Midnight Hour

  “Like why a DEA agent left a message and informed us that they are looking at you and Tabitha for drug trafficking.”

  For a second, Miranda wished it had been about her SAT score after all. “You know me better than that.”

  “I don’t know Tabitha!”

  Miranda sighed. “Didn’t Burnett or Holiday explain things?”

  “All they said on the voicemail was that you and Tabitha were in the hospital due to some explosion. When I called back, the reception at the airport was terrible, but I’m pretty sure I’d’ve heard if they told me the part about it being a drug house.”

  Miranda searched for the right thing to say. Truth be told, she didn’t know how to explain anything, because it didn’t make a lick of sense. Not anything! She glared down where her tattoo had been dancing up and down since she answered the phone.

  “Tell me you aren’t selling drugs, young lady!”

  “Mom!”

  “Every time you turn around Tabitha is getting you into trouble.”

  “What has she done?” Miranda thought she heard footsteps outside her door. No one came in. They’d moved Miranda to a double room an hour ago. Her sister had yet to show up.

  How freaking long did an MRI take?

  “That girl is a bad influence on you,” her mom said.

  Her mom couldn’t accept that Miranda had become friends with her half sister. But that was just tough.

  In the background, Miranda heard her father’s graveled voice defending his other daughter.

  “Neither of the girls is on drugs!” her father’s raised voice came through the line.

  Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Miranda slammed back onto her pillow. Bad enough she had to hear them fight when she went home, she refused to have to listen to this over the phone.

  The arguing continued. Miranda closed her eyes. Her mom had known about Tabitha and Mary Esther even before Miranda was born. But since the secret had been yanked out of the closet, her mom had turned into a bitch on mud-slinging wheels and a revved-up engine.

  It took everything Miranda had not to remind her mom that she was the other woman, not Tabitha’s mom!

  Not that her mom was the only one misbehaving. Now that things were out, Tabitha’s mom regularly called her dad to discuss issues about their daughter.

  Last month when Miranda had gone home for the weekend, Mary Esther had called three times. And each time she called, she’d kept Miranda’s father on the line a little longer. Her mom flipped. She’d come close to flipping her father a pinky and turning him into something unpleasant. Miranda had nightmares about the last baboon incident.

  Not that Miranda felt all that sorry for him. He’d caused this monster of a problem nineteen years ago by having an affair with her mom. Oh sure, according to him the marriage to Mary Esther had been over, but why hadn’t he told her mom? Then again, her mom had practically admitted she’d suspected her father was hiding something when they started dating.

  Who was wrong?

  Everyone.

  Everyone except who it was hurting the most. Miranda and Tabitha.

  “Are you listening to me, young lady?” Her mom’s voice dragged Miranda back to the call.

  I’m trying not to. “Can we talk later? My arm’s hurting.”

  “Fine, but you’d better have your facts straight when we arrive.” Her mom hung up.

  Facts? Miranda had no facts. She was factless!

  Frustrated, she dialed Holiday’s number.

  “Hey sweetie, you okay?” the woman asked in a soft, caring tone that nearly brought tears to Miranda’s eyes. Love emanated from Holiday—even through the phone lines.

  “Yeah, I just … my mom and dad are about an hour away and the DEA agent left a message and told them that Tabitha and I are into drug trafficking.”

  “Oh! Burnett thought he took care of that. I’ll let him know.”

  “Can you or Burnett be here when they arrive because I don’t even know where to start?”

  “Sure. I’ll touch base with Burnett. I can’t come until Jenny shows up to watch Hannah, but I was wanting to come up. I thought I’d bring your books so maybe you could study.”

  Miranda collapsed back on her pillows. Holiday knew how much Miranda wanted to get into the college. The fae kept assuring Miranda that if she applied herself, really applied herself, she’d make it. Was Miranda going to disappoint Holiday?

  Miranda scratched her arm where the tattoo caused her skin to tingle and itch. “Yeah, bring them.” She closed her eyes.

