Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [17]
“What’d I tell you?” Will took a long pull from his beer, watching Miranda’s face.
“Do you ever get tired of being right?”
“Nah.”
She glanced at the bar, then back at Will. “He just saw us.”
“Want to take bets on how long it takes him to come over here?”
“Less than ten minutes,” she said without hesitation. “He won’t be able to stand it.”
“I’m not so sure. On the one hand, he could act impulsively and rush right over. On the other, he might want to prove to us how cool he is. Show us that it doesn’t matter to him that we’re here.”
Will appeared to weigh the matter.
“I’m going with more than ten. I’m going with twenty minutes, maybe even more.”
“I think you’re going to lose this one, Fletcher.”
“I don’t think so. Though I think if you were alone, he’d be right over. Oh, yeah, he’d be making a beeline for the table if you were sitting here all by your lonesome. That would sure show the other guys in here something. That he could sit down with this incredible babe and strike up a conversation and not have her toss him on his ear? That would definitely win him points around here.”
“Babe?” Miranda repeated flatly.
“Looking at you strictly from a guy’s point of view, Cahill, you are one incredible babe. You’re the total package.”
She cautioned him with one raised eyebrow.
“Okay, you get my drift. But Archer Lowell doesn’t know just how complete that package is. He doesn’t know how smart you are, or just how good a shot you are with that little Sig Sauer you carry around—you still strap that thing to your thigh?—or what a truly gifted investigator you are. Nor does he care about any of those things. He’s a guy, and he looks at you and just sees a babe, because he doesn’t know any better. He just doesn’t understand that you’re functional as well as decorative.”
“Was there a compliment in there someplace? There might have been, but I’m not certain I’d recognize a compliment from you.”
“Hey, I’m just telling you what a guy like Archer sees when he looks at you.”
Movement from the direction of the bar caught Will’s eye. “Looks like you might have won this round.”
“Ha! My lucky day.”
“Yeah, well, sooner or later, the odds had to change.” Will stole a glance at his watch. “Less than five minutes.”
“What do I win?” she asked, keeping her eyes on Will and deliberately avoiding looking at the figure approaching their table.
“A prize to be determined at a later date.”
“My choice?”
“That’s to be determined later, too.”
Archer Lowell’s shadow fell across the table.
“What are you guys doing here?” Lowell held a bottle of beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
“Having dinner. A few beers. Soaking up some local color,” Will replied.
“Have you tried the fried chicken, Archer?” Miranda asked. “It’s a little too greasy for my taste, but—”
“Come on. What are you doing here?”
“I just told you, Archer.” Will’s voice dropped an octave. “We just had dinner, and now are enjoying a few beers.”
“You are full of shit. You’re here because you thought I’d be here.” Lowell looked nervously from one to the other.
“If that were so, that would mean we guessed right, wouldn’t it?” Miranda said brightly. “We FBI special agents are really good at figuring things out, aren’t we?”
Archer rolled his eyes.
“How smart do you have to be? I mean, it’s the only bar within walking distance of my house.”
“Did you see how fast he put that together, Will?”
“Yes, I did. And isn’t that exactly what I said to you? That this is the only bar within walking distance of Archer’s house, and—”
“Stop it. You’re giving me a headache.” Archer ran his hand through his wheat-colored hair. “I want you to go away. I haven’t done anything that concerns you.”
“Actually, Archer, it’s what you’re going to do that concerns us.” Miranda tapped her fingers against the side of her glass.
“I’m not going to do anything.” Archer leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I swear to you, I am not going to do a thing. I have served my time for what I done, and I do not