A Man of Privilege

by Sarah M. Anderson

  James knew Desmond noticed immediately, but the man’s training wouldn’t let him make a comment on the situation. Instead, he shot a conspiratorial wink at James and loaded up the bags.

  “I’m surprised Mother let you come,” James said to the older man when they were in the car.

  “After last night, I made myself scarce this morning before she got up.”

  “She’s furious, though, right?”

  Desmond nodded. “I expect you’ll be disowned before it’s all said and done.”

  Maggie gave James a look that reminded him he hadn’t had the chance to fill her in on the details. So while Desmond drove them to all the big landmarks, James explained that the case was dead despite their best efforts, no matter what Yellow Bird turned up.

  “Which means we don’t have to worry about compromising witnesses, right?”

  James took her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. “I can’t believe you once tried to convince me you weren’t smart enough to be a lawyer.” He also couldn’t believe he’d tried to convince himself that he wouldn’t get involved with her.

  It was the fastest tour of D.C. on record. Desmond pulled up on the curb in front of this memorial or that monument, then James and Maggie bolted out of the car, had Desmond take their picture with Maggie’s cell-phone camera and then ran back to the car.

  He felt a tinge of nostalgia as they posed in front of Congress. He didn’t know when he’d be get back to D.C. When would he again wander through all the Smithsonian museums or sit on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and eat lunch? But any remorse he felt was forgotten when he looked at Maggie. Her eyes sparkled with wonder. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and James let himself get swept up in her excitement. For once, he didn’t game plan tomorrow or next week or even next year. He enjoyed this moment of happiness. Whatever happened tomorrow, he was glad he’d taken the chance today.

  By the time Desmond dropped them off at the airport, James had sweat through his shirt and Maggie’s braid had come undone. Her camera had forty-two pictures on it. Forty-two images that showed him and Maggie grinning like idiots with their arms around each other’s waists, in full view of the public. She hugged Desmond when he left, then took James’s outstretched hand as they walked into the terminal.

  He couldn’t remember having more fun.

  When they disembarked from the plane in Minneapolis, however, Maggie got quiet. “We should take it back,” she said as she fingered the weighty necklace that peeked out from her shirt collar.

  “You keep it. A souvenir.”

  “But it was so expensive—and if you change jobs…”

  James wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her hand away from the necklace. She was worried about him. It was sweet—and completely unnecessary. “I’ll be fine, trust me. And every time you wear them…” He let his voice trail off as he kissed her just below her ears. Every time she wore that necklace and those earrings, he’d think of bringing her to a shaking orgasm with the lights of D.C. sparkling below them.

  She was thinking the same thing. He could tell by the blush that dusted her cheeks, which matched the coy smile she shot him. “Okay.” Then she frowned. “What are we going to tell Rosebud?”

  That particular problem had been bothering him, too. “The truth. If she hasn’t already, she’ll figure it out sooner or later. She won’t be as mad about us possibly ruining the case if we’re up front.”

  “And Nan?”

  “That’s for you to decide, sweetheart. I imagine that she’ll figure it out when she sees the pictures.” Lost in her own thoughts, Maggie nodded as they strolled around the airport mall, looking at nothing in particular. “I would think she’ll be happy for you,” James added, hoping that was the case. The last time he’d seen Nan, she’d looked as if she was a short second away from wringing his neck.

  The rest of the trip was uneventful. He gave Maggie a slow goodbye kiss in the Pierre airport parking lot. Part of him—the below-the-belt part—didn’t want to let her drive the long road home. That part wanted to take her back to his apartment and spend the rest of the night and a good part of the morning readjusting to a South Dakota frame of mind.

  But he hadn’t resigned yet, so he reined in his desire and, with one more hug, sent Maggie home with a promise that he’d call her tomorrow. He leaned against his car and watched until her taillights disappeared, and even after she was gone, he couldn’t stop grinning like a fool.

  It had been a long time since he’d been in love.