  Holiday started telling her a cute baby Hannah story. Normally, Miranda loved cute baby Hannah stories. But right now all of Miranda’s problems swam around her head and splashed over to her chest like it was high tide. But she couldn’t let any of this keep her from making the needed score.

  Why was it her life always felt like a test?

  Then again, the SAT might not be an issue if she was convicted for drug trafficking. At least she wouldn’t have to get a jailhouse tattoo, because she already had a doozy.

  “Did you find anything out about the tattoo?” Miranda asked, cringing when she realized she’d interrupted Holiday’s story.

  “No, I haven’t gone through all of my Wiccan books, but so far I’ve found nothing. I’ve got a call in to an old professor of mine who is an expert on everything Wiccan. But she hasn’t called me back.”

  “Did you tell my parents?”

  “No, I wasn’t aware of it when I spoke with them.”

  “Holy crap! What am I going to tell them?”

  “You could go with the truth,” Holiday said.

  “I don’t know the truth.”

  “Then that’s what you tell them. I know it’s hard, but maybe telling them is the best thing. Your mom was a high priestess, so maybe she’ll have heard of this.”

  “Believe me, my mom has told me everything she knows about being a high priestess. She’s never mentioned a tattoo. I hate my life,” Miranda moaned.

  “No you don’t,” Holiday said.

  “Yes, I do. Perry came to see me,” Miranda tossed out the words like a confession.

  “And that’s got you upset?” Holiday asked.

  “I don’t know what to do.” She closed her eyes a second, wishing Della and Kylie were here. Not that talking to Holiday wasn’t good, but Kylie and Della were her touchstones. A talk with them always made her feel better.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Holiday said, as if it wasn’t a big deal. As if it was easy.

  Nothing felt easy!

  She recalled her almost argument about Anthony with her sister. “Has Burnett said anything about Anthony?”

  Her question met silence. Silence was never good.

  * * *

  Perry moved closer to the two-way mirror, staring into the interrogation room, waiting for Burnett to pull more information out of Lily. Could it really be that it was the same Jax?

  Chase and Lucas moved in a bit as well.

  Lily closed her eyes. “I told you, I don’t—”

  “Okay, he’s a badass, but that still doesn’t tell us who he is,” Shawn spoke up.

  “Was Jax the one who committed the robbery?” Burnett went with a direct question. The man never beat around the bush.

  She shook her head. “No, not him. It was one of his friends … one of his ‘boys’ he called him.”

  “Who is Jax to you? Does he have a last name?” Burnett asked.

  She looked down at her hands and ran one finger over her wrist that looked inflamed. “If he thinks I’m the one who gave up his friend, my ass is grass. He’ll come after me—”

  “I won’t let him get to you,” Burnett said.

  She lifted her eyes. But didn’t answer.

  “I need you to tell me what you know,” Burnett said.

  She stared at the wall.

  “Now,” Burnett growled.

  “He’s my stepbrother. Jax Bowen.”

  Perry filed that name away.

  “Is he a ga
ng leader?” Burnett asked. “Is that what you mean by his boys?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I guess you’d call it that. He always had people doing things for him. He wouldn’t rob a convenience store, or beat someone up. He’d get someone else to do it.”

  “Where does he live?” Burnett asked next.

  She hesitated again as if answering might cost her. “The last I heard he was in Houston.”

  Houston? Perry’s suspicions grew.

  “Do you know the name of the gang?” Burnett asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Is Jax supernatural?” Burnett leaned in closer.

  She nodded.

  “What kind?” The question hung in the air unanswered.

  A cracking bang shattered the silence as Burnett hit the table with his fist. Not really hard, but hard enough to make a scared girl jump.

  Hard enough that Perry saw regret in Burnett’s eyes.

  “Shape-shifter,” she said, her voice thin.

  “It has to be him,” Perry muttered.

  “What?” Lucas asked.

  “Just thinking out loud.” Perry looked back at the two-way mirror.

  “You don’t understand,” Lily spoke. “He … he already…” She glanced away. Her words pulled back in with what looked like fear.

  “Is Jax the one who hurt Mrs. Crow’s niece?” Shawn asked.

