Maddy Lawrence's Big Adventure

by Linda Turner

  Safely wrapped in the dark, comforting warmth of slumber, Maddy groaned, a frown rippling across her brow as she resisted the pull of that deep, intoxicating voice. No, she thought sluggishly. She didn’t want to wake up, not yet. It was too early, still dark out—she could feel it in her aching bones. And she was so comfortable, more relaxed than she could ever remember being. If she could just lay here a little longer…

  Burrowing into her pillow, she mumbled, “In a minute…just a minute. S’tired.”

  Her hard pillow shifted under her cheek as a soft chuckle rumbled up from somewhere underneath her shoulder. “Suit yourself. Mexico City’s dead ahead and we’ll be landing any minute. It’s no skin off my back if the stewardess finds you draped all over me like a heat rash.”

  Still more than half-asleep and drifting deeper into much-needed oblivion, Maddy hardly heard the amused taunt. Then the words registered. Her memory returned with a jolt, recognition of that voice hitting her like a sudden, unexpected dousing of ice water. Her eyes flew open, only to widen in horror. She’d unconsciously moved in her sleep and now lay with her cheek comfortably cushioned on Ace’s shoulder. Her mouth mere inches from his, she was eye to eye with him, caught in the trap of his wicked blue gaze, so close that every breath she took mingled with his.

  His grin devilish, he looked pointedly at where her shackled hand rested against his thigh. “If I’d known you were going to sleep in my lap, I’d have stayed awake to enjoy it. Was it good for you, sweetheart?”

  “Oh, God!” Flustered, horrified, she jerked upright, scooting as far away from him as the confines of her seat and the handcuffs would allow. It wasn’t nearly far enough. Sure he could hear the thundering of her heart, she said tartly, “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “And here I thought you couldn’t keep your hands off me,” he quipped, chuckling. “I’m crushed.”

  She shot him a withering look that would have been much more effective if she hadn’t had to fight the sudden urge to smile. Darn the man, he was incorrigible. And enjoying every second of her discomfort. Against her will and all the dictates of common sense, she found herself liking him, and that worried her more than she wanted to admit. He’d virtually kidnapped her, for heaven’s sake! And what did she know about him, anyway? He’d come charging to her rescue from out of nowhere, flashing a badge and claiming to be one of the good guys. But good guys had last names and ‘didn’t drag innocent women off in the middle of the night to Mexico in handcuffs after lying to a stewardess. And they always answered to someone. From what she’d seen so far, Ace Whatever-his-name-was didn’t answer to anyone but himself.

  And that, more than anything, scared the stuffing out of her. She only had his word that he was who be said he was…and the flash of a badge she had yet to get a good look at. For all she knew, he could be the real villain of this wild adventure. He’d never actually said he was a law enforcement officer, and in the Ace MacKenzie books, the characters who were smooth and charming were usually rotten all the way through to the core. Dear God, what had she gotten herself into?

  She had to get away.

  Panic and urgency roiled in her stomach at the thought, each fighting for dominance. Any minute now they were going to be landing in Mexico and she might only have one shot at making a break for it. He couldn’t keep her handcuffed forever—he’d have to release her at least long enough to go to the bathroom. When he did, she had to be ready.

  Then…she paled, stricken. What was she going to do then? She had no money, no clothes but the ones on her back, and the only Spanish she spoke was taco and burrito. She couldn’t buy herself a Coke, let alone airfare home. And even if she could somehow come up with a ticket, they were never going to let her back in the country without some form of identification.

  Wracking her brain for a plan, she still didn’t have a clue what she was going to do when the stewardess walked down the center aisle, checking to make sure everyone was buckled up and had their seat backs in the upright position. Then it was too late. The landing gear came down, the captain thanked everyone for flying with them and, within a few short minutes, they were safe on the ground again and everyone was jostling shoulders in their hurry to deplane.