  He wanted to go home, but he’d given in to enough wants in the last twenty-four hours. Instead, he headed toward the office. He had a letter of resignation to compose and he wanted to make sure that he left everything in order for his successor. He’d need to write Agnes a letter of recommendation, just in case.

  Lost in thought about the various career options open to former special prosecutors, James barely noticed the other car in the lot. Someone else working late, he thought as he headed in. But when he saw the light flooding out of his office into the darkened hall, he paid a lot more attention. Agnes was a top-notch legal assistant, but the last time James checked, it was still a Saturday night. Something was wrong.

  “No, nothing—but I’ll keep trying!”

  At the sound of Agnes panicking, James broke into a dead run. He burst into the office as she hung up her phone. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re here! Where have you been? Why isn’t your phone on? Where’s Maggie?” She grabbed the phone and hit Redial.

  The words spilled out of her so fast that they all ran together. But James understood the part about Maggie. “What’s wrong, Agnes?” Stark terror ripped through him. “What about Maggie?”

  “He’s here—you tell him.” Agnes thrust the phone out to him.

  “Hello?”

  “Where’s Maggie? Tell me you’ve got her with you.” Yellow Bird was shouting. James had never heard Yellow Bird panic before, not even when his wife died.

  Remain calm, James tried to tell himself. It didn’t work. “She’s going home—we just got in, and she’s driving home. Would one of you tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Yellow Bird swore something in Lakota—not that James understood him, but the tone was unmistakable. “Leonard Low Dog is out,” he said.

  Oh, no. No, no, no. “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Who?” Because even through the gut-clenching terror and fire-hot rage, James knew instantly that this wasn’t an accident. Low Dog had been nowhere near parole. He hadn’t been released—someone had let him out.

  Someone who wanted Maggie out of the picture.

  Focus, James screamed at himself. Focus on what’s important. “Where is he? Where are you?”

  “That’s the problem—I was checking on that lead down at field office in Omaha and didn’t find out until about two hours ago. I just hit Sioux City—but I can’t get there fast enough. And you haven’t answered your phone.”

  “Damn it, I turned it off for the flight.” He did some quick math. “She’s got a half-hour head start.”

  “You better get there first, Carlson. Turn on your damn phone.” The line went dead.

  And James was gone.

  Eighteen

  The lights were out. She was thankful that Nan had already gone to bed—Maggie knew she smelled of James and airplanes. Even though she’d spent the whole two hours in the car trying to figure out how to tell Nan she’d fallen in love with James and she wanted to take a chance at happiness with him, she was still terrified of sitting face-to-face with the woman and saying the words out loud. Maybe it would all sound…stupid when she said it out loud. Like James would ever really give all that up for her.

  She didn’t want to go down that path—not now, not ever, and certainly not with Nan. She just needed a shower and some sleep. She’d know what to say in the morning.

  Yeah. Right.

  Something about the darkened house seemed…off. Nan hadn’t left th
e porch light on for her. Surely Nan didn’t think Maggie was coming home tomorrow—did she? Hell, if that was the case, Maggie could have given in to the temptation of one more night in James’s arms. Because those arms were tempting.

  Boy, one night in D.C., with all those bright lights, and she was already twitchy about the dark. She must be tired.

  It wasn’t until she shut the Jeep’s door and started walking toward the house that the hairs on her arms and neck shot straight up. The air had a stale smell, like fear mixed with B.O. Maggie froze. The dark wasn’t making her twitchy—someone was out there.

  Then that someone stepped out of the shadows. “Look at you, baby girl,” a gravelly voice hissed out of the night. “Looking real good, all clean and pretty, ain’t you?”

  Maggie died a little inside because she knew that voice. It was etched across the darkest parts of her memory, tangled up in cobwebs of shame and pain.

  Leonard Low Dog was here.

  Every one of her worst nightmares took another step toward her. Low Dog was still twenty feet away, but Maggie felt as if he’d already hit her in the face with the beer bottle again. She hadn’t thought she could move, but her hand snaked up under her hair to feel the old scar tissue. No blood. She wasn’t down yet.

