Deal With The Devil

by Marton, Sandra

  She shivered again as she burrowed against him, and his arm tightened around her, the hard warmth of his body offering her comfort. The men poked into the car's interior, mumbling softly to each other. One of them turned to Rogan and snapped his fingers.

  "What does he want?" Elena murmured.

  "He wants his throat slit," Rogan said pleasantly. "But I suspect he'll settle for the keys. Here, compadre," he said, tossing them to the man. "Take a look in the trunk, if you like."

  "Suppose he understands English, Rogan? Suppose..."

  "Easy, Princess. You just concentrate on looking like a blushing bride."

  "Yes, but..."

  The keys landed at their feet with a metallic jingle. Rogan picked them up and grinned at the three armed men.

  "What you doing here?" the smallest—and meanest-looking—demanded.

  "I told you," Rogan said easily. "We're on our honeymoon."

  The men conferred together and then the small one turned to them again. "Why here, in San Felipe? There has been—talk, si?—talk of trouble here..."

  Rogan grinned and drew Elena against him. "Yeah, I guess. We've been travelling for a couple of weeks, you see, and we were so busy with other things that we just didn't pay too much attention." He chuckled softly and bent his head to hers. "You know how it is when you've only been married a little while."

  His lips touched Elena's cheek. The men mumbled among themselves and then they laughed. The small one said something to the others, something crude that Elena understood all too clearly. She drew in her breath, but before she could speak, Rogan's fingers bit into her flesh, warning her to remain silent.

  "Well, if you guys don't mind, we're going to move along now," he said. His hand urged her forward and immediately the three men tensed. "It's getting kind of late and we want to get some miles on us before morning." One of the men shifted position and his rifle barrel began to move. "Lovely country you have here, fellas."

  Elena moved forward slowly, her eyes never leaving the moving rifle. "Rogan?"

  "Keep going," he whispered. "That's the girl. Now, get into the car."

  She did as he told her, an empty smile on her face as she slid across the front seat. Despite the coolness of the night, sweat had plastered her clothing to her body. The men watched in silence and then, suddenly, the tallest of the three stepped forward and angled his rifle towards the car. Elena heard Rogan's swift intake of breath; quickly, before he could respond, she scrambled across the seat and hooked her arm around his neck.

  "Ask them if they know of some sweet little inn where we can stay the night, Blake honey," she purred. Rogan's eyes registered sudden understanding and something more. She managed a girlish giggle as she pressed her face into his shoulder. "I know you wanted to drive straight through to the border, but after all this excitement, I'd really like to, you know, stop for a while."

  There was silence again. Elena kept her face buried against Rogan's jacket, but every fiber of her being concentrated on the sounds outside the car. She could hear the shift of feet on gravel, hear the whispered voices, and then, finally, the raucous sound of male laughter. The smallest of the men called out something and he slapped the car door with his hand.

  "Vamos," he said.

  Blake stepped down on the accelerator. "Yeah," he muttered, "I agree. Let's get the hell out of here."

  Elena breathed a sigh of relief as the car shot forward. "Thank God," she whispered.

  Blake glanced at her. "Don't be so modest, Princess," he said with a soft laugh. "That was pretty quick thinking. You got us out of a tough spot."

  "I hoped it would work. Latin men sometimes get so caught up in being male that they forget everything else. I mean, I figured if I could get their minds off other things and on me..."

  "Well, it sure as hell worked. You almost had me convinced."

  The car swayed through a curve and Elena suddenly realized she was still sitting tucked tightly against him. A blush spread across her face and she scooted across the seat until she was as far from him as the narrow confines of the car would permit.

  "I'm just glad it worked," she said, staring straight ahead.

  Blake laughed. "The honeymoon's over, hmm? Well, thanks anyway, Princess. For a couple of minutes there, I was afraid I was going to have to take on the three of them."

  "Three men and three rifles?" She shuddered. "You'd have lost."

  He laughed softly. "Maybe."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Maybe? Aren't you overestimating your abilities, Rogan?"

  "Blake," he said. "It sounds more convincing if you call me by my first name. After all, I'm your husband, remember?"

  "Only for the next ten minutes or so, Mr. Rogan," she said with deliberate emphasis. "The airport is just over that rise. We should be able to see the lights from it any minute now."

  He nodded. "Maybe we're going to make it, after all. What the hell, except for that little run-in we just had, it's been quiet ever since we left the Embassy."

  Elena turned towards him. "What do you mean, "maybe we're going to make it"?" she demanded. "My father said there was a plane."

  Blake sighed. "I know what he said, Princess. But he's not a magician. When we left the city, the airport was still in government hands. That was a long time ago. By now..."

  "Look," Elena said, leaning forward, "do you see the sky?" She pointed to a red glow on the horizon. "The sun's coming up—it's almost dawn." A smile curved across her face. "Maybe the fighting will stop when daylight comes. Maybe..."

  Blake threw his arm across her as he stepped on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt at the crest of a hill and Elena drew in her breath as she stared at the airport in the valley below.

  It wasn't sunrise that was touching the hills with fire. Everything—hangars, planes, and buildings—was consumed in flame.

