinked and frowned. “A house blew up?”

  She nodded.

  His eyes widened again. “Wait. Did you say armadillo?”

  “Yeah. I know it sounds crazy, but it was there. And it was being held against its will. And when the storm came inside—”

  “Storm?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “At a witch’s house?” By his tone she couldn’t tell if he came closer to believing her or believing she was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. But she suspected the latter.

  Frowning, she found her bed control and raised up a few inches. As her head raised, she flinched slightly as the new position hurt, but the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as before.

  She looked up. “I’m not hallucinating. This happened.”

  “Okay.” He paused again. “But what … what were you doing there?”

  “The witch was a fortune-teller.”

  He frowned. “What kind of magic was she practicing?”

  Miranda shifted, the question reminding her that this whole thing could have been prevented if only she’d been more assertive with Tabitha. Oddly, while Tabitha was the eldest, and high priestess, she wasn’t always the wisest.

  “It might have been black, but … but she didn’t seem evil. Tabitha wanted … She’d gone to her before. She was worried about dating Anthony. Her mom doesn’t want her to, but she has feelings and she wanted to know if it might really be love.”

  The soft caring look in his eyes shifted to frustration. He leaned in and his tone lowered. “You know better than to play around with black magic. And please, you don’t go to someone to tell you how you feel. You feel it or you don’t!”

  She wasn’t sure if it was his words or if it was his tone that annoyed her the most. She attempted to push the itch of anger aside, because down deep she knew he was right. At least about black magic, but … about feelings? No, he wasn’t right about that.

  Her feelings for him were a prime example.

  Stiffening her shoulders, she met his eyes. “So you’ve never questioned how you felt about someone?”

  His brow tightened. “Not enough to toy with evil. You could have been—”

  “I told you, she didn’t come off as malicious.” Miranda’s emotions must have sounded in her voice, because before he even opened his mouth, she heard his apology.

  “I’m sorry, I just … hate seeing you hurt. The thought of what more could have happened scares the hell out of me.”

  Before Miranda could respond, before she even decided what the ping-ponging emotions meant, the door to her room whooshed open.

  A man, potbellied, so much so that his extended gut entered the room before he did, charged into the room. From his body shape and jowls to his demeanor, he reminded Miranda of a bulldog—one who didn’t like backing up from his food bowl.

  The man glared at Shawn, then turned to look at the nurse who’d followed him. “I told you no visitors until I spoke with her!”

  The nurse flinched.

  The bulldog turned his attention away from the nurse to Shawn. “I snuck in,” Shawn insisted.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Shawn’s shoulders tensed, not at all intimidated by the man. “I’m an agent with the FRU.”

  The man growled, yes, growled just like a dog. “As I was telling the other agent out there, I don’t give a damn who you are. This is our case. Back off before I get your asses arrested.”

  “Excuse me!” Burnett charged into the room. When he was angry the vampire looked bigger. And right now he appeared seven feet tall.

  Miranda noted his normal brown eyes held a golden, pissed-off hue. Then again, they were in the hospital where no doubt the smell of blood lingered. He held out his phone to Mr
. Bulldog. “Someone wants to speak to you.”

  “Who?” The cop stared at the phone as if he debated taking it.

  “Take it,” Burnett said. “He’s not someone you want to keep waiting.”

  “You got my sergeant?” the cop asked, suspicious and maybe worried.

  “No,” Burnett answered, his voice a low rumble that sounded dead serious. “Your sergeant wasn’t available. Neither was his boss. It’s the police commissioner. Take it!” He shoved his phone into the man’s hand, but Miranda could tell Burnett would rather have just broken the man’s neck.

  The bulldog, looking unsure, took the phone. “Yes.”

  The man’s face, already a pissed-off shade of red, got redder. “I understand sir, but we have evidence leading us to believe—” His frown deepened all the way into his jowls. “I understand.”

  He shoved the phone back into Burnett’s hand. Now looking embarrassed as well as furious, he growled again. “This isn’t over by a long shot.”

