Against the Wind

by Anne Stuart

  Her mother and Ortega were out on the terrace, the swimming pool shimmering in the background, a horde of reporters, cameras, microphones stuck in front of them. Her stepfather was off to one side, observing all this with a pleased expression, and for a moment Maddy watched them.

  Suddenly it was all too much. Not for the sake of a thousand homeless refugees could she stand by and make polite conversation with that murderer. There had to be some other way, but right now she had no stomach for any way at all. Wheeling around, she headed back toward the front door.

  The rapid buzz of San Pablan Spanish carried to her, and without hesitation she took a detour, moving toward the library and the french doors that led out into the curving driveway. It was bound to be deserted at this moment. Everyone was out drooling over Helen Henderson’s carefully staged photo opportunity.

  The room was not quite as empty as she could have hoped. Slamming the door shut behind her, she headed over to the french doors that were open to the early-autumn breeze. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw a gray-shirted figure rise from the chair behind the desk, and she almost broke into a run, instinctive panic taking over at the sight of that hated uniform. Then she stopped motionless by the door, before turning—to look directly into Jake Murphy’s distant, unreadable eyes above the uniform of their enemy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  He caught up with her by the huge rental car. She had her hand on the door, ready to yank it open, dive inside, and lock him and everything that had ever betrayed her out, when his hand closed over hers, strong and hard and pitiless, yanking her around to confront a face she had thought never to see again and now wished to God she didn’t have to.

  He looked no different from when she had first seen him six months ago, a little older perhaps, a little colder, and those hazel eyes of his looked right through her without tenderness, mercy, or remembrance. That last night in the San Pablo highlands might never have happened. Or maybe she’d just been the spoils of war, she thought bitterly.

  “Get your hands off me,” she said in a low, controlled voice.

  She should have known better than to have thought he’d take orders from her. His long fingers kept their tight grip, almost but not quite cutting off the circulation of blood. She’d have bruises there tomorrow. Bruises to remind her.

  “Get in the car.” His voice was low and rough, with that gravelly texture she remembered all too well. The sound of it was another slice of pain, but she never flinched.

  “That’s exactly what I was planning to do,” she said with great dignity. “If you’ll just let go of me and step away, I’ll be more than happy to leave.”

  “Get in the car, Maddy,” he repeated, never loosening his grip, “and slide over to the passenger side.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “You don’t have any choice in the matter, do you?” he countered, unmoved. “But no, you’re not going anywhere with me. We’re just going to have a little talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “I think you’ll find that you do. Get in the car, Maddy. There’s no one around, and I wouldn’t think twice about forcing you.” His tone of voice was deceptively polite.

  “You already are forcing me.”

  “There’s force and there’s force,” he observed pleasantly, and his fingers tightened a fraction on the slender bones of her wrist.

  She had no choice. The metal of the car door felt warm beneath her cold, sweating fingers. She opened it and slid in, along the absurdly luxurious bench seat, with Jake following her, and when she reached the far edge of the bench seat he released her.

  “Give me the keys.”

  “I thought you said we weren’t going anywhere.”

  “We’re not. But it’s too hot to sit here with the windows closed, and I sure as hell don’t want anyone overhearing us. I’m going to turn on the car and the air conditioning,” he explained patiently.

  “You’ve gotten pretty soft since you’ve joined Morosa’s band of cutthroats,” she scoffed. “I don’t remember any air conditioning in Puente del Norte.”

  “No, there wasn’t any,” he said, starting the car and the air conditioner before turning to her. “I’m not about to make excuses to you, Maddy.”

  Why not? she felt her heart cry out, and quickly squashed it down. Why did he have to look so very wonderful to her, when she hated him? He’d cut some but not all of that glorious hair, so that it now trailed over the collar of his uniform. His uniform, she reminded herself, withdrawing even more. His face was tanned and austere, as withdrawn as her own, and his hazel eyes looked even more bleak. It took her a moment to realize that the last time she’d seen those hazel eyes she’d been lying beneath him, his eyes hooded and slightly glazed as he’d looked down at her. …

  Now was hardly the time for erotic memories, she reminded herself. That Jake had died in San Pablo. The man beside her was nothing more than a … what? She didn’t really know.

