Get out. Get out now! was the only coherent thought careening through her head as Miranda tore her eyes away from the carnage before her. Bile rose in the back of her throat, burning at her internal tissue. Breaths came in rapid succession now, as she fought to gather her wits enough to flee.
Without another backward glance, Miranda crept out the door, edging along the hallway while mentally restraining herself from tossing care to the wind and making a desperate break for it. Who knew where the third man was? He could be lurking around any corner.
Head whipping from side to side, Miranda attempted to see all facets of her position at once, deathly afraid of running into her predator. As the door to the garage came into her field of vision, her heart rate picked up considerably, nearly beating through her very skin in anticipation of freedom. To be free of this house.... She had passed through the connecting door to the garage, and now grew steadily closer to the portal leading to the exterior. ....To be free of my pseudo life.... She was there, hand outstretched as she reached for the doorknob, ....To stop running.... The metal was frigid against the sensitive skin of her palm as she gripped the handle and began to twist. Oh my God, a single thought, emerging from the black landscape of her mind bathed in anxiety, loomed in front of her like a blinding light. Kevin.... She needed him, more than she had ever needed anyone or anything in her life. The past two years had been living hell; she was not prepared to go through that again without him.....without at least knowing he was alive. Briefly, Miranda wondered what she would do if she found her lover dead. Physically shaking herself back into shape, she decided that she would deal with that aspect of the situation when she came to it. In the mean time, I’ve got to go back into that house.
*@*
Shit! Another one was dead. Having stumbled upon the bodies of his two associates, Guerelli came to the conclusion that he was left entirely alone to complete his mission, this obsession which had claimed his attention for the past several years. He wanted her dead and now it was his sole responsibility to accomplish that desire. Guerelli didn’t know how she had done it, but both of his men were gone. Easing the sting of failure was the knowledge that four of their agents had died in the process of protecting her. She was a nuisance. A bother both to himself and her government. Her blood on his hands would be sweet.
*@*
Thank God you’re alive, Miranda tugged furiously at the knots binding Kevin’s hands behind him. The short length of rope had been tangled so tightly together that the fiber was biting into his wrist, lacerating his skin in a brutal manner. She needed a knife to slash through the ties, but even more than that, she need him to regain consciousness. Nothing could describe the elation she felt when she had found him bundled and tossed behind the sofa in the living room. His eyes remained rolled back into his head for the duration of her struggled with his bonds. “Kevin.....you need to wake up, come on. I’m not strong enough to carry you out of here.”
“Leave....” came the faint reply, nearly inaudible in it’s decibel but there none the less.
“Kevin?”
“Leave, Miranda. Go....go on and get out of here.” His green orbs flickered as he endeavored to raise his eyelids. A muffled groan escaped his lips as he shifted his weight onto his back from his side.
“I can’t do that Kevin,” Miranda hissed in response, “Now, roll onto your hip again so I can keep working on your restraints.”
“Damn you, stubborn woman,” he cursed her on the edge of a sigh, forcing his eyes open. “You can’t do it.”
“I can, I know it,” she told him, gently brushing his dark hair from his forehead.
“Actually, I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with the invalid there. Tsk tsk, what a terrible shame.” The voice was as cold as ice, frigid like a November rain storm or the snow capping the Alps. Each word was finely pronouced, as if chosen with careful, mocking consideration. Drawing in a sharp breath, Miranda did not bother to stand to face the man she knew must be at her back. Instead, she continued to stare into Kevin’s green spheres. They reminded her of a mountain meadow in the spring, tall grasses waving in a light breeze; the color of love, she decided, should love be tangible.
He mouthed the word ‘no’ while an expression of utter sadness and defeat flowed across his features.
