Midnight Hour (Shadow Falls: After Dark #4)(11)

“Ahh,” Anthony said. “But it is odd, for we French have a saying … ‘Matters of the heart do not come with speed control.’” He chuckled.

“Since I woke up to hear Tabitha’s voice that day in Paris, even when her words were about letting me die, I felt the race of my pulse.”

Shawn pushed away from the counter. “Well, the American way is to get one’s brakes checked before hitting heartbreak head-on.”

“I admit there is wisdom in that approach.” Anthony frowned. “And I confess my heart is all French. So maybe I need to adapt to these

American ways a little bit.”

The tapping of the clerk’s footsteps had them both looking up.

She placed several pieces on the table. A bracelet, a ring, three necklaces, and matching earrings. “The Bacchanal Rose bracelet is my

favorite.” She ran her finger over the black rose centered in a scroll-like pattern.

“It is beautiful.” Shawn imagined Miranda’s eyes lighting up when she saw the gift. “I’ll take it.” He dropped his credit card.

He’d signed the receipt and she’d just come back and handed him his card and the box when his phone rang. “Excuse me.” He stepped away and

pulled out his cell and saw it was Burnett. “Yes,” he answered, hoping his boss wasn’t going to ruin his evening.

“Where are you?” Burnett asked.

“About to do lunch with Miranda. Why?”

“Something … something’s come up.” Burnett’s tone sounded off, almost as if he was choosing his words carefully. And Burnett James seldom

made the effort to choose his words.

“What is it?”

Burnett cleared his throat. “It’s … It’s Miranda and her sister.”

*

Miranda had pretty much diagnosed herself before the ambulance arrived at the hospital: broken arm, bruised ribs, and a concussion. She would

survive. Whether her heart would make it depended on her sister’s condition. The look in Burnett’s eyes when he told her about Tabitha said

it was bad. It couldn’t be that bad.

Miranda. Could. Not. Lose. Tabitha!

The second the nurse walked up beside the gurney, Miranda asked, “My sister, Tabitha Evans, was just brought in. Is she okay? Has anyone come

to see her, another girl, about my age, a Kylie Galen?”

“I think the doctors are with your sister now.”

“Is Kylie here?”

“I think we should worry about you for a few minutes. Be a good little patient.” She patted Miranda’s arm like she was a child.

“But if you’d just check. And if Kylie Galen is here, you have to let her—”

“Now, now, you don’t want to be the patient that I have to go home and tell my husband about. Try and be an easy patient.” She patted

Miranda again.

Easy? Was she freaking kidding? This is life or death.

“Stop that!” She glared at the woman’s hand. “And there’s no taking it easy!” Even to her own ears, her tight, tantrum-like tone sounded

a bit like Della. Which was okay, because the situation called for her to be a bit of a smartass. Face it, smartasses were like squeaky wheels

—they got the oil. “You go find out how she’s doing right now and see if Kylie is here and then we’ll worry about me.”

“Has she been belligerent this whole time?” the nurse asked the paramedics as if belligerent were a medical condition.

And right then Miranda’s belligerentism shot up all the way to smartassism. She raised up on her good arm, to show she wasn’t completely

helpless. “Look, do what I say or I’m going to be your very last patient, because I’m gonna be such a pain in your ass, you’ll quit after

me.” Natural instinct had her shooting the nurse a pinky.

The nurse stumbled back, her bright blue eyes rounded in fear. Amazingly it seemed the finger that did it. Immediately, Miranda checked the

woman’s pattern, and sure enough the woman had a trace of witch in her DNA. Probably only 5 percent, but enough to know the power of the

pinky.

Turning around she called out to someone. “Find out about the last patient that came in, a Tabitha Evans, and see if there’s someone here to

see her.” The nurse looked back at Miranda. “Better?” Fear paled her cheeks.

“Better.” Miranda slumped back on the stretcher, eyes closed, heart breaking. She felt one tear slip from the bottom of her lashes and the

heat of it stream down her cheek. Keeping her eyes shut, she prayed to God, the Goddesses, and everything holy that all of this would one day

just be a bad memory and not the worst day of her life. Because if she lost Tabitha …

*

Time passed in a blur. Miranda had been x-rayed, examined, evaluated, and stripped. Instead of jeans and her favorite green flowing blouse, she

wore a backless hospital gown. None of which made her happy. The news that her sister’s vitals were improving was the only thing holding

Miranda together. But as time crept past, the hold started weakening like reused tape.

Waiting for the doctor to set her cast, Miranda tried to relax. The shot a nurse had stuck in her rump was making her groggy.