  “What do you want from me, Jake?” she demanded wearily. “If you don’t want to explain, why did you even want to see me? You must have known my mother sent for me.”

  “I asked her to.”

  “Why? I presume after six months that it wasn’t a sudden upsurge of love?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?” Her voice sounded admirably distant and collected. Her father would have been proud of her. But what would her father have thought of the turncoat sitting next to her?

  Jake leaned back against the powder-blue upholstered seat, and the fluffy luxury of the big car looked absurd against his whipcord toughness and military bearing. Damn, she hated that uniform. “Sam sent something back with you,” he said.

  “You know that he did. A candy box with a videotape that I delivered to Senator O’Malley. It was instrumental in getting almost all military aid to San Pablo cut.” She couldn’t keep a note of triumph out of her voice.

  “He sent something else too. I want to know what and where it is, and I want you to give it to me.” His voice and face were implacable.

  “I wish I knew what you were talking about, just so I could tell you to go to hell,” Maddy said. “But I don’t.”

  “Sam sent more than the candy box home with you. He sent something that would incriminate the Patronistas. I have a pretty good idea what it is, but it won’t do us any good until we find it.”

  “We? When did you and Morosa and Ortega suddenly become we? Doesn’t it bother you that Ortega is responsible for the death of your friends?”

  “What friends?”

  “Richard Feldman, Dr. Milsom, Luis, Enrique, Jorge…”

  “Only Richard died in the shelling,” Jake corrected her. “And that was his choice.”

  “I’m sure it was. What did you do, give him the choice of betraying his principles once more and fighting for the Gray Shirts or dying? I’d imagine he’d choose dying quite happily. Since you betrayed him.”

  “You’re so very sure of yourself and what you imagine happened,” Jake said wearily. “And I don’t have the time or the inclination right now to set you straight. You’re having too good a time hating me as it is. I just want what Sam gave you. A book, another box, a letter.”

  Oh, Jake, I’m not having a good time hating you, she mourned. Not a good time at all. She could feel tears at the back of her eyes, and quickly she blinked them away to glare at him fiercely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jake. You should know as well as I do that I didn’t see Sam after that morning visit. You didn’t choose to let me, even though my father was on his deathbed, calling for me.”

  “No, I didn’t choose to let you,” he replied heavily. “For reasons I’m not about to go into. For Pete’s sake, Maddy, give me a straight answer! Did someone bring you something? From Sam, perhaps?”

  For a moment Maddy thought of the medallion that lay against her skin, then dismissed it. It was nothing more than a disk of solid metal, and it had nothing to do with this damnable ta
ngle of politics. It had been a gift of love from a distant father, and there was no way she was going to give it up to Jake Murphy.

  “Sam gave me nothing but the candy box,” she said firmly, meeting his eyes then wished she hadn’t. Jake’s eyes had always been able to see everything, and they saw through her right now.

  “You’re lying, Maddy,” he said. “I’ve known you long enough and well enough to know when you’re lying to me. What is it?”

  She managed an airy laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you do. Maddy, you’re no fool. You can’t hold out against the entire forces of Morosa and the rebels combined. Carlos wants that information just as badly as I do, and Carlos has gotten a bit … overeager in the last few months.”

  “Why mince words? After all, you’re on opposite sides now. Carlos has apparently become a murdering lunatic. I have no doubt he’d cut off my ears and nose just for pleasure, but I can’t give you or him what I don’t have. My father gave me nothing but the box of candy, which I delivered unopened to Senator O’Malley. Talk with him if you don’t believe me.”

  “We have.” He stared at her for a long, frustrated moment. “When did you suddenly choose sides?”

  “What?” It was an abrupt change of topic, and Maddy stared at him in confusion for a moment.

