Dead Even Part 15

At least, that was the plan he'd come up with a few hours earlier, after having lain awake most of the night trying to think things through. He and Miranda had such a jumbled past. They'd never worked a job together that hadn't ended up with the two of them in bed.

Not that that was a bad thing.

But lately, it had occurred to Will that he wanted more from her. Over the past several years, the routine had been pretty much the same. Work together, sleep together. Go their own way. Work together, sleep together. Go their own way. And that had been fine, for a while.

Will could point with certainty to the exact moment when he realized that was no longer fine.

Miranda had been working a job-alone-in New Jersey's Pine Barrens, playing guard dog to Kendra Smith, the Bureau's favorite sketch artist. Kendra's house had been broken into by the serial killer who had more than a pa.s.sing interest in her, and in trying to protect Kendra, Miranda had been coldc.o.c.ked. In the resultant fall down the steps, she'd cracked her head open on the newel post, and spent the next twelve hours unconscious. Will had been sent to join in the hunt for the killer, which had served the dual purpose of allowing him to be involved in the investigation as well as to be at Miranda's bedside when she awoke.

"Oh, G.o.d," she'd groaned when she opened her eyes and focused on his face. "I knew it! I've died and gone to h.e.l.l. . . ."

He'd laughed then, and he chuckled now, remembering how her smile had beaten back the fear that had spread through him when he'd first seen her in the hospital, her face black and blue, st.i.tches running into her hairline. But remembering that forced him to recall the rest of that day, when a ma.s.sive blunder on his part had almost cost Kendra her life. a.s.signed to keeping Kendra under wraps until her official FBI escort had arrived, in his eagerness to return to the hospital and Miranda, Will had handed Kendra directly into the hands of a madman.

It had taken him months to live down what could have been a fatal mistake, months before he could look at himself without loathing, cursing himself for his stupidity and knowing that only Kendra's own quick thinking and resolve had saved her life.Will had retreated to his house in the woods and had ventured back into the office no sooner than he'd had to. He had three weeks' vacation coming to him, and opted to take all three right then.

"Will, we all suffer from poor judgment at times," John had told him when he'd finally reported back in.

"Kendra could have been killed. She almost was was killed," Will reminded his boss. killed," Will reminded his boss.

"Thank G.o.d it didn't turn out that way."

"How can you gloss over this?"

"Oh, make no mistake, Fletcher-" John had frowned "-there's no glossing over here. What you did was stupid. You handed a woman over to a serial killer and walked away without a second thought."

"So why aren't you firing me?"

"Because in spite of your carelessness in this one instance, you're a fine agent. You've done outstanding work in the past, and I've no doubt you'll do outstanding work in the future. You're an integral part of my team, and I need you." John's chair swiveled back and forth slowly, and he faced Will straight on. "And I have to admit, looking back over my career, there have been times when I've done incredibly stupid things. Yes, even handed a witness or a potential victim over to another law enforcement agent without thoroughly checking their identification. In your case, there were several dozen cops, other agents, and state troopers on the scene. I can see why you would have a.s.sumed that the man who identified himself as the agent expected to take Kendra Smith off your hands was exactly who he said he was. Who expected to find a serial killer right there in the midst of all those lawmen?"

"I've relived that minute over and over-"

"Don't." John stopped the chair's back-and-forth motion. "It's done. Move on. Learn from it, and move on."

"John, when I think about what that guy could have done to her-"

"I understand, and I'd have serious reservations about you if you'd shrugged it off without a second thought. But at this point, you need to move past it. If you can't, you will become a serious liability to the unit, Will. You'll spend too much time second-guessing your every move. Sooner or later, that kind of hesitation is going to get someone hurt. So I repeat. Learn from the mistake, and move on to your next a.s.signment." John reached across his desk for a file. "Which I happen to have right here . . ."

Will had taken the file and left the office, determined to regain his standing within the team. He'd moved on to that case, and then to the next, and then to the one after that, keeping as low a profile as possible within the unit, spending as little time in the office as he could get away with. He'd pretty much avoided everyone, for a while. For as long as John allowed him to lick his wounds, anyway. Moving back among the ranks of his unit hadn't been quite as bad as he'd feared, though the first time he'd had to face fellow agent Adam Stark had been a bit tense. Adam, who'd been quietly in love with Kendra for several years, had been the last person Will had wanted to see. But Adam had been reasonably civil, if not cordial, and even Kendra had not been accusatory when they'd run into each other briefly in the hall several weeks later.

It had taken him a while, but he soon reestablished himself as one of Mancini's top dogs.

But not the alpha dog, he reminded himself as he strolled to the shower. Not today, anyway, but that was okay. Today he was going to be Mr. Nice Guy. Mr. Best Friend. At least until he could figure out just what was really between Miranda and him.

He showered and dressed in record time. He hummed softly on his way past the room where Miranda slept, pausing to listen outside the door. There was no sound from within.

