Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [81]
She took one of the cups from the holder, peeled back a portion of the plastic lid, and passed it to Will, then fixed one for herself. She sipped at it for a few minutes, watching the highway fly by.
“I really liked him, Will,” she said without turning her head from the window. “Landry. I really liked the man.”
“So did I.”
“And his daughter. I liked her, too. This is going to be just terrible for her.” She looked at Will. “She trusted us. She knew that we knew her father could be in danger, and she trusted us to keep him safe.”
“There has to be some reason why it was so easy for Lowell to get to Landry. Before we castigate ourselves or Phillips, let’s find out what happened.”
“I hate this case. It’s been a total screwup right from the start.”
“It happens sometimes. Sometimes, no matter how well you think you’re doing the job, something, someone, screws up, and it’s bad right on through to the end.” His jaw set tightly. He didn’t want to think about what might mark the end of Archer Lowell’s run.
So far, it was bad guy 2, good guys 0. And the third and last name on the list might very well be Miranda’s.
Well, he can’t have her. I will personally rip his heart out before I let him have her. I will shove that gun of his so far up his—
“What’s that for?” she was asking.
“What?”
“That look on your face. Jesus, Fletcher, you looked like you’re going to rip someone’s head off.”
“Close enough,” he muttered. “Close enough . . .”
The local crime scene techs were already at work in Landry’s barn and in the fields when Miranda and Will arrived. The first person they saw when they got out of the car was Regan Landry. She stared at the two agents with red-rimmed eyes set in a face that was almost blank with disbelief. Miranda stopped to speak with her, but it was clear that the woman was in shock.
“Regan, is there someone I can call for you?” Miranda asked gently.
Regan shook her head no.
“A friend, maybe. A relative?”
Again, the blonde head moved slowly, side to side.
“I shouldn’t have left him,” she said. “I should have known he was going to play this his own way.”
“I’m so sorry,” Miranda told her. “I don’t know what to say—”
“If I told him once, I told him fifty times this week. Agent Phillips is here for a reason, stop treating this like a game. He took every opportunity to slip away, outside, alone. He wanted to confront the killer,” Regan said without taking her eyes from the open barn door. “He was fascinated by the thought that he was a potential victim. Can you believe it?”
She turned to Miranda and grabbed her arm.
“He thought it would make a wonderful book. He already had pages of notes . . . what he would write. He had it all planned. He thought he’d be able to talk the killer out of doing what he’d come to do. . . .”
“He thought he could talk Lowell out of killing him?” Miranda appeared stunned.
Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. “My father was such an arrogant man. He thought that because he wrote so intimately about death, he’d be able to talk his way around it. That because he studied the criminal mind, he could influence it.”
“Regan, I’m so sorry.” Miranda tried to comfort her. “I know we promised to protect him—”
“You don’t understand,” Regan said. “He didn’t want to be protected, didn’t believe he needed it. He truly and honestly wanted to handle this his own way. He was looking forward to confronting his would-be murderer.”
She shook her head again, the tears falling freely. “Such arrogance. Damn him.”
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
“So what do we do now?” Miranda stood with her hands on her hips, watching one pair of techs dust the back door of the barn for prints while another made a cast of several footprints leading from the barn to the woods beyond Landry’s farm. The entire property was swarming with representatives of several law enforcement agencies, from the local Plainsville police officers, to the county detectives and crime scene investigators, to FBI.
“I think