Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [102]
“That going to be hard on you?” Will asked.
“Not as hard as it will be on Mara and Julianne,” Aidan told him.
“It’s starting to get dark,” Miranda noted. “Where do you suppose Flynn is?”
“He mentioned something about throwing a frozen pizza in the oven. Have you ever known him to show up for a stakeout without enough food to take him—and the rest of us—through a long siege?” Will said. “He arrived with a couple of grocery bags under his arm, so I’m guessing he stocked up.”
“Ah, that Rob. Always plans ahead.” Miranda turned to Aidan. “Is the house next door open? I’d like to change my clothes and be ready to take my place once it’s dark.”
“The back door is open; you can go right on in,” Aidan told her. “Annie’s supposed to let us know when Julianne has gone to bed for the night, then we’ll move you and Will inside until dawn. One of you will watch the front of the house, one the back. Rob will be in Mrs. West’s backyard, I’ll take the outside of Mara’s house, side and front.”
“Will, I need to open the trunk to get my bag out.” Miranda held up her hand, and Will tossed the keys. She snatched them out of the air.
“I won’t be more than five, ten minutes,” she told him as she started off toward the trunk of the car. “With any luck, Rob has a couple of greasy pepperoni pizzas in the oven and some strawberry ice cream in the freezer.”
“The pizza’s a definite, but I wouldn’t count on the ice cream,” Aidan called to her.
“Oh, I’ve worked with Rob before,” Miranda called back over her shoulder. “He knows how to keep a girl happy.”
Rob Flynn did, indeed, know how to keep Miranda Cahill happy. He brought enough strawberry ice cream, frozen pizza, diet Pepsi, and black licorice to keep a smile on her face for the next week. At ten-thirty that night, she was sitting on the floor outside Mara’s den, her Sig Sauer on one hip, her walkie-talkie on the other, and a strand of licorice dangling from the corner of her mouth. She propped her back against the wall and twirled the licorice between her lips. She had a clear view of the back door, the deck, and, if she stood, the area around the garage, though that was in shadow now. She wondered how long it would be before Jules Douglas showed up.
She was in complete agreement with Aidan and whoever else had orchestrated this stakeout—probably John, she thought idly. John liked tidy, and this particular scene was tidy. No superfluous personnel. Not that they had agents to spare these days. More and more of the new agents, and plenty of the established ones, were signing up for the terrorist division, like Portia had.
Portia had tried to talk Miranda into joining with her, but Miranda had never had a feel for the work. This was what she knew, what she liked. She did best in situations where she knew the players, knew what the stakes were. Those tracking the terrorists played a different game, one Miranda wasn’t sure she understood. Portia, however, loved the excitement, the intrigue, the whole chasing-across-continents thing as much as she loved hunkering down in dusty caves with her brothers in arms. Miranda shook her head. For identical twins, they couldn’t be less alike.
She chewed up the last of the licorice and thought about Portia meeting up with Jack in England. She was certain they had. She just couldn’t decide how she felt about it.
And then there was Will. She was pretty sure she knew how she felt about him. As soon as this watch was over, as soon as they had Jules Douglas behind bars, she and Will were going to take a long weekend. Maybe at the Fleming Inn, maybe at the beach someplace. Aidan lived near the beach. Maybe he could suggest an inn. Then again, it was pretty cold for the beach.
Will had been quick to see the parallels between their relationship and that of her mother and father. She’d recognized the similarities herself, of course, but had refused to acknowledge them. Once she had acknowledged them, she’d have to deal with them. In order to do that, she’d have to put a name to her feelings. She’d never been able to do that.