Midnight Hour (Shadow Falls: After Dark #4)(27)

Still posed in the doorway, he pulled out his phone. “The sister is going back to her room.” He paused. “You think I didn’t try? She

threatened me with her pinky. Just get there. Agent James will have my balls if something happens to either one of these girls!”





Chapter Eight

Miranda shut the door, shot back inside, found her phone, and texted her sister.

Come back, pleeeeease! She paused, trying to think what to write, something that would bring her sister back. I don’t think Anthony did

anything. Just come back and let’s figure it out!

She hit send and waited. Staring, praying that the three little dots would pop up on the screen.

They didn’t pop. “Don’t do this!” she muttered aloud and typed: You’re my sister. You can’t be mad at me!

Finally the three dots flickered on the screen. Miranda took air into her lungs, waiting … Words finally appeared.

Need to be alone. Anthony on his way here. Going down for another MRI scan. Later. Love you.

The last two words lifted the lumpy emotion from Miranda’s chest, then she read her own text, and a few lumps grew back. I don’t think

Anthony did anything. Why did that read like a lie? She didn’t think … did she? No, she liked Anthony, but … why didn’t he just tell the

FRU why he’d been to the witch’s house?

The only reason he wouldn’t tell would be if … if he had something to hide.

Doubt tugged at her mind.

What if her sister was falling in love with someone mixed up in … drugs? And she’d already had sex with him.

“No.” Miranda couldn’t think that. She had to support Tabitha in this. Had to. But Anthony had better start explaining things and quick.

Burnett’s patience was only so long.

She dropped her phone on the bed and hurried into the bathroom. Reaching down to lower her panties, she discovered she wasn’t wearing any.

Awkward!

Bladder emptied, and not accustomed to hospital attire, she realized the lower tie had been swimming in the toilet.

She’d probably peed all over it, too. Remembering seeing another gown in the closet, she held the wet fabric away from her backside and dashed

out. The cool air humming through the ceiling vent hit her bare butt.

She opened the cabinet and found some of the hospital’s finest lingerie—which was so far from fine. Before the cabinet door shut, she spotted

her pink panties folded on top of her jeans. No reason to go around commando when you didn’t have to.

Then, not wanting to give anyone a peep show, and because the door didn’t lock, she yanked the curtain between the bed and the hospital room’

s door. Eyes on the flimsy wall of privacy, she quickly reached back with her right hand, untied the top of her gown and let the whole thing

drop to the floor.

Dressing in a hurry, one-handed, was no easy task. She stepped into her panties and slid them up her legs. Fitting her cast through the snapped

arm holes proved to be an even bigger challenge.

On the third missed attempt she muttered, “Crap.”

“Uh … need some help?” The voice came from behind her.

Behind her! Where her ass had just been shining.

The screech climbed up her throat, but then the deep tenor of that voice rang some familiar bells.

With only one arm in the gown, the flimsy piece of cotton clutched to her chest, she swung around to face …

Perry. He sat in the chair backed to the wall.

The shock of someone being in the room gave way to the shock of him being in the room. A breath whispered from her lips, her lungs opened and

pulled in air that tasted sweet, like birthday cake, like … broken promises.

No one else had made her laugh so much, love so much. Hurt so much.

She should so be over him, and yet here she was, not over anything, caught in his soft blue gaze, breathing sweet air, and remembering

everything. She couldn’t look away. She felt trapped. But not at all eager to free herself.

He stood up, and took one step toward her as if to hug her, or just touch her.

She blinked and fought to rein in her runaway pulse.

Not easy when inch by inch she continued to take in the details, Perry details. There were differences from the boy nine months ago to the one

who stood in front of her. He looked taller, not just one inch. Maybe two. And his arms and shoulders were far more broad and muscular than

they’d been. He looked … older. But more than just older. He looked grown up. The peach fuzz on his cheeks was now a blond five o’clock

shadow. His jawline looked a little more chiseled. His eyes, a little more worldly. His hair, the color of morning sunshine, had darkened to a

bolder hue of gold.

He needed a haircut.

Or maybe he didn’t.

She’d always liked his hair a little long, how it felt slipping through her fingers.

The strands part curly, part straight, hung past his ears, flipping up on the ends. The tips of her fingers tingled with the need to touch. Her

gaze whispered past his facial features down to his body, which looked bulkier. Lifting her gaze, she realized he’d been doing the same thing.

Taking inventory of her. Did he see changes in her?

Her hair longer. Her breasts a bit larger. Her heart a lot more broken.