Modern Day
Houston, Texas
Mirranda Thompson rubbed her eyes, but they refused to focus. She sighed and pushed the file away. She had been studying it for hours, but she couldn’t divine information when there was none.
Since graduating from college with a bachelor’s degree in police sciences, she had been working to solve the murder of her parents. But she sadly realized she was no closer to an answer now than she had been when she graduated eight years ago.
She stared at the massive stack of files, newspaper clippings, reports, and reference books on her table. All of this . . . it couldn’t be for nothing . . . could it?
When her parents died when Mirranda was nine, she knew little of what really happened. She had been too young to understand. But her father had left a will that planned her future completely. His law firm became her guardian, managing his wealth, and caretakers had managed her life.
In college, Mirranda had been determined to enter law enforcement. She succeeded, and graduated from both college and the police academy with the highest grades in her class. She signed on with the Houston P.D. and finally worked her way up to detective. But none of that helped her find the answers she needed.
When Mirranda’s obsessive work on her parents’ case resulted in her ignoring some very real and current cases, her captain warned her to drop her personal issues.
She didn’t . . . she couldn’t . . . and had taken a leave of absence from the department to get her head on straight. Mirranda liked being a cop well enough, but the cold case of her parents’ murders would not leave her alone. That was probably why she wasn’t truly happy with the profession. Mirranda didn’t worry about money. Her father had left her enough wealth that she would never have to work another day in her life.
Mirranda stood and stretched, joints popping. She had been sitting at the table too long. What she needed was a good workout—that always eased her melancholy.
She bounded upstairs, changed into her karate gi, and headed for the gym her parents had built in the backyard. Their house was a Victorian and her mother flatly refused to allow her husband to destroy its charm by adding something so modern on to it.
The gym was huge. The wall facing the house was adorned with photos of her father, also in a karate gi. She stopped at her favorite. It always brought a smile to her face. Her father stood proudly, next to him was a martial arts trophy standing almost half of his six feet three inches. The photos of her father were mostly of his karate tournaments, but there were also several of his military service. He looked so gallant in his Marine Corps uniform. Three photos were of him and his brother, Uncle Merick. The uncle she never knew; she had been too little to remember him.
All she could recall was her parents sorrow when they learned he had disappeared and was feared dead.
She sighed softly. She had also investigated her uncle’s disappearance but his case had even fewer leads than her parents’ murders. It was as if someone had been hunting her family. But if that was the case, why stop? Why was she alive and perfectly fine?
Her godfather, the lead partner in her father’s law firm, didn’t understand it either. All he had been able to tell her was that at times, her father seemed downright paranoid. After learning what had been in her father’s will, Mirranda could only agree. Why else would he demand his daughter be taught martial arts and how to handle weapons?
Fortunately for Mirranda, she enjoyed martial arts. It gave her a link to her father and she was good at it.
She walked around the weight machines and pulled out the pads, arranging them on the floor.
Mirranda glanced out at the pool. The back wall of the gym was all glass, allowing natural light to flow through. It was too chilly to swim. Fall had come a little early to Houston. A rare occurrence, but it did happen now and then.
Mirranda approached the MP3 player and cranked the music. She started her stretches then quickly moved in the form of her kata, each action crisp, clean, and perfect. After that, she took her father’s katana from its place of honor. He had commissioned it from a Japanese sword master; it was beautiful and perfectly balanced. But she always paused and gazed at the dragon etched on the blade. Like the sword, it too was perfect, but she always wondered why it looked more like a European dragon rather than an Asian. It was a gorgeous weapon, and even though it had been made for her father, Mirranda found it a perfect fit for her as well.
Two hours later she trudged up the stairs, carrying the katana with her since it needed cleaning. She was tired . . . but it was a good tired. At least she felt better, until her gaze fell on the calendar and the date refused to be ignored.
Happy freakin’ thirtieth birthday to me. Damn it! She had been trying all day not to think about that.
She sat on the edge of her bed and flung herself backward, listening to the soft sounds of the creaking old house.
No other voices reached her, no sound of any other living thing in the huge Victorian. She was completely and utterly alone. She didn’t even have a damn cat.
Mirranda growled in frustration. It was her own fault. She always held everyone at arm’s length, never allowing anyone into her life, especially men. The only people who knew her were Hanna and Mattie, her two best friends—and polar opposites.
She smiled to herself and rose from the bed, deciding to shower. After showering, Mirranda spontaneously decided on a nice pair of blue jeans and a pretty blouse. She was going to shock Hanna silly this evening.
Downstairs, Mirranda reached for the phone and nearly jumped out of her skin when it rang before she could touch it.
“Okay, that’s weird.” Then she saw Hanna’s number on the caller ID.
“Hey, girl,” she answered. “I was just going to call you.”
“Happy birthday!” Hanna said, laughing.
