Unknown @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } AT THE EDGE of the SUN Anne Stuart Copyright © Anne Kristine Stuart Ohlrogge, 1987 Contents Copyright Chapter one Chapter two Chapter three Chapter four Chapter five Chapter six Chapter seven Chapter eight Chapter nine Chapter ten Chapter eleven Chapter twelve Chapter thirteen Chapter fourteen Chapter fifteen Chapter sixteen Chapter seventeen Chapter eighteen Chapter nineteen Chapter twenty one Maggie Bennett stared at the gun in her hand. The tiny Colt 380 pistol was compact enough to look like a toy, but no toy ever felt so cold and deadly against her warm flesh. She’d never liked guns, but she was pragmatic enough to accept that they had their uses, so she always kept one handy. She’d cleaned it regularly in the four months she’d been back in New York, kept it neat and in perfect working order, just in case Randall Carter ever made the fatal mistake of walking through her door. So far he’d been wise enough to keep his distance. Maybe he realized she knew about his involvement with her husband’s death, maybe not. She’d told no one about Bud Willis’s deathbed confession, his choking, malicious admission that Randall had paid him twenty thousand dollars to gun down Mack Pulaski two years ago on the streets of Booth-bay Harbor. She kept that four-month-old confession like a deadly canker eating away at her heart, half of her convinced it was true, half of her still refusing to believe it. She recognized the dangers of keeping it all inside her�"no one had the chance to argue with her, to try to convince her that Bud Willis had lied. But then no one had the chance to look at her with sorrowing, sympathetic eyes, no one knew what a fool she’d been, to fall in love with someone who could be her husband’s murderer. Mike Jackson was the only one who’d seen through her defenses. Her boss at Third World Causes, Ltd., had taken her off any important cases and kept her busy with inconsequential paperwork. It was the best thing he could have done, because at this point she was ineffective as a lawyer. She was too distracted to concentrate on any of the usual cases assigned her, but she had needed something to fill the endless hours, something besides karate and the ever-present sense of doubt and betrayal. She finished cleaning the gun, slipped it back in its custom-tailored shoulder holster, and locked it back in the desk drawer. The desk was one of the few pieces of furniture she’d kept; the rest of her apartment looked as austere as a Buddhist shrine. She started to run her hand through her short-cropped blond hair, then pulled it back, wrinkling her nose at the smell of gun oil clinging to her skin. She hated the acrid stink of it, hated the way it stuck to her for days, reminding her of the weapon of death that lay hidden, waiting for her. It wasn’t the only weapon of death at her command nowadays, she reminded herself, heading through the empty apartment, through her bedroom with the futon on the floor and the neat piles of neutral-color clothes, past the solitary floor lamp that was always on, night or day, keeping the darkness at bay. For the past four months she’d immersed herself in the study of karate, and as she’d cleared her apartment of any extraneous furniture and decoration so she’d cleared her life of any excess baggage. Her entire energy had been devoted to the singleminded goal of revenge. But gradually, slowly, her rage had ebbed away. There was no way one could study the ancient discipline of karate as a mere physical exercise. It was a study of mind and soul as well, and anger, rage, and hot-blooded killing had little to do with it. As her life became centered, her anger dissipated, and a hard-won calm filled her soul, banking down her rage and fooling her into thinking she had risen above mundane human emotions such as revenge, hatred, desire. Only her dreams told her otherwise. She scrubbed at her hands, using the rough lye soap that had replaced her lavender-scented English imports, and looked up at her face in the mirror, something she seldom did nowadays. The short-cropped blond hair was more functional than flattering. She’d chopped off her shoulder-length mane when she’d flown back from Washington and Bud Willis’s deathbed, and kept it trimmed off her nape with nail scissors. She’d lost weight, weight she couldn’t necessarily afford to lose, and there was a fine-honed, slightly driven look to her facial structure, to the tight, fair skin that stretched over her delicate bones, to the shadowed aquamarine eyes that looked bigger than ever in her pale, narrow face. Her mouth gave her away every time. It was pale, vulnerable, and smiled all too infrequently. She stared at that lost face, then stuck out her tongue at her solemn reflection. Then she turned away, flicking off the light. She should call Sybil. The one piece of modern technology she’d kept when she’d gotten rid of her stereo and television paraphernalia was the telephone answering machine, and like the bedroom lamp it was kept on at all times. She was terrified that Randall would call, that she’d be forced to face her doubts and a truth that was unacceptable, and that rage would take over, a rage so deep and blinding that she’d never recover from it. But as the weeks and months passed and he made no effort to contact her, she began to relax. But not enough to turn off the machine and answer her phone. Sybil had called sometime during the night, her wonderful British actress’s voice rich with drama and the perfect note of suppressed terror. The message had been wonderfully cryptic, and Maggie had listened to it with a shade of her old tolerant amusement. �śMaggie, darling, something very odd is going on here. Something’s not quite right with Flynn, and I’m getting nervous. I need you. Can you fly out here tomorrow morning? I’m afraid this might be serious.” Without another word the phone had clicked off, and Maggie had smiled, reset the machine, and gone to bed. She could guess what wasn’t quite right with Flynn, Sybil’s latest lover. Sybil had grown tired of him, probably found someone newer and younger, and wanted Maggie’s help in getting rid of him. It had happened before, more than once. Sybil was a romantic butterfly, flitting from man to man, always loathe to clean up the emotional mess she left behind, always hoping one of her ever-helpful daughters would take care of it. Tim Flynn was merely the latest in a long line of handsome young men. Not that Maggie ever met him. As far as she knew, no one had. Sybil liked to keep her young men under wraps, with nothing to distract their attention from her mature charms, but with Tim Flynn it had been excessive. They’d gone underground during the past few months, and no one had been allowed to interfere with their idyll. Sybil would call every now and then and make mysterious references to the IRA. References Maggie took with a grain of salt. He was probably a boozy soccer player whose father had once thrown a rock at a British soldier. Sybil’s fantasy world was harmless but well established. Well, she could wait. This latest trauma had to be a new melodrama she was acting out, and she could rid herself of her soccer player without Maggie coming to the rescue. She was tired of bailing her family out. She still needed time to pull herself together, to marshall her strength and calm, until the memory of Randall Carter produced not even a flicker of emotion. She was getting close, but she wasn’t there yet. Already her palms were getting damp with remembered anger. She needed to work out some of the lingering tendrils of rage, and she knew exactly how to do it. There were advanced classes starting in less than an hour at the Eighty-third Street School of Self Defense, and if she could find a taxi in the pre-Christmas rush she’d make it. Grabbing her bag, she headed for the door, stopping for a moment when she heard the soft murmur of the phone ringing. The answering machine clicked on, and Maggie reached for the door, determined to ignore it. But something held her there, some last tiny bit of curiosity, and as the machine clicked again she heard the flat California accent with something close to dread. �śThis is Lieutenant Miller of the Los Angeles Police Department. We’re trying to find Margrethe Bennett �Ś” �śHow long are you going to be?” Kate Zimmerman McAllister sat on the edge of her sister Holly’s silk-covered chaise longue and glared at the serenely beautiful reflection in the huge mirror. Holly’s aquamarine eyes met her sister’s plain brown ones in the mirror, and she smiled calmly. �śAs long as it takes me,” she replied, her voice low and musical and a perfect complement to her face. �śAs long as it takes you to do what?” Kate snapped. �śYou’re already gorgeous enough.” Holly picked up a slender mink brush and began to sketch a careful line of smokey blue above her luxuriant eyelashes. �śIn my profession no one is ever gorgeous enough, Kate.” �śProfession!” Kate scoffed. �śYou have a decent mind, a good education, and more ability than most people. Why the hell do you waste your time being a model?” �śNot just a model, Katy dear. I’m the best,” she said simply. �śYou mean the highest paid?” �śNo. The best.” �śAren’t you a little long in the tooth for living by your looks? You’re twenty-seven; pretty soon lines will start to form.” �śI already have lines, Kate. They add character.” She gave her sister a sudden, mischievous grin. �śDon’t worry about my future, sister dear. As all the baby boomers get older they’ll want their models older. No one wants to see a fifteen-year-old wearing their clothes. I’ll do just fine.” �śIt’s such a waste!” Kate wailed. �śMaybe I think making lightweight little movies is a waste,” she replied tranquilly. �śMaybe I think you and Caleb should quit your new jobs here in L.A. and devote your life to the poor. I would have thought you’d have enough of the film industry after that mess Maggie bailed you out of. Why don’t you and your new husband start a soup kitchen?” �śDon’t twist things around.” �śDon’t pass judgment on me, Kate. I’m very happy with what I do.” She picked up a wider brush, drew a faint line of lilac across her upper lid, and leaned back to admire the effect. Kate opened her mouth to protest, then shut it with a snap, frustration and disapproval radiating through her body. �śYou’re right,” she said finally. �śI am too judgmental. What you do with your life is your business.” �śExactly,” she said gently. �śDon’t goad me, Holly. I’m trying to apologize. Besides which, you’re the least of my worries right now.” �śYou worry too much. What’s bothering you now?” �śMaggie, for one thing. Have you seen her since my wedding?” �śI don’t think anyone has.” �śI have. She was so damned vague on the phone that I flew to New York a couple of weeks ago, and I was horrified. She looks terrible. She’s chopped off all her beautiful hair, lost too much weight, and seems to spend all her time either alone in her apartment or at some damned karate place.” �śKarate?” Holly echoed, interested for a moment. �śSounds okay to me.” �śShe looks like a �Ś a nun. All her clothes are black or gray, her apartment has nothing in it, and she has this sort of distance that I couldn’t even begin to break through. Something’s seriously wrong, Holly.” �śMaybe she’s in love.” �śThat’s not it. Maggie had help getting us out of that mess in Chicago. She had Randall Carter, and I’m not blind. If she’s in love with anyone she’s in love with him, and he’s been off in the Far East for the last few months.” �śSo maybe she misses him?” Holly suggested. �śI don’t think so. There’s something else going on between the two of them, and it isn’t as simple as her being in love and missing him. No, it goes deeper than that.” �śHaving never met the man, I’ll have to take your word for it. Maybe she’s still mourning Mack. I thought she’d finally gotten over him but maybe not.” Kate shook her head, and her brown eyes were troubled. �śAll I know is something’s terribly wrong, and she won’t tell me what it is, or let me help.” �śMaybe she has to go through it herself,” Holly suggested gently, shaking out her cloud of midnight-black hair. �śIf she does, she’s going about it the wrong way.” �śI don’t see what we can do about it. She’s in New York and we’re here. In four months I haven’t gotten anything but her answering machine and breezy little postcards saying exactly nothing.” �śThere’s not much we can do, I suppose, short of flying back east. Much as I’m tempted, I simply can’t do that right now, not with starting a new job.” Kate sighed. �śWe’re just going to have to count on Maggie’s usual level-headedness and concentrate on Sybil.” �śMaybe you’d better concentrate on Sybil,” Holly said, pushing away from her dressing table and rising to her willowy five foot nine. �śI’m busy enough on my own.” �śDon’t you care that our mother is botching her life?” �śSo what else is new?” She headed toward one wall of closets and pulled the mirrored door open, staring at the racks of brightly colored clothing with a bored expression. �śShe’s gotten through fifty-seven years without our help, I think she’d be happy to continue that way.” �śI’m worried about Tim Flynn.” �śDon’t be. The man looks just like Mother’s usual type.” �śYou’ve seen him? When?” Kate demanded. �śI thought Mother wasn’t letting anyone near him.” �śShe didn’t have much choice in the matter. I needed to borrow her emeralds and she forgot to messenger them over, so I braved those damned attack dogs and went to get them myself. I saw the great Flynn himself out by the pool. He didn’t see me, and Sybil refused to introduce us. Said he’s shy.” Holly snorted with indelicate amusement. �śHe looked about as shy as a barracuda. Very handsome, of course, but that’s to be expected. Sybil doesn’t mess around with anything less than physical perfection.” �śDon’t you think she’s a little too carried away with this one?” Kate persisted. �śI just keep feeling something’s wrong.” �śYou’re being paranoid, Kate.” Holly pulled out a shimmering aqua silk dress that mirrored her eyes. �śSybil’s had him for four months now. If she runs true to form it should be just about time for her to dump him. Then you can worry about the next one.” �śI’m still worried about this one, thank you,” she snapped. �śYou realize Caleb and Chrissie are waiting for us and have been for the last forty-five minutes while you’ve been primping?” Holly smiled her ravishing smile, and Kate stared at her stonily. Holly Bennett, Sybil Bennett’s third daughter, was, by anyone’s estimate, one of the most beautiful women in the world, and strangers and friends succumbed to her charming smile and astonishing beauty. She was the daughter who most resembled their famous actress mother, with her midnight-black hair and aquamarine eyes. The only one immune to her incredible beauty was her older sister Kate, and even for her it was an uphill battle not to smile back. �śBut you know Caleb has a marvelous time with Chrissie,” she said calmly. �śStop frowning, Kate. It adds lines, and you already have enough character on your face.” �śDon’t push your luck, Holly,” she snapped. �śWill you put that damned outfit on and get going? I’m starving.” �śYes, ma’am,” she said, stepping into the filmy silk. The phone shrilled in the flowery dressing room. �śWill you get that?” With a grimace Kate stomped across the room, yanked the phone off the hook, and snarled into the receiver. �śYes?” �śThis is Lieutenant Miller of the L.A.P.D. Is Holly Bennett there?” Randall woke with a start. It was early afternoon, but the jet lag of almost twenty hours’ flying time had finally taken its toll. He must be getting old, he thought, sitting up and staring down at his rumpled suit with a moue of distaste. Ten years ago jet lag had been an infirmity of lesser mortals. He’d fought it, refusing to give in to the weakness when he’d let himself in to his musty-smelling house at nine this morning, but it had crept up on him, knocking him into a deep, nightmare-ridden sleep on his admittedly comfortable sofa. He reached up to push his straight black hair away from his face, and felt the stubble of his day-old beard. He needed coffee, he needed a shave and shower and fresh clothes, he needed something to eat. But most of all he needed Maggie Bennett. He hadn’t even gotten around to airing out the place. He hated the smell of closed-up places�"they reminded him of death and wasted lives. First things first, he decided, pulling himself out of the comfortable arms of the sofa. Open windows, to let in the chill December air of Washington, to chase away the cobwebs and gloom. Then take care of his physical needs. And then find Maggie. And this time, God help him�"this time he wasn’t going to let her go. He heard his phone ringing while he was in the shower. He let it ring, in no particular hurry to face the real world again. No one knew he was back, no one except the Agency, and he was never, ever going to do anything for them again. They could ring until hell froze over. Which might be soon, he thought, stepping from the shower and feeling the icy December wind whip around his flesh. Maybe the house was aired out enough. Washington was due for snow flurries that night, and he was worn out enough to be courting pneumonia if he wasn’t careful. At this point he couldn’t afford to let anything delay him from getting to Maggie. Four months should be enough time, he thought, pulling on fresh clothes. Four months to realize she needed him as much as he needed her. Unless she’d used that time to build her defenses up again. Well, he’d torn them down before, he could do it again. And again, and again, until she couldn’t fight him any longer. Time and again he’d played that final scene over in his memory. �śDo you love me?” she’d asked, giving him one last chance. And like a fool he’d answered �śNo.” He could have lied. But Maggie was too smart for that�"she would have seen through any act he tried to put on. He’d never loved anyone in his life, not the way he understood love. Love was unselfish, caring, generous, open and sunny. The emotions he felt for Maggie were dark and dangerous, not the kind of love she knew, not the kind of love she wanted from him. If, indeed, she wanted his love at all. Right now he wasn’t even sure of that. The phone began ringing again as he was knotting his black silk tie with automatic dexterity. He stared at it for a moment, hesitating, then shrugged. He didn’t need to hide from anyone. He’d almost look forward to the chance to tell Bud Willis’s successor what he could do with his latest project. But it wasn’t the CIA, or any other government agency. It was Mike Jackson, head of Third World Causes, Ltd., Maggie Bennett’s boss. And Randall heard his gruff voice with an instant sense of foreboding. �śWhere the hell have you been, Carter?” he demanded. �śNo one had the faintest idea where you were.” �śI’m here.” �śSo I notice. Listen, I thought you’d want to know this as soon as possible. It’s about Maggie.” �śWhat?” The one word held a wealth of meaning, emotions that Randall wouldn’t have even admitted existed a few months ago. �śNot her, precisely. Her damned mother,” Jackson said, and Randall felt his pulse return back to normal and his heartbeat slow its heavy thudding. �śWhat about her damned mother?” Maggie settled into the unaccustomed luxury of the first-class seats and fastened her seat belt. Her hands were pale, sweating, with a slight tremor that too much coffee didn’t help. First-class air flight came equipped with lots of free-flowing booze, didn’t it? Maybe she’d drink her way to L.A. No, she couldn’t afford to do that. She needed all her wits about her when the plane landed. Once again her own needs had to be put on hold. Sybil was dying. No, maybe it wasn’t that bad. The L.A. police hadn’t known enough of the medical details, and it had taken too long to try to get through to the hospital. But Lieutenant Miller had known more than enough about the criminal background of the case. Tim Flynn wasn’t a soccer player after all. For once Sybil’s histrionics had been based on fact. Timothy Seamus Flynn was a notorious member of the most virulent faction of the IRA. Along with the numerous bombings, assassinations, and terrorist attacks he’d been responsible for, he had a peculiar sideline. He helped raise money, both for himself and his cause, in a particularly gruesome way: by seducing rich older women, taking their money, and leaving them for dead in their mansions and condominiums. He’d done it all over the world, and had almost a dozen, more or less, to his credit. Sybil was only the latest in a long line. But she wasn’t dead yet. Maggie’s damp hands clenched the thickly padded armrest, and she forced herself to release it, taking deep, calming breaths. Intensive care, the lieutenant said. Deep coma, uncertain outcome, they’re doing everything they can. Ominous phrases ringing in her head, bringing forth hopeless images. Why the hell hadn’t she called Sybil back? But she knew why. For once in her life she’d given in to her own weaknesses, turned her back on her family, and concentrated on her own miseries. She simply hadn’t wanted to hear Sybil moaning about her miserable love life�"a love life that underwent drastic overhauls every five months. But this was the one time she couldn’t afford to dismiss Sybil’s theatrics. This time Sybil’s very life had depended on her, and Maggie had ignored the cry for help. The knowledge of that would follow her to her grave. She leaned back in her seat, remembering the brief telephone conversation. Flynn was long gone, Lieutenant Miller said. And he didn’t sound hopeful about catching up with him. Flynn had gotten away too many times, and the damnable thing was that no one had ever seen the man. Not seen him and lived to identify him. They had nothing more than a vague identification and the probable knowledge that he’d headed back for Ireland. Of course he had Sybil’s jewels. Three and a half decades of high living and rich lovers and husbands had left her with an impressive collection, but they wouldn’t slow Flynn down. The jewels themselves were priceless�"their settings could be disposed of with only a minor loss of value and the stones cut up. The police wouldn’t be tracing him through the loot. How would they be tracing him? No, scratch that, she thought as the huge silver plane lifted into the Long Island night. How was she going to trace him? The L.A. police had given up before even starting, and she knew far too well the restrictions placed on tracking down international criminals. The only way she could face what she was going to find in L.A., the only way she could deal with her guilt at not listening to her mother’s cry for help, was to concentrate on how she was going to find Tim Flynn. She’d spent the last four months planning a bloody revenge for Randall Carter�"she could simply switch her target. Once Flynn was taken care of she could turn her attention back to her nemesis. She’d read somewhere that one killed the thing one loved best. Well, she didn’t love Randall Carter, and she probably wouldn’t kill him. With any luck Tim Flynn would serve as surrogate. And when she brought him down she could bury Randall Carter with him. It was a hope, probably a vain one, but the best she could do for now. Turning her face into the blackness of the early December evening, she watched the rain streaking down the thick windows of the 747. And if tears streaked down her face, mirroring the rain, she didn’t even notice. two �śThe question is, what are we going to do about it?” Maggie’s voice was calm, betraying none of the emotion churning underneath it. She turned away from the window overlooking the hospital parking lot and faced her three sisters, accepting her role with only a trace of regret. She’d hoped to break free of their needs, of everyone’s needs but her own, but now wasn’t the time. Not with Sybil lying so very close to death just three doors down. �śI don’t see what we can do about it,” Kate said. �śThe doctors are doing everything they can for Mother, the police on three continents are looking for Flynn. What can we do that they can’t?” �śFor some reason the police don’t inspire me with confidence,” Maggie said. �śWhat about you, Holly?” �śI think they figure it’s a lost cause,” Holly murmured from her seat by the humming coffee machine. She was still wearing her aqua silk dress, and despite the worry in her turquoise eyes, she looked beautiful enough to stop most doctors and even half the nurses as they bustled on their rounds. �śLieutenant Miller took statements from all of us, but of course we weren’t able to tell him much. And if Sybil survives that brutal beating and her knife wounds, it’ll be weeks before she’s in any shape to be questioned. By that time he’ll be so far gone that there’ll be no chance of ever finding him.” �śExactly. If he’s going to be found it’s got to be right away. And I don’t think we can count on anyone to do it for us,” Maggie said, running a ringless hand through her short-cropped hair. �śWhat do you suggest we do?” Kate demanded. �śPull a Charlie’s Angels routine, I dump the baby and we all head after the murdering bastard? We did it once, in Chicago, but I don’t think our luck is going to hold.” �śNo,” Maggie said, squashing down the fresh wave of nausea that swept over her at the antiseptic hospital smell. Ever since she’d stepped inside the huge building she’d had to fight the memories that had swamped her, of another hospital four months ago, another intensive care unit, another human being dying and taking her peace of mind with him. She shook her head, forcing the memories away. �śI don’t think this should be a group effort. I’ll do better alone this time. And Sybil will need you here when she comes around.” �śIf she comes around,” Jilly said quietly. Maggie turned to look at her youngest sister. Jillian Bennett Malcolm was only twenty-five and looked years younger, with her large aquamarine eyes, her pale, pretty face, her gentle manner. She was the daughter of the husband Sybil had always referred to as the great love of her life, probably because he’d died in a plane crash before she could tire of him, Maggie thought cynically. Surely a middle-aged British doctor and a flamboyant, much-married Hollywood actress couldn’t have much in common during the long haul. But Sybil had mourned for two years, her only stretch of celibacy as far as Maggie could remember, and Jilly had received more of Sybil’s sporadic maternal devotion than her other three daughters combined. Which still wasn’t much. If Maggie was the strong one, Kate the practical one, and Holly the pretty one, then Jilly was the sweet one. She lacked her sisters’ sharp tongues, she lacked Kate’s drive and Maggie’s fierce independence. And she lacked Holly’s self-absorption. She’d followed in her father’s medical footsteps, training and working as a nurse-midwife in an impoverished section of the Northwest, devoting her life to the needy. Her three sisters looked at her with mingled guilt and affection. �śYou don’t think she’ll make it?” Kate said finally, breaking the silence. �śThere’s no way to tell. She’s in rough shape, but people have survived worse. They’ve also died of much, much less. It’s in the hands of God.” The three older sisters immediately looked even more uncomfortable. Jilly was also the only one of them who believed in a higher power. Granted, Jilly’s God was a benevolent, liberal force for good in the world and not a fundamental judge and jury demanding blind obedience to a limited set of values, but faith hadn’t had much space in the sisters’ upbringing and had no space at all in their adult life. �śAnd in the hands of the doctors,” Kate added defiantly. �śAnd in the hands of the doctors,” Jilly agreed. �śSo we’re back to the same question,” Holly said, stretching out her long legs in an instinctively graceful gesture. �śWhat are we going to do about it?” Maggie took a deep breath. �śI’m going to England. Tonight. Alone. The L.A.P.D. were able to trace Flynn as far as London. They’ve passed it on to Interpol, but I’m not about to sit around waiting.” �śYou’re going tonight? Sybil might not make it through the night,” Kate shrieked. �śKate, it’s not going to make any difference if I’m here or not,” Maggie said gently. �śAnd it’ll make a difference in whether I’m able to catch up with Flynn or not. He’s already got a twenty-four hours’ head start on me�"I can’t afford to let him get much more.” �śBut�"” Kate argued, but Holly interrupted. �śMaggie’s right, you know. Sybil would rather have Maggie catch him than she would want her hovering over her hospital bed. But she’s wrong about something else. She’s not going alone. I’m going with her.” �śNo, you’re not,” Maggie said flatly. �śI can’t spend my time worrying about you while I’m trying to track down Flynn. All my energy needs to be concentrated on him, not on looking after an amateur.” �śI’m not needed here, Maggie,” Holly said. �śKate and Jilly are enough. You might find I’m more than simply decorative.” Maggie shook her head. �śI can’t take the chance. I can’t risk putting you in danger, Holly. This man has already killed a dozen women, not to mention countless political victims. He wouldn’t think twice about carving you up.” �śWhat about you?” Maggie smiled, a faint, distant smile that held a trace of her old humor. �śI can take care of myself.” �śBut�"” �śNo, Holly. Besides, I’ve got my reservation on the midnight flight to London, and I’m already packed. I don’t want to wait around for another flight while you pack half your wardrobe.” �śBut�"” �śMiss Bennett?” The green-suited doctor who appeared at their side took the customary moment to stare at Holly before turning to Maggie. �śYour mother’s regained consciousness. She’s asking for you.” The doctor’s definition of consciousness and Maggie’s differed. Sybil lay in the big white hospital bed, a small, huddled figure attached to tubes and machines that brought Bud Willis back to mind no matter how she fought it. Her mother looked small and old, her famous aquamarine eyes sunken, her black hair lifeless. And she’d said only two words before sinking back into a coma. �śGet him,” she said, and her eyes closed once more. And Maggie had touched the oddly frail flesh. �śI will, Sybil,” she said softly, knowing she was beyond hearing. �śI will.” LAX was still busy, even at eleven o’clock at night, but Maggie felt a curious, welcome sense of isolation as she waited for the boarding call. Her mother’s words still lingered in her mind as she sat in one of the orange plastic seats, waiting. She’d get him, all right. The Colt 380 pistol was hidden in its special pouch in her makeup bag, makeup that had been touched far less often than the gun during the last four months. It would go through with the checked baggage safely enough, and she had only customs to worry about. She was leaping blind, with only minimal information. The L.A.P.D. had been scarcely helpful, and she’d had to rely on her boss for what solid information she had. Mike Jackson had taken over as head of Third World Causes, Ltd., when Peter Wallace had been murdered. She’d worked with Mike during her short tenure at the CIA, and they’d always shared a mutual respect. He’d been able to con some stuff out of Interpol, not a hell of a lot, but enough to give her a start. She had no choice. She’d head for London, then fly on up to Ireland, Flynn’s next likely destination according to the information Mike had given her. She was adept at getting what she wanted, and she could always use her short-term association with the CIA if nothing else worked. She sighed, pushing a slender hand through her hair. Her luggage, including the gun, should already be safely aboard, and as soon as they dealt with the piles of matched lavender luggage that had just arrived �Ś Maggie sat there, just across from the check in counter, watching with a dawning sense of foreboding. The first load of lavender luggage was followed by a second, and a slender female dressed in the same unlikely shade of purple. Maggie waited as Holly checked twelve pieces of luggage, took her boarding pass, and turned to flash her patient sister a brilliant smile. �śTwelve suitcases, Holly?” she greeted her mildly enough. �śIt’s less than I usually take,” she murmured sweetly. �śHow’s Mother?” �śStill in the coma.” The smile vanished. �śAren’t you going to yell at me for coming?” �śTo tell the truth, I’m glad you’re here. It’s not good for you, but I’m glad I don’t have to do it all alone,” she said. �śConsidering nobody even knows what the man looks like, we’re going to be up against it. I’ll be glad to have some help.” �śYou mean you don’t know?” �śDon’t know what?” �śI tried to tell you in the hospital but you kept cutting me off. I saw him one afternoon at Sybil’s, when he didn’t realize I was there.” Maggie felt a sudden dawning of hope. �śCould you recognize him again?” �śI think so. Unless he’s using a disguise, and according to what little they know about him, he doesn’t use disguises. Too egocentric, apparently. And since most people don’t know what he looks like, he wouldn’t need to.” �śYou’re sure he doesn’t know you saw him?” �śSybil may have mentioned it, but I doubt it. From what I know about him, he doesn’t leave witnesses. If he knew I saw him I expect I’d probably be in the hospital along with Sybil. Or in the morgue.” Maggie shivered at the thought. �śMaybe. We’ll still have to be doubly careful.” She rose, gathering her paraphernalia. �śThey’re boarding, Holly. You sure you don’t want to change your mind?” �śI’m sure. Let’s go.” The flight was by no means full. There was no scramble for boarding, no need for hurry, so it was surprising that the man should bump into them like that, just as they were heading down the winding passageway to the jet. His mumbled apology was in an impeccable upper-class British accent that was at odds with his rough appearance. Maggie’s eyes were sharp as she watched him hurry on ahead of them, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his head ducked down. He was about average height, with a tough, sturdy body that might almost be called stocky. His clothes were rough, nondescript, and his face was infinitely forgettable. If it hadn’t been for his eyes. �śBad tempered, wasn’t he?” Holly said lightly, her own eyes trained on the figure ahead of them. �śWhat do you mean?” �śDid you see the way he glared at us? As if he hated us? Hell, it was his fault he bumped into us, not ours.” �śI didn’t notice.” She eyed Holly’s abstract expression curiously. �śI just thought he had nice brown eyes.” �śGreen,” she said automatically. �śWere they?” Holly grinned. �śYou know they were. And don’t worry�"he’s not my type.” �śI’ve never figured out what exactly is your type,” Maggie said. Holly smiled, her dazzling, serene smile, and the captain flashed her a startled returning smile as they stepped aboard. �śNeither have I,” she said sweetly. Timothy Seamus Flynn pushed the heavy china plate away from him and belched quietly. The rare roast beef lay congealing in fat, and he eyed it curiously, contemplating the nature of dead meat. He was sitting in Champignons, a very posh, very private gambling club in the heart of London, where he intended to throw a great deal of money away at the gaming tables. Whether he came away richer or poorer made little difference to him. He’d made more money than he expected on his latest undertaking, enough money to throw around for a good long time. Not that he was going to do that. A few nights of rich British food and rich British pussy and then he’d head back to Northern Ireland with what was left of Sybil Bennett’s jewels. Explosives cost money, and while it was a constant battle between his own expensive tastes and his devotion to the cause, it was time for the cause to win out for a bit. In a couple of days. He belched again, and he could taste the beef blood on his tongue. He smiled lazily, drained the cognac, and headed for the gaming tables. Randall shifted his long legs and grimaced at the darkness outside the plane. He hadn’t had much choice when it came to night flights to London, and this particular airline came with seats so jammed together that his six-foot-plus frame could barely squeeze into the classless flight. The food had been worse than usual, and there was a baby crying unceasingly three rows behind him. He swore beneath his breath, using words he hadn’t even thought of in years, and the savage, fluent cursing soothed some of his temper. He had five more hours to go, five more hours crammed into this tourist-laden airplane, and then he could concentrate on what was foremost in his mind: finding Timothy Flynn. There was no guarantee that Maggie would appreciate the gesture, no guarantee at all. But since their last, hostile meeting when she’d flatly told him he was second best and she wouldn’t settle for him, he’d been waiting for the right moment. Presenting her with her mother’s attacker might be just the right touch. Better than candy and flowers any time. He shifted uncomfortably, staring out into the rainy night, and wondered where Maggie was at that moment. If he knew her, she was already on her way to London herself. She wouldn’t be counting on anyone else to find Flynn. And she certainly wouldn’t be counting on Randall. But he’d find Flynn. And he’d find Maggie. And then, just maybe, he’d find some peace of mind. Customs was easy enough, with all the holiday traffic. Maggie managed her innocent calm as the officials made a cursory inspection of her luggage, of her makeup case with the hidden gun, before gesturing her onward while they dealt with Holly’s mountain of suitcases. There were times when her sister’s proclivity for fancy clothing had its uses. Maggie stood there patiently, her own modest suitcase at her feet, when her senses suddenly became very alert. She didn’t whip around, didn’t move, didn’t even risk a furtive glance over her shoulder. She just stood there, absorbing the feel of hostile eyes boring into her narrow back, burning her vulnerable, exposed nape. And then she moved across to Holly, who was busy dazzling the Customs inspector, and touched her lavender silk arm. �śWe’re being watched,” she murmured. �śHave any idea who it could be?” Holly turned, her face wonderfully bland as her magnificent eyes swept limpidly over the bustling tourists before resting on Maggie. �śYup,” she said succinctly. �śGreen Eyes.” �śWhat was he doing?” �śJust standing there with the London Times, leaning against a pillar and trying to look innocent. Except he was glaring at me again.” �śMaybe you remind him of his ex-wife,” Maggie suggested, inwardly pleased at Holly’s deft handling of the situation. �śMaybe,” she said with a grin. �śOr maybe he just hates beautiful women.” �śI love your modesty.” �śYou love my honesty,” Holly shot back. �śAre you going to call the hospital? This may take me awhile.” She flashed another brilliant smile at the customs official wading through the fourth suitcase. The bemused official smiled back. Maggie nodded. �śSee if he follows me.” The row of telephones were well within sight of the customs tables. Green Eyes was lucky, he could watch them both from his vantage point with the London Times shielding him. At that moment he seemed far more interested in Holly than her sister, a fact Maggie noticed without a trace of rancor. Holly was absolutely right, she thought as she dealt with the vagaries of transatlantic telephones. He was staring at her with intense dislike, if not outright hatred. Such animosity was unnerving and completely unexpected. As far as Maggie knew, Holly had no enemies. If she lived a butterfly existence, the very rootlessness that kept involvement away also kept hatred away. There were no deep emotions, either negative or positive, to interfere with her admittedly shallow existence. Could the man be Flynn? He hardly seemed Sybil’s type. He was too sturdy, too pugnacious, too lacking in charm or beauty to appeal to someone of Sybil’s exacting tastes. Of course, his eyes were quite beautiful, but Sybil was more into handsome faces and broad backs. No, it couldn’t be Flynn, and Flynn worked alone, without accomplices. Besides, Holly would have recognized him. Maybe he was just a nutcase, a random psycho who preyed on beautiful women. Holly’s face was famous enough if one was a reader of Vogue or Elle. Somehow Maggie doubted Green Eyes was into high fashion. Slowly she replaced the receiver. No change in Sybil’s condition, damn it all. Well, no news was good news�"at least she hadn’t worsened. Maggie crossed the room, ignoring their watcher. All they needed was a weirdo complicating matters. The sooner they got through customs and into London the happier she’d be. There was no sign of Green Eyes when they climbed into their taxi. Maggie leaned back against the seat, next to Holly’s slender shoulders, and looked out the back window of the cab. The sturdy silhouette of the driver behind them was ominously familiar. She almost fancied she could see his green eyes, still watching them. �śDamn.” She ducked back down again. �śHe is following us.” Holly didn’t turn. �śDid we ever have any doubt?” �śNot really,” Maggie said with a sigh. �śDo you recognize him?” �śNever seen him before in my life,” Holly said. �śShould we ask the driver to try to lose him?” �śNot on your life. I want to find out who he is and why he’s tailing us.” �śHow do you propose to do that?” �śAsk him politely,” Maggie said. �śAnd if he won’t tell us?” Maggie’s smile was grim. �śHe’ll tell us,” she said. Holly eyed her warily. �śI expect he will,” she said in a faint voice. three Maggie had chosen a discreet, upper-class hotel in the heart of London, one that catered to the famous and not so famous who had the wherewithal to avoid crowds. The lobby resembled the sort of private men’s clubs she’d always imagined when she read Dorothy L. Sayers mysteries, and she half expected to find an elderly corpse propped neatly beside a potted palm. Checking in was accomplished with quiet efficiency, and as Maggie turned with Holly to follow their masses of luggage she kept her gaze averted from Green Eyes. He should look out of place in these surroundings, Maggie thought as she stepped aboard the wire cage lift. With his rough clothing, his tough, pugnacious air, he should have been like a bull in a china shop. But he wasn’t. For some strange reason he fit into the elegant surroundings as if born to them, and Maggie’s curiosity grew. �śWhat are you going to do?” Holly asked as they rose above the lobby, leaving Green Eyes staring after them. �śI told you, find out why he’s following us. I can’t jump him when you’ve commandeered half the bellboys in the place�"this is the sort of thing that needs to be accomplished without an army of witnesses. I’ll wait till they’ve gone and then take a little walk down the hallway. I have no doubt at all I’ll find him waiting for me.” �śUh, Maggie, he looks awfully strong �Ś” Maggie only smiled. �śTrust me, Holly.” It took all her self-control to wait patiently as three extremely handsome young men placed Holly’s twelve suitcases in one of the bedrooms of the large suite. It took every ounce of calm to stand there, looking out the window, as Holly flirted and tipped and sent them on their way. And it took every bit of her inner balance to calmly wash her hands and face, retrieve the Colt 380 from its hiding place, and head for the door. �śI’m coming.” Holly hadn’t even bothered to change, a rare situation indeed, but Maggie was having none of it. �śYou’ll stay right here. I don’t need anyone else in the line of fire.” �śAre you actually going to use that thing?” Holly eyed the gun warily. �śNot if I can help it.” She dropped it in the pocket of her Irish knit cardigan. �śBut it doesn’t hurt to carry insurance.” �śNo,” Holly said faintly. �śIt doesn’t hurt.” The hallway was still and deserted. Maggie moved down the narrow carpet without a sound till she came to a spot she’d noticed on their way in, a shallow hallway leading to what was probably a linen closet. Ducking in, she waited there, listening, her back pressed against the wall as a measured pair of footsteps moved down the hallway. She could feel the tension running through her exhausted body, and she held herself taut and still, listening, desperate not to make the kind of mistakes that weariness inspired. She stood there, unmoving, as an elegant, elderly gentleman passed the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief that she’d had the sense to wait till she was certain. The sound of his door closing almost muffled the next set of footsteps. This time she knew. By the itching in her palms, by the adrenaline buzzing through her, by instincts older than civilization. It happened very quickly. One moment Maggie was standing there, seemingly calm and relaxed, and in the next she had Green Eyes dragged back into the tiny hallway, pressed up against the wall, her gun at his neck. �śWould you like to tell me why you’re following me?” she inquired pleasantly. �śYou expect me to believe you’d shoot me?” The voice that came from that rough, belligerent face was startlingly elegant, the perfect tone of the British upper classes. The green eyes were clouded with both fury and embarrassment, and Maggie guessed quite rightly that he was outraged that he’d been bested so easily. �śYou have no silencer on that little toy,” he continued. �śIt would make a hell of a noise and a hell of a mess, and then you’d never find out anything. Why don’t you put the silly thing away?” �śIt may look like a toy to you, Green Eyes,” Maggie said sweetly, �śbut it could still make an awful big hole in you.” �śI’m aware of that, Miss Bennett,” he said, his eyes sweeping her with insolent disdain. �śBut I think you have more sense than to shoot me.” �śOh, I won’t shoot you,” Maggie agreed as