  “I’d say it is,” Shawn added.

  Burnett stared down at the police officer. And considering he stood almost a foot above him, it was apparent that he made the cop feel small.

  “You can go now.” Burnett motioned him out.

  As soon as he left, Miranda met Burnett’s gaze. “Thank you.”

  He frowned. “Don’t thank me yet. We still have to prove you didn’t have anything to do with the drugs.”

  “So it was really a drug house?” Miranda winced.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Shawn said. “Why would a witch be working out of a drug house?”

  “We don’t know,” Burnett said, his frown punctuating his statement.

  “The witch?” Miranda asked. “Did you find…” She couldn’t say it, but heaven help her, she couldn’t say it. Had she left the elderly witch in the house to die?

  “So far no human or non-human remains have been found. It appears she got out. No sight of the armadillo, either.”

  “Burnett?” The voice came from the door. Holiday stood there. Miranda immediately picked up on her frown. Then Holiday’s faded gray aura, that usually meant worry, caught Miranda’s attention. Because Holiday was a mother and shouldered the responsibility for all her students at Shadow Falls, worry always tinted her aura, but this … this was stronger than usual.

  Fearing the worst, Miranda’s sister’s name slipped from her heart and then from her lips. “Tabitha?”

  Holiday walked in, her caring gaze stayed on Miranda and she smiled but it came off more as a mask. “She’s fine. You gave us all a scare.” She pressed her hand on Miranda’s shoulder.

  The calm of a fae’s touch eased some of Miranda’s fears. Everyone had assured her Tabitha was okay, so why did she not want to believe it? “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to apologize for,” Holiday said. “I spoke to your parents. They’d tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. I assured them you were okay and told them you were probably asleep. They should be here in about four hours.”

  “And Tabitha’s mom?” Miranda asked.

  “She was in Galveston. She’s on her way, too. She and your father did speak with Tabitha.”

  Holiday’s gaze slipped back to Burnett and her stressed aura got stronger. “Can I see you a minute?”

  “What’s wrong?” Miranda asked.

  “We’ll be back,” Burnett said, his tone deepening as if he too sensed something was wrong. Something that Holiday hadn’t wanted Miranda to hear. And that just worried her more.

  Burnett and Holiday walked out of the room. Shawn sat down on the foot of her bed. After several silent moments, Shawn blurted out, “I’m sorry I upset you. I was scared.”

  She nodded. He moved up to the front of the bed and leaned down. His kiss was soft and it told her how much he cared.

  When he pulled back, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “I hope so,” she said, but that feeling kept brewing in her gut. The feeling that said it might not be okay.

  Five minutes later, after casual chitchat, Shawn’s phone rang. He slipped it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. “Burnett,” he said, meaning he had to take the call. Very few people would ignore Burnett.

  “Yeah?” Shawn answered and paused. “Now?”

  Miranda studied Shawn, wondering if Burnett’s call was about her.

  Shawn frowned as if whatever Burnett said didn’t sit well with him. “Yeah, but can’t you find someone else? I know, but I kind of wanted to be assigned to Miranda’s case.” His frown deepened.

  Miranda could hear Burnett’s voice, but couldn’t distinguish his words.

  “Fine,” Shawn said. “Where’s it at?”

  She watched frustration fill his eyes, and then those baby blues widened.

  “I was just there,” he said. “No, it’s beside the restaurant where I was meeting Miranda and Tabitha.” Pause. “Yeah, Anthony and I walked into the store.” Pause. “I’m not sure. I’d just gotten there, so about ten minutes. Yeah, he came with me. Why?”

  Miranda sat up a bit, now even more curious.

  “Fine. Was … anyone hurt?” Shawn asked.

  Concern filled Shawn’s expression. “Who? Yeah, well, no. I met the clerk.” His frowned deepened. “Yes. A mix-breed.” Pause. “Okay. I’ll call you as soon as I got something.” He hung up and sent her an apologetic look.

  “What?” she asked.

