Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [62]
He groaned and rubbed his temples.
Tomorrow was going to be a very long day. He got up and grabbed his keys from the top of the dresser where he’d tossed them, then went out into the night. There had to be a liquor store around here someplace. He hadn’t had a drink since this whole mess had started, but tonight, faced with the prospect of spending the next day or so with Archer Lowell, he figured he needed a little something to help him get through it without killing the assassin.
He thought about how it had felt to have his hands around Lowell’s throat. It would have taken precious little additional pressure to have strangled him. The kid was so annoying, Burt almost wished he had. In that second, there was no doubt in his mind that he could very easily have taken Lowell’s life and not thought twice about it.
Good to know.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Miranda’s doorbell began to chime just as she hung up the phone. She peeked through one of the living room windows to see who was there and, for some reason, was not surprised to see Will leaning against one of the faux colonial pillars that graced what passed for a front porch in Miranda’s townhouse development.
“Well, well,” she said as she opened the door. “Let me guess. You were just in the neighborhood and thought you’d stop by.” She glanced at her watch. “Could the fact that it’s almost dinnertime and you have another hour to drive before you get home have anything to do with this impromptu visit?”
“No, but now that you mention it, did I catch you in the middle of whipping up some gourmet goodies?”
She held the door open and gestured for him to enter.
“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Remember where you are.”
“Sorry. I lost my head.”
She walked into the living room, knowing he’d follow, and sat on the edge of a large square plush ottoman the color of cocoa.
“How’s your sister? Have you heard from her?” He took a seat on the sofa.
“She’s fine. I just got off the phone with her. She’s still in some undisclosed location in the Middle East; that’s all I know.” Miranda frowned. “I hate that she’s over there. It’s just too dicey to be undercover in an unfriendly region.”
“Did she say she’s in any particular danger?”
“No, of course not. This is Portia the Fearless we’re talking about here. Even if she was scared to death, she’d never admit it.”
“Even to you?”
“Especially to me.”
“I thought identical twins were supposed to be like two peas in a pod.”
“Yeah, well, we’re mirror-image twins, so I guess that accounts for it.”
“You’re right-handed, she’s left- . . .”
Miranda made a face. “That’s the short version. I also think there’s some left-brain, right-brain thing at work there, too. She would walk into the gates of hell unarmed with a smile on her face, like she’s walking into a theme park and with about as much caution.”
“You make her sound careless, and we both know that’s not true.”
“No, she’s not careless. But she is fearless. Compared to her, I’m the family wimp.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I can’t remember the last time I saw you back down from a job.”
“It’s easy to look brave when you don’t put yourself in dire situations.” Miranda shook her head. “I’ve never done half of the stuff she’s done. And I don’t want to.”
“And you think that makes you a wimp?”
“Compared to her, yes.”
“Why do you have to compare yourself to her?”
“Because she’s there.” Miranda shrugged. “Besides, everyone’s always compared us to each other.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
“It happens to twins all the time.” She made a face again. “If it wasn’t ‘Miranda walked earlier, but Portia talked first,’ it was ‘Portia could read by the time she was three, but Miranda didn’t read until nursery school.’ That sort of thing. You grow to expect it after a while.”
“I guess that can be tough, growing up.”
“I suppose it could be, if one is way ahead of the other developmentally. Portia and I sort of seesawed back and forth, one did one thing first, then the other did something else. So, enough