She must really be zonked, he thought as he quietly ran down the stairs and went into the kitchen. he thought as he quietly ran down the stairs and went into the kitchen.

He surveyed the breakfast possibilities. He had bread and eggs. Maybe he'd surprise her with French toast. Cahill's sweet tooth was known to act up in the morning from time to time. He was filling the coffeepot with water when he glanced out the window.

The little white Spyder was MIA. Hadn't he left it right at the end of the drive?

d.a.m.n, he muttered on his way down the hall. When he got to the front door, he realized it was already unlocked. Stepping out onto the porch in his bare feet, he saw that the Spyder was indeed gone. he muttered on his way down the hall. When he got to the front door, he realized it was already unlocked. Stepping out onto the porch in his bare feet, he saw that the Spyder was indeed gone.

He sat on the top step, his arms resting on his knees, and watched a few big yellow leaves float down from the maple at the end of the drive. Another minute pa.s.sed before he took the cell phone from his pocket and speed-dialed her number.

"I guess you're not on the way back from the neighborhood store with groceries," he said when she picked up.

"Hey, you're awake."

"Where are you?" He forced a light tone, not wanting to sound as peevish as he felt.

"I'm just pulling into my driveway."

"Why?"

"Well, since I slept most of the way between New Jersey and Virginia, I was awake most of the night. Still awake at five, so I figured I might as well get up and get some work done. Unfortunately, I had nothing to work on there, and since I didn't know how long you'd be sleeping, I just figured I'd come home. Besides, the whole idea of me sleeping there last night was to keep me from driving home in the middle of a very dark night, so I figured driving at dawn would be fine."

"Oh, sure. It is fine. I was just wondering what happened to you, that's all."

"Well, that's all that happened. I came home because I was wide awake." She paused, then asked, "So what are you doing up so early?"

"I got up to make breakfast."

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"What are you making?"

"French toast."

"Yum. My favorite."

"I know. I was making it for you."

"Oh." She fell silent, and so did he.

Finally, he said, "No big deal. Twice as much for me."

"Next time, Fletcher."

"Sure." He wondered if there'd be a next time.

"Oh, before I forget, did you ever hear back from Evan?" she said, deftly changing the subject.

"Don't know." He got up and went inside. "I'll have to check the messages on the answering machine."

The phone sat on the edge of the old worn desk that had once stood in his grandfather's study. It pleased Will to have it in his home now. He'd had to trade with his cousin Jen, who'd arrived at their gran's house before he did on the day Gran was giving away her furniture, but it was worth giving up two or three other prized objects for the desk. It was the one piece he'd really coveted.

He hit the message b.u.t.ton.

"Hey. It's Carole. We just wanted to let you know that Junie had her baby last week. Baby boy, cute as can be. They named him Nathaniel. Give us a call when you get a chance. You have the number. . . ."

"That was my cousin," Will explained as he hit the delete b.u.t.ton.

"Cute name, Nathaniel."

"Yeah." He made a mental note to send something to cousin Junie for the baby.

"Will. Evan Crosby. Got your message late, I'm just back from the training program at Quantico, trying to catch up here. To answer your question, I did ask my old partner from the Lyndon PD to find out if there's any record at the courthouse of the three amigos spending time together, but I haven't heard from him. I will be back at my county job on Monday, so I'll ask around and get back to you. By the way, I heard about Unger getting it. I can't believe we were all so wrong about Lowell. Annie's taking it hard, that she so misread him. Anyway, I'll be talking to you." There was a brief pause, then, "Oh. Were you and Miranda able to come up with any other likely victims? Just curious . . ."

"You heard all that?" Will asked.

"Yes," Miranda said. "Poor Annie. I'm sure she does feel badly. I think I'll give her a call. . . ."

"You going into the office?"

"Today? It's Sunday," she reminded him.

"That's never stopped you before."

"True enough. Yeah, I'll probably take a run in."

"Well, maybe I'll see you there."

"Okay. See you. And thanks. For the bed in the middle of the night. For thinking to make breakfast for me."

"Anytime," he said, and disconnected.

Will sat on the edge of the desk and tried to decide if Miranda had really left because she was wide awake, or if she just didn't want the intimacy of facing him over breakfast this morning. It was a tough call. Given their history, just friends just friends might be harder to pull off than he'd expected. might be harder to pull off than he'd expected.

On the other hand, maybe friendship is overrated.

He tapped restless fingers on the desk, then went into the kitchen, where he tried to a.n.a.lyze the situation while he finished making breakfast for himself. Midway through the first stack of French toast he decided a phone call was in order. Between bites, he dialed Anne Marie McCall's cell and left a message.

By the time he finished eating, she'd returned the call and agreed to meet him at the office at one.

Back to work, he told himself as he drained his coffee cup and deposited it, along with his plate, in the dishwasher. he told himself as he drained his coffee cup and deposited it, along with his plate, in the dishwasher. Keep it focused. Don't let the bad guys win. Keep it focused. Don't let the bad guys win.

