Guarding Miranda by Amanda M. Holt Read Free Book Online Page A

and snorted in disgust.
    “It figures,” Russ said and flipped to the next.
    “Play the DVD from the beginning?” Brian asked him, going to the stereo system behind the desk.
    “I want to hear the whole thing.”
    “I thought you would.”  Brian inserted the DVD into the player and pressed play , turning up the volume.
    “Turn it down a bit, Brian,” Russ instructed. “I don’t want Nancee to hear it just yet.”
    The private investigator did as he was told and the two men listened, their expressions a grim reaction to the three recorded conversations.
    The first was a brief discussion between Brian and a man named David about a shipment coming in, in a few days’ time.  Boring talk of prices, times and dates. 
    The second call was regarding the lateness of the shipment and Brian’s suspicion that a man named Barry was trying to screw them over. 
    The third and final conversation was a discussion entailing how Brian planned to get rid of Barry, with the help of David who was again on the other end of the conversation.
    It was the third conversation that really got Russ’ attention, a recording of Richard’s office phone, which one of Brian’s employees had bugged.
    “- just a minute, David - I got a call on the other line, it’s my stupid little bitch, hang on. BEEP! Hello?”
    “Richard, it’s me.”
    “Miranda baby – what’s up?”
    “Fine.  Listen honey, with date night tomorrow I’m just calling to see if you wanted to go to a baroque performance at seven.”
    “Where at?”
    “Tillings Hall.  I’ve got tickets to two great seats.”
    “Sounds wonderful.  Babe, I have a business partner on the other line.  Can I pick you prior to that, say at five-ish for supper?”
    “Sure thing.  I love you.”
    “I love you too.  Bye!”
    “Bye.”
    “BEEP! David?”
    “Still here, Richard.  Which stupid little bitch was that? The whore, the girlfriend or the fiancé?”
    “The fiancé. Fuck my life! She wants to go to another fucking concert at Tillings Hall. Shoot me now.”
    “Sounds like she has you wrapped around her little finger?”
    “Fuck that, Dave.  She’s the one who’s whipped.”
    “You haven’t had a Friday night with just you and the boys since… shit, I don’t remember.”
    “I can’t stand it, man!  One more opera, ballet or concerto and I swear I’ll strangle the fucking life out of her!”
    “You still so sure you want to marry this high society broad?”
    “Hell, ya.  Marry her and insure her for a fuckin’ fortune, arrange for a convenient accident.  I intend to retire early, you see...”
    “I think I’ve had enough, Brian,” said Russ, looking far older than his forty-eight years. “You can shut it off.”
                                                                *          *          *
    A month and sixteen days later, Miranda still had not met Brian Logan and the police were still clueless as to the identity of the shooter. 
    All they knew for certain was that the man was named Barry had a tattoo of what had appeared to her to be a snake or rope around a ship’s anchor on his shooting hand, his right hand. 
    That he was of average build and height, with brown eyes and crooked yellowed teeth, one of which was capped with gold. 
    The bullet casings found at the scene of the crime were of a popular brand and had without a retrieved weapon had little to offer in the way of ballistics information. 
    Miranda’s description of the man was not a lot to go on but it was all they really had...
    Intent on getting out of the hospital as soon as possible, sick of the daytime soap operas and talk shows on the television that filled her hours between visitors, Miranda was focused on getting better. 
    Focused with incredible resolve. 
    She insisted on being updated daily by the progress of her healing wound, insisted on extra time with the physiotherapist, who at her