Until You

"Weird is putting it nicely. I knew this British model once who got a letter that gave a whole new meaning to the words rubber room."

Conor laughed. A long walk in what had turned into a cool, clear night and a couple of drinks had taken the edge off the ugliness of what had happened.

He knew what he had to do, that it was important to concentrate on getting answers so he could begin to piece the puzzle together. He had some answers already. Not enough, but some.

Miranda, for instance, was off his suspect list. Her panic last night had seemed genuine. As for today's envelopeful of goodies... Even if she'd been capable of putting together a package like that, she couldn't have timed her hysteria to coincide with his arrival.

Still, the big questions remained. Who was behind this? And what did he—or she—want? To thwart Hoyt Winthrop's appointment? Or was some nut really leading up to hurting Eva Winthrop and her daughter? And what was Eva hiding? Something, Conor was sure of it. Despite her seeming willingness to confide in him, her apparent bewilderment at what was happening, there was something else there that he had yet to figure out.

Until he knew the answers, all he could do was keep digging and do whatever he could to keep mother and daughter safe.

Eva, with her socially correct existence, would be a cinch. The powers-that-be could add half a dozen bodyguards to her retinue of servants and she'd never complain. She might even bask in her newly acquired status.

Miranda... ah, Miranda was a different story altogether.

He looked at her, seated across from him, her face lit by the soft glow of the recessed lights. He could just see how she'd react if he told her he was going to arrange for protection for her, three shifts a day of guys with bulging muscles that would hang on her every move.

She'd laugh in his face, that was what she'd do, and set out to lose every last one of them.

He doubted if he could ever convince her to keep a low profile, either. Not that it would help. There was nothing outrageous in the way she was dressed this evening. She had on a white sweater, cashmere maybe, something soft and feminine, and a pair of black wool slacks. Her camel-colored coat was draped on the chair behind her; her hair, that ebony cloud of silk, was pulled back from her face and secured with a barrette. She wasn't wearing any makeup, not that he could tell, anyway, or any jewelry except for a pair of little gold hoops in her ears.

And yet, every man in the place was aware of her. He'd felt the stir that had gone through the room the minute they'd walked in.

It didn't surprise him. A man would have to be dead not to be aware of Miranda, not to want her soft mouth under his, her warm breath on his skin...

"...didn't come to anything, though, except to give us a good laugh."

Conor shifted in his chair.

"Sorry," he said. "I was, ah, my mind was wandering. I didn't get that."

She took a sip of her Campari and soda.

"I was talking about a note Nita once got, a real winner from a fan."

"Nita. The girl you were with yesterday?"

She nodded. "Yes. Nita Carrington. She's my best friend."

"You've known her for a long time?"

Miranda shrugged. She touched the tip of her finger to the rim of her glass and ran it along the edge.

"For years. We started modeling around the same time."

"She's American, isn't she?"

She smiled. "Atlanta born and bred."

"And you're close?"

"Well, we've got lots in common. We started out together, we're both from the States, and neither of us has any family."

"You have family, Miranda. A mother and a stepfather."

Her smile tilted. "Eva gave birth to me." she said, the same way she might have offered a weather report. "That's the extent of our relationship."

"And Hoyt? He told me that you and he were very close, when you were little."