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"An ambassadorship."
"Whatever," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "It's time to open the closets and sweep out all the dirt."
Conor smiled pleasantly. "Is there dirt to sweep out?"
Miranda's eyes flashed. "Only me," she said, her voice steady and cold.
"Well, then, you won't mind answering my questions."
"That's where you're wrong." She strode past him, shouldered the door fully open, and stood beside it with her arms folded. "Eva should have warned you. I'm not into accommodating authority figures. So you can take your government badge and your notepad and shove them—"
"I'm not with the government," Conor said with a smooth smile.
"No?"
"No."
Miranda's eyes narrowed. "You just said—"
"I said I was here on official business, and I am." He didn't even think about what lie he'd tell her. It was one of the things about his profession, he thought with bitter satisfaction; lying came as easy as breathing. "I'm working for your mother."
She laughed. "Right. And I'm a candidate for mayor."
"I'm a private investigator."
"A what?"
"An investigator. A private detective."
"You're joking."
"I never joke about my profession," Conor said with such sincerity that he gave himself a round of mental applause. "Can we sit down and discuss this?"
"We are discussing it. Why would Eva need a private eye?"
"Someone sent your mother a note."
"How fascinating."
"It was a strange note, and unsigned."
"So? What's it have to do with me?"
"That's what I'm here to find out."
Nothing showed on Miranda's face. If she'd sent the note, she was hiding it well.
"Look, O'Neil, I'm sure this is leading somewhere but it's getting very late—"
"The note may have been a threat."
"A threat?" she said, her eyebrows lifting.
For a woman who'd written the note, she looked absolutely blank.
"Maybe. It was cryptic."
"And?"