  “I said, when did you choose sides? When you were down in San Pablo you seemed to think both sides were murdering cutthroats. When did you suddenly become so partisan to the rebels?”

  She thought about it for a moment, uncertain whether to tell him the truth. Why not? she thought bitterly. What else did she have to lose? She met his gaze calmly. “When I thought you’d been murdered by the government.” She shrugged her shoulders in unconscious imitation of Soledad’s oft-used gesture. “My mistake, it seems.”

  He stared at her in absolute silence, and there was no way she could tell what he was thinking. Then he reached for the door, not for her, and she knew he was lost to her more than a bullet or an explosion could have made him. He was dead to her.

  “You’re going to have to give it up sooner or later, Maddy,” he said finally. “If not to me, then to Carlos, and you won’t like the way Carlos will get it.”

  “Carlos is in San Pablo. …”

  “Carlos was seen in Los Angeles last week, Maddy. He’ll find you. The only way to protect yourself is to give me what I want.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stubbornly. “Believe me, if I did I’d give it to you just to get you out of my life.”

  “And that’s what it will take, Maddy. Because until you hand it over I’m your shadow. You won’t be able to enjoy your comfortable Southern California lifestyle, you won’t be able to go anywhere without seeing me, remembering me …”

  “Don’t!” Her voice was ragged with unexpected pain, and swiftly she cleared it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jake,” she said urgently. “I really, truly don’t. Go back to San Pablo and your beloved General Morosa and leave me alone. Please, Jake.” She hated to beg, but she had no choice. It was going to take her a long time to get over this, perhaps the rest of her life. She couldn’t even begin to recover until he was well and truly gone.

  “I’ll leave you alone when you give me what I want,” he said, and there was no softness, no pity or caring in that gravelly voice. Then he was gone, the key buzzing angrily as he opened the door and hot air blasted into the car. Maddy lifted her head to watch him walk away, and she stared at his body hungrily, the tall, lean length of him in that damnable gray uniform that only meant death and oppression.

  It was a good thing it was a Saturday afternoon and there wasn’t much traffic between McLean and Dulles Airport. She pulled into the rental parking section in a state of shock that approached a mild drunk, and even her gait in the high-heeled shoes developed a slight weaving.

  The flight between Washington and L.A. went by in a blur as Maddy stared sightlessly out the window, into the fluffy bank of clouds. L.A. traffic wasn’t quite so merciful, but a small part of Maddy’s brain was working by that time, and she made it back to Hermosa Beach safely enough, parking the Alfa at a haphazard angle on the street and stumbling into the dark interior of her apartment.

  She dropped her purse and sat down on the sofa. It was past five, L.A. time, and dusk was approaching. Maddy sat there without moving, without turning on a light. She could feel the cool sea breeze from the ocean, but even that brought no solace. She sat there, numb, her hands folded neatly in her lap, staring into nothingness. It was there that Soledad found her.

  “This is no good.” She clucked, bustling in the open door and flicking on the overhead light. It was almost dark when she arrived, and Maddy hadn’t moved more than a muscle or two in the hour since she came back. “You’re made of tougher stuff than that, Maddy. No daughter of mine, even if she’s a stepdaughter who’s two years older, is going to give in so weakly. I’ll fix you a good, stiff drink, some soup, and then you will tell me all about it.”

  Maddy turned her head, and the muscles were stiff and unyielding. “Jake’s alive.”

  “I know, Maddy.” For once in her life Soledad was kind.

  “For how long?”

  “He called me three days ago.” Soledad told many lies when it suited her, but she also knew when the truth was needed, however painful it might be.

  “You know he’s working for General Ortega?”

  “So he said.” Soledad was busy in the kitchen, and her voice was distracted. A second later she reappeared, a dark amber drink in her hand. “Drink this.”

  Maddy took the glass, staring down at the lone ice cube and the withered slice of lemon that floated in the dark, pungent liquid. “What is it?” she roused herself to ask.