  The girl’s gaze shot up at the warlock. “How did you know about that?”

  “Mrs. Crow told me.” Something about Shawn’s tone had changed. As if he no longer looked at Lily as the enemy, but maybe a victim.

  Lily’s shoulders pulled back with a snap. “You talked to her? You didn’t tell her I was part of this, did you? Because I’m not. I would never hurt them.” Desperation gave her words power.

  Remorse filled Shawn’s blue eyes. “You were leaving because you were worried they’d hurt Mr. and Mrs. Crow, weren’t you?”

  “He’d hurt them for helping me. He already hurt Mrs. Crow’s niece. I had to leave.”

  “Shit,” Shawn muttered.

  “Comeuppance is hard to swallow,” Chase said and let out something a little less than a chuckle.

  “Yup,” Lucas said. “Especially when it’s handed to you by a pretty girl you zapped with enough volts of electricity to kill a small cow.”

  Perry didn’t talk. He didn’t want to miss anything Lily said.

  She sat up a little straighter. Burnett adjusted his chair, preventing Perry from seeing the girl and reading her body language.

  “They didn’t deserve to be mixed up in this. The only way to protect them was to leave.”

  Burnett’s posture was no longer intimidating. “This friend of your stepbrother that you recognized. Was he also shape-shifter? And do you know his name?”

  “Only part. He’s also were. The only name I know him by is Chuckie.”

  “Did this guy recognize you?” Burnett asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What does Chuckie look like?” Burnett asked.

  “It’s been years since I’ve seen him.”

  “What did he look like?” Burnett asked.

  “Tall, around six feet. Dark hair, green eyes. He’s older than Jax. Old. Like your age.” She faced Burnett.

  Burnett’s shoulders tightened ever so slightly at the insult.

  “Yikes!” Chase chuckled.

  “Yeah,” Lucas said. “If one of us told him that, he’d probably break our arm.”

  Shawn moved in closer to the table, now completely destroying Perry’s view. The warlock spoke up. “So you took the money to get away.”

  “No,” she snapped. “You are completely dense. I told you, I was dropping the deposit off like I was supposed to do.”

  Burnett spoke up next. “Lily, if you were taking it to get away…”

  “Now you, too? I’m not a thief! Wait. I can prove it!” She stood up. “Get my backpack. You’ll find the deposit slip in the bag. All the money is there except for four hundred and sixty dollars. I took that out because that’s what my check was supposed to be. It’s in my wallet. Get it. You’ll see.”

  Burnett looked toward the two-way mirror. “Someone bring in her backpack from the evidence room.”

  “I’ll do it.” Perry took off. He snagged the backpack, then hesitated. What was he going to tell Burnett? The man already wanted to pull Perry out of investigating his parents’ crimes—and Perry hadn’t even told him what he suspected. That this wasn’t just his father and a few old friends getting together to pull off a few robberies for extra cash. It went deeper.

  Underground deep—where badass gangs wreaked their havoc. He’d heard Burnett say that underground gangs were like supernatural terrorists.

  His parents were involved with terrorists.

  If Burnett knew, he’d yank Perry off the case. Not just because he worried Perry might not be in control of his powers. Burnett looked at him as a brother—a baby brother. The vamp had been protecting Perry since he was five. He wasn’t stopping now.

  And neither was Perry.

  Exhaling to the point of blowing his hair from his brow, he tried to think. He needed to pick and choose what he said, and not lie. Burnett could smell a lie a mile away.

  * * *

  Miranda stared at the two food trays on the bedside table, stinking up the room with a canned soup smell. It was late. The nurse had graciously brought them a late dinner. Miranda didn’t think she could eat. Where was Tabitha? She’d texted her twice in the last fifteen minutes. No answer.

  Was she still avoiding Miranda? Or had they found something in the MRI?

  Voices echoed on the other side of the door. Miranda sat up a little.

  “I can walk,” she heard her sister’s less-than-happy tone.

  Remembering her sister had left mad, Miranda jumped up and met her the second she stepped into the room. Her sister’s aura was muddy. Unhappy.

