by Anne Stuart
It was a long time before either of them moved. Maggie thought she might have fallen asleep for a few moments, she couldn’t be sure. She felt almost shell-shocked, comatose, unable to move even her eyelids.
Slowly Mack pulled away. She could feel him looking down at her, but she didn’t want to open her eyes. Her muscles refused to obey her, which was just as well. If she could have moved, all she would have done was to hide her face.
“Open your eyes, Maggie,” he said, and there was a strange note in his voice. One that sounded almost like laughter. It was so unlikely that she found she had to look, and sure enough he was smiling down at her, his clear hazel eyes torn between amusement and wonder.
“Do you have any idea how perverse that was?” Maggie inquired.
“Yup,” he said. “Kinky as hell. Great, too. Does it bother you?”
Since he was still pinning her hips down, there was no way she could turn and bury her face in the rug. And in his current playful mood, that might have caused even more trouble. She just looked up at him, her face shadowed, and his smile softened. Leaning down, he kissed her again, very gently. “It does, doesn’t it?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she admitted on a broken sigh. “A little. And I think what bothers me the most is that it doesn’t bother me half as much as it should.”
He laughed then, a gentle, reassuring laugh as he pulled her unresisting body into his arms. “Don’t worry, Maggie, I’m not suggesting we make a habit of beating each other up before sex,” he drawled in her ear. “I think we had to let off some steam after this afternoon. But don’t, and I mean this, Maggie, don’t ever do that again. I don’t need you playing games to pander to my machismo. I don’t think I have any machismo.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” she murmured against his salt-sweaty chest. “In the best possible way.”
“And you, my dear, are a total woman. In the best possible way,” he added swiftly.
“A total woman who’s got carpet burns on her butt.”
“Why don’t we move up to the bed for a short nap?”
“Sounds good to me,” she said. “You move first.”
“We can do it together.” He hoisted her up, and she saw a sudden wince of pain cross his face in the darkened room.
“Are you all right?” she asked as he placed her gently on the bed, following her down and pulling her back into his arms. Back where she belonged, she thought absently.
“I may limp for a few days,” he said on a note of laughter. “You managed to connect once or twice when you were trying to kick me in the shins.”
“Oh, no, Mack, I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, yes, you did. Let’s just be glad that you’re more adept with your toes than your knee, or neither of us would be half as comfortable right now.” He tucked her against him, and his mouth was soft and teasing on her shoulder. “Go to sleep, Superwoman. We can go another ten rounds tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” she murmured. “The question is, who won this round?”
His hand cupped her breast, and even in her sleepy, satisfied state, the nipple hardened against him. “I think we both did, Maggie May.”
It was getting dark when Maggie awoke. Some inner sense warned her as the blackness was beginning to close around them, and she reached out and turned on the bedside lamp. Mack stirred sleepily, turning to bury his face in the pillow, and she smiled down at him, giving in to the impulse to run her hand through his shaggy blond hair. There was a surprising amount of gray mixed in with it, and, leaning over, she pressed her mouth against the nape of his neck in a light butterfly kiss before sliding off the bed and heading for the sybaritic bathroom.
Even the towels were huge and thick and wonderful. When she stepped back out into the lamplit room, Mack was sitting on the side of the bed. “I was going to join you in there,” he said, replacing the telephone.
“I got cleaner this way,” she said absently, rubbing her hair. “Who were you calling?”
Mack just looked at her. Her tone of voice had been anything but accusing, but they both could read the undercurrents. “Not the rebels, Maggie May. I called room service for some dinner, the cleaning service for our clothes, and I tried the U.S. Embassy, but it’s after hours. They even have goddamned answering machines down here.”
“Why did you call the embassy? They’re not going to tell us where Van Zandt is. They’re going to deny he even exists.” She sat down beside him on the bed.
“I was thinking they might offer us some protection. Even if the CIA is pissed at me for interfering in their business. I still don’t think the Feds want American citizens to be gunned down in Honduras.”
“I’m not so sure. I think we’re more than expendable. Don’t call them again, Mack?” It was a request, gently stated, not an order.
“I don’t want you dying, Maggie.”
“I have no intention of dying. Or letting you get killed either. I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve. When the ACSO finds out the RAO tried to kill us, they’ll bend over backward to be helpful.”
“Unless the RAO gets to us first.”
She shook her head. “They won’t. All the rebels are here in Honduras on sufferance. Word will reach the government about the shoot-out this afternoon, and it won’t go well for them. They wouldn’t dare interfere with the tourist trade of an American hotel like a Holiday Inn. If this were Managua, we’d be in a different situation—they’d blow the whole place up without thinking twice. But I really don’t think they’ll dare mess around in Tegucigalpa.”
“Does that mean we don’t have to be careful?”
“That means we have to sleep with only one eye open instead of two,” she said, dropping her towel on the bed and reaching for her one set of clean clothes. “When’s dinner coming?”
“Half an hour.”
“Then I’ll go out and see if I can find us something else to wear. My jumpsuit has seen better days.”