“Stand up,” came the caustic order, issued with a force all it’s own. Miranda obliged, holding Kevin’s focus for as long as possible before turning to face the man completely. As she raised her gaze to meet his, Miranda found herself starring into the depths of eyes so dark, they were nearly black. Added to the hue of his orbs was the fact that they glinted with a sadistic light, a light which told her he garnered unthinkable pleasure from her capture. “And so, we finally meet,” he greeted, his tone carrying a sarcastic flair. “You’re a smart one, you are,” he extended the index finger of his free hand in her direction. “Always running, always moving, always one step ahead.” As he spoke, he moved about her in a circle as though stalking her further. “But enough. You and yours fucked up and now I’m here to pick up the pieces of your mess to turn them to my benefit,” the gleeful way in which he said these words caused a look the revulsion and horror within Miranda to boil to the surface, overflowing onto her features. “And you detest me. It’s just as well. I’m sure there are not many who think upon Anthony Guerelli with fond affection.”
Guerelli paused then, tapping his chin in thought as he appraised her. “I’m almost sorry you have to die. You bear a great resemblance to my daughter. But I am forgetting, your hair is not normally as dark as a reaven’s wing, is it? No I don’t think so....” He cocked his head to the side in a motion which would have reminded Miranda of an inquisitive puppy had the snarl on his mouth not been so prominent. “Beg.”
“What?” she whispered hoarsely, the first word she had spoken to him during their entire interlude.
“Beg. Beg for me to let you live and I just might.”
Miranda swallowed with more than a little difficulty, “No. You’ll kill me anyway.”
Guerelli pretended to ponder the notion for a moment before laughing and nodding his head in agreement. “Yes, I will. You’re quite right. The truth of the matter is, I like to hear my victims beg for mercy when I kill them. It’s the icing on the cake.”
“You’re a sick, cruel, sadistic bastard!” Miranda cried, no longer caring what was to become of her. Guerelli’s countenance transformed in three seconds flat, turning red in agitation while thunderclouds rolled in his eyes. Chest heaving rapidly, he stepped closer to Miranda, shoving the barrel of his gun to her forehead, “Beg you bitch!” Guerelli shouted, cocking the trigger. Miranda squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the shot. It resounded through the room, seemingly shaking the very foundation of the house. Guerelli’s gun had not been equipped with a silencer, letting the shot resonate in all it’s glory.
Miranda did not feel the bullet enter her brain. In fact, she felt nothing, blissfully absent from the pain which surely wracked her body. She was dead now, and there was nothing left to touch her, nothing left to cause her pain. The only regret which lay heavy on her heart was the fact that the love of her life was not there to experience the beauty and brilliance of heaven with her. The proverbial white light at the end of the tunnel shone brightly, beckoning....beckoning.....
“Miranda? Miranda, it’s okay, now. Miranda?” On the other side of the tunnel, the light cleared away, bringing Zion into focus. Blinking a few times, Miranda couldn’t help but frown up at the figure looming above her.
“Harris? Where’s God?”
“What do you mean, where’s God?”
“They couldn’t get Saint Peter to come either? Of all people, you had to be my welcoming committee?”
“Miranda, you’ve probably suffered a blow to the head, just lie still.”
“Blow to the head? Harris! I was shot!”
“No you weren’t.”
“But I’m dead.”
“Miranda, you’re not dead,” as he made this statement, it was then that Miranda noticed the blood still trickling down Harris’ temple, the same crimson which stained his shirt and smeared across his skin. A gun was tucked firmly in his hand, “He didn’t shoot you. Guerelli talked too much.” Hesitantly, she raised a hand to her forehead to feel for the entrance wound. Her fingertips touched the surface of her flesh tenderly, fully expecting to rest upon a gaping hole. Nothing. “You’re not dead,” Not even a scratch. “But he is.”
Miranda allowed her head to roll to the side and was met with the gory sight of Anthony Guerelli, lying spread eagle on the luxurious white carpet of the living room, in the pristine two story suburban house, a bullet having coursed through his head. Blood was splattered across the pressed linen of his dress shirt, tiny flecks settled in his hair. No matter how morbid, it took Miranda several moments to look away from the man who had turned her life upside down. He was dead and justifiably so.
