Mira grabs her torn undies, tucked partway beneath the couch from last night, and holds them up. “These were my favorites.”
I hand her the to-go mug of tea I made her (yes, I’m whipped, I freely admit it), and slip on my shoes. We’re about to head over to Jaeg’s place for a Sunday movie with him and my sister. “I’ll buy you another pair. Hey, you know, I don’t think I’ll mind shopping for your unmentionables. I could go with you into the dressing room and—”
“Stop right there. No way. We’re done with closet make-out sessions. And what do you mean, you don’t like shopping? You were so good about it when you took me to buy work clothes.”
I look over sheepishly. “I hate shopping.”
Her expression is blank, and then she smiles. “You did it for me. You are a secret softy, Tyler Morgan.”
I tuck her beautiful dark hair behind her ear, bringing her to my chest with my arm. “For you I am. I would do anything for you. Go shopping, hunt down bad guys, stare at algebra equations until I’m cross-eyed. It’s a condition I have, but I like it. I think I’ll roll with it.”
Her face twists in an indignant pout I’d like to take a bite out of. “You make me sound like a disease.”
“Mmmm, more like a hot and feisty obsession I don’t want to part with. You are the best thing I’ve ever had in my life, even when I didn’t know I had you. And for the record, I did remember you from when we were younger.”
She tilts her head, her eyes doubtful as she pulls the strap of her purse across her chest between us without tilting her mug. “In junior high? No, you didn’t.”
“Yep, had my own crush on the fiery, dark-haired girl with caramel eyes who tried to kick a girl twice her size.”
“You did not,” she says, but I sense the hesitation in her voice.
“Did.”
“If that’s the case, then why didn’t you say something when we studied together?”
“Didn’t want to lay all my cards on the table. Had to make you work for it.”
She smacks me in the chest with the flat of her hand, but then stretches up and gives me a scorching kiss.
There is nothing about Mira that has ever been forgettable, not even when we were young. I thought that was my curse, but it’s really my fortune.
“Oh, wait,” she says, and pulls out of my arms, walking toward the back door. “I told Cali I’d bring a few of the giant pine cones we have in our backyard. She’s making some kind of fall centerpiece.”
“You mean like for a dining table? I thought Jaeg did the cooking?”
Mira looks up, exasperated. “What does a centerpiece have to do with food?”
I roll my eyes. As if that makes sense. Girls. “I’ll meet you in the car.”
“Okay,” she says, and slips out the back door.
My car is still in the shop, so I walk toward Mira’s truck, her keys in hand.
A car down the street catches my eye. It’s sleek, black, and parked at an odd angle, as if the driver got out in a hurry.
I turn around and stare at the fence to the backyard. There’s no sound and Mira has only been gone a minute, but something feels off.
“Mira?” I call. “Everything okay?”
She doesn’t answer and my heart begins to race. The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention, my muscles tensing. I run to the gate leading to the backyard and almost bust it down in my attempt to get past the latch.
I hear the sound of feet scuffling, then Mira’s whimper. I tear around the side of the house—to find a vision that nearly stops my heart.
The mug I gave Mira is on its side on the ground, and Mira’s back is pinned to the chest of the asshole who beat her, his arm locked around her throat. He’s leaning over her, his back to me.
I don’t consider stealth. I don’t think of anything except crippling the bastard.
I sweep up the biggest log within reach on my way to them and swing it at the back of his skull.
His head whips forward and he grunts, but his grip doesn’t loosen on my girl. I whack him again, this time nailing him square in the temple.
Asshole goes down, tumbling Mira with him. He doesn’t move.
I haul Mira up by the waist and carry her off to the side. I touch her neck, her face. “Are you okay?”
“H-he was angry—said I got him sent out of town.” Her face is red and blotchy, her expression confused. “I told him I’ve been making my payments.”
I look over at the guy on the ground and pull out my cell phone. Mira buries her face in my chest. “I paid off the man you owe. This guy has no business being here. And even if he did, he has no right to touch you.”
I call 911 and describe the incident.
“What do you mean you paid him off?” she asks when I tuck my phone back.
I glance away, worried how she’ll take this. Mira doesn’t appreciate me telling her what to do, and this falls in the overbearing category. But I’m not letting anyone hurt her again.
Still, I probably should have mentioned it sooner. “I didn’t want you to worry about debt after your mother died. You’d paid most of it off. I paid the last bit. The money you gave Lewis went into a savings account for you.”
She stares at me, her face pale, throat red from the clutch hold that asshole had on her. She hasn’t cried once during this ordeal, proof she’s hard as nails. “Oh.”
“Oh? You’re not angry?” I glance to make sure the guy is still out cold. Just in case, I guide Mira toward the front of the house. I’d feel better waiting for the police out in the open.
“I’m not angry,” she says as she walks beside me, her body tucked up close to mine. “You were being thoughtful. And to tell the truth, I’m tired of owing that money. I’ll pay you back, of course, but it’s nice to not owe that man anymore. Though in a roundabout way, he brought you to me.”
Is she referring to the forest? When I found her passed out?
“Yeahhh, how’s about we not attract hitmen from now on?”
She huffs out a feisty sigh, her color returning to normal. “Of course not.”
I groan. Why do I think this won’t be the last time Mira puts herself in the line of fire?
I have my hands full. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Mira
Tyler and I never made it to Jaeger’s. We spent the afternoon at the police station, where I finally told them about Denim Jacket.
“Ms. Frasier.” Sergeant Billings, the officer I spoke to after my attack in the woods, taps his pen on the desk. “You’re certain this Ronald Devans is the same man who attacked you weeks ago?”
“Yes. One of them.”
“And you’ve seen him since then? Why didn’t you come forward earlier with this information?”
I’d intended to tell the police about Denim Jacket after Lewis and Tyler continued to hound me about it, but apparently not soon enough. I can’t believe he staked out my house. All those times I thought I saw him I was probably correct.
I hadn’t time to be as terrified as I could have been this afternoon. Because as soon as the man grabbed me, Tyler was there.
“I owed money to a man Ronald Devans worked for. In the beginning, I was worried that telling you I knew who my attacker was would cause me more trouble, but I’d reconsidered. I planned to come in, then this happened.”
The officer scribbles down the name of my loan shark.
“And you said Devans was with Drake Peterson at the casino?”
I nod.
“Mr. Peterson is awaiting trial. I don’t know what his connection is to Devans, but Devans has a long rap sheet, including drug possession and assault and battery. He’s not walking away from this. I’m confident we’ll get Devans to give up the name of the other man who attacked you as well. I’ll follow up with the loan shark. It sounds like he may be involved.”
Once Tyler and I return from the police station, a week passes before he lets me leave the house (i.e., our bed) for anything other than work. The attack freaked him out. It freaked me out. Yes, we had sex. Okay, a lot of sex, but we also spent hours just holding each other, thankful our story ended well.
Because that’s what it’s been. A long love story involving the boy who caught my eye in junior high and never left my thoughts and heart. I will forever be grateful Tyler found me.
And maybe, just a little, I found him too. The real Tyler, the one he buried all those years ago, but who came back to me.
Again.