  If it hadn’t been for the handcuff around her wrist, Maddy would have found a way to lose Ace then. But even when the crowd was at its thickest and other passengers tried to crowd between them, she couldn’t move without being aware of the fact that he was attached to the other end of her arm. Never more than a step away from her, he was as tenacious as her own shadow.

  There was, however, still customs to get through once they finally burst free of the plane. But the hope that lifted her spirits died a quick death as Ace greeted the agents in what sounded like fluent Spanish and flashed that infuriating little badge of his before presenting his passport. She didn’t have a clue what he said to the Mexican officials, but from the way they looked her over with amused interest and knowing eyes, then waved her and Ace through without even bothering to look at Ace’s paperwork, she knew she’d rather not know.

  Left with no choice but to accompany him down the crowded concourse, she winced when a trio of nuns passed them and noted the handcuffs shackling her to Ace. “Can’t you take those things off now?” she whispered, crowding closer so that the sleeve of his jacket helped hide the offending bracelet when the nuns looked at her askance. “They’ve served their purpose—you got me here. And it’s not like I can go anywhere without you,” she reminded him with a trace of bitterness. “I haven’t got two pennies to rub together, let alone any pesos.”

  She had a point, but Ace was a cautious man, especially when it came to trusting women. “In a minute,” he hedged, and ushered her over to the ticket counter of a small commuter airlines that he knew from his frequent trips to Mexico in the past was, all things considered, fairly reliable. Quickly greeting the sleepy clerk, he learned that the next flight to Caracas was scheduled to leave in two and a half hours, which suited his purposes perfectly. Whipping out his credit card, he booked him and Maddy each a seat.

  “Oh, God, don’t tell me we’re getting right back on another plane.” She groaned when the clerk handed him the tickets. “It’s the middle of the night!”

  “Not quite,” he chuckled, leading her farther down the concourse once he’d tucked the tickets into the inside pocket of his jacket. “We’ve got more than a two-hour layover, so it’ll be dawn before we get out of here. If we’re lucky, it’ll be enough.”

  Her steps decidedly unwilling, she eyed him warily. “Enough for what?”

  Amused by her suspicions, he grinned down at her. “Did anyone ever tell you you have a suspicious mind?”

  “After what I’ve been through over the past eight hours, I figure I’ve got a right.” Her eyes held steady on his, she repeated, “Enough for what?”

  “To do a little shopping. Unless you want to wear these same clothes for the next week or so.”

  “What? I can’t be gone a week!”

  His grin turned mocking. “I don’t remember asking your preference one way or the other, baby doll. In case you hadn’t noticed, you gave up all rights to a say-so the day you hooked up with Sneakers.” Coming to a stop in front of one of the airport’s retail shops that was still open despite the lateness of the hour, he studied the contents of the display window and nodded. “This looks like it could have what we’ll need. Let’s check it out.”

  The shop was small and intimate, the kind of place that would have made most men distinctively uncomfortable. Decorated with antiques and scented with potpourri, it looked like a woman’s boudoir from another era. Dainty lace and satin lingerie was tastefully displayed to draw the eye and the touch, and the open doors of old-fashioned armoires revealed clothes that were designed for women who enjoyed their own femininity. Fine cotton, linen, silk. For those with discriminating taste, it was a shop that seemed to have it all.

  And, to Maddy’s dismay, Ace was as sure of
himself in the feminine atmosphere as if he were in a hardware store. Quickly choosing several bras and pairs of panties for her, he then moved to the armoires. With the eye of a man who knew what he was doing, he picked out designer shorts and slacks and several scoop-necked tops, then handed everything to the clerk, who was eagerly chattering to him in Spanish, her smile flashing broadly as she clutched the intended purchases to her breasts and hurried to the cash register.

  Not once in the entire procedure did either of them spare Maddy so much as a glance!

  Stunned, she couldn’t believe it. He was actually buying her clothes without even bothering to ask her if he’d chosen the right size, let alone something she liked. Talk about nerve! She’d known the man had more than his fair share of arrogance, but this was incredible!

  Cocking her head to the side, she studied him through narrowed eyes. “Don’t you think you’d better try those things on first? They look a little small.”

