Tightening his fingers on Lowell's neck, he repeated, "You ain't nothing to me, you understand that, punk?"

Gasping, his eyes bulging nearly out of his head, Lowell nodded.

Burt dropped him to the floor.

"I got that address for you, and I'll take you there. Then you're on your own. And you better not f.u.c.k up."

Burt had left the room, slamming the door behind him, and retreated to his own room down the hall. He turned on the television, surfed until he found ESPN, then leaned back to watch some college football.

Another couple of days, and this would all be over. Vince would tell him where the rest of the money had been hidden, and once Burt had the full amount in his pocket, he'd be on his way to Florida. He'd find himself some nice little town and buy himself a condo. Set himself up in some kind of legitimate business. He'd done a little Internet research himself and found that he could buy a water ice franchise for a couple of hundred thou-which, thanks to Vince, he'd have-and in a few more years, he'd be living the life.

He wondered what Sharon, his ex-wife, would say when he showed up at her door, a respected businessman, and demanded to see his kids. That'd be something, wouldn't it?

He had to remind himself that his kids were almost out of high school by now. Well, if they wanted to go to college, he'd step in and take care of that. Sure. They were his kids, weren't they? Not their fault that their mother had taken them away while he was in prison. Yeah. He'd offer to pay their tuition, that's what. Show them what kind of a guy he really was. And f.u.c.k Sharon if she didn't like it.

Of course, when she saw that new pickup, saw him dressed so fine in his new threads, her eyes were just about going to bug out of her head. Maybe she'd even try to put some moves on him, try to get herself back into his life.

Like that was going to happen.

He was going to find himself a new woman, that's what. Prettier than Sharon, younger, too. Someone who could appreciate him, who'd be proud of him and the business he was going to start. Maybe even have another family. One he'd be there for, not like last time.

Well, that was his old life. Water under the bridge. He didn't have to be pulling any petty-a.s.s jobs anymore. He had his own stash, and he was going to have a h.e.l.l of a lot more.

Thinking about the cash he had hidden in the well of his spare tire made him think about Giordano. Thinking about Giordano made him think about Lowell all over again.

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 a.s.sa.s.sin.

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 pa.s.sed 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 h.e.l.l 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 about me. What's going on?"

"What makes you think something's going on?"

"You never just stop in, Fletcher." She paused, then added, "At least, it's been a while since you just showed up at my door. Makes me think there's a reason."

"There is a reason." He nodded. "I had lunch with Annie today."

"So?" She knew that. She crossed one leg over the other and swung it slightly, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

"We talked about this whole situation with Lowell and who his victims are likely to be. She thinks Landry is definitely on the list. She also agrees with him, that you're likely to be on there, too."

"Swell."

"She further agrees that we need to see if we can find someone else from Channing's past who might fit the bill, but as it looks now . . ." He held both hands out in front of him, palms up. "Well, she thinks you just look too good. I'd be real happy if we were able to identify a more likely victim. But until we find someone else, we need to decide how best to watch your back, Cahill."

"I can watch my back." She frowned.

"Oh, and now you have eyes in the back of your head, do you?"

"You think Archer Lowell can get the best of me?" Her face hardened. "That is insulting."

"He's going to have an advantage over you." She started to protest, and he held up one hand. "He will know where, and he will know when. Two very crucial bits of information. You will have to be totally vigilant every minute of every day until we get him."

"It isn't as if I walk around in a fog all the time, Will." She was growing visibly angry.

"It's different when someone is after you. You can never let your guard down. And regardless of what you think, you cannot watch your own back, Cahill. No one can."

She glared at him. "So what are you suggesting?"

"That we have someone watching your house. Someone with you all the time."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Tell me that you have not volunteered for that duty."

"I haven't, but I will." He watched her face but could not read her expression. "I haven't had this discussion with John yet, but I intend to, first thing in the morning."

"I already mentioned it to John. Sort of."

"That was before we had the opinion of our behavior specialist."

"Annie really thinks Channing remembered me?"

"She thinks there's a good chance, yes." He continued to watch her face. "Let's take this seriously, okay, Cahill? Let's pretend that there's no maybe. Let's pretend that it's a definite, and act accordingly."

"If we're wrong, I'll feel like the world's biggest a.s.s."

"But you'll be alive."

She got up and moved around the room, for no apparent reason other than to work off a little of her restlessness.

"Portia will be home in a few weeks. She'll be here with me."

"And what do we do in the meantime, hope that Lowell can't figure out how to look up your name in the phone book?"

"How would he even know what book to look in?"

"You gave him your business card when we were at his trailer that first day. It had your office and cell phone numbers on it, along with the address of the office. Even he is probably smart enough to figure out that you most likely live somewhere relatively close to where you work."

"Is that why you moved out into the boonies? So that no one would be able to figure out where you live?"

"I moved to the boonies because I like it, and don't change the subject."

She sat back down on the ottoman and rubbed her temples, closing her eyes as if in pain.

"Christ, my sister is off fighting terrorists in the Middle East, and here I am, in Virginia, talking about having an armed guard outside my safe little townhouse. What is wrong with this picture?" She shook her head. "Portia's going to think I've really lost it."

"Portia's going to be thrilled that you're still alive."

"Okay. Do it. Just . . . do it." She stood up. "Was that it? That's what you stopped for?"

"Well, as you pointed out, it is dinnertime. I noticed a new restaurant out on Route 43."

"I'll get my coat."

She left the room, and Will stood up, stretching his legs. He walked to the front window and looked out across the parking lot. Fortunately, there were only two ways in and out of Miranda's townhouse. He made a mental note to check the locks on the back door, but he seemed to recall there was a dead bolt there. Not foolproof, certainly. And maybe he'd suggest that she get her security system upgraded.

He wandered around the room absently, thinking about how they might go about keeping Miranda safe without destroying her ego. He wandered into the hallway and paused at the small sideboard that sat near the front door. An envelope lay open, its contents spread across the top of the table. He leaned closer to take a look.

"What are you doing?" she asked from midway down the steps.

"Just looking at these photos," he said. "I hope you don't mind, they were laying here on the table and-"

"I do mind."

Surprised at her tone, he looked up at her.

"They're just baby pictures. You don't want me to see how cute you and Portia were as babies? These are pictures of you and Portia, aren't they?"

She nodded.

"You were beautiful babies. And your mother still looks a lot like she did back then, you know?" He peered closer at the top photo. "But who's the guy carrying you on his shoulders? In this picture here . . ." He held it up.

Without glancing at it, she said, "That's our father."

"Really? I don't remember him being that tall." Will frowned. "I met him that time you were in the hospital, after you got knocked out at Kendra Smith's house. I thought he was kind of short."

"That was my stepfather."

"Oh." He looked up at her, saw how guarded her face had become. His eyes went back to the photograph, which he studied more carefully. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think that this was-"

"Jack Marlow." She named the man in the photo before Will could, her voice touched with frost. "Yes. He's my father. Can we go now?"