Until You

"Let me tell you something, lady. Maybe you lead such a jaded existence that you think a little run-in with a fruitcake might be fun but it wouldn't be, I guarantee it."

"Wait a minute, O'Neil."

"No," he snarled, hauling her onto her toes, "no, you wait a minute! You come home, find the door standing open, what you do is get your ass out of here. You got that, Beckman? You move as fast as your little feet will go and you scream your fucking lungs out!"

"For God's sake!" Miranda wrenched her arm free, slapped her hands on her hips and glared up at Conor, her face flushed with anger. "I hate to burst your bubble, but I am not the ditz you think I am."

"No?"

"No."

"Listen, baby—"

"And do not call me baby! It's a disgusting term and I don't like it!"

"Yeah. You're right. Stupid is a better name for you. How could you be so dumb?"

"You want to talk about dumb?" Miranda stabbed a finger into his chest. "Dumb is you, going off like an alarm clock before you've got the facts. I'm the one that came home to find this—this thing waiting for me."

"The fact is," he said, shoving her hand aside, "the lock Cochran put in couldn't have been opened by anything short of plastique. But did that stop you from strolling in here like a sheep to the slaughter when you found the door open?"

"I didn't find it open."

"Hell, no, it did not, you just..." He stopped and glared at her. "You said the door was open."

"Try listening instead of lecturing, okay?" Miranda blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I came home. I unlocked the door. I found an envelope lying on the floor just past the threshold. All I meant when I said that about the lock was that it had never occurred to me that whoever's paying me these little visits wouldn't be stopped just because he couldn't get past the door."

Her momentary show of bravado slipped. Her voice quavered, and she turned away and snatched up Mia, who'd been weaving between her legs and meowing. Conor felt his anger drain away, too. His hands clenched and he shoved them deep into his trouser pockets, fighting the desire to go to her and try to comfort her again.

"Well," he said gruffly, "that's something, anyway."

She looked at him. "Meaning, I'm not the complete jerk you figured me for?"

"You've got things to learn, Beckman. Coming home after dark, all by yourself, isn't clever."

"Here we go," she said wearily. She put the cat down, made her way into the kitchen and hit the wall switch. Light flooded the room. "We went over this before, remember?"

"Taking off and disappearing without checking with me this morning," Conor said, following after her, "wasn't much better."

Miranda spun towards him, her face a study in disbelief. "Without checking with you? You've got to be kidding."

"Do I look as if I'm kidding?"

He didn't. He looked furious but that was fine with her because she was getting angry all over again, and that was a lot better than being scared. Who was Conor O'Neil to give her orders? Being toyed with by some crazy was bad enough. She certainly didn't need a stranger, bought and paid for by Eva, to watch over her like some kind of unwelcome overseer.

"Let's put it this way, O'Neil." Miranda folded her arms and gave him a look composed of equal parts disdain and dismissal. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I check in and out with you or anybody else."

"How about showing some common sense, then? Or is that too much to ask?"

"How's this for a display of common sense?" Miranda pointed to the door. "Get out."

"You don't order me around, Beckman."

"Who the hell do you think you are, O'Neil?"

She shrank back as he strode towards her but there was no place to go. It was hard not to look cowed when your shoulders were pinned to a wall and a man who was all muscle and anger was towering over you, but she tried.

"Maybe you haven't quite grasped what's happening here, Beckman."