Elation flooded her system. And then immense grief. Relief. And...disbelief.
“How?” She could only get out a whisper.
“Overdose.”
Fitting, and yet, other than alcohol, her father had never taken drugs of any kind. Not even aspirin. It had to be another one of his tricks. Playing with her head.
“Dana...”
Her gaze shot from her hands up to Tad’s. “Do not call me that,” she said through gritted teeth. And then, “I’m sorry. But please, don’t ever call me that again. I’m Miranda now.”
And then, slowly, her mind started to work. “How did you find out?”
When he looked away, she got scared again.
“What?” she asked.
He took both her hands. Kissed them. “I’ve known all along,” he told her. “Your father, he knew that Jeff was dead, that you were free to come home. He hired me to find you. And then to watch over you until he thought it was time to get in touch with you himself.”
Anger smoldered through her. White-hot. Burning her from the inside out. Pulling her hands from his, she jumped up. Ran for the door. Tried to open it, but couldn’t get a grip on the handle. Her hands weren’t functioning.
“Miranda.” Tad was there, his arm around her.
“Don’t touch me,” she screamed, elbowing him away. And then, “Chantel! Detectives!” she cried out.
Chantel was at the door almost instantly, along with a couple of other detectives. She saw them and began to gasp for air. Could feel it slowly filling her lungs again.
“He’s... Don’t let him take me,” she said, motioning to Tad. “He’s...”
“Okay.” Chantel’s tone was understanding and commanding at the same time as she led Miranda away from that little room, down the hall and into a women’s restroom. “We’re alone here,” the detective said, her blond ponytail moving as though to punctuate every word. Miranda focused on that hair. And then let herself look into the brown eyes an inch or so above hers.
“He’s working for my abuser,” she whispered. “I...invited him into my home. I... I...slept with him. I let him near my son...”
Ethan was safe. Chantel had an officer with him.
Tears blinded her, and sobs took her air again as the horror overwhelmed her. Sinking down to the floor, she leaned against the wall, curled in on herself and let the emotion out. She had no power to do anything else.
At some point Chantel sat beside her. Maybe within seconds. The door opened. No one came in, and it closed again. And Miranda cried. She tried to think but was blinded by pain. Mentally and physically.
And then, slowly, the
rage of emotion inside her stopped. Calm started to seep in. Maybe just exhaustion that felt like calm.
She had to take care of this. Of Ethan.
“I need a way out of here,” she told the detective, looking her straight in the eye. Sara and everyone at The Lemonade Stand trusted Chantel. Dr. Bennet not only trusted her, he was the reason Chantel was in Santa Raquel. They’d been friends for longer than either of them had known their spouses. “I have a bag in the car. And money. I need Ethan, and a way to escape. We can figure out the rest from there.”
Shaking her head, Chantel said, “You don’t have to run, sweetie. It’s over.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, the words surprisingly strong and clear. “Tad’s working for my father.”
“I know. He told me this morning.”
With horror, it dawned on her. They could all be under Brian O’Connor’s thumb. He was insidious when he believed he was right about something. He got away with it because most of the time, he was right.
“Have you talked to Sara?” Miranda asked. If she had, then Miranda knew she couldn’t trust any of them.
“Not yet. I put a call in to her, but she’s with a resident who was admitted early this morning.”