"Miranda is not being cooperative. She doesn't seem to understand the importance of keeping a low profile until this situation is cleared up."
"If you're asking me to have a talk with her, you can save your breath. She doesn't take orders or advice from anyone, most especially not from me."
Harry sighed. He had a feeling the hard part was yet to come.
"Mr. O'Neil and I agree that if we're to get to the bottom of this, we need to bring your daughter home."
"Home?" Eva said, as if she'd never heard the word before.
"Yes. To the States. To New York, where we can keep her safe with far more ease and conduct an investigation that—"
"I don't agree. Miranda lives in Paris. If someone she knows is sending these notes, wouldn't it be reasonable to assume that person is French? For that matter, wouldn't you want my daughter to stay in France, rather than run the risk that her pursuer, or whatever you wish to call him, might follow her to the States and present a direct problem for Hoyt and me?"
For the first time in his sixty-odd years, Harry Thurston had to fight the almost overwhelming desire to tell a woman to perform an impossible anatomical act upon herself.
"Let me spell this out for you, Mrs. Winthrop," he said coldly. "It may be that you don't give a damn if your daughter ends up raped or dead but it will matter to the president. I promise you, madam, that if something happens to the girl and you could have helped us prevent it from happening but chose not to, you can kiss Hoyt's appointment good-bye."
Eva threw back the blankets and shot to her feet, her face livid. "How dare you speak to me that way?"
"Miranda isn't about to return to New York because we ask her," he said, ignoring the outburst. "But you are her mother. I'm certain you can think of some reason she will accept."
"Don't be ridiculous!"
"You're right when you say we need to conclude this investigation as quickly as possibly. To do that, we need her on American soil. And before you tell me that you can't, or won't help bring her here, I'd suggest you consider that it's still possible you're the target and your daughter is simply the means to an end."
Eva licked her lips. The old fool was right. And if she weren't careful, everything she'd worked so hard for would be ripped from her hands.
"Mrs. Winthrop? Have you heard anything I said?"
Eva inhaled, then let out a long, sighing breath.
"You've made your point. I'll discuss this with my husband. I'm sure we can think up a scheme that will bring Miranda home."
"Thank you," Harry said, and then he slammed down the telephone, swiveled his chair towards his study window and stared out into the darkness.
Maybe he'd take the day off tomorrow and go fishing.
In his line of work, the company of trout was often far more pleasurable than the company of people.
Chapter 12
Conor was waiting for her at the gate the next morning. Miranda spotted him as she came out the front door, and her spine stiffened.
What was he doing here? She was done with tolerating his intrusion in her life. Hadn't he gotten the message? She'd figured he had, when she'd heard him leave the apartment hours before.
Their eyes met but his were unreadable. Well, she thought as she crossed the courtyard, she hoped he could read everything in hers.
You are out of my life, Mr. O'Neil. More to the point, I am out of yours.
"Good morning, Miranda."
She dipped her head in brief acknowledgment as she passed him but she didn't reply.
He fell in beside her as she set off briskly towards the Rue Rivoli.
"We need to talk."
The light at the corner was just changing to red. She shot a quick look at the traffic, which was revving up the way it always did, and she stepped off the curb anyway.