Mirranda couldn’t help but smile. She hated birthdays, but Hanna’s bubbly personality was contagious.
“Thank you.”
“Okay—get out of that stinky karate outfit and change into something nice. Mattie and I are taking you out tonight.”
Mirranda scowled. Okay . . . this was getting weird. “Uh . . . Hanna?”
“No excuses this time. I don’t care how much you argue with me. You are going even if I have to haul you out by your ear.”
“Hanna—”
“No arguing with me, young lady!”
Mirranda rolled her eyes. “Hanna—”
“We’re going to be there at seven and so help me if you’re—”
“Hanna!” she barked, laughing. “I’m actually ready to go.”
Silence.
“Uh . . . hello?” Mirranda asked, wondering if they had been cut off. “Hello?”
“Oh, my God! I don’t believe it!” Hanna nearly crowed with delight. “You mean we’re not going to have to beat you in the head with a stick?”
“No . . . I need to get out of the house for a while.”
“Fantastic! I’ll see you in an hour. We’re going to have a wonderful time tonight, you’ll see.”
“One hour, I’ll be ready.” Mirranda clicked off the phone.
She chuckled. She had no doubt Hanna and Mattie would have a great time flirting with fantastic-looking guys. Mirranda would sit at the table, nursing a beer all night, and growl at any guy who had the guts to ask her to dance.
“And look where that’s gotten me.” Maybe . . . just once . . . she might actually dance with a guy this time.
She put on her boots and looked at her Glock 23 Gen4 on the table. She never went anywhere without it. But if she wore her shoulder harness, she’d have to wear a jacket all night. Plus, firearms were frowned on in a bar.
“What the hell? I might as well live dangerously tonight.” She picked up her gun and took it upstairs to her safe. Grabbing her cell, she put it in her pocket then grabbed her wallet. She was never big on carrying a purse and definitely didn’t like carrying one in a bar.
Returning downstairs, the doorbell rang. Mirranda scowled, glancing at the clock. Way too early to be Hanna. Of course, she might have been so excited about Mirranda going willingly that she may have come over straightaway before Mirranda could change her mind.
Mirranda peered through the peephole and smiled. Her godfather with a package. Bless him. She opened the door, grinning broadly. “Ernie, how are you?”
“Mirranda, my dear,” he said stepping over the threshold and embracing her warmly. He was a foot shorter than she was, and very rotund. He pulled away, holding her at arm’s length.
“You grow more beautiful every day.”
“I know, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I look just like my mother.”
“Actually, I was going to say I can see so much of your father in you. A dashing young man he was, swept your mother off her feet with just a smile.”
She continued to smile, but swallowed hard. “Please come in,” she said, her voice growing thick. She cleared her throat. “Can I get you anything?”
“A beer, if you’ve got one.”
“Sure.” Mirranda hurried to the kitchen while he made himself comfortable on the couch.
She returned and handed him a beer, sipping her own, and sitting next to him.
Ernie gripped her hand. “How are you?”
Mirranda’s smile vanished. Ernie knew her inside and out, it would do no good to lie to him. “I’ve been better.”
His gaze focused on the mountain of files on the table. “Are you still . . . ?”
“Yeah,” she said firmly.
Ernie sighed and patted her hand. “I know it won’t do any good, but you know . . . some cases can’t be solved.”
“I know. But I have to solve this one, Ernie. I don’t have a choice.”
“I understand.” He hesitated and handed her the wrapped package with a huge bow on it. “Happy birthday.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Of course I did. Actually, it’s from both of us.”
Mirranda hesitated. Ernie’s wife, Jan, was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. “How is Jan?”
“Some days are better than others.” He sighed heavily. “It sucks getting old.”
“So he says on my birthday.”
“Go ahead, open it. Jan had a good day and picked out a present for you, and I found something I thought you would like as well.”
Mirranda quickly opened the box and gasped, seeing a beautiful dragon figurine. Her gaze traveled to the huge curio cabinet in the corner. Before they died, her parents had avidly collected them. Mirranda added to the collection when she could, but the pieces they had found were so artful, rarely could she find one worthy of joining them. This one, however, was absolutely stunning. A golden dragon with burnished red scales roared at her, appearing as if he would fly from his crystal perch at any second.
“It’s beautiful, thank you.”
“That’s what Jan found. Keep digging.”
She obeyed, moving the tissue paper aside and was absolutely thrilled to discover a new shoulder harness for her Glock.
“This is wonderful!”
“As you know, Jan likes the pretty things, I like the serviceable items.”
“And I will get a lot of use out of this.”
He chuckled, but his smile disappeared too quickly and he took a long drink from his beer.
“Ernie?” she asked.
“I have something else for you. But I don’t know if you will think of it as a gift.”
“What do you mean?”
He pulled a large object from his coat. It was wrapped in a dark cloth and he handed it to her.