“I may have ripped all the buttons off it,” he agreed smoothly.
“I think you ripped the whole damned thing apart,” she said, pulling on her jeans. “Will you wait here for me?”
Again the request, not the order. “You don’t have to be that polite, Maggie May,” he drawled. “Yes, I’ll stay put. Just don’t come back with turquoise Jockey shorts this time.”
“I promise. Maybe tiger-striped ones.”
Mack was in the shower when she returned. Her excursion had been more than successful. There was no sign of any rebels in the area, and the desk clerk had been more than helpful. The plans were simple, straightforward, and already made. It would be interesting to see how Mack responded.
“We’re all set,” she announced when he came dripping into the room. “We’re meeting with Lieutenant Mendoses of the ACSO tomorrow morning. He’ll have maps, information, guns, and a Jeep.”
Mack nodded. “And you trust him?”
“No. I’ve found out where there’s another gun shop, and I thought we’d rent our own Jeep and switch when we get out of sight. But I think he’ll tell us the truth about Van Zandt. He has nothing to lose and everything to gain by helping us. Van Zandt and his bosses aren’t going to like the RAO’s attempt.”
“Why not? I’d think the CIA would like nothing better than for us to disappear.”
“Disappear, yes. Gunned down on the streets of Tegucigalpa, no. We’ll get to Van Zandt, sooner or later.”
“We still have no guarantees he’ll be able to help us.”
“We have no guarantees of anything. If worse comes to worse, we can always fly to one of the Bay Islands and hole up for a while.”
Mack smiled—a slow, sexy smile. “Why don’t we skip Van Zandt and go directly to Option B? I’d much rather lie on a warm beach with you than chase around guerrilla-infested jungles.”
“That’s not all these jungles are infested with,” she said dryly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. Dinner’s here.”
“How do you know it’s dinner and not some unfriendly rebels?”
“Because I can smell the roast chicken,” Maggie said. “Trust me, Mack. Right now we’re safe.” And she opened the door to General Enrique Castanasta.
fourteen
It would have been nice if she’d seen whether the gun shop was still open, she thought as she surveyed her nemesis with opaque eyes. She would have felt a hell of a lot more secure if she had a gun within reach. Castanasta was carrying enough artillery for half a dozen men, wearing handguns and knives like medals around his uniform. It took only one furtive glance to ascertain that he was alone, the hallway behind him deserted. And there was no gun in his hand.
“General Castanasta,” Maggie said with ironic courtesy, “what a pleasure to see you again. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
“We can waste time fencing, Senora Bennett, or you can invite me in and we can come directly to the point.” There was no answering polite smile on his face.
“Or we could come directly to the point without inviting you into our room,” she said sweetly. “I think I like that option the best. That way if you decide to finish what you started this afternoon, there will be witnesses.”
“Senora Bennett, you know as well as I do that if I had really wanted you and Senor Pulaski dead, nothing would have stopped me. A machine gun and armed soldiers against two civilians on foot is a very uneven match.”
Maggie nodded, having come to the same conclusion. “So you just decided to scare the hell out of us, General? For what purpose?”
“If you would care to invite me in, I might tell you.”
Maggie found herself in the midst of a paralyzing struggle. On the one hand, she wanted to turn and get Mack’s opinion. On the other, she was still fighting like crazy having to rely on anyone else. So she stood there, motionless, fighting herself, until common sense finally reared its ugly head. It was Mack’s life, after all. He deserved some say in the matter.
“One moment, please,” she said to the general with exaggerated politeness, closing the door in his face. She turned to Mack, leaning against the door. “What do you think? Should we let him in?”
Mack stood there, staring at her for a long moment. And then he crossed the room, caught her face in his strong, warm hands, and kissed her full on the mouth. “Sometimes, Maggie,” he whispered, “you absolutely amaze me.”
She fought the treacherous warmth that swept over her. “That still doesn’t answer my question, Mack,” she said, keeping her voice stern.
“Sure, have him in. I don’t think he’d come out in public if he was planning to murder us.”
Maggie reopened the door, gesturing the general in with a flourish. The one bed was a wreck of tangled sheets and tossed pillows, and Mack was still casually buttoning his shirt, his feet bare, his eyes bland. There was clearly no question as to what the two of them had been doing all afternoon, and Maggie met the general’s quizzical expression with a look almost of defiance.
“Senor Pulaski,” he greeted him. “We were not properly introduced earlier today, but I of course know who you are.”
“Of course,” said Mack in his rasping voice.
“The question is, how are we to get you two safely to Chicaste?”
“Why would we wish to go to Chicaste?” Maggie perched on the wide dresser, her eyes never leaving Castanasta’s hands in case they felt like straying to one of the guns strapped around his torso.
“Because that is where the CIA has set up military training camps. And that is where Van Zandt has been serving as an adviser, off and on for the last three years.”
That was also the name of the town that had escaped her memory, Maggie had to grant him that much. “You intend to help us?” She didn’t bother to keep the skepticism out of her voice.