  In the process of signing the credit card receipt, he looked up and couldn’t miss the annoyance in her eyes. His lips started to twitch. “Actually, I thought they’d look better on you than me. They’re not really my color.”

  “Oh, really? And how do you know they’ll fit me?”

  It was the wrong question to ask a man who had made it his business over the years to know just about everything there was to know about women. Picking up a pair of panties and one of the lacy bras that the clerk had laid on the counter to ring up for him, he handed them to Maddy without a word, a challenging grin gleaming in his eyes.

  She had no choice but to take them. But as her gaze dropped to the intimate items that looks so delicate against his strong, tanned fingers, she had a sudden, unbidden image of those same hands brushing over her with devastating care, slowly caressing her, heating her skin inch by inch until she melted like hot wax.

  “Maddy?”

  Her name on his lips dragging her back to her surroundings, she looked up to find him watching her with a crooked smile on his lips. Hot color flooded her cheeks. Wishing she’d never started this, she jerked the underwear from him and almost dropped the delicate pieces in the process. Mortified, she caught them before they fell, discreetly checking the size as she did so. “These couldn’t possibly be right…” she began.

  But not only were they right, they were perfect. And sheerer than anything she’d ever worn in her life.

  Chagrined, she would have given anything to have a hole to crawl into at that moment. Underwear, her underwear, wasn’t something she discussed with any man, especially this one. He had a cockiness about him, a sureness that was, she hated to admit, vastly appealing. Obviously, he knew women—the scent and size and feel of brunettes and blondes and everything in between. And that included her. Just thinking about him sizing her up, knowing what she looked like under her clothes, made her heart do funny things in her breast.

  “I’d rather pick out my own clothes, if you don’t mind,” she said stiffly. “These aren’t my style.”

  “Actually, I do mind,” he replied as he motioned for the clerk to bag the items. “We don’t have time to run all over Mexico City when these’ll do perfectly well.” The sack of new clothes in one hand, her handcuffed wrist in the other, he hustled her out of the boutique and into the beauty shop next door.

  Stuffing her purchases into her arms, he reached for a small key in his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. Maddy couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d slung her over his shoulder and bodily carried her off down the concourse. “What are you doing?”

  “Leaving you—”

  “What? No! You can’t drag me all this way and just leave me here! How am I going to get home? I have no money, no-”

  “You don’t need any money. I told you I’d take care of everything.”

  “But you’re leaving me!”

  “Only to get something done to your hair while I buy some clothes for myself,” he replied in a voice that was as calm and reasonable as hers was frantic. “Sneakers is no fool. He knows I’m on his tail and you’re with me. If he decides to send someone back for us, I plan to make sure he has a hard time recognizing us.”

  Not giving her time to protest further, he turned to the beautician, who was patiently watching the exchange between them and didn’t appear to understand a word they said. “We want a complete makeover,” he told the woman in Spanish. “Do what you have to with her hair—I don’t want her own mother to recognize her when you get through with her.”

  “Sí, señor.” Nodding eagerly, the stylist lifted Maddy’s long silky tresses consideringly. Chattering in growing excitement, she told her exactly what she was going to do to her as she urged her to the back of the salon.

  “Ace?” Caught in the woman’s friendly but firm grip, Maddy looked wildly over her shoulder for help. “What is she saying? What’s she going to do to me?”

  “Just take a little off the ends,” he lied, grinning. “Relax. You won’t feel a thing.”

  Feeling like a prisoner standing before the firing squad, Maddy stared at the mirror on the wall and saw nothing but a blurred image of herself that scared her to death. What was the silly woman doing to her? She could feel her cutting her hair at the nape, feel the weight that had been with her for as long as she could remember slowly being lifted from her shoulders, leaving her feeling naked and exposed.