“This has been in a safe-deposit box. Your father’s will commanded I give it to you on your thirtieth birthday, if you had not found the answers for yourself.”
“What is it? Evidence?” she asked, taking the package, realizing that what appeared to be cloth was actually well-aged leather.
“I don’t know, Mirranda. I didn’t look. I may be your godfather, but it is not my place.”
Her lips lifted slightly and she reached over, squeezing his hand.
He rose and drained his beer. “You know I am here for you. I want you to move past your parent’s deaths but . . .”
She stared at the package she held. “But how can I with stuff like this popping up?”
“And your father’s will. He dictated your future to us exactly.”
“Who has that kind of foresight?”
“I don’t know. I have never seen the like, in all my years of practice.”
“How much longer will my father speak from the grave?”
“I can tell you honestly, today is the last. There is nothing in his will instructing us after this date.”
“So,” she said softly. “He thought I would have either figured it out by now or I would be dead.”
“Dead? What are you talking about?”
“What father demands his child learn martial arts in his will, Ernie? That she have bodyguards growing up? He was terrified that whoever killed him would come after me. Why haven’t they?”
“Your father made many enemies in his profession.”
She rolled her eyes. “Geez, Ernie, it’s not The Godfather. The death my parents suffered went beyond revenge. It was ritualistic.”
Ernie fell silent for a long moment. He gripped her shoulder. “Mirranda, I did not mean to upset you.”
Her hand covered his. “I’m okay, don’t worry.”
He smiled. “You going out tonight?”
“Yeah, Hanna and Mattie are insisting.”
“Good for them and good for you. You need to get out more.” He hesitated, looking around the house. “You don’t even have a damned cat.”
Mirranda couldn’t help herself, she started laughing.
Ernie grinned and kissed her cheek. “If you need anything . . . anything at all,” he gestured toward the package she held. “Call me.”
“I will, Ernie, thank you.”
“Happy birthday, dear.” He kissed her cheek again and strode out the door, closing it firmly behind him.
Mirranda stared at the package in her hands, terrified to open it. “Daddy, what have you done now?”
Her gaze unwillingly traveled to one specific picture on the wall. Her father stood with her in his arms, a newborn baby. He smiled broadly, his eyes liquid with tears.
“Daddy, why couldn’t I have known you? Why couldn’t we have been a family? I know you loved me, why did you have to leave me?”
Tears blurred her eyes and she hastily brushed them away. She glanced over her shoulder at the beautiful dragons in the curio. Their forms so strong, so powerful, so dramatic, but in truth they were exactly like her at this moment. Tiny and very fragile.
The package, wrapped in its worn leather, had a huge lump in the middle of it. She drew in a deep breath, summoned her courage, and unwrapped it.
The lump turned out to be a small, dark pouch. Beneath it was a book. Mirranda scowled, setting the pouch aside for a moment. The book captivated her. It too was bound in worn leather, but unlike the fabric leather that wrapped her package, this was true leather binding.
On the cover, etched in faint gold, was a beautiful dragon. She blinked at it—it was exactly like the dragon etched on her katana. Mirranda opened the book and sighed. Latin. Of course, her father wouldn’t give her something easy. She wanted to cry, but laughed instead. Never easy, never any real answers, only more mystery. “Daddy, I love you, but I still can’t figure out what you’re trying to tell me.”
Mirranda jerked her attention from the book and glanced at the clock on the wall. More time had passed than she realized. Hanna would be here soon. She grabbed her oilskin duster. Rain was forecast for tonight and she loved the long jacket. Mirranda slung the katana’s strap over her shoulder and put the book in the pocket of her jacket. It was thick, but only about the size of her hand, so it fit nicely. She would put the katana away and clean it tomorrow. But she paused, staring at the small pouch. It appeared to have intricate runes drawn on it. Mirranda frowned and opened it.
A small crystal, about the size of a silver dollar, tumbled into her palm. It was clear, with milky-white lines running through it. She had never seen such a thing. A strange pressure grew in her chest, accompanied by a faint roaring in her ears.
She tipped the bag again and a second crystal fell into her palm, light blue, then a red crystal, and a yellow one. The pressure in her chest increased and so did the roaring. What were these crystals? Nothing in her research of her family heritage had ever revealed anything like this.
A black one appeared, almost obsidian. The last was dark blue, the color of the deepest ocean. A shadow passed over her vision and she thought the lights in the room might have flickered.
The colors were mesmerizing, beautiful, powerful, and seemed to glow with their own inner fire.
Suddenly, the colors exploded in a dance of light, blinding her, then, just as suddenly, blackness descended. Mirranda screamed as her comfortable home in Houston, Texas vanished. A void ripped at her body. Her lungs felt as if they would be pulled inside out. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see, but she knew she was falling, and terror assailed her.