Until You (33 page)

"Conor?"

"Yeah," he said brusquely. "I'll call you back in ten minutes."

He dropped the phone back into its cradle, turned up his collar and leaned against the wall of the booth. The lights were still on in Miranda's apartment. He thought of her lying in the warm, wide bed and then he thought of what she'd said to him and the cold, deliberate way she'd said it.

The bitch.

He owed her nothing. He never even wanted to see her again—but, God help him, there wasn't a way in the world he was going to turn this fucking case over to anybody else. He stood there, shivering in the cold, thinking and planning, and then he picked up the telephone and dialed Thurston's home again.

* * *

At two a.m. New York time, the telephone beside Eva Beckman Winthrop's bed began to ring.

Eva sat up, turned on her reading lamp, and reached for it.

"Hello?" she said.

"Mrs. Winthrop? It's Harry Thurston. I'm sorry to bother you at this hour, but—"

"Do you have any idea what time it is, Mr. Thurston?"

"As I said, I'm sorry, but this is important."

"It had better be," Eva said sharply.

Harry Thurston cleared his throat. "Actually, I'd like to speak with Hoyt. If you'd put him on the phone, please...?"

As if on cue, the door connecting the Winthrop's bedrooms opened. Hoyt stood in the doorway, blinking in the glare of the light.

"Darling?" he said. "Is something wrong?"

"Hold on," Eva snapped into the phone. She put her hand over the receiver. "Go back to sleep, Hoyt."

"Who's that on the phone?"

"It's one of my West coast distributors," she said, forcing a smile. "There's a problem with a shipment. Los Angeles was expecting Swallowtail Red lipstick and they've received Monarch Pink instead."

"And they called you?" Hoyt said indignantly. "Do they know the time?"

Eva nodded, determinedly ignoring Harry Thurston's voice in her ear.

"Apparently, they forget the time change. It's ridiculous, I know, but as long as they've called, I might as well sort out the problem."

"Shall I get you something, my dear? Do you need a notepad, perhaps?"

"No," Eva said. She took a deep breath and smiled again. "No, thank you, Hoyt. You go on back to bed."

"Well, if you insist..."

"I do. Just shut the door after you, please." She laughed gaily. "I may have to raise my voice to these people and I wouldn't want to keep you awake."

Hoyt smiled and went back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Eva waited a few seconds and then the smile fell from her lips.

"Now," she said into the telephone, "what is the reason for this call, Mr. Thurston? Does it have to do with the note I received today?"

Harry Thurston hesitated. "Perhaps you didn't understand me, Mrs. Winthrop. I should like to speak with your husband."

"Hoyt is asleep," Eva said briskly. "How may I help you?"'

"Mrs. Winthrop, I really think I should talk with Hoyt."

"I don't agree. The note in question, both notes, in point of fact, were addressed to me."

Harry sighed. Conor O'Neil and Eva Winthrop, all in one day. How lucky could one man get?

"Very well," he said. "I'll get straight to the point."

"Please do."

"Your daughter has also received a note."

"What kind of note?"

Harry sighed again. It would have been so much simpler to discuss this with Hoyt.

"An unsavory one. Look, I wouldn't ask you to disturb Hoyt if it weren't important—"

"Was it about Miranda or about me?"

"It was about your daughter."

"Then I'm afraid I don't quite see why you're calling me."

Harry rubbed his hand over the top of his head. Eva Winthrop's tone was frigid, though polite. He knew she and the girl were estranged but he had a daughter, too, and he couldn't imagine not worrying about her, no matter what the situation between them.

"Not that I'm not concerned for my daughter's welfare," Eva said, as smoothly as if she'd read his mind, "but I'm certain you and Mr. O'Neil can look out for her. In the meantime, I should think the president's advisors would be pleased to hear from you."

"To hear what, Mrs. Winthrop?" Harry tried, but he couldn't keep an edge from his voice.

"Why, to hear that while this business is most unfortunate, it has nothing to do with Hoyt or with me, and that the White House can go ahead with Hoyt's appointment."

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because, at this point, I don't know enough about these threats or what repercussions they might have."

"But you just said—"

"Why would someone send notes to you, if these threats were directed only at Miranda?"

"I have no idea, Mr. Thurston. You are in charge of this investigation, not I."

"Can you think of anyone who might wish to harm either you or your daughter? Perhaps you can think of an acquaintance of your daughter's who—"

"I do not know my daughter's acquaintances," Eva said coldly, "and I much prefer it that way but, considering what I know of the life she leads, I would not be surprised if an number of them are unsavory individuals."

"You may be right. We're checking."

"We?"

"Mr. O'Neil. He's still in Paris."

"And has he made any progress?" Eva switched the phone to her other ear. "Or has Miranda succeeding in making him let his hormones do his thinking for him?"

Harry gave an inward groan. He hadn't expected such a blunt question, especially since it was the same one, though not as politely phrased, he'd been asking himself ever since he'd talked with Conor.

