Honeymoon Hotel

by Bretton, Barbara

  His pant legs were soaked from unexpected stumbles into holes he prayed were filled with plain water.

  His nostrils burned from the heavy odor of mud and slime clinging to the walls.

  The gun strapped to his chest was cold against his skin, and he wasn't entirely sure he remembered how to use it which wasn't a good thing since he had the weirdest feeling he wasn't alone in there.

  He must be crazy. The corridor was narrow as a sarcophagus. You couldn't fit more than one body in there at a time.

  Not that the one-per-sarcophagus idea made him feel any better because it didn't. Somebody else had been in here and recently. The faint scent of sweat lingered in the still, dank air. She said she was having work done at The White Elephant. Maybe that would explain the dead ends he kept running into where open passageways should have been.

  Only the thought of reaching Maggie kept him moving forward.

  #

  Maggie was in the middle of a wonderful dream about Bermuda and John when she heard a noise.

  Couldn't they leave her alone during dinner break?

  She turned on her side and buried her face deeper into her pillow. If they had any decency at all, the locked door would make them think twice.

  "Maggie."

  "Go away," she mumbled. "I'm sleeping."

  "Maggie, it's John."

  She smiled. So she was still asleep, after all. Maybe that wonderful dream about the yacht and the sunset and the champagne would continue.

  "Maggie, wake up." A hand brushed against her cheek.

  Her eyes popped open. A man dressed in black stood over her. A gun was strapped to his chest. She would have screamed except he put his hand over her mouth.

  "It's me."

  She bit his thumb and he swore.

  She switched on the bed lamp. "Oh, my God!" She scrambled out from under the covers and threw her arms around him. "How -- my door -- I mean, it was locked!"

  He waved a piece of silvery plastic at her. "American Express. Don't leave home without it."

  "The security . . . the fence . . . "

  "Remember that underground passageway? It does connect to my barn, just like I said." Apparently the passageway came up through a false wall in her bathroom. How he'd managed to elude security was a mystery she'd save for later.

  He scooped her up from the bed. If it wasn't for the gun digging into her side, it would have been quite romantic.

  "We're getting out of here," he said.

  He looked so determined that she started to laugh. "John, you're being very impulsive!"

  "We don't have time to lose. If they find out about this, we're finished."

  "'They'? Who is 'they'?" He couldn't possibly have found out about PAX, could he?

  "The people who kidnapped you. Let's get the hell out of here before they block up the passageway."

  "I think you're jumping to the wrong conclusion. I wasn't exactly kidnapped."

  "Then why weren't you on that plane to Bermuda?"

  "I was . . . detained."

  "You were kidnapped."

  "John, I --"

  "We can argue semantics when we're out of here. Where's your robe?"

  She pointed toward the closet. "Will you put me down?" This is getting ridiculous."

  He dropped her into an armchair near the window. "This is a hell of a way to thank someone for saving your life, Maggie."

  "You're not saving my life."

  "The hell I'm not."

  "Go home, John. Everything is under control."

  He looked like a wild man standing there with his cat-burglar clothes and that lethal weapon strapped to his body.

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  "Find your secret passageway and go back where you came from. I'll see you on Sunday."

  "I'm not going anywhere until I find out what in hell is going on."

  She found her robe and slipped into it. "Please, John, trust me on this." Alistair's very words to her not three hours ago. "There are things I can't talk about yet."

  "You disappear at the airport, your phone lines are down, there's a barbed wire fence ringing your property. This place is crawling with security types -- damn it, Maggie! What in hell is going on?" He grabbed her arm. "Come on! I'm getting you out of here now!"

  She tried to pull away from him, but his strength was far superior.

  "You're making this unnecessarily difficult, John. My uncle is here. I promise you I'm in no danger. If you would only trust me and go back home until Sunday, I --"

  "I don't know what in hell to believe, Maggie."

  "Believe me," she said, meeting his eyes. "Please. Just a little longer."

  He pulled her up against him.

  He started to say something, but his words died.

  She began to protest, but couldn't remember why.

  Their bodies fit together as if part of a magical plan. Nothing mattered but that coming together.

  Her blood pounded wildly through her veins, and for the first time in her life she understood why wars had been fought for love.

  He moved against her, and her eyes met his.

  "Maggie?" Part question, part demand.

  "Yes," she said as his hands cupped her bottom to pull her closer. "Yes, yes, yes."

  The thin nightgown was no protection from the heat of his body as they tumbled to the bed, still locked in an embrace. He moved away from her for a moment and unstrapped the gun, tossing it to the floor.,

  She thought of the swarms of PAX operatives who might have shot first and asked questions when it was too late. "You're insane. You could have been killed!"

