A Real Live Hero. Kimberly Van Meter
Miranda’s voice, and he could actually imagine his sister sitting straighter in shock. “Are you kidding me?”
“I would never make a joke in such bad taste,” he said. “She knocked on my door looking for a favor of all things. Can you imagine?”
“Wow, that’s either really brave or really stupid,” she said. “So what did she want? Is she dying or something? Or maybe she’s started a twelve-step program and she’s trying to make amends for something.”
“It’s work-related, I guess. She wants me to sign on for some show of hers.”
“You? Plainly she’s forgotten how antisocial you are.”
“Yeah, plainly.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“What do you think? I told her to get off my property and lose my address,” he growled, surprised his sister had to ask. “I don’t owe her anything, and I certainly don’t feel like handing out any favors after what she did to me and my family.”
“Yeah, it sucked,” Miranda agreed, but there was something else in her voice that puzzled Trace.
“She abandoned you, too. You were best friends.”
“I remember. And trust me, I totally understand why you’re not happy to see her again. But aren’t you the least bit curious as to what she’s been doing for the past eight years?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Should I be?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’d be curious. How’d she look?”
“Like someone who spends all day staring at food they’re never going to eat.”
“Huh?”
“She’s too skinny.”
“Anything else?”
“Her hair is platinum blond and she definitely had a nose job.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of change. I wonder why she did all that. She was always a pretty girl without all that stuff.”
Pretty didn’t accurately describe Delainey Clarke. She’d been gorgeous, at least to Trace. She’d always been embarrassed by the bump on her nose, but Trace had found it endearing—just one more part of her that had made her unique. Now? She looked plastic. “She wore fake eyelashes, too. And her forehead didn’t move. She probably had her face shot up with that cow pee that everyone talks about.”
“Cow pee? You mean Botox? That’s not cow urine. It’s the bacteria that causes botulism. And if her forehead didn’t move, it’s likely she’s had it done. Scary stuff. But I’m sure in Los Angeles that’s as normal as going to the grocery store to pick up eggs.”
“Yeah, well, she can go right back to L.A. and fit in with her people because there’s sure as hell no place for her here anymore.”
“Is she staying with her dad, I wonder? They didn’t part on good terms, either. She burned every bridge on her way out.”
“No clue. Harlan’s a hard man and always has been. I can’t imagine he’d welcome her with open arms any more than I was willing. But she is his daughter, so who knows.”
“You know he never treated her right,” Miranda reminded him. “I always felt bad for her.”
“Don’t. She’s like a cat—she always lands on her feet.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe she’s changed. A lot can happen in eight years. People can change.”
“You, of all people, are the last person I’d expect to hear say, ‘Maybe she’s changed.’ What’s going on with you?”
“Maybe I’ve grown up,” she said, teasing. “Having a kid does change you. And, I don’t know, maybe I’m tired of carrying around all this anger for things I can’t do anything about. Besides, we need to conserve our energy for the fight on the horizon, which, speaking of, have you managed to drop by our parents’ place yet?”
“No.” He withheld a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, knowing he was going to catch an earful. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy doing what? I thought you were taking a breather after the Errington case.”
“I am, but just because I’m not out with the Search and Rescue crew doesn’t mean I sit around all day.”
“Trace, no one would ever accuse you of sitting around and twiddling your thumbs. You’re not hardwired to sit still for one blessed second.”
Trace couldn’t argue that point. “You know that program, the Junior Search and Rescue?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, every chance I get I’ve been spending it with them. I like the kids. They’re eager to learn and it feels good to pass on the skills, seeing as I don’t have any kids.”
“That’s cool. Speaking of kids...it’d be nice if Talen had a cousin or two,” Miranda said, dropping a not-so-subtle hint.
“Don’t look my way. Talk to Wade. But now that you mention Talen, you ought to have him join the program. I think he’d dig it. He’s an outdoorsy kid, so it’s right up his alley.”
“Good idea. I’ll talk to him about it. I worried he might be too young.”
“Never too young to start learning how to read your surroundings. Dad had us out there as soon as we could walk.”
At the mention of their father, Miranda returned to his least favorite subject.
“Trace, I really need your help. I know it’s not your idea of a good time—trust me, it’s not mine, either—but Mom’s out of control and Dad... Well, he’s almost a lost cause, but Mom’s in danger. We need to get that house cleaned up before it collapses on her.”
Miranda thought their mother had a hoarding problem, but Trace was fairly certain Miranda was exaggerating. How bad could it be? Trace thought the bigger issue was their father’s illegal drug operation. But he’d promised he’d take a look and see for himself. “I’ll go today,” he assured her.
“Should I meet you there?” she asked.
“No. You and Mom tend to spark off one another—”
“Just like you and Dad?” she cut in, knowing him well. “Maybe it’ll help to have a buffer.”
“With any luck, he won’t be around. But even if he is, I’ll keep it civil.”
“Okay. Let me know how it goes.” She hesitated, then added, “And give some thought to what I said about Delainey. You never know...maybe she regrets how things were handled, too.”
Trace bit back an irritated sigh. His sister used to be fierce—almost too much of a ballbuster—but now, she was downright tame thanks to that new guy of hers who’d come in and reintroduced joy to her life. Don’t get him wrong, it was great and all, but sometimes he missed the ballbuster.
“It’s not that I’m not in favor of the kinder, gentler Miranda Sinclair, but you’re wasting your breath and your benefit of the doubt. If anything, she’s gotten worse. She’s a user. So before you go and invite her to lunch or something, remember how she abandoned everyone when they needed her.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re right,” she conceded with a sigh. “If I see her, I’ll try not to clip her with my Range Rover.”
At that, he laughed. “Exactly. Knowing her, she’d have you arrested and that new boyfriend of yours would have to arrange conjugal visits in jail.”
“You’re gross,” Miranda said, but she was laughing as she hung up.
Trace’s