"Mr. O'Neil is eminently qualified," he said. "If anyone can get to the bottom of this, he can."

"If?"
Eva's voice turned even frostier. "Perhaps you've forgotten that my husband is a personal friend of the President's and that we have both made significant contributions to his campaign. We expect this mess to be dealt with, and quickly."

"It will be—with your help."

"What kind of help are you asking for, Mr. Thurston?"

"Thus far, O'Neil's been acting on his own authority. He has no official status as a representative of the American government and he's in a foreign country."

"Get to the point, please."

"Miranda is not being cooperative. She doesn't seem to understand the importance of keeping a low profile until this situation is cleared up."

"If you're asking me to have a talk with her, you can save your breath. She doesn't take orders or advice from anyone, most especially not from me."

Harry sighed. He had a feeling the hard part was yet to come.

"Mr. O'Neil and I agree that if we're to get to the bottom of this, we need to bring your daughter home."

"Home?" Eva said, as if she'd never heard the word before.

"Yes. To the States. To New York, where we can keep her safe with far more ease and conduct an investigation that—"

"I don't agree. Miranda lives in Paris. If someone she knows is sending these notes, wouldn't it be reasonable to assume that person is French? For that matter, wouldn't you want my daughter to stay in France, rather than run the risk that her pursuer, or whatever you wish to call him, might follow her to the States and present a direct problem for Hoyt and me?"

For the first time in his sixty-odd years, Harry Thurston had to fight the almost overwhelming desire to tell a woman to perform an impossible anatomical act upon herself.

"Let me spell this out for you, Mrs. Winthrop," he said coldly. "It may be that you don't give a damn if your daughter ends up raped or dead but it will matter to the president. I promise you, madam, that if something happens to the girl and you could have helped us prevent it from happening but chose not to, you can kiss Hoyt's appointment good-bye."

Eva threw back the blankets and shot to her feet, her face livid. "How dare you speak to me that way?"

"Miranda isn't about to return to New York because we ask her," he said, ignoring the outburst. "But you are her mother. I'm certain you can think of some reason she will accept."

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"You're right when you say we need to conclude this investigation as quickly as possibly. To do that, we need her on American soil. And before you tell me that you can't, or won't help bring her here, I'd suggest you consider that it's still possible you're the target and your daughter is simply the means to an end."

Eva licked her lips. The old fool was right. And if she weren't careful, everything she'd worked so hard for would be ripped from her hands.

"Mrs. Winthrop? Have you heard anything I said?"

Eva inhaled, then let out a long, sighing breath.

"You've made your point. I'll discuss this with my husband. I'm sure we can think up a scheme that will bring Miranda home."

"Thank you," Harry said, and then he slammed down the telephone, swiveled his chair towards his study window and stared out into the darkness.

Maybe he'd take the day off tomorrow and go fishing.

In his line of work, the company of trout was often far more pleasurable than the company of people.

Chapter 12

Conor was waiting for her at the gate the next morning. Miranda spotted him as she came out the front door, and her spine stiffened.

What was he doing here? She was done with tolerating his intrusion in her life. Hadn't he gotten the message? She'd figured he had, when she'd heard him leave the apartment hours before.

Their eyes met but his were unreadable. Well, she thought as she crossed the courtyard, she hoped he could read everything in hers.

You are out of my life, Mr. O'Neil. More to the point, I am out of yours.

"Good morning, Miranda."

She dipped her head in brief acknowledgment as she passed him but she didn't reply.

He fell in beside her as she set off briskly towards the Rue Rivoli.

"We need to talk."

The light at the corner was just changing to red. She shot a quick look at the traffic, which was revving up the way it always did, and she stepped off the curb anyway.

"Go away," she said, when she reached the other side of the street.

He caught her arm as she stepped up on the sidewalk. "Eva got another note."

"So?"

"So, we need to discuss it."

Her chin notched up in an attitude of defiance. She pulled away from his hand and marched on.

"There isn't a thing in the world we need to discuss. You'd better phone Eva and tell her to take you off the payroll."

"Don't be an ass, Beckman."

"I know this is going to come as an awful shock to you and to my dear mother, but I'm not really interested in her or her mail. Tell her that, too, when you report in."

Conor grabbed her arm and swung her towards him. "Don't push it," he growled.

"Get out of my way, O'Neil."

"For starters, I do not report in."

"For starters, I do not like being ordered around. Or having my intelligence questioned." Her eyes fixed coldly on his. "We both know that Eva bought you, just the way she buys everything else."

A dark flush rose in his cheeks. "Is that what you think last night was all about? That what happened between us will go down on my expense account? That it's part of a plot, engineered by your mother?"

"I haven't thought about last night at all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment."

Conor's expression hardened. "Yeah," he said grimly, "with me."

He looked around him. They'd come to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. It was crowded but they were being ignored, just as they'd have been in New York or D.C. Still, this wasn't something he felt like discussing in a public place, especially knowing how Miranda would react when he got to the nitty-gritty.