  His mouth claimed her breasts through the silky layers of fabric. "It didn't matter." His breath was hot and moist as he traced the outline of her nipple with his tongue. "All I could think of was finding you."

  She couldn't remember ever feeling more loved.

  Of course, none of this was the way she'd imagined it would be. Where were the yacht and the champagne, the soft music and the sea breezes? She'd wanted to wear silk for him, rub perfume into her pulse points for him, burn candles and light the sky on fire for him.

  In Bermuda, she could have orchestrated the mood, controlled each detail, ensured perfection.

  But here, in her everyday robe and ancient nightgown, in her everyday bed with only the sound of their hearts beating as music, she was powerless before the forces of desire.

  His mouth was alive against hers, his tongue hot and silky as she drew it more deeply into her mouth, running her own tongue along the silky underside until he groaned low in his throat.

  He stripped her of her robe. He caught the hem of her nightgown between his thumb and forefinger, and the sound of the fabric splitting as he devoured her body with his eyes was something she would never forget.

  Slowly he insinuated himself down her body, kissing the underside of her breasts, the inward curve of her belly, laying his face against the mound of golden curls at the top of her thighs. The rhythmic in-out of his breath drove her higher, faster, as her need grew more intense.

  "John . . . " Her voice was faraway, husky and foreign to her ears. "I've never --"

  "Shh," he said, making her ripple inside with pleasure as his mouth moved lower still. "Let me love you, Maggie. Let me show you."

  She had only herself to offer, and to her delight that seemed to be enough.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Maggie had been deeply asleep, her body curved spoon-fashion against his, when some instinct born of years of practice jolted her awake before the alarm had a chance to go off.

  The room was dark, a deep velvet cave cradling them in its folds. She felt as if she'd lived a lifetime in just a few hours, as if a part of her had been half-alive until she found John.

  John slept on his right side, with the pillow bunched under his head and his left foot outside the covers.

  Asleep, he didn't look like a millionaire or a motorcycle maniac or the man who owned the craziest honeymoon hotel in the Poconos.r />
  He simply looked like the man she loved.

  The sound of his breathing was sweet music. The air was heavy with the scent of sleep and passion, and if she had her way she'd spend the rest of her life there beside him.

  Unfortunately, she had one final obligation before she would be free.

  John seemed to know his way around The White Elephant the way she once knew her way around Bloomingdale's. When he woke up and found her missing, he was going to come looking.

  She couldn't chance having him pop up at Command Center with questions her uncle wouldn't care to answer.

  She pulled on her clothes and tiptoed out of the bedroom.

  With apologies to the man she loved, she double-locked the door behind her and slipped the key into her pocket.

  #

  Click.

  Click.

  John opened his eyes and squinted into the darkness

  The side of the bed next to him was empty, and unless he missed his bet, that sound was Maggie double-locking him into the room.

  She thought one lock wasn't enough to keep him in.

  He had to admit he was kind of flattered.

  But he had news for her: She could hang a half dozen Medecos on that door, and it wasn't going to make one damned bit of difference.

  The passageway he'd used to enter the house terminated in her girly bathroom not ten feet away and that, in turn, connected with a series of catwalks providing access to almost every part of the house. He had the blueprints to prove it.

  Somehow things had gotten away from him. The second they came together on that narrow bed of hers he forgot about kidnappers and terrorists and the dangers of modern life and found himself sinking deeper into the wonders of love.

  He could still taste her, like smoked honey, on his lips and tongue, feel the hard rasp of her nipples against the palms of his hands. The way she'd been so hot and tight for him, opening slowly around him then bringing him home to where he belonged, where he'd always belonged.

  This was their beginning, the start of loving each other, supporting each other, growing old with each other.

  But they'd never have that chance if he lost her now.

  "Trust me," she'd said. "I'm in no danger."

  That might be true, but he wasn't about to bank on it.

  She'd saved his life in the Bronze Penguin.

  She'd been willing to fight off a trio of Hell's Angels to keep him safe the other night in his driveway.

  That fierce protective instinct of hers might still be at work, keeping him locked in this room while she faced danger alone.

  Hell, no!

  He leaped up and grabbed for his clothes.

  Maybe Maggie couldn't tell him what was going on, but there was no law that said he couldn't find out for himself.

  #

  Maggie leaned back in her chair and surveyed the equipment purring smoothly all around her.

  "For a woman who just worked ten hours straight, you're looking quite cheerful," Alistair observed.

  Maggie looked up, a slight smile on her lovely face. "Amazing what a nap can do."