  As she realized that, Maggie felt a surge of strength. Was she scared right now? Oh, yes. Low Dog was every horrible thing that had ever happened to her all rolled into one rank body. Was she going to hide and whimper and beg for mercy?

  Hell, no.

  “What did you do to Nan?”

  Low Dog took a step to the left. He was trying to flank her toward the house and away from the car. Like Maggie would leave Nan here to die. Maybe the old Maggie would have been every woman for herself, but she wasn’t that woman anymore.

  “Don’t worry your pretty head about the old lady. She’s taking a nap.”

  In her mind, Low Dog had always been this big, hulking man with hands of steel that towered over her. Now, though, he was about the same height as she was. The hulking part was a gut that made him look like he’d gone months past his delivery date. Why had she been so terrified of him? He was an ugly little man.

  Where was James? He’d promised to tell her if Low Dog got out—and that hadn’t happened. What was going on? God, if her heart beat any faster, she was going to have a heart attack. What she needed was a plan. She wasn’t about to take whatever he was in the mood to dish out.

  The shotgun in the umbrella rack. She’d tucked it back in there—could it really have only been a few days since James had been here? Surely Nan wouldn’t have moved it—but had she tried to get to it? If she had, Low Dog would be swinging around a long barrel.

  He took another menacing step. Screw it. If she couldn’t get the gun, she’d have to hit him with a lamp or something. “I swear to God, Leonard, if you hurt that woman, you’ll never be dead enough.”

  Low Dog snarled at her, which made Maggie smile. He’d never been a huge fan of the name Leonard. She liked that she could irritate him. A mad Low Dog was a careless Low Dog.

  “Can’t wait to taste your sweetness again, baby girl. Remember the first time? You were how old? Fourteen? And you cried when I was done. So sweet. That’s a memory that’s kept me warm on a lot of cold prison nights.”

  Ugh. Maggie shuddered with revulsion. She was in danger of letting him distract her, sucking her down to his level.

  But she wasn’t that same lost little girl anymore. She knew better now. She knew how to fight. “I was fifteen, Leonard. And you’re a dirty old man. You can’t hurt me.”

  “Wanna bet?” Low Dog lunged at her, but he’d slowed down a lot in prison. Must not have been one of those guys in the weight room, she thought as she scooted out of his reach.

  He sprawled out in the dirt, but didn’t stay down. Maggie raced toward the house. She shoved the door open and fell inside. Actually, she fell over Nan.

  “Nan! Are you okay?” But she got no response. The older woman’s hands, feet and mouth were bound with shiny duct tape. Blood was matted into her hair and her eyes were closed.

  Maggie wanted to scream. She couldn’t bear to see Nan—good, sweet, kind, loving Nan—trussed up like a pig for slaughter. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This was supposed to be the safest place in the world, tucked away under a hill in the middle of nowhere. Bad things weren’t supposed to happen anymore.

  “Trapped now, baby girl! No way out of that house. I’m gonna make that old cow watch, then I’m gonna make you watch what I do to her.”

  Hell, no. She wasn’t going to let that happen. She’d die first.

  She’d taken her chance at happiness—more happiness than she’d ever thought she’d get a shot at. She’d been loved—cherished—by a good man. She’d seen the sights in the nation’s capital. She’d flown in an airplane. She could die defending her home and her family and not regret missing a thing.

  Nan was still alive—she had to remember that. Dead people didn’t need to be duct-taped. Now it was up to Maggie to keep her alive.

  She scrambled back as Low Dog flipped on a light and came through the door. He was trying to herd her back into one of the bedrooms, but to go back was certain death. She blinked in the sudden light, but then so did he.

  Her first instinct was to retreat—the kitchen. Knives. But Low Dog snatched that thought away from her. He gave Nan a small kick before he stepped over her. “She tried to cut me with one of them fancy knives you got in there. Got in a pretty decent shot.” He held up his arm, and Maggie saw the rust-red that ran all the way down his sleeve. “Not much beats a frying pan to the head, though.”