her nimble hands reached inside his jacket and removed his own, much larger gun, tossing it on the carpet. �śNot yet, anyway. But you are going to tell me how you know my name and why you’re following me.” �śI have no objections to that.” He glowered at her as she continued a desultory search of his body, one that allowed for no maidenly restraints. She found the knife in its ankle holster and tucked it in the pocket of the cardigan. She pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, flipped it open, and grimaced. �śIan Andrews,” she read his identification. �śBritish Army Intelligence, eh? Maybe I can trust you. But that still doesn’t answer my question. Why?” �śYou’ve got it a bit wrong. I’m not following you.” �śAll right, I’ll bite. Who are you following?” She pressed the snub-nosed barrel of her Colt closer. �śAnd why?” �śI’m following that empty-headed sister of yours. Because she’ll lead me to Tim Flynn.” Maggie didn’t even blink. �śWhy do you want him?” �śThat’s my business.” �śWhat makes you think we’ll have any success?” She mustered the last traces of her patience. �śWhy can’t you find him yourself?” �śBecause I’m not his lover.” This time Maggie did blink. �śAnd you think she is? Don’t be an idiot, man,” she snapped. �śIf you know that much you must know that Tim Flynn robbed our mother and left her for dead. We still don’t know whether she’s going to survive or not. Do you think my sister’s about to crawl into the sack with a monster like that?” �śI know nothing about your mother,” he said stubbornly. �śI have my sources. And I know Tim Flynn has been living with your sister for the last four months.” �śHe’s been living with our mother. I think you’d better check your sources�"your information’s got a thousand holes in it.” �śMaybe,” he said, unchastened. �śI never trust informers. But if he has tried to kill your mother �Ś all I know is that Flynn never leaves anyone behind who can identify him.” �śReassuring,” Maggie said, considering for a moment and then moving the gun away. �śHolly isn’t Flynn’s lover, and neither am I.” Green Eyes looked disbelieving, and Maggie’s temper snapped. �śListen, Mr. Andrews, I don’t know what you think you’re doing �Ś” �śLieutenant Andrews,” he corrected. �śAnd I’m on special assignment to track down Tim Flynn.” �śWell, Lieutenant”�"she mocked his British pronunciation while she bent down to pick up his gun and dropped it into the cardigan’s other pocket�"�śperhaps you’ll feel like coming with me and talking with Holly yourself. If she can’t convince you nobody can.” �śNobody can,” he said gruffly, moving obediently enough. With her snub-nosed pistol still pressed against his neck he didn’t have much choice in the matter, and the two of them moved down the hallway, back to their suite and her waiting sister. It took Holly a moment to answer the door, and behind the thick oak Maggie thought she could hear voices. Holly would soon rediscover how deadly British television was, she thought. And Ian Andrews would provide ample entertainment. The door opened, and Holly stood there, face flushed, aquamarine eyes bright, staring at Ian Andrews with suspicion and dislike. �śWho is he?” �śHe says he’s Ian Andrews of British Army Intelligence, on special assignment to catch Tim Flynn. He also thinks you’ve been having an affair with Flynn and that you’ll lead him straight to him, so I don’t know how bright the dear man is.” �śWhat?” Holly shrieked. �śDid you hear that?” she called over her shoulder. �śI didn’t tell you, Maggie, but someone’s arrived.” Maggie stood there just outside the door, and the gun in her hand felt heavy, deadly. She listened to the sound of footsteps on the parquet floor, approaching the door that Holly’s tall body blocked, listened with a horrifying sense of disbelief. The last, intense five minutes might never have existed. She was no longer aware of her quasi-prisoner, of her sister, of the hotel, of London. Jet lag must be playing tricks on her, she had to be imagining things. She looked over her shoulder down the hallway to the linen closet, tempted to run back, break it open and hide there, alone in the darkness she hated, rather than face what was waiting for her in her hotel room. �śDon’t just stand there, Maggie,” Randall Carter said in his rich, calm voice. �śIt’s not going to do us any good to stand around squabbling in hallways. Bring your prisoner in and we’ll figure out how we’re going to find Tim Flynn.” She didn’t move, didn’t say a word as her insides crystallized into ice and her hand tightened around her gun. A part of her mind was remote, removed, unfeeling as her eyes slid over him with a curious mixture of longing and despair. It had been four months since she’d left him in Chicago, four months that had changed the course of her life. He still looked the same�"tall, lean, impeccably dressed; his thin, sensuous mouth a cynical line in his narrow, aristocratic face; his blue-gray eyes masked and unreadable. Those eyes met hers for a long moment, and then she looked away, anywhere rather than face his gaze that had always seen and known too much. �śAre you going to shoot me, Maggie?” His voice was mocking. She considered it for a moment. Considered, then rejected the idea. Later, she promised herself grimly. Later. She lifted her head again, meeting his gaze with all her hard-won calm, and walked into the living room of their suite, with Ian Andrews following docilely enough. �śNot right now, Randall,” she said. �śWhat are you doing here? And what do you mean by saying we’re going to find Tim Flynn?” His eyes followed the downward path of her gun, and his shoulders relaxed an infinitesimal amount. So he wasn’t as unmoved as he pretended, she, thought coolly. Good. �śWhat do you think I meant? I followed you to London to offer my humble services.” �śForget it,” she snapped, moving toward the window and looking out at the busy winter street below. She still held her gun, albeit loosely enough. �śNot to mention an interesting lead,” he continued, unmoved by her rejection. �śYou can take your interesting lead and shove it,” she said. �śWe don’t need your help. The three of us will handle it just fine.” �śThe three of us?” Holly shrieked, having followed all this with interest. �śWho’s number three?” �śI believe I am,” Ian Andrews replied, and there was a thread of reluctant amusement in his voice. �śNot on your life,” Holly snapped, glaring at him. �śI want to hear Randall’s lead. He’ll probably be more help than any number of broken-down British soldiers.” �śBroken down?” Andrews echoed, his momentary humor vanishing. �śListen to me, you painted puppet�"” �śI don’t want Randall’s help!” Maggie said between her teeth. �śAnd I don’t want Andrews’s!” Holly shot back, the two sisters squaring off. �śWhy don’t we sit down and discuss this reasonably?” Randall suggested in a calm voice. �śI don’t want you in my hotel suite.” He raised an elegant eyebrow. �śWhyever not, Maggie? We’ve certainly shared more than that in our time, and while we didn’t part on the best of terms in Chicago, I hadn’t realized our relationship had degenerated to the level of childish squabbling.” �śI don’t want you in my hotel suite,” she repeated stubbornly, knowing she sounded as childish as he suggested and unable to help herself. �śI want you to leave.” �śWhat are you afraid of, Maggie?” he said. �śYou have plenty of protection.” �śI’m not afraid of anything,” she said in an icy voice. �śEspecially not you.” �śThen let’s discuss this reasonably.” �śI don’t want�"” �śWell, I do,” Holly interrupted. �śAnd it’s my suite too. Come on, Maggie. You may be superwoman, but I’m a mere mortal. I need all the help I can get.” Maggie opened her mouth to protest once more, then shut it again in sudden defeat. At that moment she couldn’t fight the three of them. She’d bide her time, dump the lot of them, and head after Tim Flynn herself. But for now there was nothing she could do but muster every ounce of self-control she possessed. She looked like hell, Randall thought, sipping the straight Scotch Holly had thoughtfully provided him and watching Maggie as she paced the living room of the suite. She must have lost ten pounds, there were dark circles under her eyes, and she was too damned pale. And that cropped thatch of wheat-blond hair made her look like a refugee from a concentration camp. What the hell had she been doing to herself for the last four months? �śChildren, children,” he said easily. �śThis bickering is getting us nowhere and giving Tim Flynn more time to get away. If you’d just consider it calmly you’d realize that we have no choice but to work together. We’re all after the same thing, and if we go at it from different angles we’ll keep stumbling over each other and screwing things up. We need a united force if we’re going to get anywhere. Unless, of course, any of us is willing to give up the search?” Dead silence greeted that question, and he nodded. �śAs I thought,” he continued. �śAll right, let’s face facts. None of us know what the man looks like �Ś” �śWrong,” Holly and Andrews said in unison, then turned to glare at each other. Maggie couldn’t help but grin at the two of them. �śWell, that’s a help. I know Holly saw Flynn at Sybil’s once, when he didn’t realize she was there. How do you happen to know him, Ian?” �śThat’s my affair,” Andrews said with a touch of grimness. �śBut I could pick him out in a crowd anywhere.” �śThen we’re already a step ahead of everyone else,” Randall said smoothly. �śAnd I happen to know where he might be likely to spend time when he’s in London. A certain exclusive gambling club enjoys his patronage, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he shows up there this evening. It’s certainly worth looking into.” He took a leisurely drink. �śWhat do you have to offer to this consortium of knowledge, Maggie?” The look of acute dislike she cast him was better than the panicked hatred that had swept over her face earlier. �śOh, I have all sorts of talents, Randall. I can be the brains of the organization.” He snorted gently in disbelief. �śSo. Any more objections?” �śHe’s right, Maggie,” Holly volunteered. �śWe’ll just keep bumping into each other if we refuse to work together. God knows it won’t be much fun with a charmer like your friend Andrews, but I can put up with him if you can put up with Randall.” �śThe feeling’s mutual, lady,” Andrews snapped. �śWe don’t need an overdressed mannikin getting in our way.” �śThat’s exactly what we do need,” Randall interrupted. �śChampignons has a strict dress code. I somehow doubt that Maggie thought to pack evening clothes.” �śYou’re right,” she said, still withdrawn. �śAnd Andrews, you wouldn’t have a tuxedo stashed about you? I thought not. So it will be up to Holly and me to find out whether Tim Flynn has been gambling recently,” he said smoothly. �śI suggest we leave about nine.” He allowed himself a furtive glance in Maggie’s direction, hoping vainly that she might exhibit a tiny bit of jealousy. Her pale face was stonily unmoved. Holly nodded, and excitement lit her aquamarine eyes. They were the same color and shape as Maggie’s, yet oddly different. They were more open, trusting, without the dangerous depths of Maggie’s haunted eyes. �śIs everyone agreed?” Randall let his glance drift over the three occupants of the room. �śAre we going to work together?” �śAs Holly says, we don’t really have a choice,” Maggie said gracelessly, putting her empty glass down and turning away. �śAndrews and I will be waiting for you when you get back. You aren’t going to tackle him without me there, Randall,” she warned as an afterthought. �śI wouldn’t think of it, dear heart,” he said gently. �śHolly and I will have a full report for the two of you. But don’t expect us before midnight.” Maggie opened her mouth to snarl something at him, then shut it again, turning away from him. �śWhatever you say,” she replied woodenly, and her shoulders looked suddenly narrow and defenseless. �śI’m not sure I agree,” Andrews said, glaring at the smug Holly. �śShe won’t be much help if you get into trouble.” �śI have no intention of getting in trouble,” Randall said smoothly, reluctantly putting his concern for Maggie in the back of his mind. �śAnd if I did, I’m more than capable of extricating both of us.” �śAll right,” Andrews grumbled. �śI don’t like it, mind. But all right. We’ll be waiting for you at midnight.” Timothy Seamus Flynn admired his handiwork with a silent whistle of pride. Explosives had never been his particular forte, but he’d been trained like everyone else, and that training had come in handy. This charmingly compact piece of equipment would blow the elegant confines of Champignons to hell and back again, and take most of the block with it. And there would be that many less British stuffed shirts to feed off the Irish. The club hadn’t realized with whom they were dealing, he thought, closing the leather attaché case. Whom they accused of cheating, whom they politely requested leave their hallowed premises when he’d made a graphic suggestion or two to some lord’s daughter. He’d gone quietly enough, earlier this evening after his initial rage. Because he knew he’d have the last word. He rose. Eleven o’clock would be perfect. The club would be packed, and the only drawback was that they’d never know what hit them. He preferred his victims�"no, his enemies�"to know their crimes and their fates. He liked to see the fear in their eyes, he liked to hear them beg. He’d miss that this time, but you couldn’t have everything. All he had to do was drop the bomb in the alleyway behind Champignons’ stuffy facade and head on to the airport. He could hear all the delicious details when he arrived in Ireland later that night. He started down the sidewalk, an elegant sight, the briefcase a fitting accessory to his well-tailored figure. And a stuffy, well-dressed matron met his smiling face with a start of surprise and an instinctive, answering smile. �śLovely evening,” she murmured politely, inclining her head regally. Flynn imagined that head atop a pike. �śLovely,” he agreed, and walked on down the road. four Holly allowed herself a furtive glance at the tall man beside her in the rented Bentley. She’d met Randall Carter once before, years ago when Maggie was in the midst of her abortive career at the CIA. She hadn’t liked him then, and she didn’t really like him now. He was too cold, too remote, with that faintly supercilious smile and those blue-gray eyes that showed emotion only when they rested on Maggie. No, she didn’t like him, but anyone was better than that pigheaded, rude, overbearing son of a bitch, Ian Andrews �Ś �śSomething wrong?” His voice wasn’t solicitous, it was coldly curious. She forced her clenched fists to relax and flashed Randall a weary smile. �śJust thinking about Andrews. I don’t see what help he’s going to be.” �śIt never hurts to have British Intelligence on your side,” he replied. �śAnd if we don’t work together we’re going to be undercutting each other. Flynn’s a formidable enough adversary�"we’re going to need every advantage we can get.” �śOne man against the four of us and practically every law enforcement agency in the western world?” she scoffed, smoothing the fuchsia silk harem pants over her long legs. �śI think we’re overestimating his danger.” �śDo you really?” The question was softly spoken, but unwillingly Holly remembered the man she’d seen across the expanse of her mother’s swimming pool, remembered her instinctive distrust and fear and once more she relived the guilt that had haunted her ever since. She should have gone with her instincts, she should have known there was something terribly wrong. Sybil had looked like hell, haunted, worn out, a faint tremor to her hands and dark circles under her eyes that even the world’s finest makeup couldn’t hide. If only Holly had done something about it, instead of shrugging and withdrawing, leaving her mother to make her own bed. She couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that it was her fault that bed might be turning into a coffin. Randall was watching her out of those cool eyes, waiting for her answer. �śNo, I don’t think we’re overestimating Flynn,” she said finally. �śNot at all.” And with a small nod of satisfaction Randall turned his attention away from her, back to the London traffic. It was uncharacteristically snarled for nearing ten o’clock on a winter’s evening, and Champignons was halfway across town. He seemed perfectly content to wait, his face expressionless, and Holly found herself wondering if he ever showed any emotion apart from that brooding, possessive look he cast at Maggie whenever she wasn’t looking. Hiking up her flowing pants legs, Holly swung around on the seat to stare at him. �śYou want to tell me what’s going on between you and my sister?” He didn’t waste a glance in her direction. �śNo.” �śBut there is something, isn’t there?” she continued, undaunted. �śAsk her.” Holly sighed. �śMaggie’s not talking. She never was one to share her troubles�"she’s always been the strong one. Everyone in the family turns to her for help, not the other way around.” An emotion did darken his face for a moment, but it flitted by so fast she couldn’t read it. �śThen you should stop turning to her. Take care of your own problems,” he said rudely. Holly shrugged. �śI do my best. Maybe you should take her back to New York and leave Andrews to me.” Randall laughed, a short, abrupt bark of amusement. �śTrust me, Holly. The only way I’d manage to take Maggie anywhere was if she was out cold and in a straitjacket. And she’d still put up a hell of a struggle.” He set the car in neutral and leaned back. �śWe’re going to be here for a while,” he said calmly, casting a backward glance at the cars boxing them in. �śThere’s an accident up ahead.” �śWhat time were we supposed to be there?” �śWe had reservations for dinner at ten. At this rate it’ll be closer to eleven when we get there.” �śI’ll starve to death,” Holly wailed. �śI sincerely doubt it. You’re a survivor,” Randall said. And Holly could only hope he was right. That night, Timothy Seamus Flynn smiled his charming smile at the newsdealer on the street corner in Dublin. It was too early for the bomb to have gone off, much less have it reach the papers. He’d have to be patient, wait till tomorrow to hear all the glorious details. There was one thing to be said for the Americans�"their television news was wonderfully speedy. If it were L.A. the bombing would be all over the TV within the hour it exploded. As it was, the BBC would have shut down, and nothing else would be on after eleven tonight. It had been too long since he’d been in Ireland, and his time there usually didn’t encompass television watching. It would be a grand sight, he thought with a pleased sigh, tossing a quid toward the grizzled old man and picking up the Times. Smoke and flames and screams filling the chilly night air. Next time he’d stay, no matter who he was supposed to meet in Dublin, no matter what arrangements had been made. They could damned well wait for him. A man with his talents didn’t grow on trees, he thought. There was no need for him to forgo the pleasures of this life for the sake of a schedule. Faith, it would be glorious, he thought with a wistful smile. And the newsdealer, wiping a grimy arm across his runny nose, smiled back. * * * �śYour sister doesn’t have an ounce of sense,” Ian Andrews announced grimly. �śWhatever possessed you to bring her along? You look to me like a woman with a good head on her shoulders�"didn’t you know better than to let such a silly creature tag along?” Maggie turned from the window overlooking the brightly lit streets of London and gave Andrews a fleeting smile. �śHolly’s got more sense than you think,” she replied mildly enough. �śThat wouldn’t be difficult�"a grasshopper has more sense than I credit your sister with.” �śWhy?” Maggie asked. Ian looked startled. �śWhy what?” �śWhy don’t you think Holly has any sense? You’ve only just met her. What makes you assume she’s merely ornamental? And if she was as lacking in brains as you suspect, what would it matter? What have you got against pretty women?” Ian opened his mouth, then shut it again, and his temper encompassed Maggie as well as her absent sister. �śI don’t approve of the time or money spent on personal adornment,” he grumbled sourly. �śGod, what a Calvinist,” Maggie said, turning back to the window. There was a light snow falling, and in the distance she could see Big Ben lit up against the dark sky. Almost eleven o’clock. At least an hour before they returned. �śDid you see how many suitcases your sister brought with her?” Ian demanded. �śAnd her clothes came in handy, didn’t they?” Maggie countered. �śI think we’ve got more important things to concentrate on than Holly’s twelve suitcases. She’ll pull her own weight, Ian, I know that much. I don’t have any such guarantees about you.” �śI beg your pardon?” He tossed back the rest of his Scotch, highly affronted. �śI think you’re wasting too much time and energy fretting about Holly’s luggage and not enough on what we’re going to do next if they can’t find anything out at the gaming club.” �śI don’t need to fret, I know,” he said grandly. �śWe’ll go to Northern Ireland. There’s a man named O’Banion who’s been known to work with Flynn. He’s a lesser member of the local branch of the IRA, and I’ve been told he’s a reasonable man.” �śWhere’d you get that information?” �śI have my contacts,” he replied in a lofty tone. �śThe same contacts that told you Holly was living with Flynn? I can’t say I think much of them.” He had the grace to look uncomfortable. �śNo informant is infallible. Besides, I got this from someone I’ve used a little bit more. It’s someone I knew when I was stationed in Ireland, and I’d trust him with my life.” �śYou were stationed in Northern Ireland? Don’t you think it might be a little difficult for you to ferret around among the IRA looking for Flynn? For some reason I don’t think people are going to want to cooperate with you.” He smiled then, and Maggie immediately revised her opinion of their unwilling partner. He wasn’t completely lacking in appeal. She wondered how Holly would react if he ever directed that beautiful smile in her direction. �śThat’s where you come in,” he said. �śYou and Carter should do very well tracking him down.” �śWhat do you mean, me and Carter? What about Holly and Carter? I think she’ll do just as good a job�"” �śNo. I’m not going to tell you how to find O’Banion unless you promise me you’ll do it. I don’t want that painted doll messing up my one solid lead.” �śAnd if I don’t promise?” �śThen all bets are off and I’ll find him on my own. And if he doesn’t feel like cooperating with a member of British Army Intelligence, I’m certain I’ll be able to work my way around to convincing him.” Maggie shook her head. �śI don’t think we should draw any attention to our search. Beating up people might get a bit untidy.” �śThen you and Randall will have to do it neatly,” Ian replied. �śI suppose �Ś Good God, what was that?” The dark London sky was lit with a ball of flame halfway across the city, and the windows of the old hotel rattled ominously with a sympathetic tremor. Ian was by her side, his face lit with the incendiary glow. �śLooks like a bomb,” he said grimly. �śI’ve seen enough of them in my time.” A cold knot of dread began to form in Maggie’s heart. �śWhere do you think it is?” He turned to look at her, and his wonderful green eyes were bleak. �śI wouldn’t know.” �śYou can’t even make an educated guess?” Her voice was deceptively calm. �śIt would be a waste of time. You’re already jumping to enough conclusions for both of us,” he said. �śI’ll go downstairs and see what I can find out. Why don’t you pour us both another drink while you’re waiting?” �śIf Holly and Randall are dead another drink won’t help matters.” �śIt won’t hurt either,” he replied, grabbing his shabby tweed jacket and patting his pocket assured that his gun which Maggie had returned to him was there. He also checked his ankle holster for his knife. Satisfied, he headed for the door. �śUnless you want to come with me.” Maggie stared at him. �śI’ll wait here.” The door shut behind him silently enough. Maggie moved with studied calm, pouring herself a second, stronger glass of Scotch and downing it with one gulp. She looked down at her hand and was amazed to see no tremor at all. She picked up the phone, requested an outside line, and dialed the number Randall had left. No one at Champignons deigned to answer the phone�"if Champignons was still standing. She set the phone down quietly, moving back to the window. It looked as if an entire block was in flames, and the snowflakes drifted down, silhouetted by the orangey brightness. Holly was too damned young to die, she thought, her face set and grim. She couldn’t lose Sybil and Holly all in a matter of days. Life was cruel, but it simply couldn’t be that cruel. A small, helpless moan came from somewhere in the room, and she realized with a start that it emitted from her own tight throat. She didn’t know how long she stood there, staring out into the night. The fire spread to a second block before it was brought under control, and she watched, mesmerized, wondering how many bodies were cremated in that funeral pyre that could have only been Champignons. She heard the key in the lock, but she didn’t dare turn. She couldn’t bear to see the sorrowful expression on Ian’s face. She didn’t know him well enough to share the suddenly unbearable emotions that were threatening to strangle her, and she clenched her fists, her short nails digging into her palms, waiting for the deadly words. They were prosaic enough. �śShouldn’t you be in bed?” Randall’s unmistakable voice pierced through her fog of despair. �śWe’re booked on a plane to Northern Ireland tomorrow morning and you’ve probably still got a hell of a case of jet lag.” It took her a moment to school her features. She kept her back to him, her face turned to the plate-glass window as the first waves of relief and joy washed over her. She shuddered, then turned, her face calm and unmoved. �śWhere’s Holly?” �śDown in the bar with Ian, filling him in on what little we found out.” �śThen it was Champignons,” she said in a weary little voice, unable to contemplate what she had almost lost. �śDo you want to tell me?” Randall shut the door behind him, moving across the room so that he was standing much too close to her. He didn’t touch her, he didn’t need to. His very closeness was an unwanted embrace. �śWe got caught in the world’s worst traffic jam. We were three blocks away when the bomb blew.” He shrugged. �śWe were lucky.” �śWas it Flynn?” Randall smiled, his cold, wintry smile. �śWho can tell? Anybody who worked in the club, who would have seen him, has been blown to hell and back. I think it would be a reasonable assumption.” �śReasonable,” Maggie agreed coolly. �śIs Holly all right?” �śA little shaken. Andrews isn’t half bad, you know. He took one look at her pale face and immediately began to insult her. She perked right up. Last I saw them they were squabbling over brandy and chips.” �śBrandy and chips?” Maggie said faintly. �śBetter her than me. What time is our plane?” �śNot till eleven.” His voice was curiously gentle. �śAre you all right?” �śWhy wouldn’t I be?” She summoned up a trace of belligerence. �śMaybe you were worried about the bombing?” he suggested. �śI was worried about Holly,” she corrected. �śI could give a damn about your fate, Randall.” His smile was faintly skeptical. �śReally? I hate to tell you this, Maggie, but I could see your reflection quite clearly in that plate-glass window. You were damned glad to see me. Almost tearful, as a matter of fact.” She didn’t bother to deny it. �śThat’s because I knew your presence, no matter how unwelcome, meant that Holly was all right. Nothing more than that.” �śI can accept that,” he said, his voice suddenly intent. �śIf you’ll tell me why you suddenly decided to hate me. If you feel like imparting that piece of information I’d appreciate it.” She stared at him for a long moment, contemplating. On impulse she spoke. �śHow well did you know Bud Willis?” His eyes narrowed. �śToo well. Why?” �śDid you ever hire him to do anything for you? Anything of a personal nature?” Hell, she thought, why don’t you just come right out and ask him? Randall was standing very still, and a mask had shuttered his features. �śWhat makes you ask that?” �śIdle curiosity. Are you going to answer me?” �śNo.” She waited. �śNo, you’re not going to answer me or no, you never hired him?” �śNo, I’m not going to answer your question. It’s none of your damned business, Maggie.” His temper flared. �śThe past is the past, and raking over old mistakes is a waste of time when it’s too late to change any of it. If you don’t like the way I’ve run my life that’s your problem, not mine.” Maggie nodded, her face cool and still. �śYou’re absolutely right. And I’ll take care of it, sooner or later. That’s a promise.” �śIt sounds like a threat,” he said wearily. Maggie managed a distant smile. �śTake your pick, Randall.” Timothy Seamus Flynn chuckled softly, flipping the morning paper over and dropping it beside his half-empty coffee cup as he surveyed the Dublin morning. He was pleased�"no, more than pleased. He was absolutely delighted with the results of his gerry-rigged device. The stuffy lords of Champignons wouldn’t look down their aristocratic noses at the likes of Tim Flynn again. And that snotty British bitch was missing in the rubble, that honorable miss whoever who’d been so shocked when he’d grabbed her arse. Serve the bloody cunt right, he thought, grinning. �śMore coffee, sir?” The waitress had reappeared at his elbow. �śNo, love. This is enough for now. I’ve got a plane to catch.” And the waitress forgot her sore feet and miserable cold and smiled back at that engaging grin. five It was a cold night in Northern Ireland. Colder than London, colder than New York, with a chill wind that blew right through the thick woolens and into one’s backbone. Maggie leaned against the rough side of the building, huddling in the heavy cape she’d borrowed from Holly, and wondered whether the cold was all on the outside. Part of her wanted to run back to the carefully hidden rental car, part of her wanted to be back in her austere apartment in New York. But she was made of sterner stuff than that. �śThis is the place,” Randall said. He was only a tall shadow in the darkness beside her, his elegant suit traded for rumpled corduroys and a thick fisherman’s sweater. He had an uncanny ability to take on protective coloration. She could remember the time they’d spent in Eastern Europe, more than six years ago. In Gemansk he’d donned the persona of an Eastern Bloc factory worker when he’d taken on the rough clothing their contact, Vasili, had brought him. Tonight he looked like any number of Irish workers they’d passed on their long hike to this remote little corner of County Down, a little taller than most, a little quieter than most, but nothing remarkable. Maggie only wished she felt as anonymous as Randall. Her faded jeans and thick rust-color sweater would have been at home anywhere, and the thick green cape was as Irish as the cold North wind around her. But with her wheat-color hair, turquoise eyes, and Nordic face there was no way she could blend in with the Celts around her. So like Ian had on his arrival in Ireland, she kept her head down, allowing herself only furtive glances. Andrews and Holly were safe and warm, miles away in a small hotel in the heart of Downpatrick. Neither of them could be trusted to find Rory O’Banion�"their faces were too well known. Holly was on the current cover of Queen, splashed all over newstands from Land’s End to northern Scotland. And Andrews, with his usual taciturn brevity, announced that his face was not unknown to local members of the IRA. Randall had nodded, looking at Maggie, and she’d had no choice. So here she was, out in the middle of nowhere with the man she least trusted in the world, with the knowledge that her life might depend on him before the night was through. Of course, with her efficient little Colt 380 tucked under her sweater, she could well take care of herself. If they got into trouble she could even manage to let off a stray bullet that might accomplish whatever revenge she still wished to take. But no, she couldn’t do that. Last night’s conversation had been unsettling. She couldn’t take her revenge until she forced a complete admission from Randall. And now wasn’t the time to worry about it. If they were going to get through this and find Tim Flynn, she couldn’t waste her energies on Randall’s guilt or innocence. For the time being she had to put all thought of it out of her mind. It was a noble resolution, easier said than done when Randall moved next to her. �śDo you want to come in with me?” �śWhat do you think?” Neither the cold nor her fear made her voice tremble, it was smooth and calm in the chilly night air. Maggie could smell the scent of the sea, the strong salt tang carried on the night air, and she wished to God she was somewhere warm, by the blue Pacific, and not standing in a lonely village buffeted by North Atlantic winds. �śI think you’re coming with me,” Randall said. �śYou know what I like about you, Maggie?” �śI don’t give a damn.” She could have saved her breath. �śI like your bravery in the face of danger,” he continued. �śRandall,” she said, unable to help herself, �śI’m scared shitless.” �śI know, Maggie,” he said gently. �śThat’s what makes you so brave. Let’s go find this O’Banion.” It was a small pub, dark and crowded, the noise and smoke and smell of peat and beer and sweat almost overpowering. The rich Irish voices filled the room, and for a moment Maggie knew a moment of pleasure in the lilting accents. Until the noise quieted suddenly and a score of suspicious faces turned their way as they moved as unobtrusively as possible over to the bar. The level of noise rose a bit, nowhere near the previous din, as Maggie and Randall ordered large, warm glasses of Guinness. �śYuch,” Maggie whispered to Randall. He smiled at her. �śDon’t you like warm beer?” �śIt reminds me of The Barretts of Wimpole Street. Sybil starred in a remake as Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Her father used to torment her, and one of his favorite tricks was to force her to drink mugs of stout. I never realized what torture it was.” She took another sip and shuddered. �śYou have a brown foam mustache on your upper lip,” he whispered. �śIf this were any other place and time I’d lick it off.” �śIf it were any other place and time I’d kick you in the balls like I did four months ago.” �śDon’t push your luck, Maggie,” he said. �śOnce is the only time you’re going to get away with it.” She licked the foam off her lip by herself, took another sip, and once more shivered. And then looked up into the most gorgeous pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen. �śI take it the little lady doesn’t care for our local brew,” the man said, his voice a rich lilt. He had come up beside them, a welcoming smile on his face, and Randall smiled back, an easy grin that was as phony as Sybil Bennett’s raven hair. The newcomer was a handsome man, with shaggy brownish-red hair, a beard, and a wiry, well-knit body that was just above medium height. �śBeer has never been my thing,” Maggie said, putting the mug down on the polished walnut bar. �śThen you’re missing a treat,” he assured her, and his eyes suddenly made her wish she hadn’t eschewed makeup entirely. His look was flattering enough�"she only wished she felt she deserved it. �śMy name’s Rory O’Banion,” he continued in that rich, Irish voice. �śAnd I’m wondering what it is I can be doing for you?” �śWhat makes you think we’d want you to do anything for us?” Randall replied, and his stormy eyes had grown colder as they moved between O’Banion and a temporarily entranced Maggie. O’Banion laughed. �śThis is a small country and a small town. American tourists, no matter how well they blend in, would only be coming to see me. Especially when they have the dangerous look about them that you two do.” Maggie was flattered. �śI look dangerous?” �śThat you do, lady,” O’Banion assured her. �śIf it weren’t those gorgeous eyes of yours it would be that splendid mouth just made for�"” �śWe were looking for you,” Randall interrupted. �śA friend of a friend sent us.” �śWhy’d you stop him, Randall?” Maggie objected. �śIt was just getting interesting.” �śYour mouth is made for gagging,” he replied shortly. �śRandall, is it?” O’Banion had picked right up on the name, and Maggie could have bit her tongue. Randall was right�"she should have been gagged. �śWould you be Randall Carter, then?” Randall nodded. �śYou were expecting us?” O’Banion looked mysterious. �śI’d had word,” he said. �śYou’re wanting to find Flynn.” �śExactly. Can you help us?” O’Banion shrugged his lean shoulders. �śCould be. We can’t talk here�"he has too many friends around here. Can you meet me?” �śName the place and time.” �śThere’s a pub in Kerrydown called the Swan’s Liver. A lot of the British soldiers hang out there, along with people less picky in their politics.” His self-deprecating grin took the sting out of the words. �śRun along there and I’ll meet you around midnight.” �śAnd how do we know we can trust you?” Randall inquired in the most charming of voices. �śWhy should you want to help us find Flynn?” �śTim Flynn’s forgotten his people,” O’Banion replied, a note of grimness in his voice. �śHe made a lot of money in the States, and he’s already gambled half of it away. He’s not even in Ireland�"last I heard he was heading for the Middle East. If we see a penny of his latest earnings then I’m Saint Patrick himself.” O’Banion laughed his hearty laugh. �śBesides, it’s scum like himself that give the IRA a bad name. There are a great many of us who are working for a peaceful settlement of the troubles. The best thing that could happen to Tim Flynn is if someone puts a stop to his bloody career. I’ll be counting it a favor if you could do that.” Maggie knew Randall well enough to see the distrust beneath his polite words. �śWe’ll be there.” �śBoth of you, I’m hoping,” O’Banion said, turning the full force of his dazzling smile in Maggie’s direction. And like a besotted fool, she smiled back. �śI don’t trust him.” Maggie glared at her companion. �śYou just don’t trust anyone with charm.” �śMaggie, you may not recognize it, but I’m accounted to have a certain amount of charm myself,” Randall drawled. �śYou just happen to be immune to it.” �śAnd maybe you’re immune to O’Banion’s.” �śMaybe. But I don’t like this wild goose chase all over the hills of County Down. Why couldn’t we meet someplace else? I don’t think walking into a pub full of occupying forces is the safest thing to do.” �śO’Banion wouldn’t have suggested we meet there if it was dangerous,” Maggie insisted. �śWouldn’t he? I’m not convinced of that.” Maggie sighed, a long-suffering exhalation of breath. �śIf you’re not certain then why don’t we head back to the hotel rather than wander all over the Irish countryside in the dead of night? My feet are killing me, I’m half frozen, and I want a large glass of Irish whiskey to wash away that disgusting warm beer.” �śYou can go back if you want, Maggie. The car’s still parked by the trees back there.” �śAnd leave you to take care of everything? No way, Randall. I’m sticking to you like glue.” He looked down at her. �śPromises, promises,” he muttered under his breath. �śWhat?” �śNever mind,” Randall said with a weary sigh. �śCome on, Maggie. Miles to go before we sleep.” �śMiles?” she echoed unhappily. �śMiles.” �śAnd we can’t drive?” �śIt wouldn’t be wise,” he said. Maggie stopped complaining. There was a heavy fog lingering over the hills and valleys as they tramped in silence. The dampness crept beneath the cape and sweater, and Maggie shivered in the darkness. She’d been fool enough to wear her new leather boots, and her feet hurt like hell. Next time she’d stick with her Nikes. In complete silence she followed Randall down the deserted roadways, the mist clinging to them like a malevolent ghost. Several times she opened her mouth to complain, to challenge, to break through the still night air. Each time she closed it again, trudging onward in silence. They were approaching a town�"the lights glowed eerily through the fog and the muffled sounds came and went, bouncing off the thick mist. Randall had come to an abrupt halt, and through the shifting light and shadows Maggie could see the pub not more than a hundred yards away. The door opened, and noise and light and laughter spilled out for a moment, then disappeared like the closing of a tomb. Maggie ignored the shiver of apprehension that swept over her. She wanted that light and warmth, not the cold, deadly darkness around her. �śWhat the hell are we waiting for, Randall?” she demanded in a heavy whisper. �śIt must be after midnight by now. Let’s go in and find O’Banion.” �śNot yet.” His voice was low, emotionless, and brooked no possibility for argument. Maggie once more contemplated bloody vengeance as she stood behind Randall in the alleyway. �śYou want to tell me what you’re waiting for, Randall?” she inquired with ironic courtesy. �śOr am I just supposed to stand here all night and freeze to death while you decide whether it’s safe or not?” �śStop bitching,” he whispered, not bothering to glance in her direction. �śI may be saving your life.” �śYou may be giving me pneumonia. What�"” Her voice stopped abruptly, not even needing his sudden, furtive gesture. She could hear it as well as he could, the sound of booted feet moving stealthily down the cobbled roadway. She edged closer to him, forgetting for the moment her distaste at his nearness. In the cold damp air his body heat was curiously comforting, and she didn’t even notice when he put an arm around her, half in restraint, half in protection. He was intent, listening, and she tilted her face up to his, curious. The footsteps drew closer, and in the shadowy night she could see the silhouettes of half a dozen men edging toward the pub. And then, through the darkness, came an eerie clicking noise. The sounds of weapons being readied. She watched with horror as they moved in on the pub, and she opened her mouth to scream a warning to the people in the pub. A warning that never came. six Randall slammed her back against the side of the building, hard, and his hand crushed her open mouth. The scream died to a gurgle in her throat as she kicked at him, struggling as he subdued her. From the corner of her eye she could see the light once more flood the dark street, hear the noise and laughter. And then there was no sound but the thunder of machine guns, drowning out everything, drowning out screams and pleas and weeping. As suddenly as it began, it was over, and there was silence once more, silence and darkness. Any light in the pub had been smashed by the storm of bullets. �śWell done, lads,” a voice said. It wasn’t O’Banion’s voice, and Maggie wondered if their informant was lying dead in that pub. Randall’s body still held her immobile against the wall, and the two of them scarcely breathed. �śYou want to see if anyone’s left?” another voice questioned. A woman’s voice. �śNo need. We’ve been thorough enough. I think we’d better move fast. The villagers know well enough to stay behind closed doors, but we don’t want to risk running into any witnesses.” �śWhat about the Americans? Shouldn’t we make sure �Ś ?” Again the woman’s voice, cool and businesslike. �śFaith, don’t worry, Maeve. They swallowed Flynn’s tale, hook, line, and sinker. They’re there, all right. And Flynn’s on his way to Beirut by now. It’s been a good night’s work. Stop looking for trouble.” They were moving away then, six or seven dark-clothed strangers on a walk in the damp night air. Their voices drifted away, then back, bouncing off the fog, and then faded away entirely. Slowly, slowly Randall lifted his hand from her mouth. His body kept her pressed against the wall, and in truth, she was glad of it. For the moment she didn’t think her legs would support her. �śI couldn’t let you scream, Maggie,” he said, his voice low and grim. �śYou couldn’t have saved them, and they would have killed us too.” �śSo instead we had to watch. It’s a hell of a choice, Randall,” she said quietly. A bleak smile lit his face. �śBe glad you didn’t have to make it.” She nodded. He was warm in the chilly winter air. He was a few inches taller than she was, and broader, and his body covered hers, protecting her from the wind. She could feel his thighs pressed against her trembling legs, the bones of his hips, the warmth of his torso and strength of his arms around her. She knew she should push him away, but she didn’t have the strength. She used her mouth instead. �śYou want to let go of me now?” she said. Her voice didn’t come out the way she’d planned it. Not terse and laconic, it sounded almost wistful. �śNot just yet,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment, and she could feel the tremor of pain and something else shiver over him. �śGive me a minute.” She stood very still. And then she sighed, dropping her forehead against his shoulder, and slid her arms around him. And they stood there, for countless moments, with the smell of death all around them in the fog-shrouded night. �śDo you think they’re all right?” Holly kept her voice casual as she toyed with the glass of whiskey. She was lying stretched out on one uncomfortable sofa in the deserted common room of the dingy, second-rate hotel Maggie had deliberately chosen, and one slender, high-heeled foot was dangling over the armrest. Her toenails were painted a pinky-lavender, a perfect match for her silk caftan, and Ian Andrews glowered at them every ten minutes. It was now almost two o’clock in the morning. The two of them had been sitting there in monosyllabic discomfort since they finished an amazingly horrible dinner at ten-thirty, which made it �Ś twenty-one glares, she computed triumphantly. Or was it two hundred and ten �Ś ? What the hell. She drained her whiskey. �śHow should I know?” Ian demanded, pacing back to the front window. He’d been as restless as a caged tiger the entire evening, storming from the window to the doorway, perching for a moment on the other sofa, then moving back and forth. He’d taken two hours on one game of patience, drank more than his share of the bottle of Irish whiskey, and in general been a less than charming companion. Holly sighed. �śShouldn’t they be back by now?” �śThey should.” �śWhat do you think happened to them?” �śMaybe they got caught.” �śReassuring, aren’t you?” she drawled. �śI’m not here for your reassurance. If you want someone to hold your hand you’ll have to look elsewhere.” He stalked back across the room and threw himself down on the sofa again. His strong body knocked the table, the cards slid to the floor, and his own glass of whiskey took a dive toward his lap. He caught it deftly enough, cursing, and glared at Holly. Number twenty-two, she thought. They were coming more frequently now. At this rate, even if Randall and Maggie made it back safely they might return to discover their accomplices’ bodies, locked in a death struggle. �śWhat are you grinning at?” he demanded. Holly let her aquamarine eyes sweep over him with insolent cheer. �śJust trying to figure out the best way to murder you,” she said sweetly. He didn’t even blink. �śPlenty have tried.” She believed him and suddenly her amusement fled. �śHave you ever killed anyone?” He didn’t bother to look at her, or doubtless it would have been glare twenty-three. He stared down at his glass of whiskey, contemplating it as if it held the secrets of the universe. For a moment she didn’t think he was going to answer her, and she couldn’t blame him. As usual she’d been astonishingly tactless. He lifted his head, his green eyes meeting hers. �śYes.” Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, she thought. �śHow many?” He could have thrown his half-full glass of whiskey at her, and she wouldn’t have blamed him. She had no right to ask him these questions, but the alternative was to worry about Maggie, and she couldn’t spend another minute doing that without going crazy. He didn’t throw the glass, he drained it and set it down on the table in front of him. �śI’ve been a soldier. I’ve been in wars. People lose count.” �śDo they?” �śDoes it turn you on, lady?” he countered roughly. �śDo you get all hot and bothered hearing about blood and death and violence? I’d be more than happy to tie you up and beat you if that’s your fancy. Just don’t expect me to screw you afterward.” �śYou’re a pig, Ian.” �śSo I’ve been told.” Dead silence reigned in the room, an uncomfortable silence. There was a sullen peat fire in the blackened hearth, and the hiss and spit seemed unnaturally loud. Ian was staring into that fire, unmoving. �śSeven,” he said. For once Holly stopped her unruly tongue. It was too alien a concept, the deliberate ending of seven lives, and she simply sat there, trying to absorb it. �śAnd it’s going to be eight,” he added. Holly raised her head. �śI hope you don’t mean me?” she said lightly. �śNo. I don’t kill women, either for duty or pleasure.” He shrugged. �śTimothy Seamus Flynn is going to be number eight.” �śWhat about a trial? What about innocent until proven guilty?” �śThat’s an American concept. The first chance I get I’m going to kill Flynn,” he said. �śUnless he gets you first.” �śI’m going to have to make sure that doesn’t happen.” �śAnd if you fail?” He smiled suddenly. It was fatalistic, ironic, and absolutely devastating. Holly just stared at him, momentarily besotted. �śThen you, dear lady, are going to have to kill him for me.” �śThis sounds like a fascinating conversation,” Randall drawled from the open doorway. �śAre we allowed to interrupt?” �śMaggie!” Holly leapt off the couch and flew across the room, enfolding her sister in an enthusiastic embrace. �śWhat the hell took you so long? Ian and I nearly murdered each other.” �śDon’t!” Maggie said, shuddering. Holly drew back, her beringed hands still clasping Maggie’s shoulders beneath the thick green cape, and her eyes were searching. �śWhat happened? You look like holy hell. Did you find Flynn?” Randall reached over and removed Holly’s hands, so deftly that she barely noticed. �śWhy don’t you get your sister a drink? It’s been a long, cold night and she could use one. We both could.” Holly hesitated, torn. Then she nodded, turning toward the much-depleted Irish whiskey and splashing a generous amount in two glasses. She presented them without a word, noting with concern that Maggie used two hands to hold her own glass. �śSo?” Ian said finally. �śDid you see O’Banion?” �śMaybe. Or maybe we found Flynn himself,” Randall said. �śWhat does O’Banion look like?” Ian’s cursing was sharp and fluent. �śDamn his soul to hell. Rory O’Banion’s a great bear of a man, six and a half feet tall, red hair, red beard, black eyes.” �śAnd Flynn?” �śMedium height, medium build, reddish hair,” Ian supplied. �śA charming smile?” Maggie questioned. �śBlue eyes that would put Paul Newman to shame?” �śThat’s Flynn!” Ian said. �śWhere is he now?” Andrews was already halfway to the door. �śOn his way to Beirut,” Randall said. Maggie took another healthy swallow, and a trace of color returned to her pale face. �śHe set us up, the bastard. He knew exactly who we were, and he had us walking right into a trap.” �śWhat sort of trap?” �śA group of them opened fire on a pub that catered to British soldiers. We were supposed to be in there too, waiting for O’Banion, or Flynn, or whoever he was,” Maggie said. �śThey didn’t bother to check, but no one was left alive. They were very thorough.” She shuddered and drained her glass. �śWho were they?” Ian demanded, his voice cold and hard. �śIRA, I presume. They were working with Flynn, whoever they were. There were six or seven of them, including a woman.” �śWoman?” Ian echoed hoarsely. �śThe leader called her Maeve.” �śI don’t believe it,” Holly said. �śBelieve it,” Ian said bitterly. �śWomen can be very deadly, and Maeve O’Connor is one of the worst. Flynn saw to that.” The three of them turned to stare at him. �śYou want to explain that, Andrews?” Randall inquired suddenly, his voice deceptively gentle. �śIf I thought it would be of any use I would,” he replied. �śBut it won’t help you in the least, and it’s my business. So we’re heading for Beirut, are we? The whole bloody bunch of us?” �śThe whole bloody bunch of us,” Holly verified. �śGot any objections?” �śA thousand,” he said. �śBut I know none of you will listen. When do we fly out?” �śThere’s a flight back to London first thing tomorrow,” said Randall. �śI suggest we catch it and work from there. In the meantime we’d better get what sleep we can. I sure as hell hope you don’t snore, Andrews.” �śI’m sure he does,” Holly muttered under her breath to Maggie. Ian raised his head, his piercing gaze stabbing into hers. �śYou’ll die wondering,” he said. �śThank the Lord for small favors,” she said devoutly. �śAmen,” said Ian. Maggie huddled down in the narrow bed, shivering. It seemed as if she’d never get warm again�"the cold had penetrated to the very marrow of her bones. She looked over at her sister’s sleeping figure in the twin bed. It had taken Holly close to forty-five minutes to properly clean and cream her flawless complexion, to brush and floss her perfect teeth, to arrange her flowing midnight hair so that the hard pillow the little hotel offered did no damage to the rippling curls. Maggie hadn’t minded. As long as Holly puttered around, humming under her breath, cursing Ian when she discovered she only had seven suitcases out of her original twelve, the longer Maggie could have the dubious protection of the light. Not for anything would she confess to her sister that she was afraid of the dark. There were many reasons she couldn’t tell her, one of which was habit. She was used to being considered the strong one. She didn’t want to admit to an irrational weakness at a time when Holly needed to count on that strength. But most important of all, she didn’t want to tell Holly that the reason she feared the dark went back to a black night when she was sixteen years old and her stepfather had decided to forcibly initiate his infatuated stepdaughter into the joys of womanhood. Deke Robinson had been a drunken, uncaring bastard, but his daughter Holly had loved him, and there was no need to tarnish his memory any more than his own flamboyant acts had already. But Holly’s beauty ritual had finally been completed, her cursing and humming had faded into silence, and she climbed into her own bed with a sigh, pulling the covers up around her silk-clad shoulders. Maggie had lain there, tense, waiting for her to extinguish the light, steeling herself against the darkness where banshees wailed over the bloody bodies that filled a shattered pub not ten miles away. �śGood night, Maggie,” she’d said, and curled up, leaving the dim light burning. �śNow this is more like it,” Holly said, her eyes sparkling in the blinding sunlight as she surveyed the bombed and pitted tarmac of the Beirut airport. The blackened carcasses of half a dozen bombed-out airplanes littered the runways. Not that it mattered�"very few commercial flights flew in and out of Beirut nowadays. The one working runway could handle the traffic. �śMore like what?” Maggie said. �śIt looks like a war zone.” �śExactly. Everything’s been so damned civilized the last couple of days. I might as well have been on a modeling assignment.” Ian turned to her with his omnipresent glare. �śLady,” he said in awful tones, �śhaven’t you been paying attention? There are seventeen dead in a pub in Northern Ireland. Twenty-five dead in a bombed-out gambling club in London. This isn’t some damned fantasy, this is for real.” Holly’s bright look faded. �śI’m sorry,” she mumbled. �śI wasn’t thinking �Ś” �śWe can’t afford to have you not thinking,” he snapped. �śIt’s bad enough having you tagging along�"at least keep your mouth shut if you can’t keep your brain active.” �śYou rotten little pig,” Holly began amiably. �śStop it, you two,” Maggie said, and there was a note of steel in her voice that silenced the two combatants. �śOr you can both go back where you came from. How many times do I have to tell you that we can’t afford to waste our energies fighting among ourselves?” Randall slid an arm around her waist, and she stiffened, glaring up at him. �śHow many times, Maggie dear?” he said softly. She didn’t hesitate, pulling herself out of his unresisting arms. �śCommon civility is as far as we need to go,” she replied. �śWhat next?” �śI’m going to see a man,” Ian announced. �śAlone.” �śWhat man?” Maggie asked. �śDon’t tell me you got his name from your wonderful informant. We keep walking into traps, Ian. Don’t you think it’s time to share the wealth, let us know who keeps giving you this magnificent information that almost gets us killed?” �śNo.” �śCome on, Ian, don’t be a drag,” Holly said. �śYou owe us that much.” �śLady, I owe you nothing. I’d be doing a hell of a lot better if I were on my own, without the three of you tagging after me.” �śYou’d be dead in a pub in Northern Ireland,” Randall said flatly. �śOr Flynn would.” Randall shrugged. �śMaybe. Do what you have to do. We’ll be waiting. We might even tell you where.” �śDoes Beirut have any hotels still standing?” Maggie asked. �śNot many,” Randall said. �śAnd we’re not going there. We’ll be staying with a friend of mine in the Hosni section of Beirut. It’s on the outskirts of the city, as far away from the fighting as anyone could manage. At least it was a couple of weeks ago.” �śA couple of weeks ago?” Maggie echoed. �śWhere do you think I’ve been for the last four months?” �śI hadn’t even thought about it,” Maggie lied. �śIf I’d been in the States I would have been around you.” �śNot if I could help it.” �śChildren, children,” Holly mocked. �śI thought we weren’t going to fight any more?” Randall’s mouth was a grim line. �śMust be the air. I’ll draw you a map, Ian. You can find us if you try.” Maggie sat down on the narrow, sagging bed that was nothing more than a cot. The cracked plaster walls were dark and waterstained, the tiny room wasn’t much bigger than her bathroom in New York, but for the moment it was away from Randall’s increasingly intrusive presence, and for that she was more than grateful. Even Holly’s idle chatter was driving her to the edge of madness, and the silence in the small room was heaven. She coughed, trying to clear her lungs of the dust that lingered in the bright, dry air. It had been a hell of a drive. Randall’s friend Mabib had been waiting for them, his battered Peugeot barely running, and their journey through the destroyed city had been slow and depressing. Through the rubble and desolation Maggie could see the traces of what had once been the loveliest city in the Middle East, and she sank back against the ripped cushions of the car and shut her eyes, half listening to the desultory conversation between the men in the front seat. �śI hadn’t expected to see you so soon, my friend,” Mabib had said. �śI hadn’t expected to be back so soon,” Randall had answered. �śI’d hoped to see you on more peaceful ground.” �śWe don’t often get what we hope for. Where did your friend disappear to?” �śHe wouldn’t say. We’re looking for a man, Mabib. An Irishman, medium height, medium build, reddish hair, blue eyes.” �śFlynn,” said Mabib. �śYou know him?” �śI know of him. I had word that he arrived last night, and right now he’s somewhere outside the city, at one of the training camps. The terrorists of this world are an odd bunch, my friend. They wander the world like nomads, always finding a home at the trouble spots. Flynn’s on some crazy sort of sabbatical, teaching some of our more bloodthirsty patriots.” �śCan you help me find him?” Mabib had shrugged. �śWho knows? I will ask around. Your friend might not help matters. It would be better if you left it to me.” �śWe’ll do that.” Maggie had opened her mouth from the backseat to protest, then shut it again, not saying a word when they arrived at the sturdy little house that, despite damage, was still standing. She’d been quiet, almost apathetic when Mabib had led her to her room, and she sat there on her bed, wondering where her energy and pride had fled. She could only be grateful she had a room to herself, even one so tiny. The house itself was so small she was surprised she’d been allotted a private room. Thank heavens for small favors, she thought with a weary sigh, sinking back on the bed. The door opened without the courtesy of a knock, and in the shifting dust motes and bright sunlight she could see a tall, narrow figure outlined there. �śWhat do you want, Randall?” She didn’t bother to move, to sit up, she lay there on the bed and summoned up a weak glare. �śAre you all right?” He moved into the room, shutting the door behind him, plunging the room back into shadows, and Maggie saw him drop his suitcase on the floor. �śWhat do you want?” she repeated. �śAnd why did you bring your bag with you?” �śWe’re sharing the room, Maggie. Mabib’s house can’t accommodate privacy�"there are only three rooms with the roof still on. Mabib, his wife, and three children are in one, Holly and Ian, if he ever returns, are in the other.” Maggie was off the narrow bed in a flash. �śForget it. Holly and I can share a room �Ś” He caught her by the door, his hand like a manacle around her arm. She had no choice but to halt, but she stared up at him, a defiant expression on her face. Randall sighed. �śSit down, Maggie.” �śI don’t want to sit down, I want to�"” She found herself sitting, with Randall leaning over her, doing his absolute best to intimidate her. She glared at him, ignoring her pounding heart and sweaty palms. �śWe’re in a dangerous situation, madam,” he said, his voice harsh and clipped. �śWhile we’re in Beirut this is no longer a democracy. I’ve lived here, I know what’s going on. For the duration of our stay I’m in charge, and we’re all going to do what I say. Two women in one room is asking for trouble. Everyone around knows we’re here, and I don’t care how good you are at taking care of yourself, when it comes right down to it you aren’t as strong as Ian. He’ll do a much better job taking care of Holly than you can.” �śIf he returns,” Maggie snapped. �śAnd if he doesn’t kill her himself.” �śHe’ll return. Don’t let your pride endanger your sister’s life, Maggie. You’re too smart for that.” �śDo you really think I’m going to share this bed with you, Randall?” A small grin lit his usually sober face. �śYou have before.” �śForget it.” �śI’m not likely to do that. However, I imagine Mabib can find you some bedding for the floor.” �śMe?” �śYou’re the one with objections to sharing the bed, not me,” he pointed out politely. �śYou can have the floor.” �śYou bastard,” she began, when the door opened once more, and Holly stood there, her face pale in the shifting sunlight. �śMaggie, Randall,” she said, and her voice was shaky. �śYou’d better come.” Randall rose swiftly, and Maggie watched the sudden, gentle concern with an odd feeling of jealousy. He’d never been that tender with her. �śWhat is it, Holly?” �śMabib’s had word. Ian’s been kidnapped.” seven �śCalm down,” Randall said flatly, and his prosaic voice snapped Holly out of her incipient hysteria. �śWhoever has him, they’ll probably be willing to trade.” Mabib had appeared in the door, and his dark face was creased with worry. �śIt’s a group calling themselves the Children of God, Randall. Apparently your friend was fool enough to go wandering up in the hills, looking for training camps. He ran into those bandits instead. They’ve got him, and they want an exchange.” Randall nodded. �śWhat terms?” A sour smile lit Mabib’s face. �śFive million dollars and freedom for all political prisoners in Syria.” �śWhat?” Holly shrieked. Randall appeared singularly unmoved. �śDon’t worry, Holly,” he said absently, and once more Maggie felt that start of jealousy. �śThey’ll bargain.” �śBut five million dollars�"” �śHow organized are the Children of God, Mabib?” he asked. �śI’m not familiar with that particular splinter group.” �śWith reason, my friend. They’re the most pitiful of a pitiful bunch. They have no organization, no money, no plans, no power. They roam the hills outside Beirut like wild dogs, preying on anyone who falls in their way. I would think, since they haven’t killed your friend yet, that it will be a simple enough matter to get him back.” �śFive thousand, do you think?” �śNo, no,” Mabib said. �śFive hundred dollars will be more than enough.” �śWhat about the political prisoners?” Maggie spoke for the first time. Randall’s blue-gray eyes touched her pale face briefly. �śI imagine asking for political prisoners is merely a face-saving device.” �śIndeed, yes, miss,” Mabib assured her. �śThey’re bandits, nothing more. By asking for political prisoners they’re trying to ally themselves with the PLO in case anyone comes after them. Once they know they’re getting money they’ll drop all other demands.” �śBut five hundred dollars?” Maggie said. �śWe could bargain them down even lower, but I’m afraid they’d take it out on your friend before returning him,” Mabib said with a shrug. �śYou have enough cash on you?” �śI do,” Holly said, a glint of steel in her aquamarine eyes. �śThat’s not necessary, Holly �Ś” Randall began. �śYes, it is,” Maggie interrupted him. �śIf I know my sister, and I do. Right, Holly?” �śRight, Maggie. I’m down to three suitcases, thanks to him and his high-and-mighty attitude. I want to be the one to bail him out of the mess he’s gotten himself into.” �śHe won’t thank you for it,” Randall warned. Holly grinned. �śI sincerely hope not. I want it to drive him absolutely crazy.” Randall shook his head. �śThere are times, Holly, when you frighten me even more than your sister.” �śReally?” Holly looked genuinely pleased. �śThanks.” Randall and Mabib were gone a long time. Mabib’s wife spoke no English, merely smiled shyly as she cooked something arcane and delicious smelling in the bombed-out courtyard of the building. Her children, equally shy and equally pretty, played among the shattered mosaics. Maggie gave up trying to communicate, accepting two dishes of the fragrant supper and carrying it back to her room. The room Randall was fool enough to think he’d share. Holly was waiting for her, pacing the narrow area, her high-heeled silver sandals tapping on the stone floor. She was dressed, appropriately enough, in rose chiffon harem pants, her midnight hair a cloud around her beautiful face, and she accepted the dish with a grimace before sinking down on the dusty stone floor. �śI don’t suppose you know what this is?” she asked, poking at it with the large spoon Mabib’s wife had provided. �śHaven’t the foggiest. Eat it anyway. Who knows when we’ll be fed again.” Maggie sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, watching her sister through the shifting shadows. Night was falling, darkness closing in around them, as Mabib’s house didn’t have electricity. She shivered. �śWhy is it taking them so long?” Holly asked anxiously. �śI gather these things require careful handling. Don’t worry, Holly. They’ll bring Ian back.” �śI’m not worried about Ian.” �śAren’t you?” Maggie forced herself to take another bite. It was some sort of stew with a meat she didn’t care to identify, but it was warm and tasty, not to mention filling. �śYou could have fooled me.” �śIan Andrews is a pain in the butt.” �śYes,” Maggie agreed. �śHe keeps ditching my luggage every chance he gets.” �śYes.” �śWe’d be better off without him.” �śPossibly,” Maggie murmured, feeling quite clever. �śSo what are you worried about?” �śSometimes, Maggie, you can be extremely irritating,” Holly snapped. She grinned, unrepentant. �śThere’s nothing unusual with being attracted to a man who’s all wrong for you. Plenty of women do it all the time.” �śIncluding you?” She wanted to deny it, wanted to deny that she’d ever been attracted to the cold-blooded, murdering bastard who didn’t even know how to love. But she seldom lied, and if she’d tried Holly would have seen right through it. �śIncluding me,” she said, putting the half-finished stew down on the floor next to the bed. There was an uncomfortable silence in the tiny room, broken only by the sound of Holly’s spoon scraping the now-empty bowl. �śHow do you think Sybil’s doing?” she asked, her voice small and forlorn. Maggie shook her head. �śI wish I knew. I called from Heathrow and there was still no change. Maybe that’s the best thing. Maybe her body has to just �Ś rest �Ś recuperate before her mind can face the world again.” �śI wouldn’t have called a coma R and R.” �śSo I’m grasping at straws. She’ll pull through, Holly. She’s got to. We’re going to bring her Tim Flynn’s head on a platter, and she has to be there to appreciate it,” Maggie said fiercely. Holly shuddered. �śI almost believe you mean it.” �śWell, a platter might be a little messy. I could use a bowling bag.” �śMaggie, don’t!” Maggie looked up at her sister in the dim light. �śI’m going to kill him, Holly. I’m not going to read him his rights or knock him on the head. I’m going to kill him in cold blood.” �śIf Ian doesn’t do it first.” Maggie nodded. �śThere’s always that possibility. I don’t really care, as long as he’s dead.” �śYou never used to be so bloodthirsty. Was it Mack’s death that made you so vengeful?” Holly’s thoughtless words brought back a shaft of pain. For a moment Maggie shut her eyes, remembering. And with that memory came the possibility, the probability of Randall’s guilt, and a knot formed in her stomach once more. �śYes,” she said grimly. �śIt was.” �śHow long do you think it will take them to get back?” Holly asked again. �śGod only knows. I think I’ll try to get some sleep. You may as well too. According to Randall you’re going to have to share your room with Ian when he gets back, and I wouldn’t think that would lead to a decent night’s sleep.” �śI know,” Holly said in her gloomiest tone of voice, her eyes bright. �śIt’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it. I wouldn’t think you’d enjoy sharing a bed with Randall.” �śI’m not going to.” �śBut how �Ś never mind. You’re right, a nap would be a good idea. They �Ś they don’t have any lights in this place, do they?” Holly’s question was innocent enough, but Maggie could feel her eyes watching her. �śNo, they don’t. But that’s my problem, not yours. Don’t worry about Ian, Holly. Thorns in one’s sides don’t tend to go away. They fester.” �śOn that cheerful note I think I’ll head to my room. At least we have two beds in it.” �śMaybe I’ll share yours and leave Randall in solitary splendor,” Maggie said. �śYou’re welcome to try. At least it would keep Ian’s lustful passions at bay.” �śIan has lustful passions?” Maggie echoed. �śNot yet. But hope springs eternal.” She eyed her sister. �śI’ll tell you what. We’re supposed to share our rooms with the big strong men for protection, right? And the big strong men are nowhere to be seen. So it makes sense for us to stay together. This room’s more secure than mine�"we’ll take turns keeping watch. You sack out first.” �śDon’t be ridiculous.” There was no mistaking the relief in Maggie’s voice. �śYou sleep first.” �śI’m not tired, and you can barely keep your eyes open. Don’t worry, Maggie. I won’t let the boogie man get you.” �śFat chance you’ll have against Randall,” she murmured sleepily, stretching out on the narrow bed. �śIs he the boogie man?” �śIf he isn’t, I don’t know who is,” she said, closing her eyes in the shadowy room. She didn’t know how much later it was when she awakened. All she knew was it was dark, and she was alone. The darkness closed around her, mingled with her own self-disgust. There was nothing she could do. She knew she should get up, try to find Holly in the pitch blackness, but her limbs were frozen. She could do nothing but lie there and wait. Sooner or later Randall would return, sooner or later the sun would rise. Until then all she could do was lie in that bed and grit her teeth so that the screams wouldn’t leave her throat. The bed was narrow, sagging, and wretchedly uncomfortable. The thin blanket provided no warmth at all, and Maggie lay there, still fully dressed, shivering, her wet palms clutching the sides of the mattress, lay there as the black night covered her, smothered her, stole her breath and life away. She lay there, hot tears pouring down her chilled face, lay there helplessly and did the one thing she could never forgive herself for. She prayed for Randall to come. Where the hell was he? He was always around when you wanted him gone. Where was he now that she needed him? She rolled over, burying her face in the mattress that smelled of sweat and plaster, her fists clutching the iron bed frame. She didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear the stealthy footsteps cross the floor, until it was too late. A hand snaked around her, covering her mouth, as a body pressed her against the sagging bed. She tried to scream, but a hand pressed against her throat, shutting off the sound, and another, deeper blackness began to descend. �śSo you’re back.” Holly sat up in bed, facing a rumpled and furious Ian Andrews without a trace of her almost-dizzy relief showing. The silk nightgown had tiny straps that had slipped down her arms, but she made no effort to pull them up again, nor to cover herself with the threadbare blanket. She knew perfectly well they were back�"she’d heard their voices in the bombed-out courtyard of Mabib’s house and high-tailed it out of Maggie’s room in time to arrange herself as artfully as possible in her sexiest nightgown. It had been a close thing�"she was still breathing heavily from her exertions. �śI’m back,” Ian said grimly, tossing the electric lantern down on the twin bed. �śSorry to disappoint you.” �śOh, I’m not disappointed,” she said in an airy tone of voice. �śI wouldn’t have paid five hundred dollars of my hard-earned money to retrieve you. That’s almost half an hour of modeling work. I figured you were worth it.” �śWhat?” She smiled her most enchanting smile, wishing she had dimples to further infuriate him. �śDidn’t Randall tell you? I paid your ransom.” �śNo, he didn’t tell me. And he didn’t tell me how much. Or should I say, how little?” �śNow, don’t be offended, Ian. They were asking for five million. They were just willing to bargain when they realized what cut-rate merchandise they’d captured.” �śI’m not in the mood for this,” Ian warned, stripping off his khaki jacket. There were streaks of dried blood on it, and some impressive scrapes and bruises on his face. Apparently he hadn’t been captured without a struggle, and for a moment Holly softened. She was about to slide from the bed, offer to bind his wounds, and even, if he managed to smile that devastating smile just one more time, provide a little more in the way of comfort, when Ian eyed her open suitcase. �śWhat’s that?” �śWhat’s what?” she echoed, momentarily nonplussed. �śThis?” He held up a piece of neon plastic. �śMy hair dryer. And that’s my curling iron, and my eyelash curler, and my�"What the hell are you doing?” Ian had dropped the fuchsia plastic blow dryer on the floor and stomped on it with his size-eleven boot. The plastic shattered with a muffled crunch. He took the matching curling iron and broke it in half like a pretzel rod, grabbed the eyelash curler and crushed it in one large fist. And then he reached for her suitcase full of silks and satins, strode to the shuttered window, and threw it out in the streets. Holly just sat there, staring, as an estimated ten thousand dollars’ worth of designer clothes took the plunge. Then she leaned back against the plaster wall with deceptive calm. �śMake you feel any better?” she inquired. �śOr would you like to toss me after my suitcase?” �śDon’t tempt me.” He sneered. �śWould you mind telling me what I’m supposed to wear?” �śI don’t give a damn. I’m just not going to lug another damned purple suitcase around the trouble spots of the world.” �śIt’s not my fault you got kidnapped, Ian.” �śThe hell it isn’t. They were warned. I was set up, damn it. They were told to look for someone with a tall lady with a dozen lavender suitcases.” �śI only have three �Ś correction, two.” �śIt doesn’t matter. No one else flew into Beirut airport in the last week with purple suitcases. They got me before I’d gone half a mile, thanks to you.” �śListen, it’s not my fault I’m distinctive�"” �śShut up, Holly,” he said, his voice low and furious as he kicked off his shoes. �śJust close that pretty mouth of yours and keep it closed, or I’ll find ways to do it for you.” She considered him for a moment. Normally she wouldn’t have backed down, but he’d been through a hell of a lot. He pulled off his shirt, and she could see a large welt purpling his torso. She also noticed what an extremely nice torso it was, broad and muscled and tanned, with just the right amount of hair tapering into his pants. Pants he was in the midst of taking off. She flipped over, turning her back on him. �śPleasant dreams, Ian.” �śDon’t count on it.” * * * �śIt’s me,” Randall’s whisper broke through her panic, and with more self-possession than she would have credited herself with she managed to gain a semblance of calm. She relaxed her muscles, slowed her breathing beneath his suffocating hand, and waited for him to release her. He moved his hand away, and she took in deep breaths of the black night air. �śYou want to get off me?” she inquired tersely. �śNot particularly.” He was still lying on top of her prone body, crushing her into the concave mattress. He rolled partway off, enough to allow her to turn on her side, facing him in the narrow space, but his hands were still keeping her close. Imprisoning hands, rough hands, she told herself. It was only the darkness that made them welcome. �śWhy did you do that?” �śDo what, Maggie?” �śYou half strangled me �Ś” �śMaggie,” he said wearily, �śI didn’t half strangle you. I was just trying to keep you from screaming and waking half of Beirut. I’m sorry if I frightened you. Are you all right?” �śWhy shouldn’t I be?” she answered, her whispered voice matching his. �śI love being awakened by a man smothering me.” He ignored her carping tone. �śWe didn’t mean to be gone so long. Why didn’t you ask Mabib’s wife for a flashlight?” �śI don’t speak Arabic or Lebanese or whatever.” �śI’m sorry. I should have thought of that.” His hand moved up her arm, cupping the back of her neck, and his long fingers massaged the tension away as he carefully pressed her forehead against his shoulder. �śI was fine,” she muttered against his shoulder, not bothering to fight it. �śSure you were.” �śI can take care of myself.” �śI know you can,” he said, his voice somber. �śThere are times when I wish you weren’t so self-sufficient, that you needed someone, anyone, just a little bit.” She closed her eyes, closed her heart, fought against the need to clutch at him with desperate hands. �śI need people,” she said, no longer sure it was true. �śI just don’t need you.” The words hung between them in the blackness. Maggie lay in the shelter of his arms, wondering if they were the truth or more lies, and wondered if she was going to betray Mack. Randall was warm and strong and comforting beside her, and she was so very cold, so very alone. And she knew that sooner or later, she would. �śIan told me who his contact was,” Randall said finally. �śBig of him. He must have finally decided he didn’t like being set up. Who is it?” �śYou’re not going to like this,” he warned. �śI never do. Who is it?” In the darkness she could feel him shrug. �śHe has a phone number he calls in London. Different people answer, giving him information, but it all comes from one source.” �śOkay, Randall, who’s the source?” Randall took a deep breath. �śHe told me it was Bud Willis.” For a moment Maggie felt her heart contract, contract with hatred, despair, and fear. �śIt couldn’t be,” she said flatly. �śHe’s dead. I watched him die. I watched all those machines stop beeping. There’s no way he could still be alive.” She could hear his sudden sharp intake of breath. �śYou were with Bud when he died?” he said. �śIn Washington?” �śYes.” �śWhy?” He sounded no more than casually curious, but Maggie told herself she wasn’t fooled. His hands were still gentle on her tense body, holding her against him, but the tension was running through him, matching hers. She considered it for a moment. �śHe had a deathbed confession for me,” she said finally. �śYou know Bud; he couldn’t resist getting his final licks in.” �śI hope you didn’t believe him.” �śWhy shouldn’t I? You think his last words were going to be more lies?” �śBud Willis’s last words are bound to be the most malicious and evil that his malicious and evil mind can think of. Truth would have nothing to do with it.” �śWhy are you talking about him in the present tense? Don’t you think he’s dead?” �śYou saw him die, Maggie. I didn’t. I never believe anything I don’t see with my own eyes.” She shivered. �śHe couldn’t be alive. And if by any chance he was, he’d be in some hospital somewhere. We both know he’d been pretty well smashed up from that three-story fall onto a concrete floor. I don’t think he’d be roaming the world selling information. Someone must be using his name. Someone who knows how it would affect us.” �śSomeone with an odd sense of humor, perhaps? Flynn’s definitely a strange one.” �śProbably Flynn himself,” she agreed. �śDid you learn anything else?” �śWe’ve got two possibilities. Flynn’s cutting short his little vacation and heading back to Europe. He’s either gone into the mountains near the Syrian border, or he’s gone to Rome. We’re going to have to split up.” Maggie shifted in the narrow bed, and his hands tightened on her for a moment, until he realized that she was simply settling herself more comfortably, not trying to pull away. �śDare I ask how we’re going to separate?” �śIan and Holly will head toward Rome.” �śAnd we’ll go into the mountains?” �śIt seems the logical thing to do,” he said, and his breath was warm and soft on her upturned face. �śWhat if Holly and I go to Rome and you and Ian head into the mountains?” she countered. �śForget it. What would you do if you found Flynn?” �śKill him,” she said flatly. �śMaggie, I know as well as you do that you’ve never killed anyone in cold blood. Even if you could do it, you’d be bound to hesitate, and that’s all Flynn would need. I’m not going to give him the chance to kill you too.” �śHow many times do I have to tell you�"” �śThat you can take care of yourself?” he finished for her. �śAre you willing to gamble your sister’s life on that?” She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. �śAll right,” she said finally. �śWe’ll go into the mountains. We’d better get some sleep. I don’t suppose you feel like sleeping on the floor?” �śNeither of us is going anywhere, Maggie.” She considered denying it, but he was making no advances. He seemed content merely to hold her and she hated to admit it, but she was content to have him hold her. Just for now, just for the duration of this cold, dark night. She sighed, and some of the tension left her body. �śYou’re a pain in the butt, Randall,” she murmured sleepily, nestling against him. �śThat’s a step up from whatever it is you’ve been thinking of me,” he replied. �śNo, don’t tense up again. You’re right, we need our sleep. Let’s not fight any more.” �śOkay,” she said, yawning. �śJust tell me one thing.” �śWhat?” �śWhat was Bud’s deathbed confession?” eight Maggie lay in the narrow bed, watching the morning light filter into the room through the cracks in the shuttered window. She didn’t move, didn’t alter her breathing, she just lay there, pressed between the plaster wall and Randall’s sleeping body, and cursed her stupidity. She hadn’t told him what he wanted to know. She still wasn’t quite sure why. Sooner or later she’d have to confront him with Bud Willis’s claim that Randall had paid him to murder Mack. But not now, not when she wasn’t ready to face his answer. If he lied to her she’d know it. If he told the truth she might not be able to bear it. So she was being a coward, hiding from the truth when she prided herself on her ability to face anything. And the most foolish thing of all was that she’d spent last night hiding in his arms. It was pure human nature, the survival instinct that made her want to edge closer and wrap her long legs around him. Waking next to a warm body, when all your defenses are down, naturally made you want to make love. She could have been lying next to anyone and woken with that urge. So why wasn’t it vanishing in the cold light of day? Why did she have to fight the temptation to slide her hands beneath the rumpled cotton shirt, to move her head a fraction of an inch so that her mouth could brush against his strong, tanned neck? Why the hell couldn’t she shove him out of her bed and onto the hard stone floor? Stupid, stupid, stupid, she railed at herself, not moving. She knew now that even if the worst were true, even if Randall had paid Bud Willis twenty thousand dollars to kill her husband, she couldn’t return the compliment. The best she could do would be to keep as far away from him as possible. In the few short days she’d been around him he’d proven just how irresistible he could be to her. Not once had her mind forgotten the horrible probability, even as her body responded to his. Damn, they had to find Flynn soon! She had to get away from Randall before she made a bigger fool of herself, before she became sucked up in a mindless vortex of hating and loving and wanting and hurting. She had to get away while she could still call her soul her own. Randall shifted in his sleep, and the length of his body pressed more intimately against her. She could feel his arousal, and telling herself that it was a normal male hormonal reaction with very little to do with her didn’t do much good. He was hot and hard against her, and she was hot and damp and ready, and her palms began to sweat. Maybe she could just �Ś �śMaggie!” Holly’s voice bellowed through the shattered building, and Randall’s eyes flew open to look directly into hers. They stared at each other, for a long vulnerable moment. And then his head moved, his mouth touched hers, lightly. She held very still. His blue-gray eyes darkened for a moment, and then he moved, pulling her underneath him on the narrow bed, and his mouth moved over hers�"wet, demanding, his tongue capturing hers as he kissed her with a sudden desperation that bordered on panic. She lifted her arms to twine them about his neck, to pull him closer, when Holly’s voice split through the sound of heavy breathing and rustling bedclothes. �śMaggie!” she yelled from just outside their bedroom door. �śWake up, for God’s sake. It’s after nine!” He was off her before the door opened, standing with his back to the door, staring out the shuttered window, only the rise and fall of his strong back attesting to the last few moments of passion. It took Maggie a moment longer to regain her sanity. She was just sitting up when Holly burst into the room, and if her clothes were still decently around her, her expression must have been nothing short of dazed. Holly came to a screeching halt. �śDid I interrupt something?” �śNo,” Maggie said, but her voice came out husky and breathless. �śBecause I can go back downstairs and argue with Ian some more. I just didn’t think there was anything going on between you two.” She started an awkward retreat. �śThere isn’t,” Maggie said. �śYou could have fooled me.” Holly’s artless tongue once more tripped her up. Randall moved then, abruptly, and he cursed. A moment later he was gone from the room, without a backward glance. Maggie watched him leave with mingled relief and regret. �śOkay, Holly,” she said wearily. �śI’m awake. Where the hell did you get those clothes?” Holly grinned, doing her best model’s slouch. She was wearing ill-fitting khakis, obviously belonging to Ian. Her thick black hair was in braids, she wore no makeup at all, and her only jewelry were the diamond studs Sybil had given her years ago, studs she never took off except for modeling assignments. She looked absolutely beautiful. �śDo you like them? Ian’s been ditching my suitcases every chance he gets. All I’m left with is lingerie and evening dresses. He keeps getting pissed off so I thought I’d give him the natural look.” �śDid he appreciate it?” Maggie pulled herself out of the concave bed. �śI’m afraid not. He said he couldn’t see the difference and stomped from the room in a foul temper. Somewhat like your friend Randall.” �śPossibly they suffer from the same affliction,” Maggie suggested, running her fingers through her tangled mop of hair. �śAre you all set to fly to Rome?” �śI find I’m longing for civilization once more. When Ian finally deigned to tell me we were going I almost kissed him. I’ll call the hospital the moment I get there. Maybe there’ll be good news.” Maggie managed a brief, weary smile. �śLet’s hope so.” �śI hate jeeps.” �śThis isn’t a jeep,” Randall pointed out with maddening correctness. It was several hours later, with the two of them heading up into the mountains of the high Lebanon, and the atmosphere was more than mildly strained. He’d pushed her too far, he knew it, but he had no intention of stopping now. �śIt’s a very old Bronco,” he said. �śI don’t give a damn what it is. I hate four-wheel drive armylike vehicles with flimsy roofs, lousy seats, rotten suspensions, and noisy engines. I hate jeeps, Broncos, Land Rovers, and everything like them. How come Mabib couldn’t come up with a nice Jaguar? Or a second-hand Peugeot? Even a Ford?” �śThis is a Ford.” �śIt’s got to be a bastard cousin,” Maggie grumbled, squinting into the bright sunlight. �śWe couldn’t drive into the mountains of Lebanon in anything less than a four-wheel drive. They don’t go in much for paved roads around here, and those that were in decent shape have been bombed out of existence.” She leaned back in the uncomfortable seat, sighing. �śDo you think we’re going to find him?” �śI don’t know. Our sources are pretty damned good at this point. The Children of God don’t like Flynn’s friends any more than we do�"they’d have nothing to lose and everything to gain by screwing them. I’d guess that Flynn’s planning to fly to Rome from a pickup spot near the border. With us on his trail and Ian and Holly at the other end we should have him neatly trapped.” �śMaybe,” she said doubtfully. �śSomehow I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.” �śNothing ever is.” They rode on in silence. It was late morning and the rough dirt roads leading into the mountains of Lebanon were deserted. Mabib had promised to see the still-battling Holly and Ian off on the next flight out of Beirut, and now that they were separated from the other pair an uncomfortable silence had reigned between Maggie and Randall. �śSo what makes you think we’re heading in the right direction? How do you know Mabib’s informant isn’t the same slug using Bud Willis’s name?” Randall looked over at her in the bright sunlit morning. �śMabib knows who to trust in Lebanon,” he said slowly. �śHe wouldn’t still be alive if he didn’t. This isn’t the world’s most peaceful country, Maggie. You know that as well as I do. And like me you’ve learned who you can trust and who you can’t.” That distant, closed look shuttered down over her face again, and he wanted to slap the steering wheel in frustration. As usual he banked down his reaction, keeping his own expression impassive. �śHave I?” she murmured. �śI’m not