  Where was Ace? She couldn’t believe he’d left her like this, at this woman’s mercy, when he knew she couldn’t speak a word of Spanish. And, as usual, he hadn’t even bothered to give her a choice in the matter, she thought resentfully. She didn’t want her hair cut. She liked it longlong and straight so that she could pull it back with a clasp and not worry about it. If anyone would have taken the time to ask her, she would have told them that it was too fine for a shorter style, too wispy and flyaway to ever hold a set.

  “Please,” she said desperately, lifting her fingers to her bare nape. “This isn’t going to work….”

  The beautician might not have been able to understand her words, but the language of panic was universal the world over. Smiling, she patted her shoulder and murmured reassurances in a soft, soothing voice. And all the while, she continued to cut steadily away until every last strand was cut and layered and the longest hair on her head barely reached her shoulder.

  And she didn’t stop there. With mounting dread, Maddy watched her study her from all directions, fingering the texture of her hair between her fingers, studying it with who knew what kind of wild ideas bouncing around in her head. When she reached for a tray of perm rods from the shelf behind her, Maddy stiffened in alarm. “I think you’d better wait till Ace comes back….”

  For an answer, the woman parted her hair on one side and began to wind it on the curlers. As helpless as a fly caught in a spider’s web, Maddy could do nothing but sit there and watch, praying that she wouldn’t be bald by the time she got out of there.

  The men’s clothing shop that Ace finally discovered in the airport’s shopping area didn’t have nearly the selection that the women’s did. Catering mostly to businessmen, it offered an assortment of ties and silk boxers, as well as standard dress shirts that he knew would be highly uncomfortable where he was going. Ignoring them, he headed straight for the sales rack at the back of the shop. There he found a pair of khaki pants in his size and a few cheap T-shirts. It was the brightly colored cotton shirts he added to the pile, though, that was going to draw people’s eyes to his clothes instead of his face. Wild and crazy, they were the kind of shirts that tourists wore on fishing trips and in the tropics and wouldn’t be caught dead in at home.

  Pulling out his charge card, Ace grinned, picturing Maddy’s expression when she saw what he’d bought. The hokey shirts weren’t his usual style—in his line of work blending into the woodwork was a necessity, so he invariably wore black T-shirts and jeans that wouldn’t draw attention to his presence and allow him to all but disappear in plain sight. Sneakers, however, would be looking for a man in dark clothes
who clung to the shadows and was accompanied by a plain-Jane woman with long, fine hair who dressed like an old maid. He would never think to ask about a wildly dressed tourist escorting a long-legged, short-haired lady in shorts and T-shirts.

  Just imagining her expression when she realized he’d told the stylist to cut her hair made him chuckle. She was going to be madder than a wet hen. She’d get all stiff and prickly in that way she did whenever she was annoyed, then give him a look that could freeze his underwear. The same one that just dared him to stir her up a little. If the lady learned nothing else during their time together, she’d figure out soon enough that he was a man who couldn’t resist a dare.

  A crooked grin splitting his face as he anticipated the coming confrontation, he hurried toward the beauty salon, his thoughts already jumping ahead to the other things he had to do before they caught their flight to Caracas. There wasn’t much he could do about his own hair, but a hat would help conceal his face. And Maddy was blind as a bat without her glasses. He’d have to make some calls and get her some of those throwaway contacts or he’d have to lead her around by the hand all the way to Venezuela and back. Josh Presley might be able to help with that. He’d always been a resourceful son of a bitch.

  Stepping into the salon, he borrowed the phone from the receptionist and punched out Josh’s number, hardly noticing his surroundings as he wondered how he was going to talk his old friend into leaving his bed—and the blonde who was invariably in it with him—to do him a major favor in the middle of the night. He’d remind him of that time in La Paz when he saved his butt from that perverted little general who liked—

  “This better be damn good.”

  A slow grin sliding across his face at Josh’s raspy growl, he laughed. “Caught you at a bad time, did I? Tough. Get your pants on, Presley. I need your help.”

  For a moment, there was nothing but surprised silence, then a pleased chuckle. “Hey, amigo, where the hell are you? And what do you mean you need my help?” he demanded suspiciously. “The last time I came to your rescue, I spent two months in traction.”