  Chapter 5

  Elena stared in horror at the scene that lay below the ridge. The airport buildings were fiery masses of twisted metal, angry red flames still shooting into the sky from the gutted structures. Several small planes were burning brightly; a larger one, next to what had been the terminal, was nothing but a charred ruin.

  She heard the rasp of Rogan's breath beside her, and then he sighed. "Well," he said finally, "so much for the plane to Miami."

  "But... who would do such a thing? It doesn't make sense. No matter who wins in San Felipe, they need the airport."

  He shrugged as he pulled the car on to the road again. "What's the difference who did it? The airport's gone. That's all that matters."

  "Yes, but..."

  "There are no "buts". It's finished. Dead. Muerte. Comprende, Princess?"

  "Shouldn't we go down and see if there's anybody who needs help?"

  "No."

  She looked at him. "No?"

  His voice was rough with impatience. "It's the same in Spanish and in English. No, Elena. We're not going anywhere except out of here."

  "But there might be people hurt down there. They might need us."

  Blake's eyes scanned the burning wreckage. "Believe me," he said in a flat voice, "there's nobody down there who needs us. Not any more."

  Tears glistened in her eyes. "How could anyone have done that?"

  "Listen, Princess, if you want to discuss the deeper meaning of what's going on in San Felipe some time, I'd be happy to oblige. We can meet in Miami and talk about it over a drink. For now, I just want to get the hell out of here. Take a look in the glove compartment and see if you can find a map."

  Elena shook her head. "I don't believe you, Rogan. My country is collapsing all around me, and all you can think of is yourself. Can't you understand how I feel? Don't you have any feelings?"

  "Yes," he said grimly. "I have this strange attachment to my own neck, and I'm determined to hang on to it. Now, see if there's a map in that compartment."


  "See for yourself," she snapped. "It's your car and your neck and...are you crazy?" she gasped, grabbing for the dashboard as he slammed on the brakes. "You'll kill us, Rogan. You..."

  He was across the seat before she could finish the sentence, his hands gripping her shoulders so hard that she could feel each finger imprinting itself in her flesh.

  "Spare me the holier-than-thou attitude, Princess. If this is "your country", why do you live in the States?"

  "How do you know that?"

  His lips curved back from his teeth. "I'm a real romantic," he said coldly. "I found out everything I could about my prospective bride."

  "I don't have to explain anything to you!"

  "Then don't preach to me, either. It wasn't my idea to have you for a travelling companion."

  He was holding her so tightly that she wanted to cry out, but somehow she managed to lift her chin and meet his furious stare with a cold one of her own.

  "Meaning?"

  His blue eyes narrowed. "Meaning," he said softly, "that you'd better remember who's in charge here, Princess. Otherwise..."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Otherwise?" she challenged.

  Blake smiled unpleasantly. "Figure it out for yourself," he said, thrusting her from him. "And if you have difficulty coming to a conclusion, just remember that I can make better time alone than if I have to drag you along with me. Comprende?"

  "You're a despicable human being," Elena whispered. "If my father only knew..."

  The tires squealed as he gunned the car forward. "Your father didn't choose me for my personality. He saddled me with you because he knew you'd never make it without me."

  "Saddled you? Paid you, you mean, and paid you handsomely, I'll bet."

  Rogan's lips drew back from his teeth. "Yeah," he said softly, "the price was right. But it was for a quick wedding and a plane ride."

  Something in his words chilled her. "What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

  He shrugged. "Just look for a map, will you? The sun will be up soon and this road won't be the safest place in the world."

  A cold fist seemed to have settled just beneath her heart. "Listen, Rogan," she said softly. "If you've got any ideas about leaving me behind..."

  Rogan turned towards her, his eyes glinting with cool amusement. "Would I abandon my sweet bride?"

  The laughter in his voice was barely concealed. Elena felt a flush rise to her cheeks.

  "You'd just better remember that you won't collect a penny of your money if you get to Miami without me."

  "Is that a threat, Princess?"

  His voice was soft as silk, but there was an edge of hardness just beneath it. The cold fist within her knotted tighter and Elena's breathing quickened.

  "No," she said quickly, "not a threat. Just a reminder. "

  "Good. Because I'd hate to have to tell you it was an empty threat."

  This time, the silken voice was wrapped around steel. Elena clasped her suddenly trembling hands tightly in her lap.

  "Stop playing with me, Rogan," she said softly, her eyes on his impassive profile. "What are you getting at?"

  He shrugged his shoulders. "My fee for this job's already been taken care of."

  "That's impossible."

  He grinned. "Bad business, maybe, but not impossible."

  Elena took a deep breath. "Are you saying my father paid you in advance?"

  Rogan shrugged. "That was the deal," he said casually, flexing his shoulders.

  "But then...then..."

  A wolfish grin spread across his face. "Yes," he said. "Exactly."

  No, she thought, staring at him in disbelief, no, it had to be a lie. Her father wouldn't have done anything so foolish... You didn't pay a man like Rogan in advance; even she knew that. But if Rogan had insisted on getting his money up front, what choice would her father have had except to pay it? Besides, who would have dreamed that the plane that was supposed to take her to safety would end up a charred piece of metal, squatting like an obscene travesty of modern sculpture on a deserted runway?