“I intend to help you, senora. If you were to meet with Mendoses and follow his instructions, I doubt you would make it as far as Danli.”
“Lieutenant Mendoses didn’t send armed men to chase us through Tegucigalpa,” Mack said, sitting down on the bed and pulling on his shoes. Maggie took a moment to notice that he, too, kept his attention on Castanasta’s weapons.
Castanasta hesitated for a moment. “I will, as you say, lay my cards on the table. You know that the RAO and the ACSO are bitter rivals. What you don’t know is that the ACSO was behind the drug deal that Senor Pulaski so unfortunately stumbled into. They are riddled with informers, incompetents, and traitors, and we of the RAO want nothing to do with them. Unfortunately we have certain agreements. And one is that you were to be disposed of if you made an appearance. Your knowledge is very embarrassing to the ACSO.”
“Sorry about that,” Mack said.
“However, I have no desire to serve as executioner for those fools. We put up a good show, my men, eh? I think the ACSO was convinced we tried our best to eliminate you. We have no quarrel with you, senor, nor do we have any stake in keeping you alive. We do, however, have need of getting in touch with the training camp, and we are willing to assist you in return for you being the bearer of certain information.”
“Why don’t you send one of your own men?” Maggie questioned sharply.
Castanasta spread his hands. “Again I will be honest and tell you something that you probably already know. We are very short of men. We have no more than eight stationed in Tegucigalpa, and I can spare none of them.”
“And how many do you have in Chicaste? Not two thousand, as you told me earlier.”
“Not even two hundred, senora. We need money quite desperately, and we have been waiting for Van Zandt to bring it.”
“Bring it from where?” Maggie demanded.
“Don’t you mean from whom?” Mack interjected.
She considered glaring at him, then thought better of it. “You’re right, I mean from whom. If it’s coming from my country, I want to know who’s sending it. The last military aid package was voted down, thank God, and …” Belatedly she realized that opinion wouldn’t go over too well with the man in front of her, but he just shook his head.
“I already know that you don’t approve of our revolution, senora. It is of no concern to me, as long as you do not interfere.”
“Unlike Van Zandt and his ilk, I have no intention of interfering with the internal politics of countries other than my own,” she said in a lofty tone of voice. “What you do is your concern.”
“Gracias,” Castanasta said ironically. “And you needn’t worry—the money does not come from your government, it comes from private sources.”
“Sure it does,” Mack drawled.
“So what do you want from us? I trust you don’t expect us to be couriers, bringing the money back to you.”
“No, senora. In return for directions to Chicaste we only want you to pass a message along. They will send one of their men back to us.”
“And we should trust you?” Maggie questioned, irony deep in her voice.
“You have very little choice, senora.”
“I have Lieutenant Mendoses. I only have your word for it that he wants us dead.”
“You trust Lieutenant Mendoses even less than you trust me, and rightly so,” Castanasta said with a fair amount of acuity. “You know I’m right. We could have killed you this afternoon, and we didn’t. What guarantee do you have that Mendoses will grant you the same?”
It was unanswerable. Maggie sat there, still and watchful, her expression giving none of her inner uncertainty away. It would be a shot in the dark, a blind choice that she could only hope was the right one. Common sense told her to trust neither group, but common sense also told her that they would never find Van Zandt without trusting someone. And her instincts, instincts that so far hadn’t played her false, told her Castanasta was the lesser of two evils.
She turned to look at Mack, wishing there was some way she could communicate with him. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a short, understanding nod. “Better the devil you know,” he said in the tone of one agreeing with her, and s
he had to wonder how he could read her mind so well after so short an acquaintance.
She turned back to Castanasta. “All right.”
“It is settled, then. At what time were you to meet with Mendoses?”
“Eleven.”
“We will meet at seven-thirty at Parque Central. Too early for the ACSO to be up and about,” he said with a sneer. “I will provide a Jeep, guns, food, and maps. Better than what Mendoses could come up with, I promise you. You will be out of Tegucigalpa before they even realize you are gone.”
“Sounds delightful,” Maggie murmured. There was a sudden knocking at the door, and the speed with which Castanasta went for his gun was impressive enough that Maggie knew she could have stood little chance against him had he decided to move against the two of them.
A voice behind the door called out “room service” in Spanish, and this time Maggie really could smell the chicken.
“Relax, General,” she said, sliding off the dresser and moving toward the door. “It’s just dinner.”
Reluctantly, he reholstered his pistol. “One can never be too careful in this part of the world, senora,” he murmured. “I will leave the two of you to your meal. Until tomorrow.” He passed the white-jacketed waiter without a second glance.
The two of them watched in silence as the dark-skinned, polite young man set a table for them, all neatness and flourishes and deferential silence. Maggie stood there, her appetite completely vanished, wanting nothing more than to have a chance to talk with Mack, and still the young man lingered.
“Gracias, gracias,” she said finally, shooing him away when he was about to open the wine Mack had ordered. She stuffed a wad of pesos in his hand. “Basta, gracias.”