"Maybe we should have had someone watching him. Maybe we should have someone watching Landry."

Maybe someone should be watching you, Will thought. 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 pa.s.senger 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. I give in. You really have a guest room?"

"It's more like a spare room with a bed in it. But it's a nice bed. I brought it up here from my grandmother's house over the summer. She moved into an a.s.sisted-living place and couldn't take most of her furniture with her, so she divided it up between the grandkids."

"And there's a lock on the spare-room door?"

"I'm wounded that you'd think such a thing of me." He took her by the elbow and led her up the dark path to his front porch. "However, feel free to put a chair in front of the door if it makes you feel better. I think there's a chair in there-"

"No, no. You're right," she said as he unlocked the front door. "We're both adults, and right now, we have to work together. We'll have to work together again, I'm sure, in the future. We should both be big enough to put all . . . put the past behind us and move on with our lives, right?"

"Right."

Once inside, she stopped in the hallway, framed by the light from the front porch, and looked up at him.

"I can do it if you can do it."

He gritted his teeth, not sure, after all, that he could.

"Sure." It was easier to just agree at this point. "Great."

"Great." She smiled and snapped on the overhead light. "Which way is the guest room?"

Archer sat on the edge of the bed in the cheap motel room he'd rented for the night, just like Burt had told him to do, and waited for the cell phone to ring. He wished he could call home, let his mother know he was all right and not to worry, but Burt told him when he gave him the phone that it was only to be used to communicate with him. Still, Archer was tempted. How would Burt know, anyway, if he called home?

Forget it, he told himself. Burt seemed to know everything.

He wished he knew who Burt was. Maybe if he had a last name, he wouldn't be so scary.

Nah, Archer decided. Knowing his last name wouldn't make much difference. Burt would always be scary. He was just a scary kind of guy.

His hands over his eyes, Archer tried to make sense of his life. It had all gotten too crazy, too fast. One minute he's at the Well trying to score with Lisa Shelton; the next minute he's putting a bullet in the back of some old man's head.

G.o.d, I didn't mean to . . . I never meant to . . .

The cell phone rang rudely, and he looked at it for a long moment. What if he didn't answer it? What if he took the money Burt had given him and just disappeared forever?

What if this all turned out to be nothing more than a bad, bad dream? That the past twenty-four hours had never happened? He'd wake up in his old bed. And, back in Telford, that old man would still be alive. . . .

The phone continued to ring. Finally, he answered it.

"Where were you?" the voice demanded.

"I was, ah, in the bathroom."

"Next time take the phone with you."

"Okay."

"Now, where are you?"

"I'm still in the motel, like you said. You told me to stay here till I heard from you."

"Well, I think it'll be okay if you leave now. Take the next bus to the place I told you about. You'll be okay. No one knows it was you; there's nothing to connect you to the old man."

"They know. That woman . . . Cahill . . . she's gonna know. . . ."

"What?" Burt's voice went cold. "What did you say?"

"She's gonna know it was me. They already knew about the game, her and that other guy. The big FBI guy. They came to my house. They told me they knew what-"

"When were you planning on telling me this, a.s.shole?" Burt's anger rumbled like an avalanche through the phone.

"I . . . I . . ." Archer began to stutter.

"You . . . you . . . what?" Burt snapped. "The FBI was at your house, and you didn't bother to mention it? She She was at your house and you didn't think that was important enough to tell me?" was at your house and you didn't think that was important enough to tell me?"

"I didn't get a chance," Archer began to whine. "You didn't let me tell you anything. You never give me a chance to say anything."

"What exactly did they say? What did they want?"

"They . . . they said they knew about the game. About Curtis and Vince and me."

"You tell me this now, after after you do Unger?" Burt swore under his breath. you do Unger?" Burt swore under his breath.

"I tried to tell you before but you-"

"You didn't try hard enough, did you?" Burt's breathing came a little faster now, and the sound of it through the phone made Archer's heart beat almost out of his chest. "How did they know?"

"I don't know. Maybe . . . maybe Curtis told them before he died. Maybe they just figured it out."

"All right, this is what you do. You stay there, keep your head down. You got enough money left for another day, right?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Well, you're just going to have to." He paused again, as if thinking. "If you're right, maybe they'll be watching for you. s.h.i.t. I guess I'll have to drive out for you myself."

Archer's insides twisted.

"Then, we'll go over what you need to do next. Get it over with fast and be done with it before they can track you down. You been thinking about who you're going to do next?"

"Yes." Archer closed his eyes. NO. NO. "But if they know who-" "But if they know who-"

"Did they say they know?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then they don't know. You got two choices, Archer. You decide who goes next-and how you plan to pull it off-or I'll decide for you."

The phone went dead, and Archer turned it off.

s.h.i.t. Burt was coming for him. He was going to want to know who was next on the list and how he was going to do it.

s.h.i.t.

Well, not much choice involved in the how. He only had the one weapon. The gun Burt had given him, the one he'd used to kill Unger, was in his backpack.

As for who, well, how was he supposed to do that?

Maybe he should let Burt decide.

He shook off the idea. Maybe Burt would just see that as a weakness on Archer's part, and he'd probably shoot Archer instead. From his pocket, he took a quarter and tossed it back and forth, one hand to the other. He'd have to flip for the name.

Mentally, he a.s.signed heads to one name, tails to the other, then he tossed the coin on the floor and watched it roll across the worn carpet.

Tails.

s.h.i.t.

CHAPTER TEN.

The alarm shrilled away dangerously close to Will's head at half-past six. He'd set it for an early hour so that he could get a shower and slip downstairs before Miranda woke in order to make coffee and maybe even start breakfast. She wanted friends, he'd give her friends. He'd be the best friend she ever had. And then, maybe she'd see that beneath the cloak of friendship, there was so much more.