Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [103]
Will, however, had been far less reluctant.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
Yes, well, that certainly put a name to it. How like him to just throw it out there.
How like her to wish he hadn’t.
Well, it was there now, like it or not, and she’d have to deal with it. With Will.
Static crackled from the walkie-talkie.
“All quiet back there?” Will asked from his post in the living room.
“All quiet.”
“So, whatcha doing?”
“Thinking about what we’re going to be doing when this is over.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Static crackled at her again.
“Will?” she asked.
“Hold up.”
“Will?” she repeated after several minutes had passed.
“False alarm. I think. I thought I saw something . . . never mind, it’s Rob.”
“The static is about to make me deaf,” she complained. “I’m turning this damn thing off now. I’ll check back with you in a few, see if it’s any better.”
She slipped the walkie-talkie back onto her belt, then stood up and walked to the back door. She peered out across the deck. There was a scant slice of moonlight that fell across one side of the yard. She looked skyward and saw clouds move across the face of the moon. Nothing else moved. For now, all was quiet.
The clock on the mantel in the living room chimed four. A few more hours and she’d be able to catch a little sleep. She went back to her post outside the door to Mara’s den and slid down the wall until she was seated again. She knew it was unlikely that Jules would have shown up so soon. Tomorrow would be the more likely night for him to make his move. Even if he had managed to make it into the area tonight, he’d be studying the lay of the land. Looking for security. Trying to figure out the best way to strike.
No, it would be tomorrow night at the earliest, the next night at the latest. It hardly mattered which. Either way, they’d still be waiting for him.
She pulled another piece of licorice out of her back pocket and began to chew on it, wondering why she felt less afraid of facing Jules than she did of loving Will.
Burt Connolly lay on his stomach in the damp, cold grass under Helene West’s grapevine and tried to figure out what was going on.
He’d been watching for the past few hours, and couldn’t figure out which of the two houses Miranda Cahill was in. He’d thought it was the little bungalow there across the yard, but then he’d seen her come out of the house next door and go inside here with the other agent, the big guy. Then some other guy showed up, and the big one left for a while, then came back. Burt had meanwhile backed into the shelter of the grape arbor to hide himself, and he wasn’t certain that she hadn’t come back out again.
What the fuck was going on around here? What’s up with the house next door, anyway?
Well, it was a riddle he wasn’t going to be solving for a while, since the sun would be up in another few minutes and he couldn’t very well be caught in the yard there. He eased himself out from under the thick woody vines, using his elbows to propel himself backward to the end of the garage. He raised himself to his knees and crawled along the fence to the place where he’d cut an opening a few hours earlier. He’d found a motel about four blocks away, one street in from the highway, and he’d left the truck there. He hadn’t liked the way the big guy had stopped to stare at the truck when he’d driven past earlier. Probably hadn’t meant much of anything, but still, you never knew with these FBI types. For all Burt knew, the big guy had already called in the license plate. Not that that would tell him anything. He wouldn’t know Burt from Adam. He certainly would never be able to put Burt together with Archer.
In the shadows of early morning, he brushed off the dirt as best he could, then crept across another yard, wondering if Archer’s body had been found yet. He knew a momentary bit of uncertainty, then shook it off. No one knew he had been with Archer, with the exception of Vince Giordano. And there wasn’t much he was going to say about it, since this whole killing thing was his idea. No one could connect him to any of the murders,