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"Suppose I buy Moreau being gay. Why would Miranda lie about their relationship? It doesn't make sense."
"Indeed it does. She's provided the cover Moreau needs."
"And what does she get out of it?"
"She's a beautiful, much-desired woman. Being thought of as Moreau's lover would be an enhancement to her career." Thurston pointed his fork at Conor's plate. "You want to dig into that while it's hot. The coating loses its crispness as it cools."
"Try again, Harry. She doesn't need to enhance her career."
"Well, perhaps it's the other way around. Perhaps she enhances his. Conor, I do wish you'd eat."
Conor picked up his fork and glared across the table.
"You're turning into an old woman, you know that, Harry?" He stabbed his fish, then shoved a forkful of it into his mouth. "Delicious," he said, and let the fork clatter against his plate again. "Did you ever consider that whoever got this information made a mistake?"
Thurston gave a long, sorrowful sigh. He rose from the table, retrieved two bottles of ale, set one in front of Conor and sat down again.
"There's no mistake. And before you ask, no, Moreau is not bisexual. He goes one way and one way only. He likes men."
Conor let out a soundless whistle.
"Unbelievable," he said softly.
"Eva and Hoyt are concerned."
"You told them about Moreau?"
Harry laughed. "Of course not. They're worried about how casually Miranda's been dealing with the situation."
"Which situation? Dammit, Harry..."
"That first note to Eva, the threats the girl received in Paris. They find her rather relaxed attitude disturbing."
Conor smiled grimly. "Eva's exhibiting maternal instincts, is she?"
Harry shook his head. If Eva had any maternal instincts, he'd yet to notice.
"The Winthrops are simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. For that matter, so am I. It would be irresponsible to assume the worst is over. And then there's Hoyt's appointment. The President can't keep it on hold much longer."
"Poor Hoyt."
"You can take as sarcastic a tone as you like, Conor. The fact remains that there is cause for concern."
Conor shoved back his chair and stood up. "Okay, let's stop jerking each other around. What do you want from me? You've got Breverman on this and he's been around long enough to know what he's doing."
A muscle flexed in Harry Thurston's jaw.
"By the time he does," he said quietly, "it may be too late."
Conor's eyes locked on Thurston's face. "Have there been more notes?"
"No."
"What, then? Has somebody tried a break-in at the Winthrop place?"
"No. Not there, or at the duplex the girl's taken on the East Side."
"Maybe I'm missing something here. She's not getting any more notes, there's been no break-in..." His eyes darkened. "Has she been hurt?"