sure about that.” �śYou know better than to believe anything Bud Willis would tell you. Particularly if it was about me.” She looked up then, her eyes wary. �śWhat makes you think he told me anything about you?” His smile was cynical. �śInstincts, Maggie. We weren’t on the best of terms when we parted in Chicago, but you didn’t hate me. You hate me now.” He waited for her to deny it. He was pushing her, goading her, hoping for some tiny bit of information, some explanation for the desolate expression in her eyes and the grim anger around her mouth. But he should have known Maggie wouldn’t be pushed. �śRandall, I’m tired,” she said, ignoring his statement. �śIf you don’t need me to keep watch I’m going to try to sleep. It’ll be hours before we reach the border, right?” She slouched down in the seat, closing her wonderful aquamarine eyes, clearly determined to ignore him. �śHours,” he agreed with a touch of asperity. �śOkay, Maggie. You can run away again. But sooner or later you’re going to have to face me.” Her eyes flew open. �śI’m not running.” �śAren’t you? Then why won’t you answer a direct question?” She opened her mouth, and he waited, patiently, a faint trace of hope stirring within him. But she shut it again, glaring at him, and slid back down on the seat. �śWake me when we’re getting close,” she snapped. He considered pulling over to the side of the deserted road and shaking her. For a brief moment he indulged himself in fantasy, playing with the idea of shoving her into the back of the Bronco and forcing her to respond to him, to drop her defenses. It would be all too easy to do. He knew how to move her, knew what she reacted to, knew just what to do to make her helpless and quivering in response, where she’d deny him nothing, not her body, not her soul, not the answers he wanted. But the idea of rape disgusted him, and that was the only way he’d get her pliant enough to accept him. No, it was going to have to wait. It sometimes seemed like he’d spent half his adult life waiting for Maggie Bennett. He was a man with limitless patience, but that patience was running out. It was getting dark when Maggie awoke. Her entire body ached, her eyes were gritty from sleep and dust, and her mouth felt like fuzzy cotton. The damned Bronco went over another bump, and she bit back a moan of pain. She looked over at the man beside her, the man concentrating on driving over the narrow mountain track. Lines of weariness bracketed his thin mouth, his eyes were dark and shadowed, and his strong, narrow hands held the steering wheel with deceptive ease. He was dressed in rough khakis, and above the open shirt she could see the cords of tension in his neck, betraying the calm, detached expression on his face. He was driving very slowly, very expertly, somehow managing to keep the noisy engine of the Bronco at a relatively quiet level. �śI was about to wake you,” he said, and his rich warm voice grated on her nerves even as it moved her. �śWe should be less than half a mile away.” �śDo we have any plan of action? Or are we just going to go blazing away like Rambo?” She pitched her own voice low to match his. �śI suppose it’s a possibility. We’ve got two Uzis, a Sten, and a couple of Colt handguns. What the scenario lacks in finesse it makes up for in effectiveness.” Maggie nodded, adrenaline coursing through her, and for the time being all thought of Mack Pulaski left her. For the moment they were partners, she and Randall, counting on each other in a life-or-death situation, and there would be no room for doubts, for lack of trust, for a moment’s hesitation. �śI think subtlety would be wasted on a man like Tim Flynn.” �śHe won’t be alone, Maggie.” �śI imagine they’ll be into shooting first and asking questions later,” she said. �śI’ll take one of the Uzis.” �śYou ever shot one before?” Maggie laughed, a wry sound on the hot dry air. �śIn a shooting range in Atlanta, Georgia,” she said. �śThey have them franchised all over the country for would-be soldiers of fortune and frustrated housewives. You go in, plop down twenty-five bucks and get to blast away.” �śWhich category do you fit in?” �śI beg your pardon?” �śAre you a would-be soldier of fortune or a frustrated housewife?” Maggie looked across at him. �śYou’re treading on thin ice, Randall. You should �Ś Jesus, what’s that?” A figure loomed up in the gathering shadows, and Maggie dove toward the backseat with the guns. Randall caught her halfway there, slamming the jeep to a stop and cursing. �śIt’s a goat, Maggie,” he said, and his hands were hard on her arms. �śThey wander all over the place. Now’s not the time to get spooked.” She pulled back, away from him, sinking back into the front seat, the lethal little Uzi machine gun safe in her hands. �śSorry,” she muttered. Randall leaned over and switched off the ignition, and the silence around them was deafening. Only the quiet sound of the goat, munching away on some of the sparse vegetation, penetrated the stillness. �śI’m in charge,” he announced flatly. �śYou’ll do what I tell you, no questions asked, no arguments. Understood?” �śWho made you king of the world?” �śI did. I know the territory, Maggie. I’ve gone up against people like Flynn before�"you haven’t.” �śHow do you know?” A weary smile lit his dark face. �śMaggie, I know everything there is to know about you.” �śThe hell you do.” �śI know you’re afraid of the dark, and I know why. Your stepfather raped you in a dark poolhouse when you were sixteen, and you’ve hated the darkness ever since. I know the names of every man you’ve ever slept with, I know your bank balance and your measurements and your favorite wine and your favorite kind of pizza. I know who you love and who you hate. I just don’t know why you hate me.” She bit back the surge of rage. �śI hope your informants are more reliable than Ian’s have been.” �śThey’re worth the money I pay them. Are you going to tell me why you hate me?” �śDoes it matter?” His eyes met hers for a long, silent moment, and she had the uneasy feeling that they understood each other far too well. �śNot right now,” he said finally. �śJust so long as you do what I tell you, just so long as you trust me for the next couple of hours. Will you give me that much?” She didn’t even argue. �śYes.” He nodded, and she could see the faint trace of relief in his shadowed eyes. �śAll right. We’ll head toward the clearing and�"” His voice broke off as a sudden rumbling trembled across the rough land. �śHell and damnation!” Maggie said. �śIt’s a helicopter.” Randall didn’t waste a moment. The Bronco roared into life, the headlights split the gathering darkness, and they were careening through the night. Maggie held on for dear life, the Uzi clutched in her grip, her mind and emotions numb. In the next few minutes she would have to fire the damned thing, and suddenly there was a hell of a lot of difference between a suburban firing range and a Lebanese night. It was endless moments before they reached the campsite. The helicopter was already taking off, the wind from its huge propellers whipping everything in sight, and the bright lights blinded them as the Bronco skidded to a stop. �śGet down!” Randall shouted to her over the deafening noise as he rolled out of the seat and hit the ground running. Bullets were flying everywhere, spitting into the dirt around Maggie, shattering the windshield, thudding into the carcass of the Bronco. And Randall was firing back, toward the rapidly receding helicopter that was disappearing into the twilight sky. Quickly Maggie spun around, on the lookout for any gun-wielding confederates Flynn might have left behind. No one, not a trace of life from the deserted building, the collapsed tent fluttering madly in the helicopter’s wake. And then he was gone, Flynn and his cohorts, out of reach, out of range, and the noise of the copter faded into a gentle flapping and then into silence. Slowly Randall rose from his crouch beside the Bronco, rose and looked over at her. �śAre you okay?” The question was polite, showing none of the rage and frustration he must be feeling. �śYes,” said Maggie. �śHow about you?” �śFine.” The word was short, clipped. It was getting darker. There was still the trace of a fire in the middle of the clearing, and there were piles of refuse scattered all about. Depression was settling over her. A logical reaction to a missed chance, she told herself, shivering lightly in the warm night air. She could smell diesel fuel from the helicopter, smoke from the fire, and something else, something she knew but refused to recognize. �śCan we go now?” she said, and her voice shook slightly. He just looked at her. �śNot quite yet,” he said. �śDo you want to stay in the Bronco while I take care of the bodies?” nine She knew what the smell was�"there was no longer any way to avoid that knowledge. She’d smelled it before, too many times. In her boss Peter Wallace’s office, kneeling over his body. In a Swiss chalet with a dead man and a thousand gerbils at her feet. In her sister Kate’s bathroom. It was the stench of blood and death, a smell like no other, and she felt the nausea begin to rise. She swallowed the bile, shook off the tremors that threatened to overcome her, and met Randall’s distant expression. �śWho did we kill?” She hadn’t fired her gun, but for some reason she didn’t want him to take the responsibility alone. The gesture was in vain. �śWe didn’t kill anyone. Flynn leaves no witnesses, remember?” �śI remember.” She didn’t need to ask him how he knew there were bodies. He knew just as she did. �śWhat are we going to do with them?” Randall shrugged. �śSee if they’re all dead. See if Flynn left any clues behind.” �śCan we bury them?” �śNot likely. The ground’s too hard, and I can see at least three bodies. It would take hours to dig a hole large enough.” He stopped. �śYou sure you don’t want to wait in the car?” �śI’m sure.” �śThat’s right. You don’t need anyone or anything. This must seem like a piece of cake to a hard-nosed woman like you.” �śNot exactly. Don’t goad me, Randall. I’m just trying to help.” He looked at her for a long, silent moment. �śAll right,” he said finally. �śYou see if there’s anyone in the tent. I’ll take care of the ones out here.” The tent hadn’t collapsed completely. As Maggie moved quietly through the camp she tried to breathe through her mouth, to calm the screaming nerves that threatened to overtake her. There was blood seeping through the tent where it lay on the ground. Maggie cast a surreptitious glance back at Randall. He was bent over one of those huddled shapes, his back to her, and another shiver swept over her. Her throat had closed up, and all her swallowing couldn’t seem to open it again. Steeling herself, she lifted the flap of the tent and stepped inside the sagging structure. She didn’t need to examine the figure on the ground to know he was well and truly dead. Nor did she really need to move closer to the woman lying on the narrow cot. But something drove her, as she pushed the sagging tent away and crossed the narrow space. The woman must have been in her early twenties. She had the dark auburn hair and clear white skin of the Irish, and the staring eyes were a true green, rather like Ian’s. The other man had been butchered, swiftly, efficiently, as no doubt the bodies in the compound had. But Flynn had taken his time with this one. And Maggie remembered her mother, lying small and huddled in a hospital bed, and she began to shake. She didn’t even hear Randall move in behind her. �śDo you think that’s Maeve O’Connor?” Maggie shook her head, trying to clear the blinding tears from her eyes. �śI don’t know. Do you want me to see �Ś ?” �śI want you to go outside and get in the Bronco,” he said, putting firm hands on her shoulders and turning her away. �śWalk on the left side of the clearing and watch the bushes. You never know when you’ll see another goat.” �śRandall.” �śGo.” He gave her a push, and his hands were rough, reassuringly so. �śI’ll meet you in the car.” Maggie drew in deep lungsful of the tainted air, forcing her body to calm down, forcing her hands to relax around the Uzi she was still clutching. She kept her face averted from the neatly piled bundles of what had once been living, breathing human beings and headed toward the waiting Bronco, cursing herself for being a weak-willed coward. Randall was wrong. There were no goats wandering around, no trace of life anywhere near the compound. Death was thick in the air, and any creature with any sense had run as far away as it could. Which is exactly what Maggie wanted to do. The once-hated Bronco was a haven. The warm Lebanese air had turned cold and ugly, and she climbed in, closing the door and rolling up the windows, huddling down in the plastic-covered seat and wrapping her arms around her. She couldn’t even bring herself to rummage for something warmer in the suitcase she’d tossed in the back. She just sat there, her mind and memory a merciful blank, and waited for Randall. Time had lost its meaning. It could have been hours later when Randall finally slid into the driver’s seat, it could have been merely minutes. It was fully dark; the moon hadn’t risen yet but for once Maggie didn’t mind the dark. Too much lay hidden by the shadows, too much real horror overwhelmed the mere possibility of death and darkness. �śWhere are we going?” To her amazement her voice came out even and calm, with none of the inner torment evident. He’d started the Bronco, and the noisy engine filled the silence. Moments later they were moving away from the encampment. �śWe’re going to find someplace to spend the rest of the night,” he said finally, not turning to look at her. �śAnd then we’re going to drive straight to Damascus and get the first plane to Rome.” �śAnd then what?” �śThat’ll depend whether Flynn’s gone to Italy or someplace else, and whether he’s continued to leave the too-convenient trail that he’s left so far. It could come to a dead end.” �śAnd then what do we do?” He spared her a glance then. �śI have my sources. So, for that matter, do you. I imagine we’ll be able to pick up his trail again.” �śEspecially since it seems as if someone wants us to know where he’s going,” Maggie said. �śThese clues are just a little too coincidental. Particularly since each one leads us into a trap.” �śYou noticed that too, did you? Someone’s definitely jerking us around. If it isn’t Flynn himself I’m going to be very interested to see who it is.” She slid down further in the seat, opening the window and letting in the cool, clean breeze. �śRandall,” she said, and her voice was uncharacteristically small and beseeching. �śBud Willis has to be dead, doesn’t he?” He hesitated. �śI don’t know, Maggie. You were the one who saw him die, not me.” �śThat’s right,” she said, more to herself than to him. �śI saw him die.” She could feel the question in Randall’s eyes as he glanced over at her, and she steeled herself for it. But he was silent, biding his time, no doubt. He’d already warned her, sooner or later she’d have to tell him. And she would. When she was ready, not when he demanded answers. �śSo what hovel are you taking me to tonight?” she inquired, keeping her voice cool. He managed a small, weary grin. �śWhat makes you think it’s going to be a hovel?” �śIt always has been. You sure know how to show a girl a good time, Randall. Tenements and shacks in Eastern Europe, bombed-out buildings in Beirut. I expect we’ll be spending the night in a goat barn.” �śThen your expectations are wasted. I’m taking you where you belong. A palace, Maggie.” �śSure.” �śI mean it. There’s a deserted palace called El Khabrim not more than five miles from here, if I remember Mabib’s instructions well enough. No one’s lived in it for more than a century, but apparently enough of it is still standing to provide shelter.” �śGreat. What makes you think half of the PLO isn’t hiding out there?” �śBecause it’s a hell of a location. And because Mabib would know if it was in use. No one lives within miles of this area but a few goatherders. Why do you think Flynn chose this area for his pickup? No witnesses.” �śHow far are we from the border? Couldn’t we drive straight through to Damascus and spend the night at some nice tourist hotel?” �śNo.” �śWhy not?” �śBecause I’m too damned tired, that’s why. We’ll spend the night at the palace, get an early start, and be in Damascus by noon. If you have any more objections or suggestions you can keep them to yourself.” Maggie had just opened her mouth to protest his highhanded arrangements, and she shut it again. She didn’t want to be alone with Randall for another night, alone with her anger and the unwanted attraction that sprang up no matter how much she distrusted him. But she was being foolish, she told herself. She’d been safe enough last night sharing a tiny cot with him. Tonight, with both of them so tired they could barely move, she’d be as inviolate as a nun. Five miles it might have been, but it was almost an hour before Randall pulled to a stop. The moon had risen, and with it a soft breeze, stirring the warm night air. Maggie climbed out of the Bronco, her weary muscles protesting, and peered up at the huge structure looming some distance away. �śIt looks like something out of the Arabian Nights,” she said, a mixture of awe and irritation in her voice. �śCouldn’t you drive any closer?” �śNo.” He had pulled her suitcase out of the back and tossed it to her. �śStop bitching, Maggie. It’s just a short hike. Mabib said there was even a fountain up there�"you could take a bath.” At those blessed words Maggie stopped all complaints. She had a desperate desire to be clean, to wash the blood and sweat and dust from her. �śLead on, MacDuff. First dibs on the fountain.” He turned and looked at her for a long, silent moment, and she could see the surprise in his face. Her light-hearted words were at odds with her usual hostility, and for a moment she regretted them, casting about in her mind for some way to sharpen her momentary lapse. And then she gave it up. �śCome on, Randall. Let’s call a truce.” �śTemporary or permanent?” His voice was patient. �śOnly temporary,” she replied. �śIt’s better than nothing.” �śMaybe,” he said. �śMaybe not.” For a palace, El Khabrim was damnably close to a hovel. To be sure, the filth and dust-covered hallways were mosaic, there were more than a hundred decaying rooms, and the view over the moon-drenched valley was magnificent. But it was still nothing more than a large-scale ruin, with the one blessed amenity of a large, clear pool of water in the midst of the tangled overgrown garden. Maggie looked at the pool and sighed. She should have hated it. She should have turned to Randall and started bitching once more, but she was silent. There was a timeless magic to the night, the centuries flowing about them. Desperate, bloody struggles belonged to another time, to the harsh daylight and the glaring sunlight, not to the moon that silvered everything around them. Not five miles away bodies lay huddled in ignominious death, but in El Khabrim death had no place, reality had no place. The Arabian Nights had settled around them like a gentle blanket of silk. �śWhat do you think, Scheherazade?” Randall spoke beside her, and his rich voice only added to the magic. �śWill it do?” She wanted to break the spell that was weaving its insidious way around her. She wanted to lash out at the man beside her, the man whose deep voice seduced her, the man whose tall, lean body aroused her. She wanted to drive him away, but the words wouldn’t come. Her only defense was to keep her face averted, refuse to look at him, refuse to acknowledge her very intense awareness of his body so close to hers. But not looking didn’t make her reactions go away. She wanted to turn to him in the magic night, lose herself in his arms, forget all the pain and misery and doubt that had dogged her path. But she couldn’t. �śIt’ll do,” she said, her voice low and expressionless. �śI’ll find someplace for us to sleep.” And then he was gone, and she was alone in the garden with only the moonlight and the soft warm breeze. For a moment she shivered, tempted to call him back to her, but one tiny part of her brain remained, warning her. If she called him back he wouldn’t leave, and she wouldn’t want him to. Quickly, efficiently, she stripped off her clothes. The pool was shallow, cool, and wonderful, and she silently slipped into it, letting the water ripple around her. She ducked her head under, pouring the water over her face, watching it sparkle over her arms in the moonlight. She floated, mindlessly, staring up into the limitless reaches of the starry sky. She could have stayed that way forever; leaving the watery womb would mean reentering a cruel and dangerous life. But she wasn’t alone. Randall had returned from his foray into the decaying ruins of the palace and now stood there silhouetted by the moonlight, watching her. �śGo away.” This time it came out all wrong. The words were a dismissal, but the tone was a husky invitation. But it wouldn’t have mattered how she phrased it. Randall would do what he had decided to do. He knelt by the edge of the pool a few feet from her still body, and dipped his arms into the water, sluicing it over his chest, his face, running his hands through his thick black hair, the moonlight gilding the drops of water that clung to his body. Then he looked at her and the polite Randall was gone, the one with the immaculate suits, the perfect hair, the banked emotions. The man kneeling there was the man who had fought for her in the past, who had stripped away the veneer of civilization to the savage beneath. He knelt there, waiting. Waiting. She rose slowly, unconsciously graceful even in her state of tension. The water reached only partway up her long legs, and she stood there in the silvery moonlight, her eyes meeting his, despair and inevitability washing over her in the wake of the water that was quickly drying in the soft breeze. �śCome to me, Maggie,” he said, and his voice was husky with pain and wanting. Husky like someone else’s shattered voice. She moved toward him, mesmerized, hating herself, stopping just out of reach of his long arms. She looked at him, wanting him so much she felt sick with it. One more step and there’d be no question, no turning back, no room for second thoughts or doubts or distrust. One more step and her betrayal of Mack Pulaski would be complete. She stopped where she was, and the night breeze was cold and clammy on her skin. �śDid you pay Bud Willis twenty thousand dollars to kill my husband?” Everything stopped. Their heartbeats, their breathing, the wind in the trees overhead, the faint ripple of water. The universe stopped�"breathless, shattered�"for a long, suffocating moment. Randall rose to his full height, his lean, wiry body outlined against the moonlight, and she couldn’t see his expression. �śThat’s what Bud Willis told you when he was dying.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. �śYes.” �śAnd you believed him.” Still not a question. At that point she didn’t know what she believed. Everything was so wretched, so horrible that the only way to make it better would be to make it even worse. �śYes,” she said. He sighed, a soft, despairing sound, and the wind rustled through the leaves in answer. The tension left his shoulders. �śGet out of the pool and get your clothes on, Maggie,” he said, turning and walking away from her. She stood still, unmoving. �śWhy?” �śWe’re going to Damascus.” �śI thought it was too far�"” �śSiberia isn’t too far,” he broke in, and his voice shook with a pure, clean rage. �śI’m taking you to the nearest airport and dumping you. I’ll find Flynn myself.” �śThe hell you will.” She quickly emerged from the water and scooped up the dusty shirt she’d discarded and pulled it around her. �śYou’re not dumping me anywhere, Randall. You’re going to answer my goddamned question.” After pulling on his clothes he whirled around, and to Maggie’s disgust she found herself cowering as he stalked her, moving across the tangled garden like an angry jungle cat. �śYou didn’t ask me a question, Maggie,” he said in a low and furious voice. �śYou listened to what Bud Willis had to tell you and you passed judgment. No hesitations, no doubts.” �śThe man was dying,” she cried. �śWhy would he lie to me?” �śSo he could die the way he lived. Making people miserable. You think he was going to do you favors after you helped him fall sixty feet onto a concrete floor? You think revenge wouldn’t be any part of his motivation? You stupid, pathetic fool.” Disgust warred with the anger that shook him. �śThen tell me the truth,” she said, shivering in the night breeze, the loose shirt flapping around her body. �śDid you pay Bud Willis to kill Mack?” He moved then, coming within inches of her, and his body radiated heat and rage and something that in a less cynical man she would have called disillusionment. �śYou wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” �śDamn you, try it!” She reached up and caught the loose folds of his damp khaki shirt, but he twisted out of her grip. �śNo. I’m not going to tell you a goddamned thing,” he said bitterly. �śYou’re going to spend the rest of your life wondering. Now get dressed.” He turned away from her, the set of his shoulders radiating contempt, and something finally snapped. She’d seen too much death that night, too much death in her thirty-four years. She’d lost Mack, her one real chance at happiness, and she’d lost Randall, over and over and over again. She stood there, watching him walk away, a thousand doubts unresolved, a thousand questions unanswered, and she began to shake. With trembling hands she pulled her jeans back on and buttoned the shirt. She leaned over to pull on her sneakers, but her hands were shaking too much to manage, and she squatted there, unmoving, listening to Randall as he walked back toward her. �śAre you ready?” His voice was heavy with contempt and something else. Was it wariness? Damn it, Maggie thought, did she deserve that fury and disgust he was showing her? Or was it all a part of an elaborate defense? She didn’t move. Every nerve in her body was taut, screaming, ready to shatter. She stayed there on her haunches, shivering, waiting for something to break the paralysis. It was his hand. He leaned down and caught her shoulder, and his long brown fingers were hard and painful. �śGet up, Maggie,” he said in a bitter voice. The roughness of his hand on her was the final straw. �śGet your hands off me,” she screamed, but the words came out in a tortured whisper. And then she began to fight. ten If she’d expected gentlemanly restraint, sympathy, or a gentle subduing of her blind rage, she’d attacked the wrong person, Randall thought. One of her strong fists grazed his cheekbone, and he caught that arm, twisting it around behind her. She kicked, and he dodged, grunting in anger and pulling her arm harder against her back. She’d bared her teeth against the pain, but her other hand was flailing around, thrashing at him. A distant part of his brain knew that she was capable of a much better effort. He could still subdue her�"not only did he outweigh her, but he had years more experience. But Maggie was blinded by her fury, making mistakes that would have left her dead if she’d come up against anyone else but him. He yanked at her arm again, hearing her muffled gasp of pain, and he told himself he was glad he hurt her. Told himself that as he loosened his grip. She responded by spinning around, driving her fist into his stomach, and bringing her knee up toward his groin. No more mister nice guy, he thought grimly, jerking out of the way of that dangerous knee. He moved, quickly, efficiently, catching both arms, spinning her around and shoving her down into the dirt, following her down and pinning her prone body with his larger one. He caught her short-cropped hair in one large hand and yanked it upward, painfully, so that she could meet his glare. He waited, panting, for her to start bitching. But the rage had left her body, the fight was gone from her grim mouth, and she lay there beneath him, staring up at him out of eyes that he never wanted to see in her face. Lost, hopeless, despairing eyes that were, to his horror, starting to fill with tears. He released his grip on her hair, and her face sank down in the dust as the first sobs began to shake her shoulders. Narrow, oddly defenseless shoulders lying beneath him. Maggie Bennett, who prided herself on being so strong, so self-sufficient, lay there in a huddle of misery so vast that it frightened him. Damn Pulaski. And damn her for loving him so much that she was still tormented and ripe for Bud Willis’s sadistic games. And damn him for caring one way or the other. He should leave her lying there in the dirt. He could call Mabib from Damascus and have him come fetch her later. If he were truly guiltless that was exactly what he’d do. But there was a small, niggling part of him that wondered whether he could have stopped Mack’s death. And as long as that question haunted him, then he deserved a tiny portion of Maggie’s distrust. For such a tall lady she was very small beneath him. Her body shook, quiet little tremors made without a sound. He had a choice�"walk away and let her regain her self-possession, or take her now, when she was vulnerable. Turn her over and strip off those hastily donned clothes. He wasn’t a teenage boy at the mercy of his hormonal urges. He wanted more from Maggie than her body. The worst thing he could do right now would be to make love to her, when she was too weak and defenseless to fight him and her own needs. She hated those needs, and he was damned if he wanted to face her one more morning with that look of condemnation in her eyes. He had to leave her alone. The back of her neck was directly beneath his mouth. It was fragile, defenseless, with her short-cropped, wheat-color hair barely brushing it. There was something so indefinably erotic about the nape of her neck, the moonlight around them, the anguish and hatred and despair still ringing in the air. They were mere inches apart. He stared down at her body still shaking with suppressed sobs. And without conscious volition he placed his mouth against her neck. She grew very still beneath him. He was conscious of it, even as he was conscious of the smoothness of her skin beneath his mouth, the lingering taste of water from her sojourn in the pool, the faint saltiness of sweat brought about by her rage and near hysteria. The sobs shuddered to a sudden halt, and he half expected her to gather her remaining strength and try to roll his larger body off her. She didn’t move. She lay there beneath him, quiet, waiting, and he knew it was too late. He wanted her too much to pull back. And she needed him too much to fight. He shifted, moving partway off her, and his hands were no longer rough and punishing. He rolled her over in the dust so that she faced him, and the look on her face shocked him. It was an expression of total, passive despair. And he knew that if he did nothing else he’d bring her back to life again, even if it meant bringing back her hatred. Her hair was still wet from her brief swim. He gently pushed it out of her face. She didn’t blink, didn’t flinch, didn’t react at all. She just lay there on her back in the dirt, half beneath him, watching him out of emotionless eyes. He hesitated for one last time. He’d taken advantage of her before�"maybe this time he could make the supreme effort and let her go. Maybe for once in his life he could do the decent, unselfish thing. �śDo you want to go on to Damascus tonight?” He forced himself to ask it, and even to his own ears his voice sounded strained. She just looked up at him. For a moment he wondered if she’d retreated into shock, not hearing, lost in some world where Pulaski still strutted and Randall Carter was nothing more than an unpleasant memory. But those calm, unseeing eyes focused on his for a moment, and she gave a faint, negative shake of her head. He took a deep breath, a part of him amazed at the shakiness of it. �śDo you want me to leave you here and have Mabib pick you up tomorrow?” Again that small shake of her head. There was a streak of dirt across one of her high cheekbones. At least, he hoped it was dirt and not a bruise from his less than courteous defense. �śWhat do you want, Maggie?” His voice was raw and strained in the night air. She looked up at him, out of those half-dead aquamarine eyes that still, somewhere, held a spark of life. �śI want you to make love to me,” she said in a small, distinct voice, as if she were asking for cream and sugar in her coffee. �śI want you to make me forget everything. You’re good at that, Randall. Good at making me unable to think. I’ve thought too much, seen too much, hurt too much in the last few days. The last couple of years. I want to forget. Just for a little while.” He held himself very still. �śSo what does that make me? A sexual Valium? Take a dose when things get too much and then deny it in the morning?” She just looked at him with that damnable calm of hers. �śYou have to be careful with dangerous drugs, Randall. It would be far too easy for me to become addicted.” A long, silent moment passed between them. �śI’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t,” he said. �śWe’re all damned.” �śI don’t buy that.” She said nothing, just lay there, passive, waiting, knowing he couldn’t resist. She waited for a blissful haze of sexual pleasure to wash over her, knowing he could provide that so well. But not this time. This time he wasn’t going to seduce and pleasure and please her, no matter how easy it was for him to do it. This time she was going to have to participate. He slid his large hand behind her neck, roughly, and pulled her head up toward his. He had a brief glimpse of her startled eyes before his mouth met hers. His tongue thrust past her soft lips, into the dark, hungry interior of her mouth, and his lips ground against hers. Their mouths were sealed tightly, in a suffocating bond of love and anger, and he moved his hands downward to rip her shirt apart, sliding it open to capture her naked breasts with his long, hard fingers. She’d begun to pull away from him, but he ignored her resistance, feeling the buds of her nipples against his sensitive fingers, recognizing her arousal even as she fought it. He pulled his mouth away for a moment, taking a deep breath, and she looked up at him in confusion, her mouth swollen, her eyes glazed, her breath coming in shallow, angry gasps. There was no passivity left, only a dazed surprise. He dropped his head again, recapturing her mouth before she could protest, his tongue forcing hers to respond. He heard a deep, answering groan from the back of her throat, and her hands had reached up to clutch at his shoulders, her fingers digging deep into his flesh, and the slight pain was just one more piece of fuel added to the bonfire of desire that was sweeping over him. Over them. Her breasts seemed to swell in his hands, pushing against them, filling them, and her hips cradled his, rocking slightly in mute need. She wanted sex, and she was going to get it. Hard and fast, with no frills, just a hot, fiery release that would leave her with more questions, not easy answers. And he didn’t give a damn. He pulled his head away, reluctantly, staring down at the dark hunger in her eyes, the taut, desperate need that quivered through her body. The shirt lay open around her, and her pale torso rose and fell in the night air, pale against his dark, possessive hands. For a moment he wondered how far he could push her. He wanted to lie back in the dust, have her mouth and hands all over him, ministering to him, arousing him, pleasuring him. He wanted her kneeling in front of him, taking from him, and he knew he could make her do it that night. She’d do anything he wanted, and more, trade anything for the forgetfulness she craved. But forgetfulness wasn’t what he was offering. It was reality, and memory, and pain and love. He levered his body away from her, then yanked her jeans apart, and the tough, faded fabric gave readily before his strength. He pulled them away from her, leaving her lying naked and in the dirt, and his eyes were fire and ice as they stared down at her. He pulled away, long enough to strip off his own pants, and then he shoved her legs apart, holding her slender ankles captive, high against his shoulders. He plunged into her, filling her with his massive strength, and he was amazed that she was as ready as he was. They were both covered with a light film of sweat. Her hands clutched at him, then slid under the loose shirt he still wore, and her nails dug into his skin, holding tight, as he rocked against her, filling her, pulling back, then filling her again. She was shivering, trembling, her body clenching around him, and her face was pale in the moonlight. �śLook at me, Maggie,” he said, and his voice was a savage gasp of pain and pleasure. �śLook at me, damn you.” He stopped moving, holding still within her, forcing her to see him. Slowly she focused her dazed eyes on his face. Tremors were rippling through her body, her fingers were slippery on his back, her mouth was swollen and hungry. She looked at him, and saw him. She knew who and what he was, what he might have done. And she reached up and put her mouth against his, kissing him with a desperate passion that was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. His soul was lost in that kiss, and for a moment he panicked. He pulled away, but the loss was unbearable. He plunged into her again, and she rocked against him, capturing him. Again and again, advance and retreat, his hips undulating as the tempo increased. She was thrashing her head from side to side, her eyes glazed, her fingers clutching him, digging into him. And then she arched, pulling him to her, a small, strangled scream barely piercing the night air. He heard the word, hissed against him, even as he plunged deep into her, giving up the last of his control, flooding her with his body, his mind, his essence, shattering inside her shimmering body and losing the last tiny bit of invulnerability he owned. �śYes,” she’d said, against his hot, straining skin. �śYes.” He collapsed against her, unable to summon enough energy to spare her the brunt of his weight. She didn’t seem to mind. She lay beneath him, quiet, her heart slowing its headlong pace, faint tremors still stirring across her silky skin, every muscle and bone in her body pure liquid. He felt the same, with one magnificent difference. With that hissed, half-conscious word she’d given up, she’d given herself to him as she never had before. The war was over. Maggie Bennett belonged to him. There was no guarantee she recognized that fact. But he did, and therein lay the difference. Any defiance on her part would be only a sham, and Maggie was too bright not to face the inevitable, sooner or later. Knowing that eventually she’d admit her surrender, he could deal with anything. Even the distrust that had shocked him into a blind rage. Maybe the unforgivable crime of her doubt would even out some of the cruelties he’d handed her over the years. A quiet sound came from beneath him, and slowly, carefully he pulled away, rolling to one side. Maggie didn’t move. For a moment he wondered whether she’d once more retreated into a protective state of shock. And then a small, quiet sound came from her mouth, something that could only be called a delicate, ladylike snore. Overwhelming emotions swept through him. Relief, delight, lust, and adoration were only part of it. He knew what it was, knew what he’d fought against giving a name to for so long. He was in love with her, had been since he’d first known her�"been in love with her tangle of contradictions and stubbornness and vulnerability and self-possession. It wasn’t a generous, unselfish, sweet sort of love. It was dark and powerful and possessive, and it ruled his life. He wasn’t going to fight it any more. He almost dropped her when he rose from the hard ground, scooping her up in his arms. His muscles were surprisingly weak, his strength had been sapped, and he had to be very careful as he made his way into the ruined palace, to the small storeroom where he’d left the sleeping bags spread out. She stirred once when he set her down, and her hand reached out for him as she murmured something in her sleep. There were bruises on her delicate wrist, bruises from him. But she moved into his arms willingly enough, and the word she murmured was another, blessed �śyes.” And together in the darkness of the deserted palace, they slept. She was sick of feeling this way. Sick of waking up in the morning, her body feeling peaceful, sated, well loved, damn it, and her soul in a torment of guilt and regret. Why couldn’t she just keep away from him, why did she have to keep making the same mistake over and over again? She had to be lying on pure rock. The sleeping bag beneath her provided very little cushioning, and her bones ached. Daylight was filtering into the dark little room, illuminating the dusty corners, illuminating the empty side of the sleeping bag. Tentatively she put out a hand. It still retained his body warmth�"Randall hadn’t been gone long. How could she have been so stupid? And this time she couldn’t even blame him, this time she’d asked for it. Asked for him to block out the misery and the memories. And instead he’d given her more misery and memories to hide from. God, she hated her weakness. Most of all, she hated her inability to accept her weakness. Why couldn’t she just take what comfort he offered? But she knew she couldn’t. Every time he touched her the strands of love and possession wrapped tighter around her. She’d get over Mack Pulaski in time. Was getting over him, if she had to admit it. She thought back to him with passionate love and grief and regret. But she was letting him go. She’d never let go of Randall. He’d always been there to haunt her, and he always would be. Why was it that the torment of her attraction for Randall overpowered the sweet memory of her love for Mack? �śYou want to take a swim in the pool before we head out?” She hadn’t heard him come back. She had no choice but to turn, little as she wanted to. Randall had clearly availed himself of the small, clear fountain. His black hair was still wet, his fresh khaki shirt clung to his damp torso, and his blue-gray eyes were surprisingly calm. She could see scratch marks on his chest where his shirt was unbuttoned, and she blushed. Somewhere she found her voice. �śYes, thank you,” she said politely. �śIt’ll only take me a minute.” He nodded, tossing a pile of neatly folded clothes on the foot of the sleeping bag. �śI brought you some clean clothes. Your other stuff has just about had it.” �śOkay.” She sat there, clutching the sleeping bag around her. �śUh �Ś Randall.” He’d started back out the door, but he stopped at her hesitant voice. �śYes, Maggie?” �śWhen we get to Rome maybe we �Ś we ought to change partners. You work with Holly for a bit, and I’ll help Ian.” �śWhy?” He asked the question in an irritatingly calm voice. �śI just think it would be a good idea if we put some distance between us. We always seem to get into trouble.” �śWe always seem to get into bed,” he corrected gently. �śIn our case it’s the same thing.” To her astonishment he smiled then, a gentle, nonmocking little smile. �śWhatever you say, Maggie,” he replied. �śI’ll meet you at the Bronco.” She watched him disappear into the hallway, heading toward the blaze of sunlight to the left. He was whistling. What did he have to be so cheerful about? Maybe he was just as glad not to have to deal with her. Maybe he’d prefer Holly, with her rapidly diminishing number of suitcases. Maybe he was only being kind last night �Ś Her body grew suddenly hot all over, as she remembered the details �Ś No, he wasn’t being kind, not at all. And if he was accepting his current dismissal with an uncharacteristic amount of sang-froid, then it was no doubt only because he had something up his sleeve. She was going to have to be extra careful in the next few days. Not only was she going to have to keep a sharp eye on him, she was going to have to watch herself even more closely. Because if she hadn’t known better, hadn’t been wary enough to stop herself, she would have pulled him back into the doubtful comfort of the sleeping bag and seen just how far those scratches went. With a weary sigh she dismissed that thought from her defiant brain and rose on unsteady feet, more than ready for a dose of cold water for her suddenly overheated body. eleven Slowly Holly replaced the ornate telephone back in its gilt cradle. It was a cold, rainy December in Rome, and even the lavish surroundings of the Ultima Hotel couldn’t brighten the gloom that had clamped down around her heart. Sybil’s coma had deepened, and she wasn’t expected to last the night. She stretched her long, slender body out on one of the king-size beds, staring up at the ceiling with dry eyes. Her world was shifting, dissolving beneath her, and there was nowhere she could turn. Sybil was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing, that is, until she remembered the reason she was there, thousands of miles away from her mother’s deathbed. Revenge, sweet, bloody revenge beckoned. She looked over at the other bed, at Ian’s battered leather suitcase lying half open. They were sharing a room again, over Holly’s halfhearted objections, but of course he hadn’t made a move in her direction. The moment they’d checked in Ian had changed his clothes and taken off with no more than a muttered excuse about the British Embassy, not returning until after dinner. By that time Holly was so livid at being abandoned that she maintained a fuming silence that lasted well into the next day. A silence that didn’t seem to bother Ian in the slightest. One