Watch Miranda's back . . .

Genna peered out the window and watched the snow pile higher around the fence that outlined the compound. She'd been hoping that the storm would pa.s.s by this time, but she'd had no such luck. For the second day in a row, the snow continued to drift. If it didn't stop soon, there'd be no way she'd be able to leave the compound that afternoon with Caroline, the girl whose essay on self-discipline had been chosen as the best of the week.

Last week's trip into Linden had been uneventful, but of course, that was the point.

She and Eileen had ridden with Daniel, a large, dour man who rarely strayed far from the reverend's side. When he parked next to the local market, Genna and her charge had jumped out. Knowing Daniel watched every step she took, Genna had put a hand on Eileen's arm to hold her back. Together she and the girl had walked-slowly-to the chain drugstore in the center of town. Once inside, the normally shy Eileen perked up a bit. After having been behind the gates of the compound for several months, she was dazzled by the array of products, as if she'd forgotten what it was like to shop. Then again, hadn't Genna heard that Eileen had lived in shelters and on the streets for the past three years? Even a modest shop might have been beyond her means.

With Genna by her side, the girl wandered from aisle to aisle, touching hair clips in one, nail polish in another, a long-handled bath brush in yet another.

"Do you see anything you'd like to have?" Genna asked.

"I don't know." Eileen had studied a box of fake nails. "Everything looks so . . . fun."

"Why not look for something you can enjoy for a long time?" Genna suggested. "I noticed that you like to write poetry. Perhaps you'd like a special notebook and a pen to write your poems with."

It had taken almost forty-five minutes, but Eileen had finally selected a fat spiral notebook with a cover the color of blue denim, and a pale yellow pen that wrote with blue ink.

"Thank you, Miss Ruth." Eileen had beamed when they left the store. "Thank you so much."

"You earned it. It's your reward for having done well with your essay."

They stood at the corner where the two main streets of Linden intersected. Across the street and down two blocks, the Linden Diner marked the boundary of the small town.

"We'll have lunch at the diner there," Genna had told her. "But we'll have to watch the time. We don't want to be late meeting up with Daniel."

Eileen had taken forever to order from the menu, giving them precious little time to eat. Spurred on by Jayne the waitress, Eileen had finally settled on a hamburger and fries, and an old-fashioned milk shake. Not having any particular interest in food, Genna ordered the same, then wondered if she'd be able to safely manage a phone call. She knew from her visit here on the day she first entered the compound that the phone was back behind the door leading to the restrooms. However, should Daniel come into the diner looking for them, he'd see Eileen sitting alone. If he found Genna on the phone, all the more problematic for her. On the other hand, she'd had no contact with John for several weeks, and surely by now he'd be worried, both professionally and personally. Of course, she knew there were other agents in the area. She just didn't know who or where they were, or what information was getting back to the Bureau. It simply had been too dangerous to risk bringing any communication device into the compound.

She'd decided she'd risk making a call, and was just rising from her seat when the door opened. Daniel had walked in, headed right for their table, and Genna's heart sank even as she plastered a smile onto her face.

"We were just finishing up," she'd told him.

"It's time to get back," he'd replied. All the way back to the compound, she'd wondered how the report to Reverend Prescott would go.

If Daniel had had negative thoughts, he must have kept them to himself, because aside from asking Genna if she'd enjoyed her outing, Prescott had had little to say. She a.s.sumed that she and Caroline would be permitted to leave with Daniel again today. a.s.suming, of course, that the snow stopped.

By noon, it had. At one, Genna grabbed her coat and met the excited young girl at the front door of the block building that held the small cla.s.srooms.

"You should borrow boots, Miss Ruth," Caroline told her.

"I wish I knew someone who was willing to trade for a while," Genna said, looking ruefully at her leather shoes.

"Miss Joan is in the infirmary. Maybe she will let you borrow her boots for a while."

"Stay here, and wait for Daniel." Genna took off for the wooden structure next to the cla.s.srooms. "Tell him I will be right back. . . ."

Genna found Miss Joan way too ill with the flu to care who was wearing her boots just then. Leaving her own shoes under the bed in the makeshift hospital room, Genna pulled on the boots. They were a half size too big, but even so, they were warmer and provided more traction on the snowy ground.

"I'll bring them back later this afternoon," Genna had promised.

"No hurry," Joan replied without opening her eyes. "I'm not planning on going anywhere for a while. . . ."

Unlike Eileen the week before, Caroline knew exactly what she wanted. A sketchbook and some colored pencils, a pack of gum, and she was ready to go. A plate full of chicken fingers and French fries, a hot fudge sundae, and a c.o.ke, and Caroline's day was complete.

"This is such a nice thing you do for us," she'd told Genna as she got out of the Jeep once they'd returned home. "You're the nicest person here. I can't wait to use my new sketchpad."

"Maybe you'll let me see some of your sketches," Genna replied.