“Miranda?” a weak voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Oh, God! Kevin!” scrambling on all fours, Miranda fought to crawl across the distance separating them. Harris followed, adeptly cutting the ropes which bound Kevin, yanking them from his sore flesh. As soon as he was free, Kevin enveloped Miranda in his embrace, holding her to him fiercely as they knelt together on the floor.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I thought I was too. How...?”
“Harris. It was all Harris. He regained consciousness in time to see Guerelli jab his gun against your forehead. That was all it took and he shot that madman before he could shoot you.” Kevin’s voice was shaky, as tear filled and emotional as her own. Miranda turned watery eyes upon the man who had guarded her from disaster for so long.
“Thank you.”
He nodded slightly, offering a small smile as federal reinforcements burst onto the scene; instant pandemonium.
“I have one hell of a headache. Could I get some aspirin over here? Please?” The three turned in the direction of the voice, only to see Amy stumble to her feet, still muttering profanities.
“Amy!” Miranda cried, unable to do anything other than stare at the other battered woman.
“Yes, it’s me. I promise you, I’ll be more like my old self once I can find some damn aspirin,” the female FBI officer joked feebly. “Maybe then you can recognize me.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“I thought I was too,” Amy grinned.
“She’s much too vindictive to be dead,” Harris mumbled, though he slipped an arm around Amy’s waist in support.
“I saw him shoot you,” Kevin supplied in confusion.
“Oh, he did, that bastard. But I had a cop’s best friend to protect me.” To reinforce her statement, Amy patted her chest lightly, and lifted the hem of her blue sweater, exposing a lightweight bulletproof vest beneath. “Unfortunately, the beating I took against that wall pretty much rendered me useless. Lord knows I fought it, but I couldn’t stay conscious.” As if it punctuated her confession, Amy weaved slightly on her feet, struggling to keep her vision in focus.
“I think you had better get checked out, partner.”
“You’re probably right,” she admitted reluctantly. “I don’t feel so hot.”
“I’ll take care of you. Even cook you dinner,” Harris assured her, though he was met by a groan of dread.
“Cajun? Again?”
Miranda laughed as they watched the pair walk away, heading out the front door, presumably to the medic unit waiting outside. Federal agents swarmed the house, all ready investigating and piecing together the events of the past twenty minutes. Officers were jotting notes on clipboards, medical personnel and the coroner knelt over the deceased, and still other agents collected evidence. In the midst of it all, Miranda remained in Kevin’s arms, watching in a surreal haze as protocol was carried out around them.
“It’s over,” Kevin observed softly.
“Finally.”
“What do you say we get out of here?” he asked, tightening his grip around her waist. Miranda couldn’t hide the smile which threatened to emerge on her lips.
“I’d like that.”
The two stood, then wrapped their arms around one another in an effort to offer the necessary support both weak kneed individuals were still so desperately in need of. Moving carefully, they began to gravitate toward the front door.
“So, how do you feel about Vegas?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m marrying you, remember?”
“I remember.”
“So?”
“Kevin, there is no way in hell I’m getting married in Vegas. I want a nice little church ceremony, somewhere in the country. And I want a giant white cake, all of our family and friends, and plenty of flowers. Roses of all varieties and colors. And my dress...I want it to be pristine white with rivers of flowing lace and a train as long as the horizon......”
Kevin grinned, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the Cheshire cat. “I think we can manage that.”
He kissed her then, in the middle of the driveway, in front of the white two story house on the suburban street somewhere in Florida; in the midst of the federal agents, unmarked black sedans, and emergency vehicles. He kissed her until she was breathless, until neither could tell where one ended and the other began.
~*The End*~
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Author's Note: This story has been a pleasure to write, though it's ending has been a long time in coming. There are a few people who must be thanked:Elaine once again for her initial editing of chapters 1-5. Anna for her editing efforts and constant support, and of course, Dylana for her encouraging words. Oh, and of course, we can't forget to thank the Acadamy. *lol* Thanks to every one of you who sent me feedback during the writing process. I'd love to hear what you thought of the ending.
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