  “The jewelry store beside Maxi’s Burgers was robbed. Anthony and I walked in while we were waiting on you two.”

  “Is it an FRU case?”

  “Could be. He wants me to go check it out.”

  “Was someone hurt?” she asked.

  “He said there were injuries, but no causalities.” His frown deepened.

  Miranda recalled other questions she had from her little eavesdropping. “Who did you say came with you?”

  “Anthony.”

  “Why was Burnett asking about him?”

  “He didn’t say.” His gaze softened. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Go.”

  Alone, Miranda sat for two seconds, wanting to believe the nagging feeling of doom was simply leftover from the chaos. But doubt ate at her sanity.

  “Oh, hell.” She tossed off her covers. She wanted to see Tabitha. Buttscooting to the edge of the thin mattress, she dropped her feet down and stood up. The cast felt heavy. She felt a little dizzy. But she’d waited long enough. The worry for her sister hung in her chest like a lead weight.

  Grabbing the back of her gown with her good hand, she went in search of room six and her sister.

  Chapter Five

  Perry hesitated before facing his father, trying to chase any glimpse of guilt from his expression.

  “I asked who you were talking to?” his father repeated.

  As Perry turned around, his mind raced into recall mode. Exactly what had his father heard? How far up shit creek without a paddle had he traveled? When he replayed his words in his head, the tension in his gut slackened. He hadn’t said anything completely incriminating—that he remembered. But at times like this, Perry’s memory wasn’t its best.

  To reassure himself, he tried to read his father’s body language. He got nothing.

  In spite of Perry’s natural ability to read emotional shifts in others, his father was often unreadable. Or was he too close to his dad to read the man correctly?

  Probably for that reason, Burnett had insisted Perry pull out. Not an option. Especially knowing what Caleb was capable of doing.

  His dad had said they hadn’t brought anyone new into the gang in a year. That meant no one had a better chance at stopping this than Perry. And no one had more of a reason to do it. Not that he completely understood those reasons, or the reason he’d felt compelled to find his parents, but something drove him to be the one to make this right.

  “A girl. I was talking to a girl. Why?”

&nb
sp; “You got a girl?” The edge in his voice was gone.

  “Sort of.”

  “You banging her?” his father asked.

  The crude question ran over every nerve Perry had. It sounded like Caleb. “That’s none of your damn business!”

  “Of course it is. I’m your father.”

  And I’d never have seen you again if I hadn’t come found you. And soon you’re going to wish I hadn’t. He couldn’t help but wonder if his father would feel half as betrayed by him as Perry had by his abandonment.

  When Perry didn’t have a comeback, his father spoke up again. “Just don’t sneak off to make calls.”

  “Since when do I need my calls monitored?”

  His father frowned. “Since Caleb’s got it out for you. Don’t give him a reason to suspect you’re up to something.”

  “I don’t give a damn what he suspects,” Perry lied. One of the many untruths he’d told his father. In the beginning, Perry kept his link with Shadow Falls a secret because of the FRU’s association with the school. He knew unregistered supernaturals like his parents feared all things FRU. Then Perry learned other reasons to keep it to himself.

  His father glanced over his shoulder, as if making sure they were alone, then refocused on Perry. “You need to take your attitude down a notch. For now. Caleb’s gonna screw up. Jax already has him on his radar.”

  Jax again. “You said you didn’t know who was running this show.”

  “Maybe I know more than I said. But you’ve got to trust me.”

  Trust. It hit then. A whole knot of hurt, like tightly wound rubber bands, unfurling in his chest—each one snapping free and leaving an emotional welt.

  He stepped closer to his father, now just inches from the man’s face. “Trust you? You friggin’ abandoned me when I was three years old. Left me in a damn mall. I almost killed someone.” It was the first time Perry had brought it up. Not that he hadn’t wanted to. It was the damn elephant in the room.

  But pointing out the elephant wouldn’t accomplish anything. So why had he spilled his guts now? Because he wasn’t thinking straight—his concern over Miranda had pushed him over the edge.