  Now what? she thought, lacing her fingers together. There was no plane to Miami, Rogan had his money, and here they were racing along a road that led God only knew where, while civil war raged all around them.

  She glanced at the man beside her. His firm jaw was set, jutting forwards as if he were ready to take on the world. In the grey light of the dawning day, she could see dark stubble already showing on his chin. He'd discarded his tie some time during the previous hours, and his shirt was opened half-way down his chest, showing a profusion of flat, dark curls against tanned skin. The civilized exterior had given way to the real Blake Rogan, she thought, the one she'd known was there all along, the one who was hard and violent and uncaring.

  There was only one thing to do. Elena cleared her throat.

  "All right," she said finally, "take me back to Santa Rosa."

  Rogan shook his head. "Don't be silly."

  "You can keep the money. I'll tell my father to let you..."

  "Jesus," he said, slapping his hand against the steering wheel, "don't you ever come down from that ivory tower? I wish to God I could take you back to Santa Rosa. Believe me, I'd like nothing better."

  "Then do it. We haven't come that far. We could be there in a couple of hours."

  "We could be dead in a couple of hours," he snarled. "Wake up, Elena. Your world is gone. There aren't any more fancy houses and finishing schools."

  "Don't lecture me, Rogan," she said angrily. "You don't know anything about me. I..."

  "I know all I need to know."

  "Look," she said, "there's no point in arguing. Just turn the car around and take me back."

  "Dammit, will you listen to me? There is no going back. Not with everything going to hell in a hand basket. The only good thing about this mess is that the car is pointed north."

  "North," she repeated. "Towards the border, you mean?"

  Rogan nodded. "Exactly."

  Her eyes met his. He was right, of course. There was no turning back, if not for her own sake, then for her father's. She knew that, just as she knew that she could never cross the endless miles ahead without Rogan's help. He was watching her through narrowed eyes, waiting, waiting... and suddenly she knew what he was waiting for.

  It took all the determination she had to ask what had to be asked. When she finally spoke, her voice was subdued and papery.

  "And me?" she whispered.

  Rogan shrugged his shoulders, but she was sure she saw the gleam of triumph in his eyes. "What about you?"

  It seemed to take enormous effort to form the words. "Will you... will you take me with you? Or..."

  "Or?"

  She swung her head towards him, her eyes bright with anger. Was that laughter she heard in his voice? His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, his mouth a straight line, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told her he was enjoying every minute of her humiliation.

  "Look," she said, her voice tightly controlled, "let's stop playing games, OK? My father made a deal with you. You were supposed to get me on a plane to the States..."

  "You're leaving something out, Princess," he said softly.

  "Leaving what out? I..." Rogan looked at her and grinned, and color rose quickly into Elena's cheeks. "All right, yes, you were supposed to marry me."

  "Supposed to? I did marry you, Elena. How could you forget a ceremony that meant so much to both of us?"

  The color in her cheeks darkened. "OK," she said through her teeth, "what's the bottom line?"

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "You're right, Princess, it's time to put all the cards on the table. It's almost dawn," he said, leaning over the steering wheel and peering at the pewter-colored sky. "I don't want to be sitting here like a target once the sun is up." He turned towards her and his eyes fixed
on hers thoughtfully. "I could leave you here." His voice was soft, almost a caress, and Elena felt herself paling beneath it. A cool smile twisted his mouth. "We both know what a bastard I am, don't we?"

  She drew in her breath. "Listen, Rogan..."

  "Come on, don't be shy. You've told me what you thought of me. In fact, you've told me several times."

  "Dammit, if you're going to dump me out here, do it! Don't toy with me."

  A muscle clenched in his jaw and he looked back at the road. "I know it's going to come as something of a disappointment," he said finally, "but I'm going to take you with me."

  Her relief was as sweet as a cool breeze on a hot summer's day. She nodded her head and let out her breath.

  The sun was rising over the mountains far ahead of them, its golden rays spreading quickly across the grey landscape. Rogan pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on.

  "Just understand, it's not going to be a walk in the park."

  Elena looked at him, but his eyes, hidden behind the mirrored lenses, were closed to her.

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning, I'll get us out of here—but I'm not sure how I'm going to do it. There'll be all kinds of problems.."

  Her eyes followed his as he looked at the fuel gauge. "We're all right so far," she said quickly. "We've got half a tank of petrol left."

  "You mean, we've already used half a tank."

  "It comes to the same thing," she said impatiently. "And we haven't seen anyone since we got away from those three men."

  "Not if you don't count a burned out airport, no."

  "You know what I mean, Rogan. We haven't bumped into a car or a wagon or..."

  "Right. Which makes me wary as hell. This is the main road out of Santa Rosa. And we're in the middle of a rebellion. Where in God's name is everybody?"

  He was right, she thought, casting a worried glance out of the window. Everything was much too quiet. Not that she wanted to run into any armed men—the encounter during the night had been quite enough. But wouldn't troops or rebels or somebody be all over this road by now?