  “Straight rum. Drink it.” When Soledad used that tone of voice there was no denying her. Maddy drank, choking on the results.

  Soledad sat down beside Maddy on the sofa, taking the empty glass from her and setting it on the table in front of them. “Do you have any idea what he wants?”

  Maddy shook her head. “No idea at all,” she said truthfully.

  Soledad’s dark, pretty face was troubled. “Well, we’d better try to find out. If Jake doesn’t get it, Carlos will. And I—I am very much afraid of Carlos, my daughter.”

  A little frisson of fear ran across Maddy’s backbone. “He won’t hurt me,” she said, not believing a word of it.

  “Of course he will, and the only person capable of stopping him is Jake,” Soledad said.

  “Surely the police …”

  “Carlos has been dodging one of the best-organized armies and terrorist squads in the world today. Do you seriously think the L.A.P.D. is any match for him?”

  There was no answer Maddy could give to that irrefutable piece of logic. If the only person who could help her was Jake Murphy, then she would do without help. Besides, he was only likely to help her if she gave him what he wanted, and she truly had no idea what it was. Someone else must have whatever Carlos and Jake were seeking. Perhaps it had died with Richard Feldman in that steaming jungle.

  “You really don’t know, Maddy?”

  She met Soledad’s dark eyes. “I really don’t know.”

  Her tiny stepmother nodded. “Then there’s nothing we can do. I think you ought to go to bed, Maddy. You look dead on your feet.”

  “I’d rather not. I—I don’t want to be alone.”

  Soledad nodded again. “Then lie down on the sofa. I’ll find you a blanket and pillow, and I will stay and keep you company.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Maddy protested weakly.

  “I know I don’t. But I will.”

  The moon was shining in the darkened living room, and Maddy moved restlessly on the sofa. She could see the shadowed shape of her stepmother, keeping vigil in the darkness. “Soledad,” Maddy whispered.

  There was a moment of silence, and Maddy wondered if Soledad was asleep. “Yes, my dau
ghter?”

  “Do you still love Jake?”

  The next pause was even longer, then she spoke. “Not anymore. Do you?”

  Always and forever, Maddy had promised herself six months ago, fourteen years ago. “No,” she lied, and Soledad’s answering laugh was a cool lilt of disbelief.

  The small house by the ocean was empty when Maddy awoke from her cramped night on the sofa. There was no sign of Soledad anywhere, only a note by the refrigerator.

  “Gone away for a few days, daughter mine. If Carlos is in town I don’t want to be here, and neither should you. Go to Jake if you need help. He is the most trustworthy man I know.”

  That wasn’t saying much, Maddy thought as she made herself a pot of coffee. Soledad hadn’t gone in much for trust in men, and if Jake was a prime example she’d done even worse than Maddy suspected. Soledad’s spelling was atrocious, and for a brief, pain-swept moment Maddy remembered another ill-spelled letter that had been hoarded and reread until the yellow lined paper was soft with age. She slammed her hand down on the counter in a vain attempt to block out the memory.

  She didn’t leave her house until late afternoon that Sunday, and then only to walk on the beach. Her brain had mercifully gone on automatic pilot, and she moved through the hours in a kind of beneficial fog.

  But Monday dawned bright and clear, and the real world had to be faced. She could feel those eyes, watching her, as she drove through the early-morning traffic toward Hollywood, but she shrugged off the feeling. It had to be sheer paranoia.

  She always arrived at the ancient, five-story building that housed the Greater Hollywood Help Network at a little past eight. At that hour she missed the very worst of the traffic, and it gave her a blessed few minutes of peace in which to drink her third cup of coffee, do the L.A. Times crossword puzzle, and generally gather her inner and outer resources before the stress of the day began. The social workers drifted in between eight thirty and nine, and their clients showed up any time after that, though early afternoon was usually the peak. Even though nominally Maddy had little to do with the clients, when a new group of San Pablan refugees arrived she always managed to be in the front room to greet them, particularly when there were children. There were times when only the innocent laughter of children could make her smile again.