She heard the sarcasm—the ass—but chose to ignore it. “The world is an imperfect place, Knight. Why should Masterson be any different? Human nature plays out in both big megacities and in small little towns like mine. Human nature is human nature. Places like Masterson, though, people are often more willing to help one another, because the herd immunity and idea that ‘someone else will help’ is a lot less likely. We help each other here—because we are family. You have to admit, you can’t say the same about St. Louis.”
“You live in St. Louis.”
“I know; and I love it. But Masterson is my home, and I come up here every chance I possibly can. When I retire from the FBI in ten to fifteen years or so to write true crime accounts—that’s my plan, by the way—I fully intend to move right back here to be with my family.”
“Planning to stay single this whole time?”
“Not at all. I hope I’ll find someone who loves Masterson just the same as I do.”
“So he’s just supposed to give up his career for you?”
“Of course not. Marriage means compromise, Knight. As do all relationships.”
“You are an idealist, Sunny.” Even more sarcasm now. “No doubt you have every moment of your future planned, complete with a biddable husband and two-point-four kids. White picket fence?”
“And what is so wrong with that?” Miranda stopped and turned to him. “Finding someone to spend my life with, someone who loves me as much as I love him—what could be so wrong with that? Life is a long time to spend alone, Knight. I want a family someday. I’m not ashamed of that. I never will be.”
“Didn’t mean to insult you. Just trying to figure you out.”
“Why bother? We obviously have nothing in common.” Miranda was only mildly irritated at him. Knight was who he was—it wasn’t her job to change him. And she had been around the block enough to know when someone was trying to bait her.
Well, this little fishie didn’t have to fall for his wiggly worm. “I’m a planner, Knight. Sue me. I am already looking for property here in Masterson. I don’t want anything too big. I have no intention of doing anything more complicated than raising angora rabbits and children on it, while writing my books. Maybe I’ll teach a class or two online. Somewhat close to town; I’ll no doubt have to pull a shift or two a week at the inn and diner and don’t want too much of a commute. Other than that, I’m remarkably easy to please.”
“You’d just give up the bureau and PAVAD? One of the most prestigious assignments in the FBI? To raise rabbits?”
She just nodded and smiled at him as the supervisor finally approached the waiting room and was visible through the large windows. There was a man next to him in a set of hunter green coveralls. Miranda automatically tensed.
Lesley Beise hadn’t changed all that much. Gotten taller.
Bulkier.
He was probably only three or four inches shorter than Knight, but, man, was he built like a tank, with arms that looked like tree trunks.
This guy was the reason she’d taken up martial arts as a teenager.
But even with her second-degree black belt, bringing Lesley Beise down would be a lot of work.
A hard hand wrapped around her forearm, and Knight stepped closer. “Hey, you’re not a skinny kid any longer. You don’t have to be afraid of him now. You’re not facing him alone. I’ve got your back.”
Miranda forced herself to take a deep breath and smile up at him. “You know something, Knight? You’re not half bad some of the time. Be careful I don’t set my sights on you. You might end up buying a ranch in Masterson County someday. Helping me pluck angora rabbits and chasing half a dozen little Knights around the front yard while the goats jump on the hoods of our cars.”
He dropped her arm like she’d scalded him. Well, apparently, he didn’t like her that much, after all.
The woman had played him. She shot him a far-too-sexy-for-his peace-of-mind little grin just as the door opened and Lesley Beise entered.
Knight took a moment to study him. Brutish and arrogant were his first impressions. A total prick was his second, when he thought about a young Miranda walking down a mountain highway at night in the middle of a rainstorm. If she’d been his daughter, he would have hunted down the punk who had hurt and frightened her and probably beaten that asshole to within an inch of his life.
Miranda was closest to the door, and, being a beautiful woman, she drew Lesley’s attention immediately.
“Lesley?” she started. “Lesley Beise? We’re with the FBI—”
The big burly jerk dove right at her with a bellow.
31
Lesley Beise jumped, his shoulder catching Miranda in the stomach. They went down in a tangle of limbs before Knight could react, sending plastic chairs everywhere.
Miranda yelled out.
Knight jumped in, ramming his own shoulder under Beise’s arm and shoving the man as far from Miranda as he could. Knight didn’t stop until he had Beise pinned against the lone cinderblock wall.
His hand went around Beise’s neck in a choke hold. It took everything he had to dial back the rage. To not hurl the man through one of the three glass walls surrounding them. To make him pay for this—and pay for the teenager Miranda had been. “Don’t move, you son-of-a-bitch. Don’t move.”
When he had the man secured, he risked a quick glance at Miranda. “You ok?”
She had made it to her knees. She just nodded, still gasping for breath. Her hand was on her ribs. Her face was red—she was struggling to pull in a breath. “Air knocked…”
“No kidding.” Knight hated how she looked right there. It took everything he had to battle back the fury and not slam Lesley Beise through the glass walls for daring to touch her. “You going to be ok?”
Knight was going to