cryptic phone call after breakfast and he took off again, without even the trumped-up excuse of the night before. It didn’t matter�"she was past believing anything he chose to tell her, but right now she didn’t care. It was just as well he wasn’t around to ask awkward questions. He had a knife in his suitcase. Holly had seen it several times, and it took her only a moment to find the hidden pocket where it rested. It was a nasty piece, very sharp, and the leather holder had an ominous brown stain near the top. For a moment she considered putting it back, then changed her mind. She couldn’t walk into the lion’s den unarmed. And that was exactly where she was going. Once more she had an advantage. Once Sybil accepted the fact that Holly had seen Flynn she’d become embarrassingly loquacious, secure in the knowledge that of all her daughters, Holly was the least likely to judge her. She and Flynn intended to travel, she’d said. Only the best places. The Cielo in Rome, the Danieli in Venice, the Crillon in Paris. Darling Tim liked the finer things in life, and Sybil was more than willing to provide them. They’d go incognito, of course. While Sybil rather liked the fuss her worldwide reputation inspired, Tim was a possessive person and didn’t want to share her. If they were going to run away together to Italy they’d use phony names. Extensive traveling had made Holly more than comfortable with the vagaries of the Italian telephone system. It took no more than three tries to get through to the Signor Palmo at the Cielo, to receive the regretful information that no, Mr. Flynn was not registered. There were a number of British and American males who’d checked in in the last twenty-four hours who might fit that description, from Dr. Mantel and Mr. Browning to Mr. MacDonald to �Ś �śMr. Browning?” Holly interrupted. �śMr. Robert Browning?” �śYes, indeed, Miss Bennett. He checked into the ambassador suite late last night. Would you care to have your call put through?” �śNo,” she said hastily, adrenaline shooting through her. �śI think I might come and surprise him. What floor is the ambassador suite on?” �śThe penthouse. May we say, Miss Bennett, that we’re all praying for your mother’s recovery? She’s been an honored patron here for many years. A great lady, a very great lady.” Sudden tears filled Holly’s eyes. �śThank you, signor. You are very kind. And please, don’t say a word to Mr. Browning. I want my arrival to be quite unexpected.” �śI understand,” said Signor Palmo, clearly scenting a romance. �śMy lips are sealed.” �śI knew I could count on you.” Once more Holly replaced the phone. There were clear advantages to being a Bennett. Signor Palmo would hardly have been as helpful to any curious tourist. And she was able to use the well-known name to make immediate appointments to have her hair done, a manicure, and a facial�"everything to pamper her much-abused body into a state of smooth perfection. Her own hotel even had a decent boutique. In less than two hours she was primed and ready, exquisitely beautiful and dressed to kill. Literally. Movies were running through her head�"Sybil’s old classics. The Barretts of Wimpole Street had been her biggest hit, with Sybil as Elizabeth Barrett and Deke Robinson doing his best work playing Robert Browning. Robert Browning, who carried Elizabeth Barrett off to Italy. The current Robert Browning had left Sybil behind, taking only her jewels and quite probably her life. It hadn’t required great deductive reasoning on Holly’s part�"Sybil had coyly, nauseatingly referred to Tim Flynn as the Robert Browning in her life. But Sybil’s best movie had been Judith. She’d come within an inch of winning an Oscar for that one, playing the biblical heroine who’d seduced the enemy general and then calmly proceeded to cut off his head while he slept. Holly didn’t know whether she’d actually manage to decapitate Flynn, but the idea brought a slight feeling of warmth to her cold heart. However she did it, she was going to kill Tim Flynn. She almost made a clean getaway. Ian Andrews was stalking down the hallway, clearly in a foul mood, as she headed for the elevators and her appointment with death. He looked up when he heard her approach, and his scowl deepened. �śWhat the bloody hell are you all dolled up for?” he demanded, his green eyes running over her expensive silk suit, the spike high heels that made her an inch taller than he, her perfectly coiffed black hair. She must have inherited some of her parents’ acting ability. She managed a serene smile, ignoring the dampness of her slender palms, and shrugged. �śWhat else? I’m going shopping.” �śShopping?” He shouted the word. �śYou silly, shallow, selfish woman! Have you even bothered to check on your mother? Have you tried to find out anything, anything at all, or have you just been sitting there polishing your nails?” Her nails were freshly manicured, a fitting, deep blood red, and they curled against her damp palms. �śI presumed you were taking care of things,” she lied. �śI couldn’t find out a bloody thing. If Flynn’s entered the country in the last twenty-four hours he came in under a phony name.” Holly shrugged again, shutting down her twinge of guilt at not confiding in him. �śMaybe he’s still in Lebanon. Maybe Maggie and Randall have got him tied up somewhere. Maybe he’s already dead.” And maybe he’s sitting in a luxury suite a few short blocks away, unaware that his downfall is about to arrive in the shape of an elegant young woman. Against her will, a small, sour smile lit her face at the thought. Ian stared at her, not missing the smile, not missing much at all. �śMaybe,” he said finally. �śWhy don’t you come back in the room and I’ll tell you what I discovered?” �śYou said you didn’t find out a thing.” If she went back into that hotel room she’d have a hard time getting out again. Besides, he might notice the knife was missing, and then there’d be no way she’d be able to complete her mission. Ian would insist on accompanying her, and that was the last thing she wanted. If he didn’t scare Flynn away he’d be the one to kill him. And at that moment Holly wasn’t going to give that privilege away to anyone. �śWe can figure out what to do next,” he said. �śI’m sure you can take care of that all by yourself,” she said lightly. �śYou wouldn’t listen to my suggestions anyway. Don’t worry, Ian. I promise only to buy enough to fill six suitcases.” With a little wave of her hand she continued down the hallway. She could feel his eyes on her, boring into her back. She hadn’t fooled him. No matter how good she was at lying, she hadn’t fooled Ian Andrews. But it would take him awhile to do something about it. And once she was gone he’d have a hell of a time tracking her down. The elevator doors whooshed shut behind her, and for a brief moment she allowed her stiff shoulders to relax. And then she straightened them again. Escaping Ian’s eagle eyes was the least of her worries. Tim Flynn was going to require more than a little acting ability. She clenched her hands around her leather purse and wished that Ian had stopped her. It was all absurdly easy. Signor Palmo met her in the lobby, clearly on the lookout for her distinctive figure. He plied her with espresso and biscuits before ushering her into the executive elevator that led directly to the penthouse, and nodded and leered when she requested as much privacy as the Cielo could afford for her meeting with Mr. Browning. The Cielo could afford a great deal of privacy, and the other penthouse suite was unoccupied. No one would interrupt, Signor Palmo said, with a romantic little sigh. Mr. Browning was a very handsome man, with eyes as blue as the sky and a smile that could light up the darkest room. He would be a worthy match for the belissima Holly Bennett. She waited until the elevator descended to the lobby again, waited in the marble-floored, deserted penthouse hallway, and the last of her nerves vanished as if by magic. Now that the moment was at hand she was very calm, determined. Reaching up, she pressed the bell on the ornate door of the ambassador suite. He was a very handsome man. He opened the door in shirt sleeves, his reddish hair rumpled, his beautiful blue eyes sleepy and friendly. He’d checked her out through the peephole, she’d known that, and known that she’d passed muster. She took no pride in her beauty. It was a tool she worked with, and it served her well in this case. Timothy Seamus Flynn’s handsome face creased in a sleepy, welcoming grin, and Holly’s serene smile answered it. �śHi, I’m sorry to bother you.” She pitched her voice low and sexy with just a trace of a flawless Italian accent. �śMy name is Annamaria Castellano.” �śYes?” His voice was low, musical, and beguiling. It was no wonder Sybil had succumbed. This was the hard part. Holly smiled, batting her eyes. She could only thank God that Ian hadn’t tossed her small package of tinted contact lenses out the window in Beirut along with everything else. She looked at Tim Flynn out of eyes as green as Ian’s, not the distinctive aquamarine that would have given her away immediately. She shrugged prettily. �śI’m afraid I cannot tell you why I’m here, signor,” she said. �śI was sent to make sure you were comfortable, that your needs were seen to.” He still didn’t move away from the door, but his lazy smile broadened. �śWho sent you?” �śA man named Bud Willis.” It was a shot in the dark, but the best she could come up with. It worked. Flynn’s grin vanished for a split second, then returned, even wider, and he opened the door, ushering her in. �śVery hospitable of the man, considering he’s a ghost.” She was prepared for that, having listened to Maggie and Randall’s arguments over breakfast the day before. �śThat’s a moot point.” �śIs it?” He shut the door silently behind her, locking it, and Holly clutched her leather purse a little more tightly. The knife was resting in there, the knife and five thousand lire. Enough for a taxi back to the Ultima once the bloody deed was done. �śCan I get you a drink, Annamaria?” His voice caressed her name. �śThat would be nice.” Her voice shook slightly. He reminded her of a cobra, coiled and ready to strike. Her plans had been stupid, half formed, not taking into account the reality of the man. She’d thought to seduce him, screw him into a stupor, and then cut his throat. There was no other way she’d get the chance, but right now the very thought of touching him made her physically ill. Maybe she could get him drunk. She moved toward the window, looking out toward the distinctive shape of the Vatican, still clutching her purse. There was a small noise, and she jumped, back against Flynn’s hot body. His hands had caught her upper arms, kneading slightly. �śWhy don’t you get more comfortable, Annamaria?” he crooned, the Irish lilt a travesty of charm. �śTake off those shoes. I don’t like it when a woman is taller than I am. And you are here to please me, aren’t you?” �śYes.” It came out in a nervous thread of sound, and he laughed. �śDo I frighten you, Annamaria? I’m just a traveling businessman, alone in Rome. I need company, and you’ll do an excellent job of providing it. Won’t you?” His hand snaked around in front of her and cupped her breast, squeezing, just hard enough to hurt. She swallowed, slipping out of her spike heels, the movement pulling her away from his encroaching hand. �śYou don’t frighten me, signor. I’m not in holy orders. I know what’s expected of me. I know how to please a man.” She should turn and press herself against him. She should kiss that smiling mouth. She remained where she was. �śAh, Annamaria, I’m sure that you do,” he whispered. �śBut I have special tastes.” She couldn’t control the slight nervous twitch as his body pressed against her upright back. �śI will do my best to satisfy them,” she said. �śYou’ll do just fine,” he purred. �śWhy is your heart pounding like that, signorina? Are you excited?” He slid his hand down her arm, across her stomach and lower, his fingers gripping her with cruel force. �śI�"I don’t like pain, signor,” she said, swallowing a groan. He laughed. �śDon’t you, Annamaria? That’s too bad. Because you’re going to feel a great deal of pain before I’m through with you.” He slid his hand back up her stomach and snatched her purse away before she realized what he was doing. �śYou’re going to learn to like it in the few hours you have left on this earth.” He moved away from her, snapping open the purse to take out Ian’s knife. He eyed it like a connoisseur. �śVery nice,” he said. �śI think I’ll use this one on you.” And he moved back. Holly backed against the window, no longer able to hide her terror. �śBut signor, why would you want to kill me?” �śBecause, Signorina Holly Bennett, I like to kill women,” he said, smiling that horrifically charming smile as he started toward her. She watched him come. There was absolutely nothing she could do. He was going to kill her, slowly, painfully, and her choice was simple. She could scream and fight and run, or she could die with dignity. She opened her mouth to scream. No sooner had the first ear-splitting shriek escaped her mouth when all hell broke loose. It sounded as if the entire Italian army were outside Flynn’s door, breaking it down. Moments later it crashed down, and Ian Andrews stood there, breathing fire, an Uzi assault pistol in his hand, looking for all the world like a green-eyed Rambo. Flynn whirled around, the knife moving with him, and Holly screamed a warning. It came in time, Ian ducked, and the knife embedded itself in the hallway as he stormed into the room. But Flynn was gone. He hadn’t waited to see if the knife connected, hadn’t waited to see whether Ian was going to use that assault gun despite Holly’s proximity. He dove out the window, onto the steeply slanted lower roof, and had taken off, disappearing into the shadows. Ian was halfway out the window, heading after him, when the wailing siren of the carabinieri reached their ears. He pulled back, cursing vehemently. �śWe’ve got to get out of here,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the suite. She grabbed her discarded shoes on the way, following him out at a stumbling run. He yanked the knife out of the wall and headed for the service exit, ignoring the elevators that stood waiting. They were halfway down the fourteen flights when Holly pulled back, her breath tearing through her. �śWhy �Ś are �Ś we running?” She gasped. �śWe didn’t do anything wrong.” He looked up at her from the lower step, and she couldn’t read anything in his expression beyond impatience and a raw determination. �śI don’t want to waste time trying to explain what we were doing there to the Italian police. I smuggled the knife into the country, and this gun is highly illegal. By the time they let us go Flynn would be so far gone we’d never find him.” �śBut�"” �śCome on, Holly. The sooner we’re away from here the better.” He hadn’t said a word of criticism. During the surprisingly short walk back to the Ultima in the rain that had started as they had left Flynn’s hotel, he said nothing, holding her arm in a deceptively romantic fashion that helped hide the telltale bulge of the compact Uzi. He didn’t need to criticize. She felt like a criminally stupid fool. If she’d only confided in him, Flynn might be in custody now. Or dead. But in her egocentric quest for revenge she’d blown it, and almost lost her own life in the bargain. And if Ian hadn’t been as quick, he would have ended with his own knife in his throat. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Ian shut their hotel door behind them, leaning against it, his green eyes hooded as he watched her drop down wearily on her bed. It was dark, and Holly’s silk suit was soaked with rain. She sat there, huddled in misery, waiting for his attack. She deserved every blistering word of it. He pushed away from the door, dropping the Uzi on the table between the beds and pulling off the heavy sweater he’d worn against the December chill. �śI think we could both do with a drink,” he said, and his voice carried no reproach. She looked up at him then. �śAren’t you going to tell me what an idiot I’ve been? What a shallow, selfish, silly bitch? We could have had him, and I blew it.” �śWhy should I tell you that? You took a chance, and it didn’t work. Well, there’ll be other chances.” He pulled a flask from his suitcase, unscrewed it, and took a long swallow. He shuddered, the ripple moving across the muscled torso, and then handed it to Holly. She did the same, tipping her head back and swallowing the fiery liquid. She didn’t choke, but it took all her self-control not to. �śI make a hell of a lousy Mata Hari. I wouldn’t blame you if you refused to have anything to do with me,” she said, self-pity taking over. �śMaybe I should go back to L.A. where I won’t cause any more trouble.” She felt the bed sag as he sat down next to her, close enough so that his shirt brushed her arm. His hands were gentle as he turned her to face him, and his green eyes were warm and soothing. �śListen to me, Holly Bennett. I won’t have you sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. You made a mistake, but it was a mistake any beginner would make. You were smart enough to find the man in the first place, just not smart enough to ask for backup. It’s lucky I know you well enough to know something was going on.” �śHow did you find me so quickly?” �śThey keep very good records of phone calls here at the Ultima. And Signor Palmo was more than helpful. I told him I was a jealous lover, and if he didn’t tell me where you were I’d trash his elegant lobby. He was more than happy to show me the private elevator.” �śYou’re not a jealous lover,” she said, and if her voice sounded somewhat aggrieved at that she was too overwrought to notice. �śAnd what do you mean, you knew me well enough to know something was going on? You’ve only known me a couple of days,” she protested, liking the feel of his hands on her arms, wishing she could move closer. She was cold and wet and miserable, and he was warm and strong and there. �śI know you very well.” His hands were moving up her arms to the collar of her jacket, and he was pulling it off her, gently, with such expert ease that she was almost unaware of it. �śI know you have the heart of a lion and the soul of a Valkyrie. When we catch Flynn next time I’ll let you kill him.” And as he slid the silk jacket off her his arms circled her, and his mouth touched hers. They both tasted of rain and Irish whiskey. Holly sighed, moving her arms up around his neck. �śOh, Ian,” she said, when he kissed her neck. �śWhat took you so long?” And she sank down on the bed beneath him. Timothy Seamus Flynn ducked under the low-hanging portico of the train station. He was soaked to the skin, but the chill December wind didn’t bother him. A hot, burning rage was keeping him warm, keeping him fiery hot beneath the cold dampness of his clothes. He’d only seen him for a moment, a brief flash in time before he’d dived out the window, but he’d have known him anywhere. Ian Kellehy Andrews, in the flesh, still after him after all these years. He couldn’t know about Maeve, it was too soon. Maybe, just maybe, he could turn around and find him, be the one to tell him just what had happened to precious Maeve O’Connor less than twenty-four hours ago. As soon as the thought entered his mind he dismissed it. Ian wasn’t alone, he’d somehow gotten tied up with those damned Bennett women and Randall Carter. And while Flynn had few doubts about his own infallibility, to finish all four of them would take careful planning. For now he’d just move on to his next stop a little ahead of schedule. He could make a few calls, pull in a few favors, and maybe leave those interfering Americans up to someone else. He would have liked to have been the one to finish Ian, but there was no need to be greedy. Right now what he needed most was a vacation. The row of telephones stood off to one side in the noisy, crowded building. Shaking off the rain that had soaked him to the skin, he headed toward them, brushing against a stern-looking Italian policeman. The carabiniere glared at him, and Timothy Seamus Flynn smiled his devastating smile, murmuring �śScusi.” And the policeman smiled back, before turning away from the most wanted criminal in Europe. twelve The moment Holly awoke the next morning she knew something wasn’t quite right. Despite the fact that her body felt deliciously sore, well loved from the top of her raven hair to the tips of her red-painted toes, her sleep-dazed mind warned her she wasn’t going to like what she saw when she woke up completely. She considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but consciousness had taken its nasty toll. She opened her eyes, past the empty space next to her, over to the second bed they hadn’t needed to use the night before. Ian’s battered leather suitcase was gone. Keep calm, she ordered herself. He probably just took it into the bathroom with him to change. Or he shoved it under the bed and she didn’t notice. But that was a vain hope. She’d noticed quite clearly everything he’d done when they got back to the hotel room, noticed and enjoyed it thoroughly. She sat up, pushing her thick black mane away from her face. Sun was filtering through the closed curtains, the bright sunlight of midday. The bathroom door was open, and Ian wasn’t inside. Ian was gone. �śHell and damnation,” Holly said succinctly, pulling herself out of bed and walking over to the dresser. There was a note waiting for her, and she opened it with barely suppressed fury. �śI’ll be back for you. Ian.” �śSure you will,” she snarled, dropping it back on the dresser. �śBut I’m damned if I’ll be waiting.” She cursed her way through a long hot shower, reviewing her options. She could sit and wait like a good, passive little girl. She could fly home and keep Kate and Jilly company at their bedside vigil. She could take off with Randall and Maggie, assuming they had anywhere to take off to. Or she could see if she could find out where the hell Ian went. The latter option was the most attractive. Ian was on special assignment for British Army Intelligence, wasn’t he? The logical place to start would be the British Embassy. And if by any chance her questions proved embarrassing, well, that was too damned bad. He should have trusted her enough to tell her where he was going. She’d met the current ambassador at a party her friends, the Fendis, had given last year, hadn’t she? A sweet, red-faced gentleman of the old school, all British bluster and faded blue eyes and apoplectic charm. If she couldn’t get what she needed to know out of him then she was losing her touch, her looks, and quite probably her mind. But she had no doubts at all she’d succeed. The silk suit was a rumpled mess on the floor beside the bed. The Ultima’s valet service would be able to rescue it in no time, and for now Holly had no other options. She would have preferred not to dress in the outfit that had almost become her shroud, but her choice was limited. It was that or fatigues, and blustery old gentlemen preferred women to look like ladies. She’d pick up something better on the way back and dump the damned suit in the incinerator. It would serve Ian Andrews right if he returned to find her reequipped with twelve suitcases. First things first. She’d have to hassle with a call to California again. At least Sybil had made it through the night�"if she hadn’t, Holly would have heard. There might even be good news. At least she was still alive. For Maggie the flight from Damascus to Rome was deceptively brief. It was a small enough compensation for the incredible frustration of the last twenty-four hours. The supposedly easy trek down from El Khabrim to the Syrian border was wrought with nothing but hassles. First the Bronco overheated, and they had to hike five miles to find water. Two hours later it developed a flat tire, due to a bullet graze from the night before. They hit a goat in the early afternoon, and ran into a particularly surly border guard when they tried to cross over into Syria. They were detained for five hours, sitting apart from each other in a squalid little oven of a building. Maggie wasn’t even allowed to use the bathroom until she went through the expected indignity of a body search, and her mood grew fouler by the minute. Illogical as it was, she blamed Randall. She blamed him for her discomfort, for her empty stomach and full bladder, for the sneering threat of the customs officer and the sadistic behavior of the guard who examined her. At least they’d waited until a woman customs official showed up, though the uniformed creature with the badge reading S. Khuerdi must have come close to failing the gender test. With her dark, malicious, piggy eyes, rough hands, and incipient mustache, she somehow failed to encourage in her prisoner any feeling of sisterhood. Maggie withstood the indignities and the deliberate cruelties with a calm she had to admire in herself. She could only hope Randall was meeting with a similarly degrading fate. It was after midnight when they were released, with empty apologies. The Bronco was waiting, and this time it served them well. They made it in record time, and the clean hotel Randall checked them into had small, separate rooms. Maggie had fallen into the narrow bed, thanking God she at least had that small respite. If she fell asleep clutching the lumpy pillow and thinking of Randall, she was too tired to fight it. At least there was an early flight to Rome. Maggie sat in her window seat, staring out at the clouds, trying to ignore her seat mate. Randall had been in an unusually sunny mood, with none of his characteristic mockery showing through. He’d accepted her taciturn silence, accepted her bad temper, and immersed himself in an Arabic newspaper. Maggie remembered another occasion, when he’d been equally engrossed in an Eastern European newspaper, apparently as at home with the Cyrillic alphabet as he was with the Arabic one. She’d allowed herself a brief look at him, a dangerous glance that she regretted the moment she succumbed. He was a bundle of contradictions and questions. In repose his austere, handsome face was almost grim. The lines that furrowed his brow and ran down parallel to his mouth were deeply etched, and the thin, sensuous mouth was, she knew from experience, unused to smiling. It was still dangerously effective, at least on her. His sixth sense must have told him she was watching. He lifted his head, his stormy blue-gray eyes meeting hers for a lingering moment. And then he did smile, that rare, bewitching curve of his lips, and Maggie felt the ice around her heart begin to melt. �śAre you certain you want to change partners, Maggie?” God, she was a stupid fool. An idiot of a female, betrayed by her hormones. She looked at his hands holding the paper, the long, tanned fingers that were so fiendishly clever, the narrow palms, the deceptive strength. She could still feel those hands on her, feel their power and their pleasure. �śI’m certain.” And she turned her face toward the window, staring into the puffy white clouds. Holly’s hand shook as she let herself back into her hotel room. She didn’t even bother to glance at the bed, to see whether Ian’s leather suitcase had made a reappearance. She knew it hadn’t. She shut the door behind her, fastened the chain, and headed straight for the bathroom. Once there, her misery-induced nausea passed, and she was left staring at the spotless commode and bidet with something less than pleasure. �śGod damn it,” she said out loud, and the tiled bathroom provided a pleasant echo. She sat back on her heels beside the john and tried it again. �śDamn it to hell,” a little louder, and the sound bounced off the walls. She kicked off her high-heeled Charles Jourdan shoes, wiggled her silk-covered toes, and leaned back against the marble bathtub. In the circumstances there was only one thing to do. She’d call down to room service, have them send up a bottle of Amaretto and a box of chocolates, and spend the next few hours drinking and eating and singing in the bathroom. Sir Alfred had been more than kind. More than helpful. He’d sent his willowy young aide scurrying after information while the two of them had enjoyed a high British tea, complete with Hu Kwa and real scones with Scottish marmalade, until Tavistock reappeared with the information that effectively wiped out Holly’s appetite. Ian Andrews was no longer a member of British Army Intelligence, and hadn’t been for six months. He’d received the British equivalent of a dishonorable discharge arising out of an incident when he was stationed in Northern Ireland. He’d let a known terrorist escape, a terrorist who’d been linked to bombings and ambushes that had resulted in the death of more than forty people in the last three years. �śWas the terrorist Tim Flynn?” Holly had questioned, her stomach burning with rage and disbelief. Tavistock shook his marcelled blond hair. �śNo. It was a woman named Maeve O’Connor. Apparently she’s his half sister. And the man spent a great part of his childhood in Londonderry�"half his friends are now members of the IRA. Including Timothy Seamus Flynn.” �śDid the army think he was helping them?” Sir Alfred demanded, his beetled white brows bristling. �śI don’t believe so, sir,” said his aide. �śBut they felt, given his connection with various criminals, that his integrity might be compromised. He was offered a post in the Falklands but he declined.” �śWell, well, young lady, does that answer your questions?” Sir Alfred demanded, clearly eager to get back to their light flirtation. Holly had summoned up her best smile. �śSome of them,” she replied, forcing herself to swallow the cold tea. She stretched out on the bathroom floor, reviewing her information. It explained quite a bit, as a matter of fact. Ian Andrews knew what Tim Flynn looked like because he grew up with him. Apparently he’d taken on a private vendetta against the man, one that the British army failed to sanction. Rather than accept exile to the Falklands, he’d decided to go after Flynn himself. At least, that was the most palatable explanation. Another, far less pleasant one, was that he was an undercover member of the IRA, hand in glove with Flynn and his ilk. But that didn’t make sense. He would never have gotten involved with her, would have kept his distance from Maggie and Randall, led them away from Ireland, from Beirut, from Rome. Unless he’d been setting them up for Flynn. But no, that was impossible. If he was helping Flynn he wouldn’t have rescued her from Flynn’s bloodthirsty clutches yesterday. But where the hell was he? And why hadn’t he told her the truth? Of course, they’d never done much talking. They’d been too busy fighting and then too busy doing other, inventive things with their mouths �Ś It started as a polite knocking on the door, quickly escalating into a noisy pounding. Holly pulled herself to her feet, leaving the doubtful haven of the bathroom and heading toward the door. She didn’t even allow herself the momentary fantasy that Ian had returned. For one thing, he had his own key. For another, he wasn’t coming back. Not with Tim Flynn still out there. �śWhat took you so long?” Maggie didn’t look much better than she did, Holly thought as her sister rushed into the room. Her face was pale, her mouth slightly swollen, and her aquamarine eyes were shadowed. Randall followed, and Holly instantly noticed the bite mark on the side of his neck. Apparently her sister had been indulging in the same sort of dangerous exercise she had. They were Sybil’s daughters, all right. Always choosing the wrong men. �śI was in the bathroom,” Holly answered truthfully enough. �śHow’s Sybil?” �śNot great. She took a turn for the worse a couple of days ago, but Kate says she’s holding her own right now.” �śI guess that’s better than nothing.” Maggie dropped down on the bed closest to the door, Ian’s unused bed, and kicked off her Nikes. �śWhere’s Ian?” Randall was leaning against the closed door, his face impassive, at least half of his attention riveted on Maggie. �śGone.” �śGone where?” Holly managed a creditable shrug. �śWho knows? He’s been lying to us.” Randall didn’t even blink. �śAbout being in the army?” Holly glared at him. �śI should have known you men would stick together,” she snapped. �śAnd not just about him being kicked out of the army. What about his connection with the IRA? With Maeve O’Connor and Tim Flynn himself? All hell has been breaking loose since we left Beirut. I nearly got butchered by our quarry.” �śYou saw Flynn?” Maggie cut straight to the heart of the matter. �śI saw Flynn. He was registered at the Cielo under the name Robert Browning.” �śThe bastard,” Maggie breathed. �śThank God Sybil’s so predictable. Every man in her life has been Robert Browning to her Elizabeth Barrett since she made the damned movie. So you and Ian went after him and he got away?” Holly felt her face flush. �śNot precisely.” Maggie sat bolt upright on the wide bed. �śHe didn’t get away?” Randall pushed himself away from the wall, his eyes alert. �śI think what she means is that she and Ian didn’t go after him. She went alone.” Maggie stared at her in disbelief. �śGod, Holly, you didn’t! You could have been killed!” Holly’s flush deepened. �śWell, I wasn’t. Ian found me in time, Flynn dived out a window and got away, and we �Ś” Her voice trailed away. �śYou don’t have to tell me what happened next,” Maggie said wearily. �śI can guess.” �śNot that I’m not fascinated by your love life,” Randall drawled, sitting down on one of the armchairs better suited to shorter, Italian bodies and hitching up his khaki pants with a sartorial attention they didn’t deserve. �śBut I’d like to know where and when Ian disappeared.” �śHe was gone when I woke up this morning. And I have absolutely no idea where he went. The British Embassy couldn’t find any sign that he left the country, or at least he didn’t use his real name if he did. But that’s all we could find out.” Randall nodded. �śI’ll find out where he’s gone.” Maggie stared at him. �śHow?” A small, secret smile curved the corners of Randall’s usually grim mouth. �śI have my sources, Maggie. Patricia Werner is working at the embassy right now. You remember her from your CIA days, don’t you. I believe she’s working as a senior clerk-typist.” �śIf Pattie’s a clerk-typist then I’m a housewife,” Maggie snapped. �śI would have thought she’d have gotten out of the business by now.” �śSome people are addicted, Maggie. They like the excitement.” �śDo you?” A momentary silence filled the hotel room. Holly watched with unwilling fascination, the dark, almost dangerous expression on her sister’s face, Randall’s alternating warmth and distance. �śI haven’t had an alternative yet,” he said finally. �śI’ll give Pattie your love.” �śDo that,” Maggie said in a particularly sour tone of voice. �śDo you want me to get rooms for us?” Only the slight raise of his eyebrow signaled his reaction to the plural �śrooms.” He shook his head. �śWait till I see what Pattie has to tell me.” �śYou could always stay with her,” Maggie added sweetly. Randall crossed to the bed, ignoring Holly’s watching eyes. He caught Maggie’s willful chin in one strong, tanned hand and forced her eyes to meet his. �śIf I didn’t know you better I’d say you were jealous, Maggie.” �śBut you know me too well to have any such delusions.” He bent down, brushing his mouth against hers for a lingering moment, and then pulled away. �śOf course,” he murmured. �śDon’t wait up for me.” The door closed silently behind him. Holly’s eyes met Maggie’s for a long, meaningful moment. �śSo what do we do now?” she asked. �śWait here for our menfolk to return?” Maggie brushed a hand against her mouth. �śHell, no. Though I have to admit Pattie’s our best source, and Randall will find out a lot more if he works on her alone,” Her lips curved in a cynical smile. �śEven a pro like Pattie can’t hold out against Randall when he’s on the prowl.” �śDid you?” �śDid I what?” �śHold out against Randall when he was on the prowl?” Holly pushed it. �śI slept alone last night.” �śWhat about the night before?” �śNone of your damned business. What have you been doing with Ian?” she countered. Holly shrugged, and a reluctant smile curled her beautiful mouth. �śSo we’ve both been seduced and abandoned,” she said. �śWhat are we going to do about it?” �śNothing,” Maggie said, stretching out on the bed. �śIt’s happened before, it’ll probably happen again. We’re Sybil’s daughters, and we’re fools, just like her.” �śMaybe. There is something we can do, you know.” �śI’m not going shopping, Holly,” Maggie warned. �śSomehow, for the first time in my life, I’m not in the mood for it,” she admitted. �śNo, I had something better in mind. Before you showed up I was planning to get drunk on Amaretto and chocolates. Wanna join me?” Maggie shuddered. �śNo, thank you. Make mine Scotch.” She shoved the pillow behind her back. �śAnd you can tell me all about Ian’s connection with Flynn, Maeve O’Connor, and the IRA while you’re at it. I’m about ready for a bedtime story.” �śOnly if you like nightmares,” Holly said. Maggie didn’t stir when the phone rang hours later. She’d made quick work of the Scotch, or the Scotch had made quick work of her, and she lay asleep on Ian’s bed, shadows of exhaustion lurking beneath her eyes. Holly reached for the phone, her heart pounding and her palms damp as she spoke into the receiver. �śPronto?” It was Randall. Holly closed her eyes in aching disappointment for a long moment, then shot them open again. �śWhat did you say?” she demanded. �śI said wake Maggie. We’re going to Venice.” thirteen The tiny Palazzo Carboni hadn’t changed in the last four years. It was still a small, somewhat seedy, overwhelmingly picturesque little hotel on a side canal in Venice. It had been slipping into the water when she and Mack had spent their honeymoon there. It appeared to have sunk a few more inches, but there was fresh paint on the striped mooring pole on the canal side of the building, and the musty smell was lightened with fresh flowers. A light dusting of snow covered the ancient city when the three of them arrived. Surrounded by the Adriatic, it was cold and blowy, and Maggie huddled beneath her thick wool sweater and thought longingly of California. Randall had escorted Holly to the Hotel Danieli. They’d decided on the train to Venice that Holly would stay there while Maggie and Randall settled for local color instead of elegance. They needed to spread out. Holly was planning to check in under both her name and Ian’s, and then see if he showed up. The Danieli was the center of the upper-class tourist trade�"it was also the hotel Flynn would be most likely to use, if the information Randall had received was true. Patricia Werner had been able to glean Flynn’s destination but not much more, and if the European intelligence community knew anything more about Flynn they weren’t talking to Pattie about it. So the three of them had taken off. While Randall helped Holly settle in the luxurious hotel, Maggie was supposed to find more reasonable lodgings. And find them she did. It would have been better if she’d gone someplace new. But the Palazzo Carboni was only a very short walk from the Danieli, the prices reasonable, the rooms full of character, and the service remarkably friendly. Signor Tonetti’s family had owned the hotel for more than a hundred years�"it had been the gift of a grateful government for services rendered against the occupying Austrian forces, and Tonetti ran the place with pride and distinction. Maggie remembered him as a charming, garrulous old man, who reeked of lilac aftershave, and his plump wife and army of children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews who kept the Palazzo running smoothly. But her two weeks with Mack Pulaski permeated every square inch of the hotel. In place of the German, the Dutch, the Japanese tourists she would see Mack, grinning at her, his eyes warm and loving. Not like Randall’s cold, stormy eyes that never warmed except with occasional malicious humor. It had been fate that during this off-season there were two rooms available, two adjoining rooms. And one of them was the room she’d spent her honeymoon in. She didn’t even hesitate. Knowing Randall’s room was one door away didn’t interfere with the rush of memories that swept over her. She stretched out on the massive bed and watched the patterns of light the fitful sunlight on the canal made. She must have slept. When she awoke it was dark, with the sound and smell of the canal outside her drafty window and the noise of someone moving around in the room next to her. Randall must have returned. She pulled herself out of bed, away from her memories, and silently crossed the room. The worn Persian carpet provided some protection against the draft, and once more Maggie shivered, pausing, her hand on the tarnished brass doorknob between their rooms. She should knock. Or she could crawl back in bed and wait for him to wake her. No, she wanted to make sure Holly was settled. Who knows, Ian might already have made contact. Slowly, quietly she turned the doorknob. The room was lit only by the tiny-watt light bulb European hotels considered necessary for proper eyestrain while reading. It was dark, cavernous, and the shadowy figure searching through Randall’s suitcase was barely discernible. But it was about a foot and a half shorter than the registered occupant of that room. Maggie was still too sleep-fuddled to do more than stand there, open-mouthed, as the figure turned into the light from her open doorway. It was a very young, very pretty teenage girl. She hissed something, and the sound was dreadful in the chilly darkness. And then she leapt for the open window. Maggie was almost fast enough. She caught her ankles as she jumped, but the girl was very good. A flash of silver, a sudden stinging sensation, and Maggie fell back into the room as the sound of a motorboat took off into the dark expanse of the side canal. �śHell and damnation,” Maggie muttered. The floors of the Palazzo Carboni were stone beneath their threadbare carpets, and her behind had very little padding these days. For a moment all she could think about was her bruised posterior. The wind from the open window howled around her like an angry ghost, ruffling her short hair, and her arm began to sting and burn. Even in the darkness it was easy enough to see the slash. She was bleeding like a stuck pig, and she couldn’t tell from her current position how deep it was. She’d always had a strong constitution for anyone’s blood but her own. She looked down at the bleeding gash and keeled over on the stone floor. She woke in her own bed. It was warm and smelled like Venice, a strange, wonderful mixture of the sea, mildew, ancient buildings, and even more ancient fish and garlic. She knew the bed, knew the room. She turned with a lazy smile to look at Mack. But it was Randall staring down at her, his face dark with emotions she couldn’t even begin to read. Randall was here in Venice at the Palazzo Carboni, and Mack was dead. She waited for the grief and anguish to wash over her, and nothing came. She prodded again, like touching a sore tooth to make sure it still hurt. Nothing. Randall’s blue-gray eyes were dark with a passionate concern she couldn’t ignore, and his thin, sexy mouth was grimmer than ever. Grim with repressed emotions. She wanted to hold out her arms to him, to call him to her, but some last lingering bit of self-protection held her back. �śWhat happened?” he demanded gruffly, sitting on the bed beside her. �śHappened?” �śI found you passed out on the floor of my room, bleeding to death, snow filling the room, my suitcase strewn from one end of the room to the other �Ś” His voice was tight with anger and something else. �śSo what happened?” �śI heard a noise in your room and I thought it was you. It wasn’t.” �śAnd?” �śIt was a very pretty teenage girl rummaging through your suitcase. She took one look at me and dived for the window. I went after her but she managed to cut me before escaping.” �śIt’s not that bad a wound. Little more than a scratch, as a matter of fact,” he said. She looked down at her neatly bandaged forearm. �śIt hurts like hell.” �śI’m sure it does. Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?” he said in something that was almost a drawl from the coldly proper Randall Carter. Maggie looked up at him. She had two choices. She could make the wise decision and give him a clipped, cool dismissal. Or she could lie back in the bed she’d once shared with Mack, lie back with the cold and the wind and the darkness all around and hold out her arms to him. For a cold man he was capable of a great deal of fiery warmth. For a dark man he managed to chase away the shadows that tormented her. Slowly she leaned back against the pillows that cushioned her body, and her mouth opened to suggest he do just that, when the telephone beside her bed shrilled into life. So much for seductive lassitude, she thought, breathing a sigh of gratitude as she grabbed the telephone off the hook. �śPronto,” she said, and knew that even Randall could hear the relief in her voice. �śMaggie?” It was Holly’s voice, and yet it wasn’t. Her usually light tones were thickened with tears and something else. Something Maggie recognized as pain. �śMaggie, they’ve got me. They’re �Ś they’re hurting me. Maggie �Ś” Her voice was cut off and the muffled female voice that took her place sent chills down Maggie’s spine. �śYou wish to see your sister again, Miss Bennett?” The voice was charming, with a delicate Italian accent. �śYes.” A small, soft laugh on the other end. �śThen you and your friend will be pleased to come to the Calle del Porco tomorrow afternoon. There is a little glassware shop called the Banquetto, and we’ll be waiting for you. That is, if I didn’t cut you too deeply.” �śWe’ll come now!” Maggie said desperately. �śIt will do you no good. We won’t be there. Tomorrow at three, Miss Bennett. Your sister will be safe until then, if you do as I say.” �śNow, damn you!” �śI give the orders. Just be glad Flynn isn’t here, Miss Bennett, or your sister wouldn’t survive the night. Ciao.” And the phone clicked into silence. She raised desperate eyes to Randall. �śThey’ve got Holly.” �śSo I gathered.” He was damnably calm, sitting there. �śThey’ve hurt her,” she said. �śThey’re going to hurt her some more.” �śProbably.” �śDon’t just sit there,” Maggie shrieked. �śWe have to rescue her!” �śHow? They’ve made arrangements for us to meet them, haven’t they?” She hated the reason in his voice. �śAt the Calle del Porco tomorrow afternoon. It’s a little glass shop. But we can’t wait, Randall. They might kill her.” �śMaggie, you know as well as I do that they won’t be there now, or she wouldn’t have given you the address. And I don’t think they’ll kill her. She wouldn’t be any good as a bargaining chip if she were dead. It’s Flynn who kills for the fun of it�"most of the other terrorists put their cause ahead of their personal hobbies.” �śHobbies?” Maggie echoed in disgust. �śYou’re talking about my sister’s torture and murder like it’s collecting stamps or something.” �śI don’t think Flynn’s in Italy any longer. In which case your sister is safe, at least until they get what they want from us.” �śSo what are you intending to do?” she demanded. �śThere’s nothing we can do except wait. You know that as well as I do, Maggie.” She tried one last time. �śYou didn’t hear her, Randall. She was crying. She was terrified, and she was hurt. I can’t just ignore that.” �śHolly’s a lot tougher than you want to admit. Your whole family is tougher than you realize. She’ll be all right.” �śCan you promise me that?” she demanded. He rose, crossing to his door, and she waited for him to open it. He did no such thing�"instead he slid the chain over it, went to the hall doorway, and did the same. �śThere are no guarantees in this life, Maggie.” �śWhat the hell do you think you’re doing?” He was kicking off his shoes, shrugging out of his charcoal-gray jacket and unfastening his tie. �śI’m getting ready for bed.” �śNot in here you aren’t.” �śI’m sleeping nowhere else. It’s not that I’m overcome with lust, dear heart,” he said, tossing his white silk shirt onto the chair beside his jacket. �śBut if I let you out of my sight you’ll be combing Venice looking for Holly and just get yourself in trouble. You’ll wait till tomorrow if I have to handcuff you to me for the night.” He slid his calfskin belt from his trousers, tossing it on top of the shirt, and then proceeded to unfasten his pants. He had buttons instead of a zipper, she realized with an abstracted fascination. And then he stripped off his pants, leaving abbreviated silk boxer shorts chastely in place, and climbed into bed beside her. She didn’t even bother to fight. If she’d hit him he’d have to touch her, and if he touched her they’d make love. At least he was lying beside her without making any moves. �śPlease let me look for her,” she said, her voice small and pleading. �śNo, Maggie.” There was real regret in his voice, but it wasn’t enough. �śI’ll never forgive you, Randall. My sister’s blood will be on your head. �śAdd it to my list of sins,” he said in a clipped voice. �śPut it up there along with my putting out a contract on Pulaski.” �śDid you?” �śI’ve told you before I’m not going to answer that. Make up your own mind,” he said. �śTurn off the light.” It was the final straw. The light beside her bed was as weak as the one in Randall’s room, but it kept the pitch blackness of the night at bay. �śI’m afraid of the dark,” she said. �śMaggie,” he said in a weary voice, �śI don’t give a rat’s ass. Turn off the goddamned light or I’ll climb over you to do it myself. And I might not feel like climbing back.” She reached up and turned off the light. It wasn’t completely dark�"the lights from the Grand Canal filtered back along the side canal, and there were lights from the other buildings around them. But it was dark enough, and cold enough, and in her mind Maggie could hear Holly’s voice, weak with tears and pain. Her arm throbbed, her body ached, and she wanted to scream with rage and fear. She bit her lip hard and lay there fully clothed, and shivered. It may have been minutes, it may have been hours. Strong hands reached out and caught her arms, pulling her reluctant body against his. She fought for a moment, ignoring the searing pain in her arm, but he quickly stilled her halfhearted defenses, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her against the warmth of his body. �śI’m just trying to get you warm, Maggie,” he whispered in her ear. �śLie still.” She opened her mouth to tell him to let go of her, to get his goddamned hands off her. But she shut it again. Even if she really wanted to be released he wouldn’t do it. And she didn’t want him to. She needed warmth. And there were times when she thought Randall was closer to her than anyone else. They’d been through so much together that they were bound, whether they liked it or not. A sigh left her lips, a noisy one that filled the room, and the tension drained out of her body as she settled back against him. She needed her energy for fighting Holly’s kidnappers, for fighting Tim Flynn. For now Randall was her ally, her only friend in a world full of dangerous enemies. For now that would have to do. Timothy Seamus Flynn looked down at the man in the wheelchair, eyed the tubes and machinery that were keeping him alive, looked down and smiled. �śI’ve missed you, mate,” he said. The man returned his smile, a skeletal upcurving of his lips beneath the portable respirator. �śWe’re glad to have you back, Flynn. I didn’t think you’d be coming alone.” �śMaeve died,” he said sadly, his wonderful blue eyes filling with ready tears. �śShe was caught in a crossfire�"she never stood a chance.” And as he remembered her desperate struggles that had pleased him so much a weary sigh left him. �śThere are too few like Maeve O’Connor.” The man in the wheelchair nodded, speculation in his colorless eyes. �śToo few,” he agreed solemnly. �śWhat about the Americans who’ve been chasing you?” �śThey’ll be taken care of in Venice,” he said. �śNo problem�"Maddelena owes me a favor.” �śI wouldn’t count on it. You’ll find both Randall Carter and Maggie Bennett a lot harder to kill.” �śAll the Bennetts seem supernaturally strong,” he grumbled. �śThat’s right. You botched it with the mother. She’s still alive, isn’t she?” �śLast I heard,” Flynn agreed. �śOnce this blows over I’ll be going back to California to finish what I started. I hate it when things aren’t complete.” �śYou’re a tidy man, Flynn. What about the other one?” �śIan Andrews? He’s gone to ground somewhere. If Maddelena doesn’t take care of him I have plans.” Flynn’s charming grin split his face. �śWonderful plans,” he crooned. �śI’m sure you do,” said the man in the wheelchair. �śYou always were an inventive bastard. Quite a man in my own style.” Flynn looked down at the shriveled figure in the wheelchair, undecided whether to be insulted or flattered. He figured either was a waste of time, and he shrugged. �śIs my room ready?” �śIt always is, my boy. It always is.” It was dark, and cold, and wet, Holly thought miserably. The floor beneath her, the wall behind her, were hard, damp stone. Ropes were cutting into her ankles, into her wrists, and whatever they’d stuffed in her mouth tasted foul. She was still dizzy from the drug they’d used when they’d abducted her from her luxury suite at the Danieli after Randall had left, but not dizzy enough. She sat there, huddled in pain and misery, and tried to pretend she wasn’t scared to death. Better her than Maggie. Maggie wouldn’t have been able to bear the dark. But Maggie’s struggles would have loosened the ropes, instead of having them dig and bind into her skin. And Maggie wasn’t afraid of pain or dying, whereas she was a shivering, sniveling wreck. She’d never seen eyes so soulless as the beautiful brown ones in Maddelena’s pretty young face. The contrast between her innocent youth and the death in her eyes made it all the more horrifying, and Holly knew there was no way she was going to be able to walk away from this mess. Where the hell was Ian when she needed him? God, it was so cold. She tried to inch back into the corner, in a vain effort to get out of the draft, when she heard voices in the other room. Maddelena’s, and someone else’s. And with a sudden, overwhelming sense of horror, she knew she had the answer to her question. Where was Ian when she needed him? In the next room, in collusion with her kidnappers. fourteen It was the longest day Maggie had ever spent in her entire life. She woke late, curled up in Randall’s arms. Her first thoughts were a dizzying combination of dread and pleasure before she remembered where she was, before she remembered what had happened the day before. She pulled away from him, and he let her go, watching her out of fathomless eyes. The travel alarm by the bed said an unbelievable eleven-fifteen. Only four hours to go. She climbed out of bed, grimacing at her rumpled clothes. �śAre you going to trust me out of your sight long enough to take a shower?” Her voice was low and bitter. �śWe could always shower together,” he offered. �śIt’ll be a cold day in hell.” �śI didn’t think you’d like the idea,” he said, undaunted. �śI might remind you that you said the same thing about our ever making love again.” �śDamn you, Randall �Ś” �śStop damning me, Maggie,” he said wearily, his patience at an end. �śAnd stop fighting me. We have bigger problems than each other.” It was exactly what she had decided the night before. So much for good intentions, she thought with a trace of guilt. �śYou’re right,” she agreed. �śBut I still want to shower alone.” �śGo ahead. Do you want me to have them put through a call to L.A. to see how your mother’s doing?” �śNot now. They’ll ask about Holly, and I don’t lie to my family.” �śNo,” Randall said. �śOnly to yourself.” She didn’t have to ask him what he meant and she didn’t bother arguing. One look at him and she wanted to climb back in bed, and she hated herself for it. She turned her back on him, gathering fresh clothes and heading for the door. His voice stopped her, with a prosaic enough question. �śWhat do you want from room service?” �śNothing.” �śMaggie �Ś” She was smart enough to hear the warning in his voice. �śCoffee,” she said meekly, swallowing her temper and heading for the bathroom. She managed to eat half a sweet roll with Randall threatening mayhem, to drink three cups of sweet black coffee that only made her more nervous. Together they pooled their weapons�"her Colt 380, his dark and serviceable Beretta, the ubiquitous Uzis. The border guards hadn’t bothered to check the aging Bronco for weapons, and Ian’s illicit arsenal would come in handy. Maggie stared down at the weapons with unconcealed distaste. She’d worked hard at making her hands and feet deadly weapons, but they wouldn’t be much good against machine guns. And Maddelena looked the type to be into hardware. Then there was nothing to do but wait. Their plan was simple�"Maggie would head into the front of the shop, Randall would sneak around back. It wasn’t much of a plan, but with so little information available it was the best they could do. Maggie promised herself that if they hurt Holly she wouldn’t hesitate to use the hated Uzi. The snow had melted in the bright Venetian sunshine, and the Piazza San Marco was crowded with tourists even during the chilly winter. For a while Maggie tried to distract herself by deciding whether there were more pigeons or tourists, and then gave up. Either way, there were too damned many of them. Without a word she walked with Randall, across the great square, putting her arm through his without a murmur of protest, as they watched the great clock of St. Mark’s pass the hours with excruciating slowness. She was staring out at the island of San Georgio Maggiore when Randall’s deep voice interrupted her mindless abstraction. �śIt’s time, Maggie.” She looked up at him. �śIt’s only two-thirty.” �śMakes sense to get there early, doesn’t it?” She grimaced. �śOf course it does. My mind doesn’t seem to be working properly.” She expected some blistering comment, at best some sly mockery. But he squeezed her arm, and the expression on his face was oddly tender. �śYou’ll be fine when the time comes,” he said. And because he believed it, she believed it. There was only one glassware shop in the Calle del Porco, a small, seedy affair with fly-specked windows and graceless glassware that didn’t even dare call itself crystal. At quarter to three it looked deserted, observing a siesta the rest of Venice generally ignored, particularly during this busy holiday season. There was a tattered strand of silver tinsel hanging over the doorway, and nothing but darkness beckoned. Randall had left Maggie just before the entrance to the square, in case anyone was watching for them. And someone must be�"she could feel the eyes boring into her tall, slender figure as she crossed the Calle del Porco, with its tiny green garden in the center and its bronzed statue of a pig. Someone had decorated the pig with a wreath of evergreens, and someone had stuffed an apple in its open bronze mouth. Maggie looked at it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She had the suspicion she wouldn’t be smiling for quite a while. It was two steps down into the darkened interior of the little shop. She almost hoped the door would be locked, but it opened noisily beneath her shaking hand. The Uzi was tucked up under her heavy sweater, the Colt resting in the small of her back, tucked into her too-loose jeans. And Randall was backing her up�"there was nothing to be afraid of. �śMay I help you, signorina?” The old man behind the counter had the slurred northern accent of the Venetians, and his eyeglasses were as thick as the clumsy glassware in the window. �śA Christmas present for a lover, perhaps? I have several very nice goblets�"I could lower the price for a pair. Just right for you to toast each other.” �śNo, thank you. I’m looking for someone named Maddelena. She told me to meet her here.” The old gentleman frowned. �śMy granddaughter,” he said heavily. He gestured toward the curtained doorway behind him. �śShe’s in there.” �śGrazie,” she murmured with her friendliest smile. He probably didn’t have any idea what his sweet little granddaughter was using his shop for, Maggie thought as she moved past him toward the doorway. How was he to know his little angel was involved in kidnapping and probably extortion and murder and �Ś She felt the sudden uprush of wind as she passed the old man. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his arm descend, and then everything went black, and she was falling. She caught the curtain as she went, and it ripped off its rod, wrapping around her as she slid downward. She fought that terrifying blackness, but it was useless, and she was gone before she hit the floor, lost in a velvet trap of darkness. When she awoke, she was lying prone, trussed up like a chicken, something nasty was stuffed in her mouth, and every bone in her body ached. The frail old man hadn’t been as delicate as he looked, damn him. She tried to stretch her cramped muscles, but the ropes binding her were tight, and she sank back on the floor, resting her face against the cool stone in the dark room. And then she realized she wasn’t alone. It took a bit of effort to roll over, but it was worth it. The gathering shadows couldn’t obscure Holly’s similarly bound figure, couldn’t hide the fear in her eyes or the bruise above her own gag. But she was alive and well, and a rush of gladness swept over Maggie. Now it was up to Randall. But the tiny rustling noise behind her filled her with sudden misgiving. It was either a rat, or she wasn’t the only one who’d walked into a trap. She would have given ten years off her life to be able to turn and face the mean red eyes of a woman-biting rodent, but her prayers weren’t answered. Randall was lying stretched out on his back beside her, bound as they were, a thin line of blood oozing from a cut on his forehead. And they were up shit’s creek without a paddle. They must have been listening for sounds of life in the old storeroom. The door opened, letting in only minimal light, and Maddelena stepped inside. There was a dark, sturdy figure behind her, still in the shadows. It was too broad to be the old man, too short to be Flynn. She could feel the tension emanating from Holly, and she peered through the darkness, suddenly aware that there was something oddly familiar about the figure. Maddelena smiled down at them, a sweet, sad smile, and Maggie could see she had a split lip and a black eye. The wounds did nothing to mar her beauty, but she was glad someone had put up more of a fight than she had. It had probably been Randall, who made no pretensions to being a gentleman. �śI am certain you are glad to be together. It is a sad thing that you must die, but you know the dangers when you play the game.” Maggie had been pressing her tongue against the filthy rag in her mouth, and with a sudden feeling of triumph she spat it out. Maddelena made no move to come closer, to replace the gag, and Maggie considered screaming. Considered, then dropped the idea. Both the Uzi and the Colt had been removed, probably into Maddelena’s capable hands, and she wouldn’t get off more than one shriek. �śWhy are you going to kill us?” she asked instead, her voice husky but eminently reasonable. �śWe’ve never done anything to you.” �śOf course you haven’t,” she agreed. �śWe’re extending a professional courtesy to Flynn. The Irish freedom fighters have helped the Red Brigade many times. We’re returning the favor, simply because we were asked.” �śHow nice,” Maggie said faintly. �śWhy doesn’t he do it himself?” �śHe’s not in Venice. He never has been, for that matter. He went directly from Rome to a place called Cul de Sac. Have you ever heard of it?” �śNo.” �śIt’s no matter. You won’t care for very much longer. And I’m not going to be the one to kill you. For one thing, I don’t like to kill. I only do it when I have to. For another, it’s Christmas Eve, and I promised my mother I would go to mass with her. I’m going to pass you on to one who enjoys killing.” �śI think you’d better go early enough for confession,” Maggie snapped. Maddelena’s brown eyes were shining with innocent fervor. �śI have committed no sins. This is a holy war, and the three of you are simply casualties of a battle you chose to enter. Bonne notte.” �śShouldn’t you say Bonne Natale?” Maggie sneered. Maddelena shrugged. �śRest in peace.” She turned and left them, pausing long enough to mutter instructions to the dark figure standing behind her. The door shut after her, plunging the room back into gloom once more. Randall was still only semiconscious, lying on his back in the dust and mildew, and Holly was simply rigid with fear and despair. It was a hell of a way to die, Maggie thought, straining at the ropes that were digging into her. She could see the gleam of a large, efficient-looking handgun, the elongated barrel with its silencer adding to her chill. She lay there, staring, as the figure moved into the light. Ian Andrews’s face was completely expressionless. He walked over to Holly, pointed the gun toward her head, and shot. The muffled ping seemed to echo around the room as the bullet buried itself in the wooden packing case behind their heads. Holly just stared up at him, her wide, expressive eyes glazed with terror, relief, and a slow-burning rage. He moved on to Maggie, shoved the gag back in her mouth before she could say anything, and repeated the ritual. Obediently she flopped back, lying there doing her best imitation of a corpse. She heard the same hideous ping as he completed his charade with Randall, and then he was moving back toward the door. �śIf one of you could manage to relieve yourself,” he said in his wonderful upper-class accent, �śit would add to the effect.” And he shut the door silently behind him. It took her longer to spit out the gag this time. When she finally managed to, the room was almost completely dark. She could tell from the muffled sounds beside her that Randall was regaining consciousness, and she could see Holly’s figure beside her. �śAre you okay, Holly?” she whispered. Her sister nodded. �śRandall?” A muffled grunt was all the response she got, but it was enough. �śOkay, guys. Ian dropped his knife when he gagged me, but it’s going to take me a little while to get it open. Hang in there.” Her hands were clumsy and slippery with nervous sweat. Whoever tied her wrists, and it was probably Maddelena, had done a good job of it, and the cut-off circulation only added to her difficulties. Her fingers were numb, her heart was racing, and her body was more than ready to follow Ian’s coarse suggestion. If she didn’t get them untied and get to a bathroom soon she wouldn’t have any choice in the matter. The knife slipped, once, twice. It was a sharp little sucker, and she winced as it scored her skin. But finally, an eternity later, just as the final bit of light faded from the musty old room, she felt the ropes loosen and fall from her wrists. �śI’ve done it,” she announced in a triumphant whisper. In her excitement she dropped the knife, and it took her a moment or two to find it again. She slit the rope between her ankles and immediately turned to Randall, pulling the gag from his mouth and cutting his bonds by feel alone. �śAre you okay?” �śJust peachy,” he said glumly. �śApart from the fact that I feel like a complete fool. Have you heard any noise from the other room?” �śI think they’re long gone. The question is, where?” She scrambled back across the floor to her sister, pulling her gag out. �śDon’t you remember?” Holly asked, her voice not much more than a raw croak. �śShe went to Christmas Eve mass.” �śHow’d I miss that?” Randall asked, sitting up and rubbing his strong wrists. �śYou were still out when she came in. You also missed our murder.” �śYou mean Ian? I recognized him as he bent over me. What the hell is going on?” �śDo you know, Holly?” Maggie chafed her sister’s wrists. �śAre you okay?” �śI’m okay. All the little bitch did was frighten me,” she said, her voice a little stronger. �śAnd I don’t have any idea what Ian’s doing here. I heard his voice earlier, so it wasn’t a complete surprise. She called him Jacopo, so I’d guess he’s gone undercover.” �śWell, at least it saved our lives,” Maggie said cheerfully. �śEven if we blew our only lead,” Randall said, rising to his feet and stretching. �śLet’s get out of here.” �śWe’d better make sure we can,” Maggie reminded them. �śWe don’t know for sure that Maddelena and her sweet old grandfather are gone.” But the dank little shop was deserted. The three of them had been tossed in a second-floor storeroom, and if the building boasted any electricity it was long gone. They made their way down the twisting staircase, through the empty shop, and out into the Calle del Porco. Maggie eyed the bronze pig with a fond smile. �śLet’s get the hell out of here. You don’t want to go back to the Danieli, do you?” �śWhat about your place? Are there any extra rooms?” Holly the intrepid sounded almost forlorn. �śYou can have mine,” Randall offered. �śYou can share mine,” Maggie countered. Holly grinned. �śI’ll take Randall’s. You never know when Ian might reappear.” Now wasn’t the time to fight that particular battle. Randall had kept his hands to himself last night; he could do so again. And she had to admit, she slept a hell of a lot better when she was lying beside him, with or without the soporific benefits of sex. No, Randall could share her bed again. As long as he didn’t get any other ideas. The vaporettos were jammed with passengers on this early Christmas Eve, workers heading homeward with their arms full of last-minute purchases, churchgoers heading for an early mass. The three of them must have looked fairly disreputable as they crammed in with the chattering, cheerful Venetians, but no one gave them a second glance. They were all too full of their own holiday spirit to notice three tattered refugees. Maggie looked at her sister’s pale, weary face. Randall was standing beside her, and his tall body had taken on an almost protective air. Right now Holly needed protection; she needed a little time to regain her energy. So why, Maggie derided herself, was she standing there feeling jealous? It made no sense, but then, little did nowadays. If Holly needed peace and comfort, so did she. Maggie sighed, jostled by the merrymakers on the crowded water bus. All is calm, all is bright, the carol ran through her head. She wished there was even a slight chance of that. But there wouldn’t be, not until a thousand questions were resolved. And, plastering a bright smile on her face, she turned back to her sister in time to see Randall drape a protective arm around her narrow shoulders. fifteen The Palazzo Carboni opened its welcoming arms to them. Signor Tonetti had gone out with half his family, but the great-niece behind the desk quickly made the necessary arrangements. There were no cancellations during this holiday season, no extra rooms to be had, but they would be more than happy to have Signor Carter share Miss Bennett’s room and the second Miss Bennett to take over Signor Carter’s room. And there might be another guest to share the second Miss Bennett’s room? To be sure, he would also be made welcome. And, of course, all guests were invited to join the Tonettis in a holiday glass of lambrusco after ten-o’clock mass at San Marco’s. Maggie started to shake her head in a regretful denial when Randall caught her arm. �śWe would be delighted,” he said. �śCome along, ladies.” �ś �ŚCome along, ladies,’ ” Maggie hissed in a mocking echo as he swept them towards their rooms. �śWhere the hell do you get off �Ś ?” �śI think mass would be a wonderful idea,” Holly said firmly. �śHolly, I’m Lutheran and you’re an atheist,” Maggie argued. �śAgnostic, but I’ve got an open mind,” Holly corrected. �śAnd I’m thankful we’re still alive. I’m going to mass. You can stay here and sulk if you want.” �śBah humbug,” Maggie said. �śWhat if we run into Maddelena?” �śWe won’t. I heard her say her mother lives on Murano�"they’ll probably go to church there.” �śHeaven help me.” Maggie sighed. �śI just hope it’s not one of those two-hour services.” �śIt’d do you some good,” Randall said, opening the door for Holly. �śWe’ll meet you in an hour. Call and order something from room service. You look starved.” Maggie, who’d been coping with an empty stomach for the past several hours, cast Randall a disgruntled look. Why did he only hassle her, why did he shower all that consideration on her sister? Jealous bitch, she upbraided herself as she preceded him into their room and flopped down on the neatly made bed. Just a short nap might improve her temper if nothing else. �śI’ll put the call through,” Randall said. He was still standing by the closed door, watching her, but she knew that tone of voice. It was a tone that allowed for no opposition. �śWhat phone call?” �śThe one to L.A. To see how your mother’s doing.” �śNo.” �śWhy not?” She sat up on the bed, watching him out of level eyes. �śBecause I don’t want to remember Christmas Eve as the day my mother died. If she’s going to die I’d just as soon not hear about it.” �śWhat if she’s better?” �śI’m not going to take that chance.” She flopped back down on the bed. �śAren’t you going to take a shower?” If his voice could be intractable, so could hers. She could feel him watching her, feel him weighing his possibilities. �śWhy don’t you see if Holly wants to call?” There was just a trace of grumpiness in her voice, and she could feel the grin that began to stretch across his face. �śAre you by any chance jealous?” �śAre you by any chance crazy?” she countered. He stood there for a moment longer. �śI’ll take a shower,” he said. �śOrder something from room service for me?” �śBoiled eels if they have them,” Maggie suggested. �śWhatever strikes your fancy, my love.” It was half an hour later when he returned. He’d showered, shaved, and changed into an elegant black suit. Holly was with him, looking stunning in red silk and none the worse for wear despite her ordeal. Maggie had changed into the black jumpsuit Holly had foisted upon her, and while she knew she looked good, even ten pounds underweight with circles under her eyes, she had long ago accepted the fact that she couldn’t compare with Holly’s dazzling beauty. It was damned hard to feel pretty and feminine when you stood close to six feet tall in your stocking feet, but somehow Holly managed it, while the best Maggie felt she achieved was a statuesque grace. Never before had she minded, not until Holly walked in beside Randall looking like she belonged there. Jealousy was an ugly emotion. It was even uglier when there was no cause for it. She didn’t care about Randall, and even if she did, she knew perfectly well that Holly didn’t want him and Randall didn’t want her. So why was she sitting there glaring at the two of them like a child who hadn’t been invited to a birthday party? �śThat jumpsuit looks fabulous on you, Maggie,” Holly announced. �śI knew it would. Do you want to borrow my diamonds?” �śYour diamonds?” Maggie echoed faintly. �śWhy in God’s name did you bring diamonds along when we’re chasing after a murderer?” Holly shrugged. �śFor the same reason I started out with twelve suitcases. One must keep up one’s standards, you know.” �śI don’t think Ian would agree.” The light mood darkened a bit, as all three of them remembered where they’d last seen Ian. �śYou think he’ll be all right?” Holly asked suddenly. �śI’m sure he will.” Randall’s voice was warm and comforting. He never used that tone on her, Maggie thought, and then mentally slapped herself. �śIan can take care of himself,” she said. �śLet’s hope so. Shall we go, ladies?” Maggie opened her mouth to snap at him, then shut it again. It was Christmas and the least she could do was put a guard on her tongue for the next thirty-six hours. �śLet’s go.” Signor Tonetti’s great-niece was still at the desk as the three of them headed for the front door and the tiny square beyond. �śSignorina Maggie Bennett? Your call has come through.” Maggie stopped dead, and she stared up at Randall’s bland face in fulminating rage. �śI’ve changed my mind,” she said in a grim voice. �śI don’t wish to place the call.” �śSignorina, your party is on the line.” There was no choice. Holly was looking confused, not a party to Randall’s high-handed deception. Slowly Maggie crossed the lobby, picking up the phone held out to her. �śHappy Christmas, darling.” There was no mistaking Sybil’s voice, even in its weak condition, no mistaking the typically British greeting that her mother had clung to during all her years in Hollywood. �śMother?” Maggie’s voice was thick with tears. �śShe’s too weak to talk much, Maggie.” Kate’s businesslike voice came on the line. �śShe came out of the coma yesterday afternoon. We tried to call but we couldn’t get through. She’s going to be all right. The doctors say she’s got a long road ahead of her, but she’s a fighter.” �śI know,” Maggie whispered. Randall had come up behind her�"she could feel his body warmth through her back. Without thinking, without hesitation she leaned back against him, seeking his heat, and his hands rested lightly on her shoulders in a reassuring touch. �śWhy don’t you let the police find Flynn?” Kate continued. �śCome home, both of you. There’s no sense in putting yourselves in danger.” �śWe can’t,” she said, wishing to God they could catch the next plane back to the States. �śNow more than ever we have to find him.” �śBut why?” �śFlynn doesn’t leave witnesses. If he finds out Mother’s regained consciousness he’ll come back to finish her off.” �śHow do you know that?” Kate, ever-practical, demanded. �śI know. Merry Christmas, Katie. Give everyone our love.” �śFor God’s sake take care of yourselves. We almost lost Sybil�"we don’t want to lose you. We Bennetts have to stick together.” �śWe’ll be fine. Tell Sybil she’ll get Flynn’s head on a platter. With tinsel in his ears and an apple in his mouth.” Kate’s laugh was a forced one. �śBe careful.” Maggie held out the phone to Holly. �śSpeak to Kate,” she said, and then turned to face Randall. He was looking down at her, and for a moment she had the oddest sensation. She was looking at a man who loved her, loved her as much as Mack had, in his own way. A man who loved her as she needed to be loved. And a man she loved in return, just as desperately, whether she wanted to or not. Could he read the love in her eyes? Randall seemed omniscient at times�"there was every likelihood that he knew exactly what was going on in her brain. �śThank you,” she said, her voice soft and low and loving. An achingly brief smile curved his mouth. �śMerry Christmas,” he said, and leaning down, brushed his lips against hers, slowly, sensuously, lovingly. And she accepted it, accepted him, took his sensuality and his love and opened her mouth beneath his. �śAhem.” Holly was standing there, tapping her foot with mock impatience, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes as Maggie finally surfaced. �śWe’re going to miss the service.” Randall smiled down at Maggie, and there was an equally bemused look in his blue-gray eyes. �śOh, we can’t do that.” �śGoodness, no,” Maggie murmured. �śWe wouldn’t want to do that.” Still in a daze, she put her arm through Randall’s strong one and followed him out into the Venetian night. It was a two-and-a-half-hour service, and Maggie didn’t mind in the slightest. She could have gone on indefinitely, sitting there in the magnificent vastness of St. Mark’s with Randall’s body pressed up against hers in the crowded sanctuary. For a brief time everything was perfect. Tomorrow, or the next day, perhaps, she’d try to figure out what and where Cul de Sac was. Later they could make plans, try to trace where Ian had gone, figure out how to trap Flynn before he found out Sybil had survived his knife work. But for now she was content to sit there, letting the liquid Italian and sonorous Latin roll over her, thinking about her thirty-four years of Christmases, thinking about almost two thousand years of Christmases. For tonight and tomorrow she wasn’t going to think about death or terrorism or Timothy Seamus Flynn. She was going to think of peace and happiness. All is calm, all is bright. A light snow was falling on the Piazza San Marco when they left the church. It melted as soon as it hit the ground, the dozing pigeons, the furled umbrellas from the outdoor cafes. �śA white Christmas,” Holly said with a sigh. The wind ruffled her long black hair, brushing it against her pale, flawless complexion. �śWhere the hell is Ian?” They chose to walk back to their hotel. It was a brisk night, but the gentle snow, the fitful half moon, and the fresh clean smell of the sea surrounding the ancient city added to the magic in the air. The three of them didn’t talk; they didn’t need to. They were perfectly attuned to each other, to the joy and relief at Sybil’s recovery, the tinge of melancholy of missing Ian who’d managed to save their lives that afternoon. The ancient city was as serene as befitted her old name, La Serenissima, and its calm touched the three of them. The Palazzo Carboni was a blaze of lights and noise when they finally reached the tiny square. �śAre we going to skip Signor Tonetti’s glass of lambrusco?” Randall asked, his voice even. �śI think so,” Maggie replied. �śI want to go to bed.” �śDo you?” he said. �śWe can arrange that.” Neither of them were talking about sleep. �śWould you rather have my room?” Holly questioned. �śIt’s bigger than yours, and I’m afraid I’ll be spending the night alone.” �śI like my room,” Maggie said. �śWe’ll stay there.” Randall said nothing. But as luck would have it Signor Tonetti was in the wide hallway that served as a lobby, and his seamed face lit up as he caught sight of Maggie. He rushed over, enveloping her in a hug that smelled of lilac water and lambrusco, welcoming her in a spate of Italian that was incomprehensible. Finally he released her, regaining his composure, though there were sentimental tears in his spaniel-like dark eyes. �śWhat a pleasure it is to see you again, signora. I could not believe it when my wife told me you were back. I had thought never to see you again.” She could feel Randall beside her, standing motionless, and a sudden sense of foreboding swept over her. She wanted to run, wanted to drag him away from the garrulous old man before all hell broke loose, wanted to keep that warm and happy feeling of requited love for just one night. But it was already too late. �śWe were heartbroken to hear about the signor, your husband, and his murder. I told my wife, I said �ŚZara, never have I seen two people more in love than those two. What a cruel joke of life, to separate them so soon.’ We wept for you, Zara and I, and we weep with joy at your return.” �śThank you, Signor Tonetti,” she said hastily, trying to pull away. �śYou’re very kind. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day we could talk �Ś” �śTragedy!” Signor Tonetti proclaimed in thrilling accents. �śA great tragedy of life! And so brave you are, to return to a place filled with memories. With every glance you must remember the joy you had here.” She could feel it building, the sheer, white-hot rage of the man beside her. She didn’t dare look at him, she just stood there, trying to free herself from Signor Tonetti’s embrace, desperate to escape before the old man ruined everything. �śAnd to think, you were even able to stay in the same room, the same bed where you spent your honeymoon. It is so sad, it is like Puccini. My heart breaks, looking at you.” Too late, she thought numbly. Much, much too late. She felt Randall’s icy cold hands on her arm, removing her from Tonetti’s clutch. She heard him speak, even, polite words, bidding them all a good evening and a merry Christmas, leading her away from the Tonettis, from a worried-looking Holly, down the dark, empty corridors to the room she’d once shared with Mack. And she could feel his hands shake. The room was dark, with only the fitful glow of the half moon illuminating the shadowed corners. Snow was still falling outside their window, disappearing into the murky waters of the canal, feathering the gondolas that were tied up to their striped mooring poles. No one wanted to go for a gondola ride on a cold night like this, a Christmas Eve made for families and warm fires and loved ones. Maggie wrapped her arms around her narrow body to keep the shivering at bay. He released her the moment they were inside, and she realized with surprise that her arms were numb where he’d held her. She heard the rasp of the lock, the rattle of the chain, but she still didn’t dare look at him. She stood there, waiting. He could have done it, she thought, feeling his presence as he stalked around her. He could have killed Mack himself, or he could have hired Bud Willis at twice the price. The rage he was in right now was one that could easily lead to murder. He wanted to kill her, she knew that. He was so angry that he wanted to strangle her and drop her in the canal. She knew that he’d killed before in the line of duty, and she also knew he was entirely capable of killing again if he had to. But would he kill her? He’d walked over to the bed, and the small glow of the bedside lamp pierced the darkness as he flicked it on. It would make an odd sort of sense, Maggie thought as she stood there, unmoving, waiting. They were so tied up in love and hate, distrust and passion. Surrounded as they were by pain and death, it was bound to spill over on them sooner or later. And if Randall killed her he wouldn’t have to deal with the problem of whether he loved her or hated her. Because she knew that it was loving her that he couldn’t stand. He hated to need anyone, to want anyone and he needed and wanted Maggie. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to lie in Randall’s arms and make love to him. She wanted to cry and be soothed. She wanted to be protected and nurtured and made to feel as only Randall could make her. She forced herself to look at him, forced herself to meet the fiery rage she knew she’d find in his face. And her last little bit of courage vanished in the face of that murderous fury. �śAre you going to kill me?” She asked the question calmly, almost casually. He didn’t even blink. �śWhy should I do that, Maggie?” he replied in a soft, deadly voice. �śI don’t like the sick little games you play, pretending I’m Pulaski, but it’s not as if it really matters in the long run.” �śIt matters.” �śThe hell it does.” For a moment the violence erupted, then died down once more. �śI won’t deny that I like sleeping with you. For some reason you appeal to me, God knows why. It can’t be your sweet nature or charming personality. You’re self-centered, completely absorbed in your own grief and your own emotions, with just a little left over for your damned family. I admit I want you, but I know the difference between love and lust.” �śDo you?” She goaded him deliberately, wanting to see the eggshell-thin composure crack, wanting to see whether he could actually feel like other human beings. For a long moment he stared at her. Moving slowly he picked up the handblown crystal water carafe that rested beside the bed and hurled it at the nearest wall. Then he caught her before she could run, his strong, merciless hands digging into her arms, and he shook her, hard, with all his repressed anger. His narrow, handsome face was no longer distant and mocking. It was twisted with rage and grief and despair, and Maggie felt her heart turn over inside her. �śYou pushed me too far, Maggie,” he said, his voice raw. �śI’ve put up with all I can take from you. I can’t spend another six years waiting for you, watching you fall into bed with the wrong men, watching you fall in love with someone else when it should be me. I can’t spend another six hours knowing that all you can think about is Pulaski, knowing that you don’t give a damn that I love you�"” The moment the words were out he stopped, and Maggie knew if he could call the words back he would. But it was too late. They hung in the air like an entity, shimmering between them. �śDamn,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment as a look of agony swept over his face. When he opened them it was gone, and there was nothing there, no emotion, no anger, just bleak emptiness. �śI’ve had enough, Maggie,” he said wearily. �śDo you hear me?” He shook her again, hard, and his fingers were like iron around her arms. �śDo you?” �śWhat do you want from me, Randall?” she asked. She waited for him to say it, she needed to hear him say it. That he needed her to love him, to forget Mack and to love him. But he’d pulled his mask on once again, and the flaming emotions were banked, still smoldering. He released her, moving away to stand by the window, and the moonlight reflected on the canal and illuminated his weary face. �śNothing, Maggie. Nothing you’re prepared to give.” She stood there by the bed, not moving, not saying a word. It had been a long six years since she’d first met Randall, and had known joy, and agonizing sorrow with him. She’d loved Mack with all the passion she had in her, but Mack was dead. Now she belonged with Randall, from now on until he tired of her. But he wasn’t going to tire of her. He loved her as much as she loved him and it was now up to her to prove it to him. Holly had watched the two of them move off down the hall, a worried expression on her face. She’d never seen Randall look quite so angry, nor Maggie so frightened. She hadn’t heard what Signor Tonetti had said, but apparently it had a galvanizing effect on both of them. Maybe she’d better go make sure they hadn’t killed each other. Maybe she’d be bunking with Maggie after all. She stopped outside their door, listening. She could hear low, angry voices, but no sounds of violence. She reached out to knock, then pulled her hand back. They needed to work things out by themselves, they didn’t need baby sister to interfere. Slowly she turned, heading back down the hall to her own room. She would have liked to have stayed at the Tonettis’ party�"even if her Italian was almost nonexistent she would still be busy enough to forget about Ian. Alone in her room she’d have no choice but to brood, to worry, to long for him. Damn the man to hell! The lamp was burning by her bed, making a small pool of light surrounded by shadows. Holly closed and locked the door, moving into the room, then stopping short as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. She wasn’t going to be spending the night alone after all. Ian half sat, half lay in the chair beside the bed, sound asleep. He hadn’t shaved, he was still wearing those loathsome polyester clothes that apparently were de rigueur for a Venetian hit man, and he was snoring. He was the best damned Christmas present she’d ever gotten. With a salacious grin she advanced on him, eager to get to the unwrapping. sixteen The moonlight was filtering through the casement window, illuminating the drifting snowflakes, its unearthly glow mirrored in the dark canal water. It lit half of Randall’s face as he stood looking out the window, exposing painful defeat and repressed emotions. �śRandall,” she said, her voice low and husky, �śI’m prepared to give you anything you want. But you have to ask for it.” He didn’t move, he didn’t look at her. He spoke in a voice that was barely audible. �śI want you to love me.” Waves of emotion washed over Maggie. It was as if she’d been locked under a spell, and his words had released her. Randall the remote, the cynical, the invulnerable, needed her and Maggie, the giver, let go of the last of her doubts. She could fight her own dark desires, and she could fight his efforts at control. But she couldn’t fight his need, not when it was what she needed too. She slipped out of her high-heeled sandals and walking away from the bed crossed the room to him, silently, her stockinged feet chilly on the drafty floor of the old palazzo. He still didn’t turn, but she knew that every cell in his taut body was aware of her approach. She stopped within inches of him, close enough to feel the burning heat of his body without touching him. A hundred memories danced through her mind, Randall seducing her, ministering to her, making love to her until she was weak with a dizzy sort of relief. Always it had been Randall, setting the pace, calling the shots, making the moves, and she had accepted, sometimes passively, sometimes with enthusiasm, sometimes with grudging despair. This time it was different. This time it wasn’t Maggie lost in a welter of a pain and fright. It wasn’t an almost virgin confused by desire in a factory apartment in Gemansk, an angry, aroused woman in a shack in the Eastern European countryside, a grief-stricken widow in a New York apartment. It wasn’t any of the women she’d been for him over the years. It wasn’t even a woman in a deserted palace who’d seen too much death in the hills of Lebanon. It was a woman who’d finally accepted that she loved the wrong man, and there was nothing she could do but love him as well as she possibly could. And it was Randall who was lost. She lifted her hands, sliding them under his jacket to the silk-covered skin beneath. He was rigid with tension, the muscles of his back knotted beneath her hands. She edged closer, so that her body was pressed against his, and she slipped the jacket down his arms, dropping it on the chair behind her. She turned him gently toward her and then she reached for his tie. Memory brought her back to a similar scene, six months ago in her sister Kate’s apartment in Chicago. His hands shot up and caught hers in a painful grip, stopping her in the midst of unknotting the black silk tie, and his dark, tormented eyes blazed down into hers. �śI said I wanted you to love me,” he said, his voice low and raw. �śI didn’t say I wanted a sympathy roll in the hay.” She didn’t move, her hands still beneath his, and she felt herself begin to withdraw inside herself. She smiled, a small, knowing smile. �śYou don’t know what you want, Randall,” she said. �śIn one sentence you say you need me, in the next you use your nasty tongue to drive me away.” �śMaggie,” he said, �śI’m so damned tired of you hating me in the morning.” He dropped his hands, leaning back against the window frame, waiting for her to withdraw. Calmly, with only slightly unsteady hands, she continued to undo his tie, then moved to the shell buttons on his shirt, unfastening them one by one, exposing the pale, golden flesh of his chest and stomach. She pulled the shirt from his pants and pushed it from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Still he watched her, making no move. She reached for his thin leather belt. Her hands were shaking now, with a panicky sort of desire that she wouldn’t back away from. Randall would let her go, would probably be more than happy to have another fight, to precipitate another battle that would end with her beneath him on that soft bed. But not this time. The belt buckle finally gave, and she remembered that his damned trousers had buttons instead of a zipper. She drew a deep, unsteady breath and then sank to her knees in front of him. She pressed her face against him, against the swell of desire that couldn’t be hidden despite Randall’s distance. She kissed him through the thin wool, revelling in his involuntary start, and then her long fingers were blessedly adept, unfastening one stubborn button after another. �śMaggie,” he said, his voice harsh and pleading. She released him from the wool trousers and the silk shorts, and he was hot and pulsing in her cool hands. She looked up at him, shaken at her own arousal, and managed a shy smile. �śYou wanted me to love you, Randall,” she said softly. �śI will,” she said. �śI do.” As she put her mouth on him, she could feel the tension radiate through his body, the shudder that swept over him, and his hands reached out to cup her head. She half expected him to draw her away, but instead he held her there, his hands gentle on her thick hair, as she gave him back some of what he’d given to her. The light beside the bed flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness. Maggie didn’t flinch. Moonlight surrounded them, illuminating the snow outside, and there was just the two of them, her hungry mouth and his uncontrollable desire, tension and desire sweeping over her as she brought him closer and closer to release. She was trembling as he was, shaking with love and desire and need, and he was almost there �Ś His hands moved from her head, where he’d been holding her against him, moving down to her shoulders, and he pulled her away. �śNo,” she cried, fighting him, but he was stronger than she was. He pulled her up, into his arms, holding her there as she struggled. �śNo,” she whimpered again. �śI wanted to�"” �śI didn’t.” His voice was low and tight and yearning. �śI don’t want you servicing me like a whore. I want to give to you when you give to me. I want to be inside you when I come, I want�"” She’d slid her hand down between their bodies to capture him. He groaned, pressing against her hand, and she tried to kneel again. But once more he stopped her, and his hands were hard and perversely arousing on her arms. �śMaggie,” he whispered. �śI want all of you. Not just your mouth, all of you.” Together they moved toward the bed and they sank down together onto the soft mattress they’d shared so platonically the night before. It took her a few moments to struggle out of her designer jumpsuit, and she spared one of her last conscious thoughts to curse Holly’s taste in clothing. Then Randall’s mouth was everywhere, tasting, demanding, moving from her own soft lips, down her slender neck to the taut firmness of her breasts. She arched against him, overwhelmed by the response that was raging through her, and for a moment all she could do was lie there and quiver. His deft hands were holding her still, and then trailing across her flat stomach and between her thighs. She gasped when he touched her, so exquisitely aroused that she almost couldn’t bear it. She tried to push his hand away, but he was inexorable. With slow, delicious strokes he continued his sensual assault, and she began to shudder. His hand left her, his mouth released her aching breast, and before she knew what he intended he’d moved down and placed his mouth on her�"a hot, hungry demand that she could no longer fight. She reached down and cradled his head, as he’d cradled hers only minutes before, and gave herself up to the unimaginable pleasure he was giving her. Within moments she was lost, shivering and gasping, her body melting in waves against his hot mouth. He waited until it passed, and then he moved up, over her, thrusting deeply into her, filling her, impaling her, controlling and destroying her last ounce of sanity. Suddenly it changed. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and then it was up to her. She was the instigator, she was the taker. She knelt there astride him, revelling in the feel of him, deeply a part of her, as she captured and surrounded him. She tightened around him, slowly, deliciously, and was rewarded with the glazed look of unspeakable pleasure that darkened his eyes. She rested her hands on his shoulders, pressing them back against the cool white sheets, and began to rock, slowly at first, deliberately, moving back and forth, capturing and then almost releasing him. It was delicious, it was overwhelmingly heady, this sense of control that was rapidly being wrested from both of them. His strong hands reached up to cradle her hips, not to push her, only to caress her, and when she sank down again he arched, filling her even more fully. Randall’s shoulders were slippery with sweat, his body taut and trembling, and Maggie felt her heart and soul contract. �śI love you,” she heard herself say in a rough, almost desperate voice. �śI love you, Randall. I always have.” Everything exploded into blackness pierced by glittering shards of light. He thrust against her once, twice, and then was lost, spilling his love into her. Maggie had only a moment to savor his release, when suddenly her body dissolved beneath her, and she was flung out into the darkness with him. She opened her mouth to scream, but met his instead, as her body convulsed in a series of shattering spasms that were unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. All she could do was cling to Randall’s sweat-slick body. It seemed forever before sense and reality returned. First the trembling stilled, then the darkness began to recede. Her mind returned, slowly at first. She was lying on her side, locked in Randall’s embrace, still clinging to him with hands and arms that were cramping with tension. He was still inside her, pressed deep, and his heart was thudding as heavily as hers. Her face was drenched in tears she never knew she’d shed. Randall’s hands came up to smooth her short tangled hair away from her tear-swollen face. She ducked her head in unexpected shyness, but he caught her chin and lifted her face to meet his gaze. It was a revelation to her. As his searching eyes swept over her no-doubt bedraggled appearance, it was Randall who was the surprise. There was no mockery, no reserve, no wariness in his face at all. It had been washed clean of bitterness and years of cynicism. He looked like a young man, a boy. A boy in love. Again Maggie’s heart turned over inside her. She smiled at him then, a loving, tear-filled smile and with complete trust she put her head against his shoulder and fell instantly, prosaically asleep. It was morning, and the bed was cold. Maggie opened her eyes and reached for Randall. He was gone. The room was empty. No sign of a note, and his clothes were neatly folded on the dresser. He wouldn’t have gone far, she told herself, settling back against the headboard of the bed that was too big for one person. The snow had almost stopped. She looked out the leaded casement windows to the drifting flakes that were still sauntering down with a lazy air. The narrow cobbled path along the side canal was covered with it. Maybe they could go for a long walk later, hand in hand, like normal lovers on Christmas day. Maybe they could be normal lovers, with no more hatred or distrust coming between them. She heard the door open behind her. It could only be Randall, and she held herself very still, willing him to come over and wake her in the best possible way. She waited in vain. He barely made a sound, moving around the room. And then she heard the muffled scrape of the one upholstered chair in the room, the telltale squeak of aging springs. Pulling the covers around her chilled shoulders, she looked at him, and didn’t like what she saw. He was fully dressed except for his jacket and tie. It was the old Randall. Distant, elusive, a faint shadow of mockery in his chilly eyes and thin, unsmiling mouth. The tumultuous passion of Christmas Eve might never have happened. �śIan’s back,” he said without preamble, his voice steady. �śNice for Holly,” Maggie observed, struggling to fight off the sense of confusion that was threatening to smother her. �śYes,” said Randall. The silence lengthened and grew. He couldn’t look at her, wouldn’t meet her gaze. He kept those shadowed eyes of his on the snowy canal scene outside the window, and Maggie bit back her frustration. �śDoes he know anything?” she asked finally. �śWho?” �śIan. You said he was back.” �śI didn’t see him. Signor Tonetti told me he spent the night in Holly’s room.” �śOh.” Randall turned from the canal and focused on a spot just above her left shoulder. �śDo you want some coffee?” he inquired politely. �śThere’s some already made.” Maggie sat there and counted to ten and then suddenly it began to make sense. What had he said last night? That he was tired of her hating him in the morning. Tired or not, that was what he was expecting, what he had steeled himself for. Slowly Maggie rose from the bed. It was too cold to prance around naked, so she drew the slightly tatty green brocade bedspread around her shivering body and advanced on him, a stern expression on her face. He watched her approach with narrowed, wary eyes, clearly not sure how to react. She stopped in front of him, glaring down. �śRandall,” she said with deceptive calm. �śTo quote an old song by the Shangri-las, when I say I’m in love you’d best believe I’m in love.” She dropped down into his lap, pulling the bedspread around them. For a moment he didn’t move, he just looked at her as if she were out of her mind. Then his long, hard hands caught her arms and pulled her against him, sliding under her breast and across her smooth, naked skin with a deft sureness that left her momentarily breathless. �śOh, yeah?” he murmured, and the chilly distance had melted away. �śYeah,” she said, biting his earlobe. �śYou’re mine now, Randall. You’re going to have to get used to being pawed and molested at all hours of the day and night.” She dropped her hands down to the telltale bulge beneath his thin leather belt. �śI’ve unleashed a monster,” he said lightly, but she couldn’t miss the thread of relief in his voice. �śYou have indeed.” She kissed him full on the mouth, and his tongue met hers, jousting sweetly. When she finally pulled away she was breathless and trembling. �śCome back to bed, Randall,” she whispered. �śWe can have coffee later. Besides, you’re going to need a big breakfast.” �śI am?” She smiled demurely. �śYou’re going to need your strength.” And she kissed him again. Christmas brunch was an odd sort of affair. The four of them met in Signor Tonetti’s crowded dining room at a little before noon, with absurdly sheepish expressions on their faces and the shadows of an energetically spent night beneath their eyes. They were oh, so polite, Maggie thought, stifling a grin as she sipped her blessedly strong coffee. Ian and Holly kept making the most nonsensical conversation, mostly consisting of �śmore coffee?” �śpass the sugar,” and �śtry the preserves.” The subject of Ian’s nonexistent army commission never came up, and Maggie assumed Holly and he must have hashed it out the night before. Among other things. The two of them sat in blissful silence, sharing the occasional embarrassed grin. Randall was just as bad. He must be an adherent to the rule of if you can’t say anything bad about a person, don’t say anything. He sat there, brooding into his coffee, answering in monosyllables, his hand on her knee beneath the linen tablecloth. �śSo what’s next?” Holly said brightly when she’d managed to wolf down an astonishing amount of sweet buns. �śAnybody know where Flynn’s gone to?” �śI know,” Ian rumbled, his green eyes downcast. �śNot that it makes any difference because I don’t know where the hell Cul de Sac is.” �śI do,” Randall said, all trace of abstraction leaving him. He drained his coffee, setting it down with a snap on the china saucer. Three pairs of eyes turned in his direction, but he was taking his time now, pouring himself another cup and adding an unexpected lump of sugar. �śI thought you drank your coffee black?” Maggie questioned irrelevantly. �śI do. Today I need the sugar.” His smile was just this side of a grin. �śThe hell with how he drinks his goddamned coffee,” Ian exploded. �śWhere has Flynn gone to?” �śEver hear of Hole in the Wall?” he countered. �śNo.” �śYes,” Maggie said. �śWasn’t that the western town somewhere in the Rockies where all the outlaws hid out? Butch Cassidy, Jesse James and the gang? And the law left them completely alone.” �śThat’s what Cul de Sac is. It’s in Northern Africa, somewhere in Salambia, and it’s sort of a cross between a modern hotel and a fortress. The dregs of the earth hang out there�"vacation time for terrorists.” His voice was lightly bitter. �śWhy hasn’t anyone done anything about it?” Holly demanded. �śWhat can we do? For one thing, we’re not sure where it is. For another, even if we did know, we can’t very well send bombers or an army into another country�"it would be looked on as an act of war. Not that the Salambians have much of an army, but any act of aggression like that could trigger some heavy aid from Russia. We don’t dare.” �śWho’s this we, white man?” Holly demanded. Randall shrugged. �śCIA, Interpol, any of the good guys.” �śAre you one of the good guys?” �śSometimes.” �śCan we find out where it is?” Ian intervened. Randall’s chilly eyes met his. �śMaybe. We can’t very well call on your sources, can we? Considering your recent unhappy discharge from Her Majesty’s forces I’d think the British army wouldn’t be terribly helpful. And whoever’s been feeding you information has gotten us into nothing but trouble. I doubt they’d give us much help this time.” Ian’s face grew slightly mutinous. �śMaybe that’s the best thing we can do. We �Ś I �Ś have been led into a trap time and time again. Maybe whoever’s been pulling the strings would want to lead us straight to the heart of the matter.” �śMaybe.” Maggie looked at Randall with a question in her eyes. Ian didn’t know Maeve O’Connor was dead�"no one did but the two of them; Maggie hadn’t even told Holly. She opened her mouth to say something, when the imperceptible shake of Randall’s elegant head shut it again, and she leaned back in the fragile chair. �śYou try your sources, Ian,” Randall said, �śand I’ll try mine. Maybe between the two of them we’ll come up with something.” Ian was a perceptive man. His green eyes swept between the two of them, suspicious, wary. �śI’ll find him,” he said firmly. �śI have too big a score to settle with him not to.” And Maggie, remembering Maeve’s butchered body, shivered in the bright winter sunlight. seventeen Maggie shut her suitcase, snapping the locks with her usual efficiency, her mind on the task ahead of them. For once the four of them had worked together, pooling their information, and it had been easier than she had expected. Holly had worked the cocktail circuit, mingling with the diplomatic types that abounded in Venice. The first ambassador she’d zeroed in on had been the most helpful, possibly because he was the most besotted with Holly’s magnificent aquamarine eyes and her perfectly formed body. From him she learned the general location of Cul de Sac (in the western plains of Salambia), the average occupancy of the compound (around one hundred guests, not counting the staff), and the defenses of the place (generally impregnable). They’d gone on from there to find that Salambia was a small, emerging nation tucked in between the starving desert vastness of Ethiopia and the equally drought-struck wastes of Somalia. In better times it had been a rich little country, with a leftist dictatorship that nevertheless respected American capitalism and the vast amounts of money the capitalist system could engender. But the drought had wiped out half the economy, and the thirty-seven attempts at a military coup had decimated the rest. Now it was just another starving Third World nation, flirting with Russia, toying with the U.S., struggling desperately to survive and not be absorbed into its more powerful neighbors. Into this mess had come Timothy Seamus Flynn and his ilk, pouring money into President Mbubu’s coffers in return for amnesty. Murderers from all over the world could hide out in what had started out as the first Holiday Inn in northeastern Africa. They could come and vacation, recuperate with the best of hospital care, and no one could touch them. No one, that is, until now. Maggie had done her bit, calling Mike Jackson back in Washington. Apart from a plaintive request that she eventually come back to work, her boss at Third World Causes, Ltd., took no more than twenty-four hours to come up with the goods. The current head of operations at Cul de Sac was a retired American agent who’d turned. His code name was Lazarus, and he was considered extremely dangerous. While official Washington couldn’t sanction any sort of attack, the demise of said Lazarus would be greeted with relief and perhaps even some monetary reward. Maggie had shrugged that one off. For the time being all they could concentrate on was finishing off Tim Flynn. There was little doubt that every inmate of Cul de Sac deserved a swift, bloody death, but Maggie didn’t feel like appointing herself judge, jury, and executioner. If Lazarus tried to stop them it would be a different matter. But their main plan was to get in, take care of Flynn, and escape without anyone being the wiser. Ian had gone back to the little shop in the Calle del Porco. Maddelena, fresh from Christmas mass, had been stubborn and uncommunicative until Ian had suggested she might be forced to accompany them to Cul de Sac. Rather than have her incompetency revealed, she had provided the most important link in the puzzle�"the current password that would get the four of them into the fortress. Not that the four of them should go. They all knew it was stupid, but not one of them was willing to stay behind. With Maddelena an incommunicado guest of the state of Venice, there was no one to warn Lazarus and his guests that they were coming. All they needed was transportation and visas. Randall took care of that. Maggie didn’t even want to ask how. He had connections with everyone, and whether it was the CIA, Interpol, or something more nefarious she didn’t need to know. When he arrived back at the Palazzo Carboni with four forged passports and the information that a hired plane would be ready at noon the next day, the others had merely nodded. It was finally going down. Maggie didn’t want to leave Venice, the decaying elegance of the Palazzo Carboni, the dark room with its sagging bed and cold floors. She didn’t want to leave the first place she’d been happy in years. She and Randall had spent hours talking, wrapped up in the threadbare linen sheets and heavy blankets, wrapped in each other’s arms. She talked to him about growing up in Hollywood, about chasing after her feckless mother and trying to raise her younger sisters. And she finally talked, in soul-wrenching details, of Deke Robinson’s raping her when she was barely sixteen years old�"a rape that had left her terrified of the dark and afraid of men. Until Randall and Gemansk, six years ago. And he’d talked about growing up in Cambridge with his robber baron grandfather. His mother’s overwhelming philanthropic works left little time for her own family, and his father had his university dream world, where Shakespeare somehow seemed more real than his children. And Randall had grown up thinking love was taking care of the distant masses, mankind, and all its woes, that love was a Shakespeare sonnet, constant, seeking not to alter but to worship, unquestioningly. Love wasn’t need and want and anger and passion�"such emotions weren’t reserved for the Carters of Cambridge. He told her how long he loved her, long before he even knew it, long before he even recognized that love existed. They made love over and over and over again, and yet still he held something back. She knew it without asking, knew by the shadow that still lingered in his blue-gray eyes, the tightness that thinned his mouth when he thought she wasn’t looking. She knew, and she felt the clutching tendrils of fear weaving around her heart. She knew, and was too frightened to ask what it was. She just clung to him all the more tightly, dreading the future. She yanked her suitcase off the bed, looking around the room one last time. She’d spent her first honeymoon in this room, lying in Mack’s arms. She’d spent her second honeymoon, this time without benefit of marriage, in the same bed, becoming so tied up with Randall, physically, emotionally, spiritually, that there was no way she was ever going to be free. She looked around her and knew, no matter what happened, that she would never come back here again. A part of her life was over, a part full of doubts, regret, and passion. Stepping out into the hall, she shut the door behind her without a backward glance. When it came to arranging transportation, Randall was an expert. The small, sleek Learjet waiting at the private airport just outside of Mestre was new and shiny, and if the pilot looked more like a member of the Red Brigade and less like Peter Graves, Maggie’s perfect idea of a pilot, well, who was she to complain? She had little doubt he really was a terrorist, given Randall’s usual efficiency. �śYou want to tell us your plan of action?” Ian demanded not long after they took off into the southern skies. �śI presume you do have a plan?” �śDid you check out your passport?” Randall was stretched out in one of the elegant reclining seats, his expression shuttered, giving nothing away. �śIt says I’m James Welcome, age thirty-three, from New Zealand.” �śAnd that’s who you are,” Randall said. �śJames Welcome died in an airport bombing in Brussels last fall. The suitcase he was carrying exploded before he could leave it with the innocent passengers. Interpol kept his death a secret, just in case someone might be able to use his identity. He happened to have the same general physical description as you have. Do you think you can manage a New Zealand accent?” �śAustralian is as close as I can come.” �śIt’ll do. Holly’s your girl friend. She’s a violence groupie�"likes excitement. All she has to do is giggle a lot.” �śGreat.” Holly groaned. �śHow about letting me be the terrorist and Ian be the groupie?” �śIan’s used to working undercover,” Randall replied. �śBesides, we couldn’t come up with a match for you. There aren’t that many staggeringly tall and beautiful terrorists roaming around.” �śSexist pig,” Holly said genially. �śWhat about you and Maggie?” Maggie looked up from her seat beside the window. �śYou think a groupie is boring? I get to be a nurse, for God’s sake. I’m just lucky he didn’t decide to make me a secretary.” �śA nurse?” Ian echoed. �śAnd I’m a plastic surgeon. Cul de Sac has the best equipped hospital in the entire continent of Africa. They do the most advanced cosmetic surgery there, for obvious reasons. Maggie and I are simply taking over from an American doctor and his mistress.” �śAnd where are they?” �śThey’ve been �Ś er �Ś persuaded to remain in the States while we make use of their identities. So we all have an entree, and if we just watch what we’re doing, we’ll be fine. We’re landing on the private airstrip in a couple of hours, and then we’ll be on our own. Between the four of us we should be able to find Flynn.” �śWhat if he finds us first?” Holly demanded. �śHe knows what we all look like.” �śWe’ll just have to find him before he finds us,” Randall said. �śAnd before we’re scheduled for surgery,” Maggie added. �śOh, no,” Holly murmured, shuddering. �śDon’t worry.” An uncharacteristic smile lit Randall’s dark face. �śI can look efficient in an operating room. I used to watch M*A*S*H all the time.” It was the last semijesting remark anyone made. The tension inside the pressurized cabin was so thick, Maggie thought she might choke on it. The galley was stocked with ice, Dom Perignon, and every kind of liquor imaginable, but none of them dared take anything. They just sat there, drinking coffee and diet cola, watching the thick, puffy clouds as they drew nearer and nearer to Armageddon. Maggie stretched her long legs out in front of her, willing her muscles to relax. Ian and Holly weren’t talking, but at least they were sitting together, and beneath their silent tension there was clearly a bond. He still didn’t know that Flynn had murdered his cousin Maeve�"Randall insisted it would only distract him. Sooner or later they’d tell him; for now ignorance was their best bet. Every now and then Holly would put out one slim hand, touching Ian’s arm and he’d smile at her distractedly, sweetly, and Maggie was jealous �Ś There were no sweet smiles for her. No closeness, no touching, no silent bond. Randall had withdrawn into himself, leaving her miles away, and he sat by the opposite window, alone, staring out into the limitless sky, grimness haunting his mouth and eyes. He’d chosen a seat off by himself, but that didn’t stop Maggie. She rose, making her way steadily across the cabin, and sank to the carpeted floor beside him. He looked up then, but his expression was unreadable. �śWhat do you think our chances are?” she said softly, pitching her voice low so the others couldn’t hear her. Randall shrugged. He was wearing a crushed linen suit, looking as elegant as always, and his long, thin fingers were tapping the armrest. �śNine out of ten.” �śThat good?” �śThat bad. Nine out of ten we don’t make it,” he said. �śThen why are we doing it? Sybil’s going to be fine, she doesn’t really need her jewels. Besides, he’s probably had them all cut and sold by now.” �śPerhaps,” Randall said. �śI don’t want to die, Randall. I want to go back to New York and live happily ever after. With you.” He looked down at her, his eyes dark and despairing. �śThere is no happily ever after for us, Maggie.” She held herself very still. �śWhy not?” �śThere are too many people between us. Pulaski, for one. Bud Willis, for another.” �śI don’t believe what Bud Willis told me,” she said fiercely. �śDon’t you?” He leaned back in the seat, and his eyes were bleak and distant. �śMaybe you should.” Maggie shuddered. �śWhat are you telling me?” �śNot a goddamned thing. I’m just saying you shouldn’t be so trusting. Don’t believe what people tell you. Don’t believe what Bud Willis tells you, don’t believe what I tell you,” he said, and his voice sounded infinitely weary. �śThe world is full of con artists and liars, and you’ve known more than your share.” �śIncluding you?” �śIncluding me.” It was nerves, she told herself. It was getting psyched up for the coming confrontation, it was edginess. But damn it, she felt the walls building between them again, and she couldn’t see any way to tear them down. �śWhy don’t we turn around and fly back?” �śBecause,” he said. �śBecause of the women that weren’t as fortunate as your mother. Because of the twenty-five people who died in Champignons, the seventeen in Northern Ireland, the five in Lebanon. Because he enjoys it, and he’ll do it again. And the first people he’ll be after are you, your sister, and your mother. You can all identify him, and Tim Flynn doesn’t leave witnesses.” She sat in a despairing silence for a long moment. �śAll right,” she said. �śYou’re right, we have no choice. But at least we’ve got a plan.” �śEven better than you think. Dr. Milhouse was coming over for a rush job, for an especially important client. I’m guessing that patient is Tim Flynn. Too many people can recognize him now�"it’s time to alter that handsome Irish face of his.” �śBut then he won’t�"” �śYes, he will. Safe or not, he doesn’t leave witnesses.” The last three words were a soft, deadly hiss as he turned to stare back out the window. Maggie knelt there, saying nothing. She had to clench her hands to keep from reaching out to him, but she was afraid she’d be rebuffed. At that moment she didn’t think she could take his rejection. �śThere’s something else, isn’t there?” she said finally. He nodded without looking. �śSomething’s not right, hasn’t been right all along. And I’m afraid I know what it is.” �śAre you going to tell me?” �śNo. I could be wrong. And if I’m right we’ll find out soon enough, and there’s nothing we can do about it.” �śIs it something to do with Flynn?” �śOnly marginally.” He turned and looked down at her. �śI think I know the double agent who runs the place.” �śSomeone you’ve worked with in the past? Is he someone I might have met? Was he around when I worked for the Company?” �śMaggie,” he said. �śLeave me alone. There’s too much riding on this to play guessing games. Either our cover works or it doesn’t. And there’s nothing we can say or do at this point to influence matters. Go back to your seat.” Without a word she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his hard, worried mouth then pulled away, rose to her feet, and went back to her solitary seat. �śWhat do you suppose they’re talking about?” Holly murmured. Ian’s green eyes narrowed as he took in the pair of them. �śI don’t know. Whatever it is, it isn’t pleasant.” �śNo. Maggie looks like she’s about to cry. And Maggie never cries.” �śMaybe he’s just told her how bad our chances are. Even if our fake identities get us into the fortress, getting out will be the real challenge.” �śNot to mention taking Flynn with us,” Holly added. Ian grimaced. �śYou don’t need to mention it,” he said. �śWe’re not bringing him out.” �śYou can’t just kill him in cold blood.” �śI can,” Ian said. �śAnd I will. Or I’ll damn well die trying.” Holly, looking at his determined expression, had little doubt that he would. The rest of the flight passed in silence. Three hours later they landed on a small airstrip in the midst of a shimmering desert. Heat surrounded them in waves as they walked into the African sunset, heat so intense that the sweat evaporated from their skin before it had time to form. �śI thought you said Cul de Sac was in the grasslands,” Maggie whispered to Randall. �śThese were grasslands,” he replied. �śSalambia’s been hit by the drought almost as badly as Ethiopia. Look nursely, Maggie. Here comes our welcoming committee.” A jeep was barreling down the roadway toward the waiting jet, whipping up whirls of dust in its wake. It slammed to a stop a few yards away from the four of them, and the two men who jumped out had bristling beards, soulful Arabic eyes, and Uzi machine guns trained directly at the newcomers. �śLazarus?” Maggie whispered. Randall shook his head. The older of the two moved toward them, machine gun at the ready, a welcoming smile on his ferocious face. �śWelcome to Salambia, my friends. State your names and business.” �śDr. Irwin Milhouse,” Randall said, stepping forward and sounding marvelously officious. Once more Maggie had to admire his ability to take on protective coloring. She could readily believe he was a plastic surgeon from Scarsdale and not the dark, dangerous man she’d been sleeping with. �śI’m here to perform surgery on several of your guests. This is my nurse, Maria Calderwood.” He held out the phony passports with a steady, slightly impatient hand. The first man grabbed the papers, glanced at them, and his smile widened. �śYou are expected, Doctor,” he said. �śYou and your assistant. And who are your friends?” It was Ian’s cue, and he played right up to it. He swaggered forward, and although his New Zealand accent sounded like a cross between Australia and Texas, the two Semitic strongmen didn’t know the difference. �śI’m James Welcome, and this is my lady, Hilary. We’ve been told by mutual friends that there’s a place for us here.” �śWhat friends?” The first man wasn’t half as friendly, though his smile remained undiminished. �śThe four horsemen,” Ian said. The men nodded at the recognized code word. �śLazarus will be glad to see you. Please to climb into the jeep. I’m sorry there isn’t more room, but we were only expecting two.” �śThat’s all right, mate,” Ian assured them. �śHilary and I can snuggle.” �śAs for you, Doctor, you couldn’t have come at a better time. We have three patients for you, at least, and maybe more.” �śHow gratifying,” Randall said icily, climbing into the jeep and pulling Maggie after him. The rest followed suit, the six of them cramped into a vehicle better suited for two. �śI am Abu Hassan Mizal,” the older man introduced himself as the jeep roared to life. �śAnd I’m your first patient, Doctor.” �śReally?” Randall murmured coolly. Mizal nodded. �śWe know you are in a hurry to return to America,” he added. �śAll the arrangements have been made.” Maggie could see Randall’s slight frown of irritation. As far as she knew the real Dr. Milhouse hadn’t explained any arrangements. �śThat’s good,” he said noncommittally. �śYes. You can operate the moment we get back,” Mizal announced cheerfully, and he began to hum. eighteen Randall could feel Maggie freeze up beside him. Her face was serene, unmoved, even as her muscles tensed. He touched her, a small, reassuring caress that surprised her almost as much as it surprised him. �śNo, I won’t be operating the moment we get back,” he announced in his iciest voice, and he caught Ian’s grin of amusement. �śWhile I don’t wish to be in this pesthole a moment longer than I have to, I’m not about to perform surgery when I’m not properly rested. And I’ll take my patients in the order I choose, when I choose.” Mizal grinned over his shoulder, but his dark button eyes were vicious, and Randall felt Maggie shiver. �śYou’re the boss, eh?” �śI’m the doctor,” Randall replied. �śSomeone is paying very highly for my services, and if you want the best I can give then you’ll do things my way. If I’m overtired or distracted I can’t do my best work.” Mizal chuckled. �śI think I could inspire you,” he said, tapping the Uzi that rested between the seats. �śPerhaps.” Randall kept his voice cool. �śOr you could make me nervous. And when people are nervous, their hands shake.” Mizal shrugged. �śYou win, my friend. For now.” He felt some of the tension drain out of Maggie’s body, and he allowed himself a brief glance down at her. Mizal couldn’t see anything behind Randall’s mirrored sunglasses, wouldn’t see the weakness that assailed him whenever he looked at Maggie. Weakness and despair. If they got out of this alive, got back to the States in one piece, then that would be the end of it. A short, dreamlike sojourn that was doomed to end, sooner or later. And if what he suspected was true, if they found what he was horribly afraid they’d find, deep inside Cul de Sac, then it would be sooner. And even if he were being paranoid, if Lazarus was nothing more than some junior-grade operative who’d turned, then they still would only be buying time. Because if there was no one left alive to tell her the truth, he’d have to do it himself. Maybe it would be better if they died. Maybe he could make one mistake, one small, fatal flaw, and Maggie would never have to be disillusioned. The moment he toyed with the idea he dismissed it. He wasn’t that damned romantic. Much as he liked the fantasy of their being locked throughout eternity in a deathless love, when it came right down to it his sense of self-preservation was stronger. He’d lived without her before, he’d live without her when she left him again. He wouldn’t enjoy it, but it would be better than being dead. Maybe. �śYou look pretty grim,” Maggie whispered beside him. He looked down at her through the mirrored sunglasses. She had light-purple shadows under her eyes, and the bones in her face stood out too sharply. Her wheat-color hair was a tousled thatch, and her mouth was too pale as it managed to smile up at him. She was nervous, and edgy, and he wished to God they were back in Venice. �śJet lag,” he said briefly, and out of sight of Mizal’s watchful eyes, he put his hand on hers. He didn’t know what he was expecting from Cul de Sac. Some sort of palace, perhaps, like a restored version of the Arabian castle they’d spent the night in in Lebanon, maybe with a hospital wing amid all the Islamic claptrap. They could see it from a distance, shimmering in the dry, hot air as they approached it, a sand-color oasis that blended with the burnt-out grasslands around them. It was a fortress, all right, the thick walls surrounding the place were innocuous enough if you didn’t recognize the lethal electric charges placed strategically. It was bordered by trees, the first growing things they’d seen since they landed, making it look peaceful and welcoming. Randall could guess how much it cost to bring the water over the wastelands to keep those ornamental trees alive, water that could have grown crops that would have fed a town. His fingers tightened around Maggie’s, but she made no sound. Mizal’s silent companion pulled a small device from the glove compartment, punched a few numbers in, and the wide, steel doors opened to a tropical oasis of birds, flowers, fountains, and beauty. It looked like the Arabian Nights version of a Holiday Inn, Randall realized incredulously. General Hospital meets Ali Baba. This was going to be both easier, and harder, than he had imagined. Their rooms were pleasant, upper-class American motel modern. Just the sort of rooms he’d always hated. They had put Maggie in with him, with Ian and Holly just down the hall. It was late afternoon, with the sunlight pouring in the sliding glass door. Maggie was standing there, staring out into the courtyard at the crowded swimming pool, the tropical lushness in the midst of the arid drought. He came up behind her, not touching her, just close enough to absorb her body heat. He looked over her shoulder, out at the crowd of people eagerly soaking up the hot African sun, and he laughed, a short, unpleasant sound. �śQuite a bunch,” he said. �śI think I’d better stick to my room for the time being.” She turned her head to look at him. �śYou recognize anybody?” �śI recognize at least half of them. There’s quite an elite crowd out there. Some of the most notorious members of the Baader-Meinhof gang, the PLO’s worst branches, the Red Brigade, IRA, and free-lance terrorists from Latin America, Libya, and China. You remember the airport attacks in Vienna and Rome last year? One of the men responsible for planning it is sitting at the bar down there.” Maggie shivered. �śWhat about Flynn?” �śHe’s over by the diving board. With the skinny little redhead rubbing suntan oil on his back.” She nodded, catching sight of him. �śSo what are we going to do next?” Randall moved away, dropping down in the comfortable chair that overlooked the courtyard. �śI haven’t decided yet. We could find out where his rooms are and then kill him.” �śHow easy will that be?” �śEasy enough. We can watch him when he decides to leave and get a fairly good idea what part of the compound he’s in. Between the four of us we’ll be able to find him.” �śNot if you stay in the room.” �śOh, I’m just waiting till after dark. Besides, I think Ian will find him, by sheer animal instinct if nothing else.” �śWhy didn’t you tell him he killed Maeve?” Randall shrugged. �śI didn’t want to distract him. He’s got enough motivation.” �śHe’s going to have to find out sooner or later.” �śI think he might already guess.” Maggie turned away from the window, and looked at him. �śWhat else do we do?” �śWe wait,” he said. �śWe wait, and we watch.” A remnant of a grin warmed her face. �śRats. I was hoping we could take a little nap. Jet lag, remember?” He managed an answering smile. There’d be too few chances in the future, but they didn’t dare take this one. �śCurb your appetites,” he said. �śBusiness first.” �śYes, sir.” She sank down on the bed, kicking off her sandals. �śWake me when something happens.” She was asleep almost instantly. He sat there, half his attention trained on the jovial, charming Irishman out by the pool, half his attention on the sleeping figure not four feet away, wishing he dared have a good, stiff drink. If he kept up being distracted he wouldn’t have to worry about making a tiny, fatal mistake. It would happen anyway. It was almost an hour later when Flynn finally lifted his tanned, muscled body from the chaise and wrapped a burly arm around the skinny redhead before starting toward the east wing of the building. Randall sat there, watching, unmoving, intent. His patience was rewarded. Moments later he saw them pass by the third-floor hallway opposite them. They passed by the first, but not the second window, which narrowed them down to one of three suites, if the building’s layout was the same on both sides of the courtyard. Slowly he leaned back, breathing a sigh. He looked over at Maggie, still sound asleep, and he began to untie his tie. The bed sagged beneath his weight as he eased himself down beside her. Her breathing was slow and shallow, and he could see the faint web of veins beneath the translucent skin of her temples, the beginnings of lines fanning out from those beautiful eyes. They weren’t from laughter, and he had to take some responsibility for that. She hadn’t seen enough laughter in her life, and she wouldn’t find it with him. He had to let her go. He touched her, gently, his long fingers whispering against her vulnerable neck. This might be the last time they had together�"he ought to make the most of it. But making the most of it wasn’t stripping off her clothes and losing himself in her warmth and fire. All he wanted and needed was to touch her, to steal some of her softness and comfort. Moving carefully, he rested his head against her breasts. She sighed, stretching her arms around him, never waking. The white-gold light of the merciless African sun blazed down on them, stretched out on the queen-size bed, as Randall followed her into a temporary respite that would last too short a time. Ian was pacing the room repeatedly. Holly sat curled up by the balcony that looked out over the fortress walls, out into the burnt-out wasteland, and sighed. �śYou aren’t going to help matters, Ian,” she said in her most practical voice. Ian glared at her. �śWhere the hell are the others? We’ve been waiting here for over three hours and there’s been no word.” �śI’ve been waiting over three hours. You got to go see Lazarus.” �śMuch good that did me. He was worse than useless. I was hoping he might be someone I knew, but I’ve never seen him before in my life.” �śYou did manage to fool him, didn’t you?” Ian looked