  Miranda wished she were fae and could offer a dose of calm. A hug would have to do.

  Tabitha didn’t fight the embrace, but Miranda had barely wrapped her arms around her when her sister spoke up. “You really have a hugging fixation.”

  “Hugs are happiness,” Miranda said. Tabitha ended the hug way too short. “I don’t want you to be mad.”

  “I’m not mad.” Tabitha paused. “At you,” she said. “Your friends, however, are pissing me off.”

  Miranda pulled in a short gulp of air. She didn’t need to ask why. Considering what Holiday had told her—that Anthony had denied ever being at the witch’s house and that Burnett, in spite of the fact that he liked Anthony, was suspicious.

  “I’m sorry,” Miranda said, and she was. She liked Anthony, too. But something was amiss here, and Miranda didn’t think it was Della.

  “It’s not your fault.” Tabitha climbed into one of the two beds in the room, kicking the covers off with gusto. “I got a call from our dad,” her sister said. “He and your mom are almost here. And my mom is due to arrive at the same time. Which means, we get front row seats to World War Ten! I’m not ready to deal with them.”

  “Me, either.” Miranda pulled the curtain that stood between the two beds all the way back and then climbed into her bed.

  Tabitha sighed. “Everything is crazy.”

  “I know.” Miranda almost told her about Perry, but decided her sister had enough on her plate.

  “You might be able to help.” Tabitha looked at her with one of those pleading gazes. The same gaze that had led Miranda to the witch’s house earlier.

  “How?” Miranda asked.

  “Do you think if you asked Della to … to say she might have been mistaken about Anthony’s scent at the house, do you think that she’d do it? I mean, I know she wouldn’t do it for me, but … You’re her best friend.”

  Miranda’s mind went on hyperalert. She wasn’t just asking Miranda to do something, she was asking Miranda to ask someone else to do something. “I think Della’s pretty sure it wasn’t a mistake—”
>
  “But couldn’t she just fudge a little. Would it kill her to…”

  “Lie?” Emotions played a game of bumper cars in Miranda’s chest. “That’s wrong, Tabitha.”

  “And Anthony getting sent back to Paris, or going to jail, isn’t wrong?” Tabitha asked. “He didn’t do anything!”

  Miranda chased a few words around her brain, trying to find something to say that wouldn’t make her sister mad. Then something suddenly dawned on her. Tabitha’s argument had changed. She no longer claimed Anthony wasn’t at the house. Why?

  “He told you he was there, didn’t he? He was at the house?”

  “If he was, he wasn’t doing anything wrong … I told you he’s a good guy.”

  “Then why can’t he just tell the truth? If he tells Burnett what happened then—”

  “This isn’t a perfect world.” Tabitha clenched her hands.

  “But lying is wrong. If he was there—”

  “I didn’t say he was there!” Tabitha snagged the pillow from behind her back and crammed it in her lap.

  She didn’t have to say it. It was implied. For Goddess’ sakes! What had Anthony gotten himself into? As much as Miranda liked Anthony, her main concern was for her sister.

  Tabitha hugged the pillow so tight the stuffing appeared about to explode. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “About what?” Miranda attempted to choose her words carefully.

  “You know what she’s going to say, don’t you?”

  “What who’s gonna say?” Miranda felt lost in the conversation.

  “My mom. I can hear her. ‘You are high priestess and you can’t do this.’ Do you know how many times I’ve heard her say that? She tells me I have an image to maintain. My hair has to be perfect. I can’t wear a tight skirt. What would the Wicca Council think? Now I’m tied to a drug house.”

  “You didn’t do anything for them to get mad about.” Miranda wanted to go to her sister but wasn’t sure if she should crowd her right now.

  Tabitha tossed the pillow across the room. It landed with a soft thud against the wall. “Well, I can’t be high priestess if I’m not here.”

  “Why would you not … be here?”

  Tabitha bent her legs, hugged her knees, and then buried her face on top of them. She spoke without looking up. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. I shouldn’t hold the rank anyway. You’re the special one. And I can’t … can’t do it anymore.”