Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [48]
“Maybe we should have had someone watching him. Maybe we should have someone watching Landry.”
Maybe someone should be watching you, Will thought.
“Let’s toss it all around with Mancini when we get in to the office tomorrow. See what he has to say.” When she didn’t respond, Will glanced over and found her head dipped to the side and her mouth parted just ever so slightly. He turned down the radio and turned up the heat just a little.
She slept all the way to Maryland, waking only when Will pulled into a gas station and got out.
“Want anything while we’re here?” he asked softly. “They have a little market there.”
“No, thanks.”
He paid for the gas and climbed back into the car. “You sure you don’t want anything? Last chance . . .”
She shook her head no.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said as he headed back onto the highway.
“I’m just worn out.” Her eyes were closed again, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was really sleeping, or if she was feigning to avoid getting into a conversation with him that might lead to places neither of them wanted to go.
He decided if avoidance was what she wanted, avoidance was what she would get. If she changed her mind and wanted to chat, she was welcome to open her mouth. Otherwise, he’d just let it go for now.
After all, what was there, really, to talk about—other than work? What was there that he could put into words?
He drove along through the darkness, fighting off the thought that Archer Lowell might come after her.
“Over my dead body,” he whispered aloud, then glanced over to where she slept, wondering if she’d heard. If she had, she gave no sign. Her dark lashes still lay against her cheek, and her mouth was still just open the tiniest bit. Her hair fell down around her face like a dark veil, and her chin rested on her chest.
The thought worried him all the way home.
When he arrived at his house, he drove slowly, so as not to shake her awake as the car traveled over the rough stones. He turned off the ignition and turned to look at her as she stretched awake. The effort not to reach over and smooth that black hair from her face all but killed him.
“Where are we?” She yawned, breaking the silence.
“We’re back at my place.”
“Can I come in and use your bathroom before I head home?” She sat up.
“Sure, but don’t you think you should stay? It’s late and—”
“No, I don’t think I should stay.” Unexpectedly, she opened the passenger door and got out. “That’s done, Fletcher. Over.”
“Miranda, I wasn’t suggesting that you and I—”
“Oh, right, the thought never crossed your mind.”
He got out of the car. “Well, of course, it’s a little hard not to think about—”
“Just give me the keys and I’ll stop at that little bar just before the highway.” She held out her hand.
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“I don’t want to sleep under your roof tonight or any other night. We’re not going back down that road again, Will.”
“I swear, I was not suggesting that we do. I only meant, it’s late—after midnight already—and you have at least an hour drive.”
“I’m well rested.”
“At least come inside and use the bathroom and get something to drink.” They stood in the darkness and stared at each other. “Look, we’ve been pretty successful these past few days at moving past what . . . what was. If you can accept that we’ve moved on, I’ll accept it, too.”
She continued to stare at him.
“Friends?” he asked.
“Sure. Okay.” She nodded slowly. “Friends . . .”
“Then you shouldn’t have a problem staying in the guest room tonight and driving home in the morning.” Before she could protest, he said, “The roads are dark; they’re windy and dangerous if you’re not familiar with them. It just doesn’t make sense for you to leave now, unless of course you’re only doing it to be stubborn.”
She laughed and threw up her hands.
“Okay.