affronted. �śOf course I did. Do you think he would have let me come back if I didn’t?” Holly shrugged her elegant shoulders. �śWho knows? We’ve been set up all along the way�"maybe this is just part of some major trap.” �śMaybe,” said Ian. �śAnd maybe we’re fools to sit here like rats.” He stopped his pacing as a sudden, decisive expression darkened his green eyes. �śAnd maybe I won’t just sit here. I’m going out to reconnoiter.” �śDon’t you dare!” Holly shrieked, leaping upright. �śThe hell I won’t. No one told me I had to stay put. Lazarus said I was to make myself at home, enjoy the pool, visit their goddamned fitness center. I believe I’ll do that.” �śYou can’t leave me behind in this room,” she said. �śI’ll go crazy.” �śYou can come along. After all, you’re supposed to be a terrorist groupie�"you may get to play up to Carlos the Jackal.” �śSpare me,” she said. �śThis claustrophobic hotel room is preferable. But what if someone recognizes you?” His hand was already on the doorknob. �śThe only person who would know me is Flynn and I’ll see him before he sees me.” �śSurely you’ve run into other terrorists while you were in the army?” she persisted. �śSomeone who might have ended up here?” Slowly Ian shook his head. �śNo.” �śNo, you’ve never run up against terrorists?” Her voice was getting squeaky with fear and frustration. �śThen what makes you think you can have any luck with�"” �śI didn’t say I hadn’t run up against terrorists,” Ian interrupted her in a weary voice. �śI just said they wouldn’t have ended up here. Whether I like it or not I’m too much like Tim Flynn. I don’t leave witnesses either. Any terrorist I’ve run up against is dead.” His face was bleak. Holly just stood there, the sense of unreality battening around her aching head. �śSeven,” she said, remembering their conversation in Northern Ireland. �śSeven,” he said. �śAnd Flynn’s the eighth.” The door shut silently behind him. �śWhat do you mean, he went out to reconnoiter?” Maggie demanded, staring at her sister in baffled fury. The sun had set, but Cul de Sac was more brightly lit than Las Vegas, and the sounds beyond their closed door were festive. She and Randall had been eating a late supper when Holly’s hesitant knock on the door interrupted them. When she’d awakened that evening it had been in Randall’s arms, and for a few short hours she’d been at peace, but the moment she saw her sister’s worried face the tension was back again. �śI couldn’t stop him,” she said, taking Maggie’s wineglass and draining it. �śDo you have anything else to eat? I didn’t want to call room service and have them find out Ian isn’t in his room. I didn’t feel up to answering any questions.” �śI don’t think anyone would ask any,” Randall said. �śThe woman who brought our dinner was a Salambian native, and didn’t know any English at all. I think Lazarus and the previous innkeepers here have it that way on purpose.” �śSpeaking of Lazarus, Ian went to see him.” There was a sudden stillness in the room, one that Maggie couldn’t miss. Randall toyed with his wineglass, seemingly at ease, but she wasn’t fooled. She rose from the table, gesturing her sister toward her half-finished portion, and moved over to the terrace. The courtyard was still crowded, although no one was swimming. Everyone was dressed up, laughing, partying, enjoying their vacation in the sun. Only the proliferation of side arms clashed with the cheerful tableau. �śWhat did Lazarus have to say?” Randall asked with what appeared to be only desultory interest. But Maggie knew better. �śNot much, apparently. Just told him to make himself welcome, that sort of thing.” �śDid he ask about us?” �śNot according to Ian. As a matter of fact, Ian was disappointed. He was hoping Lazarus would be someone he knew.” Randall shrugged, and Maggie watched the tension recede infinitesimally from his shoulders. �śWe can be grateful he wasn’t.” �śThat still doesn’t solve our problem,” Holly persisted. �śI’m scared half to death. Where the hell is Ian?” �śI imagine he’s looking for Flynn,” Randall said, his voice remote. �śOr maybe he’s already found him.” �śWhat are you going to do about it?” Holly stopped with a forkful of fresh asparagus halfway to her mouth. �śNothing.” �śWhat do you mean, nothing?” The fork clattered onto the Limoges plate as she raised huge, desperate eyes to Randall’s shadowed face. Once more Maggie felt that small slash of jealousy, once more she stifled it. �śThere’s nothing I can do right now. This place is teeming with people who know me far too well. If I put one foot outside this door, Lazarus and his crew would be down on me before I could sneeze. We’ve got the perfect setup for Flynn. I was right�"he’s scheduled for the second round of surgery tomorrow. It’ll be easy enough to exchange his time with Mizal. A slip of the knife, something going wrong with the anesthesia, and Flynn’s death will be a regrettable accident. I’ll be too shaken to operate the rest of the day, and we can leave without anyone being the wiser.” �śWhat makes you think you can pull it off?” Maggie countered. �śOr me, for that matter? Don’t you think the other medical personnel will notice if we start butchering the patients?” �śI can fool anyone,” he said, and his tone was matter-of-fact, not boasting. �śAll you have to do is keep quiet and do as I say.” �śDon’t you think someone�"Mizal, for instance�"might object if we kill Flynn?” �śNo one gives a damn about anyone else here. They’re only concerned with their own skins,” he replied. �śIt’ll be quick, efficient, and more humane than he deserves. As long as Ian doesn’t blow it.” �śI don’t like it,” Maggie said flatly, turning away from him. �śIt sounds too �Ś too callous, too cold-blooded.” �śYou’d rather have high noon in the courtyard, wouldn’t you?” he mocked, but the mockery was gentle. �śGive him a fighting chance and all that?” �śYes.” �śHe didn’t give the customers at Champignons a fighting chance, Maggie. And he wouldn’t give us one either. He’d shoot us in the back before we even knew what hit us, and he’d enjoy it. Tim Flynn is like a mad dog, and we’ve got to destroy him the safest way we can.” �śI still don’t like it,” she said stubbornly. �śI’ve got a surprise for you Maggie: Neither do I. But it’s a choice we have to make. As long as Ian doesn’t mess things up.” �śWhy don’t Holly and I go now and try to find him?” Maggie interrupted, pushing away from the wall. �śNo one knows who we are�"we could wander where we please.” �śNo.” �śDon’t give me orders, Randall,” she said in a dangerous tone of voice, their afternoon interlude forgotten. �śI’ll do what I damn well want.” �śOver my dead body,” he snapped. �śI know a hell of a lot more about what’s going on around here than you do. For one thing, you and Holly look too damned much alike in spite of Holly’s hair color. You’re almost the same height, have the same eyes, the same stubborn mouth. And you both look like your mother. You can be sure that Flynn hasn’t kept quiet about his little coup. People aren’t discreet in places like this�"they like to brag about their latest exploits.” �śAre there other places like this?” Maggie interrupted. �śI was hoping it was unique.” �śI don’t really know. I don’t think it is. Don’t try to evade the issue, Maggie. Whether you like it or not, you’d be recognized before you got within ten feet of Flynn.” �śAt least we can find out where he is,” she said desperately. �śMaybe we can take care of him tonight. For God’s sake, Randall, we’ll have witnesses tomorrow. And what if he recognizes us before he goes under?” �śWe want witnesses, Maggie. To prove it was just an accident. And I’ve already prescribed a sedative for him. By the time he’s wheeled into the operating room he won’t be able to open his eyes. For once in your life, do what I tell you.” �śYou expect me to stay cooped up in this room like a good little girl?” He ignored her sarcastic tone. �śThe quieter we are, the better.” �śAnd in the meantime?” �śIn the meantime we wait,” he said, his tone icy and remote like the Randall of old, brooking no opposition. �śWhat about Ian?” Holly broke in, her voice small and tense. �śIan’s a big boy. He’ll have to take care of himself,” Randall said. �śBut what if he can’t?” �śThen there’s still nothing we can do about it without blowing our cover. We’ll take care of Flynn tomorrow morning, Holly. And I expect we’ll find Ian with him.” �śBut will he be dead or alive?” �śFlynn or Ian?” �śEither of them.” Randall sighed and suddenly Maggie was remembering the night outside the pub in Northern Ireland, where he’d forced her to hold still while they listened to a massacre, listened and did nothing to stop it. Choices, he’d said. Tough, miserable choices. And right now he was making another one that they both hated. She could only hope it was the right one. �śWe’ll find out tomorrow,” he said, and his voice was infinitely troubled. �śUntil then we wait.” And Maggie, hating and loving him, turned back out to stare into the partying crowd. nineteen Cul de Sac had finally shut down for the night. The gambling tables in the huge banquet hall were silent, the pool was empty, the halls were cleared. At four in the morning the African night reigned supreme, and the dregs of the earth slept peacefully. Or Maggie supposed their sleep was peaceful. She had no way of telling, but she was more than ready to guess that they weren’t troubled by nightmares as she was. Unable to sleep, she had gotten out of bed and gone out on the terrace. But Randall had no problems in that area, lying face down on the too-soft mattress, his long arms wrapped around a down pillow. She envied his self-discipline. All she could think about when she lay in the bed next to him was how much she wanted him, how in hell they were going to take care of Flynn and get out of there, and what was going to happen to them if and when they did escape. Things didn’t look promising for their future. They’d never be a comfortable suburban couple. There’d always be anger and a passion so deep it bordered on dangerous. If she had any sense at all she’d run as far and as fast as she could. But she didn’t have any sense. At least, none that would make her leave the one man she couldn’t live without. All she could do was lie there and want him, and that frustration only added to her nerves. Now sitting on the floor by the terrace, she stared out into the African night, making her one allotted glass of brandy last. She knew what her problem was. For the first time in recent years she was out of control. She didn’t know the layout, didn’t understand what they were up against, and had no idea how they were going to escape once they accomplished what they set out to do. She was nothing but a dependent female, waiting for Randall to make the decisions, tell her what to do, take care of her. And she didn’t like it. With Mack there’d been no question but that she was in charge. Oh, sure, Mack was stronger, had a helluva lot more street smarts, and a dead-sure instinct that had gotten them out of trouble more than once. But Maggie had the training, the contacts, knew how to get out of tight spots better than any civilian. But Randall wasn’t a civilian. Randall had the same training, only more so, had the same contacts, only better ones. Everything Maggie knew, everything she could do, he could do better. It only made sense to let him be in charge, and she was being an egocentric, dangerously selfish bitch to chafe at the restrictions. Name-calling didn’t help. The brandy didn’t help. She sat there, looking out into the deserted courtyard, and knew that no matter what her common sense told her, she couldn’t spend the rest of the night waiting for Randall to tell her what to do. She was going out on her own. Her black denims and black cotton field shirt would blend with the night, and the tiny snub-nosed Colt tucked in her waistband would be scarcely noticeable. Besides, everyone she’d seen out there by the pool had been armed, with knives, handguns, and Uzis all within reach of their tanned, sweating bodies. No one would look twice at her if she happened to run into anyone. No one but Flynn. When it came right down to it, she couldn’t bear the thought of cold-blooded murder, no matter how much Flynn deserved it. She didn’t mind for herself. It was for Randall she minded. For all she knew he may have killed before, in such a formal, cold-blooded fashion. But she didn’t want him to have to do it again. There was already a layer of ice around his heart and soul. She wanted to melt that ice, not add to the layers, and if he performed such a cold, calculating execution, the bleakness in his eyes might never leave. So she was going to do something about it herself. She’d seen the medical records Randall had tried to hide. Flynn was in suite 236J-5. As soon as she figured out where the hell that was, she’d find Flynn and just hope the element of surprise would be on her side in the confrontation she had every intention of forcing. Randall didn’t stir as she slowly rose to her feet. Once more she tried to tell herself to stay put, but the adrenaline was already pumping through her veins. There was no way she was going to spend the rest of the night cooped up in this room. The door clicked silently behind her as she stepped out into the hall. She waited for a moment, listening, but Randall slept on, oblivious to her escape. She looked around her. Not a soul was in sight, no one to ask impertinent questions as she went in search of suite 236J-5. She reached behind her to touch the gun, to remind herself of its presence, for a twisted sort of luck and moved off down the hall. Ian was covered in a cold film of sweat. The air was artificially cooled, and the faint hum of the system was a monotonous undertone to the silent night around him. He was so close, so damned close and Timothy Seamus Flynn was almost in reach. Ian ran a hand across his sweating brow, ducking back into the shadowy corners of the living room. He’d been there for hours, walked in there cool as you please with no one to notice as he opened the unlocked door. There were no locks at Cul de Sac as far as he could see. Honor among thieves, he had to suppose. Well, who was he to complain? It made his job that much easier. Flynn had been in the bedroom when he first crept in. It had been sometime after midnight, and Ian had headed straight for the door, his Beretta drawn and ready, when he’d heard the woman. He’d hesitated, listening and then he heard the other voice, that thin, rasping wheeze belonging to Lazarus. He’d clearly interrupted a menage � trois. Though what the hell Lazarus could contribute from a wheelchair was beyond his comprehension. Probably just a pair of eyes. The woman wasn’t faring well. Flynn hadn’t changed his habits over the years; he still enjoyed inflicting pain. The woman was crying, weeping and moaning, and for a moment Ian considered putting a stop to the perverse games going on beyond that white paneled door. Considered, and then rejected the notion. He’d been truthful with Holly�"he left no witnesses. If he killed Flynn in front of the others he’d have to kill them too. And while he didn’t doubt that Lazarus’s soul was far from blameless, he didn’t enjoy blowing away everyone who got in his way. As for the woman, she was probably no more than a high-class whore, used to nasty habits. She’d survive Flynn’s tender ministrations�"she didn’t deserve to die at Ian’s hands. No, he could wait. Sooner or later the others would leave, and it would be just the two of them. Him and Flynn. And he’d settle a score that was long overdue. The noise in the bedroom finally ended. Flynn stopped his deep, malicious chuckle, his sighs and groans, the woman, her mewing and moaning and weeping. Finally the door opened and Lazarus rolled through. Ian had only his instincts to help him. He’d managed to vanish into a corner of the room just seconds before Lazarus entered, and he held himself motionless. Lazarus’s still, encumbered figure looked neither to the right or to the left. The electric wheelchair glided from the room, silently, and the door shut behind him, plunging the room into darkness once more. Ian looked down at the glowing face of his thin steel watch. Quarter past four. Another half hour, and he’d go in. If he was as good as he was sometimes afraid he was, he could cut Flynn’s throat without his bed partner even waking up. Though he’d much prefer Flynn to know who had finally caught up with him. But he’d lost him before, just by letting such considerations distract him from his goal and many more people had died because of it. No, this was going to be fast and efficient. Then he’d round up the others and they’d be gone. Fifteen minutes passed, and the cold sweat trickled down his backbone. He stayed where he was, silent in the shadows, just in case Lazarus decided to return. But there was no sound from the hallway, just the soulless hum of the air-conditioning. The bedroom door opened again, and Ian steeled himself, the Beretta cocked and ready, the silencer long and deadly on the end of the barrel. A small, frightened creature scampered out, a skinny redhead with a pale, panicked face. She was bruised, and shaking, and the filmy white nightgown she clutched around her was splattered with blood. He must have made an involuntary sound. She’d already closed the bedroom door behind her and was heading for the hallway when she stopped, whirled around and stared in his direction. He didn’t move. The bright moonlight glinted off the elongated barrel of his gun as a thick, dangerous silence filled the room. Then she smiled, a dour, satisfied smile. She nodded once, then turned and headed out the door. Flynn would find no help from that quarter�"just one more soul to dance on his grave. It was time. It was past time, Ian thought, pushing away from the wall, pausing to wipe his sweating hand on his khaki pants before clutching the gun again. His footsteps were absolutely silent as he crossed the room, the doorknob cool beneath his damp hand. Slowly, deliberately he opened the door to the bedroom. * * * �śI had just about given up hope of you, boyo.” Flynn was sitting up in bed, his bright-blue eyes maliciously cheerful in the artificial light, his engaging grin splitting his handsome face. �śThough in the end you impress even me. I never thought you’d catch up with me here.” Ian’s palms were suddenly dry. He stepped into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. He might have to make a quick getaway, and he didn’t want anything slowing him down. �śI did tell you, Tim,” he said, his voice calm and even. �śWhen you least expect it, I’ll be there.” �śTo be sure, I didn’t expect you,” Flynn said, leaning back against the pile of pillows. The waterbed shifted and rolled beneath his weight, and Ian’s grip on the gun tightened infinitesimally. �śBut you’re welcome any time. Especially when you bring such lovely company.” �śWhat the hell �Ś” His voice faded as he sensed a presence behind him in the doorway. Someone very tall and very female, and he began to sweat again. �śDamn, Maggie, what are you doing here?” It was worse than he’d thought. �śNot Maggie,” Holly said. �śShe’s still wandering the halls, looking for you.” �śHow did you find us, Annamaria?” Flynn mocked. She looked at him, unmoved by that sunny smile. �śI simply asked someone.” �śWho did you ask?” Ian’s breathing was harsh, labored. �śA man in a wheelchair.” Flynn laughed. �śWell, that takes care of that, doesn’t it? Lazarus may not be my favorite person, but he won’t like having guests murdered in their beds. Better do it now, Ian, or you won’t get any chance at all.” Slowly Ian raised his gun, aiming it directly at Flynn’s naked, hairy chest. His arm was trembling, just enough to throw off his aim, and he used every ounce of his strength to still the tremors. He cast only a quick, worried glance at Holly’s pale face before walking farther into the room. �śYou can’t do it,” Flynn said. �śThere’s too much of your goddamned British sense of justice and fair play. You can’t shoot an unarmed man in bed, no matter how much he deserves it. And I have no intention of making it easier for you. I’m not going to go for my gun. I’m just going to sit here and wait until you’re ready to admit you’re too damned civilized. And by the time that happens Lazarus will be back with help.” �śMaybe,” said Ian. �śMaybe not.” He still held the gun pointed at Flynn. �śRemember the good old days, Ian?” Flynn said with a sigh. �śJust the three of us, you, me, and Maeve. What a group we made. I was always the leader, and Maeve would do anything I said. You were less obedient. I should have done something about it back then.” �śYou weren’t into cold-blooded murder when we were thirteen years old,” he said flatly. Flynn grinned. �śWasn’t I, then? And what do you think happened to Maury Piper? He didn’t just happen to drown, you know. And who ended up with that bright-red bicycle of his?” The gun trembled for a moment, then held still again, as Ian’s impassive eyes kept watch on the man in the bed. �śSo I underestimated you,” he said. �śSo did Maeve. It’s probably too late for her�"she’ll get caught sooner or later. But in the meantime you’re going to pay for what you did to her, and for what you did to all those people.” �śMaeve isn’t going to get caught, Ian,” Flynn said, his voice an enchanting lilt. �śDidn’t your friends tell you? Maeve is beyond the reach of the British army, Interpol, or anyone else who wants to interfere. She’s beyond anybody’s reach.” �śYou killed her?” Ian’s voice was thick with disbelief. �śI don’t believe you.” �śOh, but I did. Look at it this way: I did you both a favor. She’d outlived her usefulness. There was no way you could ever be brother and sister again. She took after her renegade father too much, while you’re just like that tight-arsed British major that sired you.” Flynn smiled. �śSo do your worst, me boy. I more than deserve it.” �śI plan to,” Ian said, moving into the room. Now the gun was very steady. �śBut do remember,” he continued, �śthat I’ll win in the end. If you shoot me like this you’ll be descending to my level. You’ll never crawl back up. And, of course, your lady will be a horrified witness. Do you want her watching you commit cold-blooded murder?” �śNo, I don’t. Go away, Holly. Go back to the room. I’ll meet you there the moment I finish with this.” �śI’m staying.” Flynn grinned. �śStubborn as her sainted mother. Speaking of which, Annamaria Holly Bennett, I have some of her jewels still with me. I’m not about to give them back, but you might like to see them.” He reached over to flip back the pillow beside him. Ian cocked the gun, waiting, hoping to see Flynn’s hand emerge with a weapon. It emerged with a fistful of jewels that shimmered even in the dull artificial light. �śI couldn’t bear to part with them,” he said with a sigh. �śI plan to cut them up and then cash them in one at a time. Your mother had such wonderful luck with her husbands and lovers. Until she met me.” Ian stared at him, sick with frustration. �śGet out of bed, Tim.” �śWhy? To give you a better chance of shooting me? No way, laddie. I’m staying put. You’re going to have to shoot a naked, unarmed man in the safety of his own bed. Let’s see if you can do it, eh? Come on, boy, you’ve got it in you. Think of Maury. Think of Holly’s mother. Think of Maeve, screaming and crying in the night �Ś” His hand reached under the pillow once more, and Ian pulled the trigger. It was timeless, it was instantaneous. Two sharp thwups, directly into the middle of Flynn’s naked chest. He opened his mouth, an expression of complete amazement on his handsome face, and then he slid down on the bed. Within seconds he was lying in a pool of bloody water as the bed began to deflate. The bullets had gone directly through his body, into the plastic liner of the waterbed, and the empty husk that had once been Flynn was sinking. The pillow fell away from his arm as the bed collapsed in upon itself, and in Flynn’s dead, clutching hand was a 345 magnum. Ian could feel the cold sweat pouring down his face. He didn’t for one moment realize they were tears. �śWe’d better get the hell out of here,” he said, his voice husky. He crossed to the bed, digging down to catch the handful of jewels lying beside Flynn. For one last moment he stared down at him, then turned back to Holly, handing her the jewels. He looked for horror, for condemnation in her eyes. Instead he saw only love and sorrow, and for a moment it unmanned him. She smiled then, tucking the jewels in both pockets of her safari suit. �śLet’s go.” twenty Someone was following her. In the empty halls of Cul de Sac someone was stalking Maggie as she tried to find Flynn’s suite of rooms. She reached behind her, taking the snub-nosed gun from her waistband and holding it carefully in one large, capable hand. For only a moment did she regret coming out alone into the night, then she dismissed it. She wasn’t going to let Randall have Flynn’s murder on his conscience. Her own was fairly clean�"she could afford to add one execution to her list of sins. If she made it at all. There were strange noises in the night. The cooling system made its own, monotonous hum. Then there were other noises, the muffled, sporadic sound of pumps and electric motors. It was almost as if she were being stalked by a robot, by something composed of mechanical parts and not human flesh and blood. The very thought chilled her. Sybil’s melodramatic blood must run thicker in her veins than she’d thought. It wasn’t Darth Vader after her in the moonlit night, and it wasn’t something out of Stephen King or even Buck Rogers. Whoever was stalking her was alive and real and�" An arm snaked across her throat, a hand clamped down over the scream in her mouth, and she was hauled back against the very flesh and blood she was hoping for. It took her only a moment of sharply painful struggling before she recognized Randall’s unmistakable touch. �śWhat the hell do you think you’re doing?” he whispered in her ear, his voice furious. �śArgermphn,” she said, and he removed his hand from her mouth. �śI was looking for Flynn,” she said again, her voice equally low. �śWhy were you creeping around after me? You scared me half to death with those weird noises.” �śI wasn’t making any weird noises,” Randall said. �śAnd I wasn’t creeping around after you. I just got here.” Maggie allowed herself one swift moment of panic. �śOkay,” she said, once it had passed, �śI must be paranoid. Where�"” They both heard it at the same time. The muffled thuds, two in a row, that might be champagne corks popping. Or might be a gun with a silencer. �śShit,” Randall said succinctly, and took off down the hall with Maggie following. Suite 236J-5 was just around the corner, and Holly and Ian were just inside the door. Ian looked deathly pale, and Holly looked equally shaken. �śYou’ve taken care of him?” Randall asked in a surprisingly gentle voice. �śI have,” Ian said after a moment. �śLet’s get the hell out of here. I expect Lazarus may be on to us, and I don’t trust the man.” �śI think we’d better split up,” Maggie said. �śGood thinking,” Randall agreed. �śThe three of you go on ahead. I’ll cover things from this end and meet you�"” �śYou two take off,” Maggie interrupted firmly. �śI think there’s at least one back entrance �Ś” �śThere are two,” Ian said, his voice only slightly hoarse. �śI ran across them earlier. I think there’s a jeep there. We could all go.” �śThe three of you�"” Randall began again. �śShut up, Randall,” Maggie said fiercely. �śI’m not leaving you and that’s that. You two go on ahead and we’ll meet you later.” �śWhere?” Holly demanded in a shaky voice. �śL.A., probably. Go on, now.” She turned to Randall, expecting more arguments. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, glaring at her. Within moments Holly and Ian had vanished, leaving them alone in the doorway of Flynn’s suite. �śSo why did we stay behind?” she asked in a conversational tone. �śYou stayed behind because you’re a stubborn, infuriating woman,” Randall said. �śI stayed behind because I want to make sure Flynn’s dead and because I have one other job to do.” �śYou don’t think Ian would have made certain?” She followed him into the suite, pausing inside the bedroom door and holding her breath against that smell she recognized far too well. �śMaybe.” Randall leaned over the collapsed bed, then straightened up again. �śHe’s dead, all right.” He moved away, his footsteps making squelching noises in the soaked carpet. �śWhy’d he have to shoot him in the waterbed?” �śI don’t think they had much choice,” Maggie said, backing out of the room. �śWhat’s your other job?” He looked up then, his blue-gray gaze even. �śI have to take care of Lazarus.” �śDon’t be ridiculous, Randall. We know where Cul de Sac is, and we know it’s full of murderers and terrorists. Can’t someone just send a bomber? The Salambian army isn’t big enough to do anything about it.” She could hear the whirring noises in the background, the ones that had terrified her before, but she was too intent on Randall to pay them any mind. �śI expect someone will. But I’m not taking any chances. Ian had his destiny with Flynn, I have mine with Lazarus.” �śWho the hell is Lazarus?” she demanded, frustrated. �śWho do you think, sweet cakes?” She didn’t want to turn. She didn’t want to have to look into that face she thought was long dead, she didn’t want to have to hear that barely recognizable voice. But she had no choice in the matter. Slowly she turned, her gaze dropping onto the shriveled figure in the automatic wheelchair. Bud Willis. Lazarus, once dead, now alive. Or partly so. He had machines wired up to him, breathing for him, moving for him, pumping his blood for him. A clear plastic tube ran from the tanks on the back of the wheelchair into his throat, his eyes were bloodshot and cheerful, his skull and face a travesty of what they’d been. �śOh, no,” she said, her voice sick and shaking. �śYou can’t keep a good man down, sugar buns.” He glided into the room. �śYou should have known I don’t die that easy. Randall did.” �śI guessed,” Randall said. �śYou two been having a good time?” he demanded, that wheezing, rasping voice a travesty. �śHow’d you like my little deathbed confession?” Maggie was holding herself very still. �śYou bastard. To lie like that �Ś” �śWho said it was a lie?” Bud said. She didn’t dare look at Randall. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her, but she knew that if she turned she’d weaken. �śWas it a lie?” she had to ask. Bud grinned. �śThat’s for me to know, baby and I’m sure as hell not going to tell you.” He moved farther into the room with the faintest movement of his shriveled left hand. �śHow do you like this place? Some setup, eh? We can thank the Company for part of this. They subsidized my relocation over here. Not to mention paying my medical bills. God, it’s great to come up against bleeding hearts. They’ll bend over backward for their enemies and let their friends starve to death.” Maggie stared at him. Then she turned to Randall, her face calm and still. �śLet’s get out of here.” �śYou mean you’ll go off with the man who hired me to kill your husband?” Bud scoffed. �śIt means I wouldn’t believe a word you say.” �śIt’s your funeral,” Bud said. �śAnd believe me, it will be. I have a couple of male nurses who are on their way here right now. They’re not too good on TLC but they’re great with a submachine gun.” �śWe’ll be long gone,” Randall said. �śThey’ll find you. But cheer up, sweet lips. Your sister and her boyfriend will get away. I’m more interested in the two of you.” �śWe’re all going to get away.” �śNo, you’re not,” Bud offered cheerfully. It happened so swiftly Randall nearly missed it: the infinitesimal movement of Bud’s withered hand, the tiny metal plates swinging back from the front of the electronic wheelchair. He had just enough time to shove Maggie, hard, before a hail of tiny darts sprayed the wall directly behind the spot where she’d been standing. For a man in Bud’s condition he moved very quickly. With a tiny flick of his finger the wheelchair spun around, the arsenal of poisoned darts following Randall. But he wasn’t quite fast enough. Randall dodged, darting past him. His long arm shot out and ripped the plastic tubing out of Bud’s throat. Willis screamed, a gargling sort of noise as bright-red blood began to spill down the front of his shirt. Maggie stood there in a daze, watching, as he tried to catch his breath. But there was no breath for him; the machine was disconnected and he was too crippled to reach it. He sat there in the chair, his eyes wide and furious, gasping, choking, struggling, and completely helpless. His maddened eyes began to glaze over and his struggles lessened, and then stopped altogether. His head sank onto his blood-soaked chest. �śLet’s go,” Randall said, his voice steady. Without a backward glance, Maggie put her hand in his and followed. Holly didn’t say a word until they were clear of Cul de Sac’s ominous bulk, driving into the parched African dawn across the burnt-out grasslands. The tears had dried on Ian’s face, his green eyes were bleak, and his mouth was set in a tight line. Their escape had been flawless, from the deserted corridors to the unlocked back gates to the keys left in the jeep. They drove off into the night in a silence that stretched between them like flypaper. �śAre you all right?” she said finally, her voice low. He didn’t even look at her. �śFine,” he said. �śWhere are we going?” �śTo the nearest city, the nearest airport. Probably somewhere in Egypt.” �śAnd when we get there?” �śI’ll put you on the first plane out of here.” �śWhat will happen to you?” �śGod knows,” he said. �śGod knows.” �śIan �Ś” �śI loved him, you know,” he said. �śI loved him like a brother. He had so much charm, so much joy in him. I simply couldn’t believe he could do such things. I covered for him, all during our childhood. I made excuses for him in our teens. And I let him get away once, when we were in our early twenties. I knew he’d set the bomb that killed thirteen people in a Londonderry shop. I knew it, but I convinced myself he couldn’t have. I looked the other way while he ran for it.” �śYou couldn’t have known�"” �śBut I did know. Deep in my heart I knew what he could do. When he dragged Maeve into it, brought her along with his wickedness and his killings, I couldn’t hide from it any longer.” �śIt’s over now,” she said, hating the simplicity of her words but not knowing how else to comfort him. �śIs it? I expect it will haunt me the rest of my life.” She leaned back against the uncomfortable seat. �śMaybe,” she said. �śBut you’ll have me there to remind you it wasn’t your fault.” He turned to look at her then, and some of the bleakness had left the green of his eyes. �śI will?” His tone of voice wasn’t promising, but she charged on, regardless. �śAnd you might as well come straight to L.A. with me,” she added in her most prosaic voice. �śI can’t very well buy my trousseau without you when you’re so damned picky about what I wear. And God knows, I’ll need new luggage.” He stared at her, outrage and amazement vying for control. Then he laughed, a raw, painful sound in the morning stillness. �śAnything but purple,” he said as his strong, rough hand caught hers, holding it tightly as they drove into the light. �śDo you know how to fly this thing?” Maggie slid into the copilot seat beside Randall. �śIt’s been years,” he replied, his voice muffled. �śI imagine it’s like riding a bicycle. You never forget how.” �śI hope so,” she said, shoving her hair out of her face. �śI’d hate to think we’d made it this far only to crash on the runway.” Randall was ignoring her, flipping switches, checking dials, looking comfortably efficient. �śDo you want to sit in the cabin? That way you don’t have to watch.” �śI’ll stay put. I’d rather face things than hide from them.” If her voice carried any extra meaning he chose to ignore it, concentrating instead on the instrumentation of the tiny twin-engine plane that was parked just beyond Cul de Sac’s compound. They were airborne within minutes. Randall flew the damned plane flawlessly. Maggie sat there, watching him, admiration and frustration warring for control. If only he’d show some sign of weakness, some sign of vulnerability. �śAren’t you going to ask me?” His voice seemed to come from far away, and she roused herself with an effort. �śAsk you what?” �śAsk me again if Bud was lying.” �śYou knew he was alive, didn’t you?” She fastened on a more interesting topic. �śYou never thought he was dead.” �śI didn’t know. I’d heard enough rumors that there was a strong element of doubt, but no one was talking. The name Lazarus was just too damned coincidental.” �śHe is dead now, isn’t he?” Randall cast her a brief look. �śHe’s dead.” �śGood,” she said, leaning back in the seat and shielding her eyes against the glare of the rising sun. �śSo ask me.” �śAsk you what?” �śWhether I hired him to kill Pulaski.” Maggie sighed. �śI thought we’d settled that long ago.” �śWe didn’t.” �śOkay, Randall, I’ll humor you. Did you hire Bud Willis to kill my husband?” �śYes.” Her heart stopped, slamming to a halt that was physically painful, before it started a slow, heavy jerking. �śExplain.” Her voice was as raw as Mack’s had been. �śTwo years ago I ran into Mike Jackson at a restaurant in Washington, and like a fool, I asked about you. He just happened to have a picture of you and Pulaski in your house in Maine. The two of you looked so goddamned happy. I said all the right things, and that night I went out and got drunker than I’ve ever been, before or after.” �śAnd?” Her voice was cold and still. �śAnd I ran into Bud Willis. Or Bud Willis came looking for me. It doesn’t really matter which. And we proceeded to drink together, and get even drunker. And at one point during the evening he asked me how much it would be worth to me to have Pulaski iced. And I told him money was no object.” �śYou didn’t mean it.” �śI was too drunk to know what I meant. Bud just said fine and ordered another round. Three days later Pulaski was dead and Bud sent me a bill for twenty thousand dollars.” �śDid you pay it?” Everything hinged on his answer. Her whole life hinged on it; his too. If he said the wrong thing she would take the gun from her waistband and shoot out the instrument panel on the plane. And that would be the end of it. �śDid you?” His bleak, despairing gaze was everything she could have hoped for. �śI went out and found Bud. I broke his arm, three ribs, and wrist. I would have killed him if someone hadn’t pulled me off him.” Maggie leaned back, shutting her eyes as relief swept over her. Relief that was so sweet she felt dizzy with it, relief and love that threatened to burst within her. The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place, and it was the only possible answer she could have accepted. He’d been as great of victim of Bud Willis’s madness and evil as she had. �śSo you can see it’s hopeless,” Randall continued, his eyes trained on the dawnlit horizon. �śThere’s no way you could live with someone responsible for Pulaski’s death.” �śThat’s true,” she said evenly. �śSo it’s a good thing I’m not planning to live with Lazarus.” He cast a brief, startled glance in her direction, but her expression was bland, giving nothing away. �śWe can probably make it as far as Cairo,” he continued. �śYou can make connections there.” �śWhat are you going to do?” He hesitated. �śI have to go back to Lebanon.” �śWhy?” �śIt’s a need-to-know basis.” Maggie sighed. �śI hate Beirut in the winter.” �śThen it’s lucky you don’t have to be there.” �śAren’t you going after all?” �śI just told you I was going.” �śThen I am too,” she said simply. She’d finally gotten his full attention. �śWhy?” �śBecause people who love each other live together and I’ve spent too many years without you,” she said. �śNo, Maggie,” he said gently, his voice inexorable. �śYou deserve better than me, and I’m setting you free.” �śBut I don’t want anyone better than you,” she cried. She could feel it slipping away, her only chance at happiness, and the more desperately she grabbed for it, the faster it dissolved. �śNo, Maggie,” he said. She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. Maybe he was right or maybe he simply didn’t love her enough. Either way, she wasn’t going to be able to change his mind. Not right now. Maybe not ever. The days, weeks, years stretched ahead of her, alone in that sparse apartment of hers that now seemed more of a prison than a haven. Never had life looked so bleak, when she should have been weak and dizzy with relief. Instead she felt cold, lost, and confused. �śI think I’ll go in the back after all,” she murmured. Randall said nothing, his narrowed eyes peering into the dawn-lit sky. Maggie rose, skirting his seat, and for a moment she thought she felt his hand brush hers. But when she looked he was still intent on the horizon. She pulled the curtain behind her and sank into one of the seats in the tiny cabin. For a long moment she stared out into the slowly lightening sky. Her eyes were stinging, burning, and her heart felt like lead. Leaning back, she fastened the seat belt with shaking hands and slowly she sank into a troubled sleep. When she awoke things were still and silent. She blinked her eyes open, disoriented, and the bright midday sunlight was pouring in the window, washing over her and the piece of white paper lying in her lap. � � � � � � � � � � � � � When you have time to think about it you’ll know it couldn’t work. Part of you will always blame me, and I’ll always blame myself. But I have loved you, the best I know how to love. Even if it was second best. Her own words flayed her. She’d accused him of coming in a poor second to Mack, and he’d never forgotten. But it had been a lie, a lie she had never confessed to. She’d loved Mack, with all her heart and soul, but she’d loved Randall first, and she loved him last. And there was no way she was going to spend the rest of her life without him. She was off the plane in a flash. He’d left the plane too damned far away from the terminals, but she ignored the distance, racing across the deserted runways toward the cluster of dun-color buildings. They couldn’t have been sitting on the ground that long�"he wouldn’t have been able to get far enough that she couldn’t find him. It was a close call. The third person she asked spoke English, but he hadn’t seen a tall American. The fifth person had seen Randall, but wasn’t sure what direction he was heading. The seventh person thought he might have been heading toward the Pan Am terminal, the eighth person saw him going toward Lebanon Air. She’d just wrapped desperate hands around a European businessman’s lapels when she saw him. He stood head and shoulders above the crowds, moving away from her with oblivious determination. Moving toward the boarding gate of Lebanon Air, away from her, out of her life. Shoving the startled businessman out of the way, she ran after him. She had only enough breath left to run, not enough to call to him. She raced on, watching him disappear out the door with despairing eyes. If the neatly dressed Lebanon Air boarding clerk thought he’d stop an Amazon like Maggie Bennett he was painfully mistaken. She slammed him against the wall as she raced past him, into the blinding sunlight. He was almost out of sight. She stopped just long enough to summon enough breath. �śRandall,” she screamed, but it came out in a rasping croak, one that he couldn’t hear over the noise of the jet engines. He had one foot on the boarding stairs. If he got on that plane, if he flew back to Lebanon, he wouldn’t come back. He’d die there in that war-torn country, and she’d be left to mourn him, left empty and alone. �śRandall,” she cried again, but the sound was even more strained. She could feel the wetness of tears pouring down her face, drying in the hot Arab sun. He couldn’t hear her, he was lost to her, forever. He took one more step, and then he stopped. Slowly he turned, to look directly into her desperate eyes. �śRandall,” she said again, and this time her voice was gone completely, only a whisper of sound. �śI love you.” And then he was moving. Past the disgruntled passengers, back down the stairway, across the tarmac. And she was running, her heart bursting, her lungs aching, running, running, with the sun burning down around them, gilding their entwined figures. Into his arms. Into the light at the edge of the sun. And the darkness was gone forever. Author Bio I’ve been writing since the dawn of time. A child prodigy, I made my first professional sale to Jack and Jill Magazine at the age of 7, for which I received $25 (admittedly my father worked for the publisher). Since then I’ve written gothics, regencies, romantic suspense, historical romance, series romance�"anything with sex and violence, love and redemption. I misbehave frequently, but somehow have managed to amass lots of glittering prizes, like NYT, PW and USA Today bestseller status, Lifetime Achievement Award from the Romance Writers of America, and a decent smattering of Romantic times and RITA awards. I live on a lake in Northern Vermont with my incredibly fabulous husband. My two children have flown the coop, but the three cats do their best to keep us from being lonely. In my spare time I quilt and play around with wearable art, and the rest of the time I write write write. Apparently women of a certain age get a rush of creativity, and I’m currently enjoying it. Too many stories to write, not enough hours in the day. Table of Contents Copyright Chapter one Chapter two Chapter three Chapter four Chapter five Chapter six Chapter seven Chapter eight Chapter nine Chapter ten Chapter eleven Chapter twelve Chapter thirteen Chapter fourteen Chapter fifteen Chapter sixteen Chapter seventeen Chapter eighteen Chapter nineteen Chapter twenty