  At least Nan hadn’t gone down without a fight. “Too bad she missed your neck.” Low Dog took another step toward her. In the light, he was even uglier than she had guessed. Someone must have used his face to mop the floor in prison a few times.

  Maggie stood her ground until she could see around him. There—yes, the shotgun was still sticking out of the umbrella rack. When he took another step in, she scooted right, bumping into the couch.

  “You can run, but you can’t hide,” Low Dog sneered at her.

  “Really? That’s the best you can do? Obviously didn’t spend too much time reading in prison, did you, Leonard?”

  “Stop that!” For the first time, Maggie heard uncertainty in his voice. He wasn’t the big, scary man who’d held her hostage for five years. Maybe he was starting to realize she wasn’t the same scared little girl anymore, either.

  “What—that name reserved for all those big men in prison who made you their girlfriend? ‘Oh, Leonard,’ ‘Yes, Leonard,’ ‘Harder, Leonard.’ That’s how it went down, isn’t it, Leonard?”

  When he lunged, Maggie was ready. She spun to the left, grabbed the lamp and swung.

  She didn’t miss, exactly, but she didn’t hit him on the head. More like the shoulder. At least that was the arm Nan had done a little collateral damage to. Low Dog let out a furious roar as he went down over the back of her chair.

  She leaped onto the sofa, but didn’t quite stick the landing because Low Dog grabbed hold of one of her ankles. “Ow!”

  “Got you!”

  As she went down, her hand caught the lip of the umbrella rack. She landed in a heap on top of Nan, who groaned in pain. Still alive, Maggie thought as the umbrellas spewed out. Gotta keep it that way. Where the hell was the shotgun?

  “You can’t escape, baby girl.” Hand over hand, Low Dog was pulling her back toward him. “You’re mine. You always were. Damn shame to kill you, though.”

  She took what she could get. Maggie swung an umbrella and clipped him in the neck. “The feeling isn’t mutual.”

  He snatched the umbrella away from her and backhanded her across the cheek. Darkness danced at the edge of her vision, the pain mixing with panic.

  She’d never wanted to hear the sound of tires crunching on gravel more in her entire life, but she knew no one was coming. Maybe Low Dog would let her go if she threw up o
n him. Might be worth a shot if she couldn’t get her hands on that damn shotgun.

  “I will mess up that face again, baby girl. Ain’t no one gonna think you’re pretty when I’m done with you.” He had her by both legs now. Apparently, he wasn’t familiar with the concept of buttons or zippers, because he was yanking at the legs of her pants.

  If she got out of this alive, Maggie made a mental note to thank Rosebud for buying quality clothing. The pants held.

  “Hey, wake up, bitch!” Low Dog kicked at Nan, and in that second of diverted attention, Maggie felt her hand close around the polished wood of the shotgun butt.

  Not dead yet.

  She swung the barrel around at the same instant that Low Dog turned back to her. “What the—” Before he could finish his last thought, she pulled the trigger. The blast shook the walls, and Nan screamed behind the tape.

  The butt kicked back on Maggie with a bite—she hadn’t had time to get her shoulder into it, and she felt a bone snap on her right side. Low Dog jerked backward and crumpled to the ground over her ankles.

  She didn’t bother to see if he was alive or not—she didn’t care, as long as he stayed down. She kicked him off her and then crawled over to Nan.

  The whites of Nan’s eyes were all Maggie could see. “Nan? Come on, Nan,” Maggie pleaded as she pulled the tape from her mouth. But the older woman didn’t react. “Nan?”

  “Somebody, help me!” she screamed as she jerked at the tape around Nan’s hands. She knew it was pointless—the only person who might hear her was Low Dog, and he wasn’t going to be in a helping mood, but she couldn’t stop herself from screaming. She tried to lift the older woman up—if she could get her to the Jeep—but her broken parts failed her. The pain was intense, and she had to let go of Nan. It was all she could do to shout out “Help!” one more time before darkness began to lick at the edge of her vision.

  Lights shone through the open door. A car door slammed. A voice called out, “Maggie? Maggie!”