  "I'd assumed it had something to do with the miracle you performed here with the crypto equipment. We're in your debt, my girl."

  She'd never been good at accepting compliments, and she shrugged awkwardly. "I did what had to be done, that's all."

  But, of course, Maggie had done much more. It was in her nature to extend herself beyond her reach and push for a higher degree of perfection.

  Alistair sat on the edge of her desk. "Your Mr. Tyler tried to storm the grounds yesterday." He watched her face carefully for her reaction.

  "I thought he was in Bermuda."

  "'Was' being the operative word. The man is determined to track you down, Magdalena. If this house weren't so secure, I'd almost expect to see him come walking down the hall."

  Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment. "Oh, I don't think that's going to happen any time soon."

  "A man in love is not a rational being. A man in love is capable of anything."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  Her training had taught her well. She wasn't about to give an inch. It was time to confront her.

  "I know he's in this house."

  She said nothing.

  "We have heat sensors everywhere. You're fortunate it was I who saw the fluctuation in your apartment."

  Her face flamed red and she looked down, but he could see the flicker of a smile trying to break through.

  "Have you nothing to say?"

  She looked up, and he saw what she'd been trying to hide since that first afternoon at the Bronze Penguin.

  His beloved niece was in love.

  "He thought I was in danger, Ally. When your bozos kidnapped me from the airport --" She was radiant with pleasure. "Well, you can imagine what he thought."

  "Care to tell me how he accomplished this feat of derring do?"

  "There are passageways between his place and mine that date back to the Underground Railway."

  "Impressive," Alistair said with a nod of his head.

  She shot him a look. "Shouldn't you have known about them?"

  "Our intel showed they were blocked off."

  "Not blocked off enough." She grinned. "He is impetuous, isn't he?"

  "More so than you realize."

  Her face drained of blood. "Has something happened?"

  "I'm afraid he's no longer in your apartment."

  She jumped up from her chair. "That's impossible. I locked him in." She pushed her hair off her face, and he saw that her hands were shaking. "I double-locked him in."

  "The fact remains, your apartment is empty."

  "Ally, he's carrying a gun. He thought I might be in danger and he'd need to protect me. The treaty is due to be signed in less than an hour. If any of the security people find him, they'll shoot first and --"

  He put an arm on her shoulder to steady her although his own adrenaline was pumping hard and fast.

  "Come with me."

  He hurried her through the winding halls filled with security agents from the four major powers. They stopped at a door labeled O that was guarded by a huge man who hadn't smiled since the Magna Carta was signed. After flashing their badges and going through a metal detector, the door was unlocked, and Alistair ushered Maggie inside.

  "This is the heat-sensing unit," he said, beginning to run a check. "It's our best means to locate him. Where precisely is this passageway that he utilized?"

  "I don't know exactly. It opened into my apartment and I didn't get to -- I mean, we never . . . " Her voice trailed away into uncomfortable silence.

  Alistair bit back a smile. There would be time later for smiling, God willing.

  Suddenly a high-pitched tone pierced the air.

  "Look!" Alistair leaned forward to point out a small blip on the screen. "Angling down between the second and third floor."

  "If he keeps going in that direction," Maggie said, "he'll end up near the Treaty Room."

  Alistair unlocked his leather pouch and brought out a flat identification card. Then he quickly ran it through a thermal printer,.

  "You're going to have to go in and find him, Maggie, and when you do, dispose of the firearm and make certain he keeps this pass on him at all times."

  "What if I don't find him in time? Can you --"

  "You'll find him." She had to.

  "He's a smart man. How do I explain this to him? What do I say?"

  "Whatever you need to say." In a few hours the Summit Meeting would be a matter of public record, and he wasn't going to sacrifice her future the way he might have sacrificed his own.

  She hesitated a moment, then bent down and kissed his cheek.

  The last of the barriers between them disappeared, and Alistair rejoiced.

  "Thanks, Ally," she whispered, and in a flash she was gone.

  #

  The blueprints were wrong.

  John had been travelling in the general direction laid out in t
he plans, but unfortunately those plans were the originals and didn't take additions into account.

  By his calculations he should have been over the room he knew to be Maggie's office where there was a trick door behind the bookshelves.

  He pushed at the wall, trying to ignore the slick wetness beneath his hands. Nothing. Not even the slightest indication that this wall was anything but solid.

  They really knew how to build them back in 1799.

  He'd been there for hours. His head pounded from trying to see through the darkness, and his muscles were cramping from the half crouch he was in, thanks to those damned low ceilings.

  A while back he'd heard voices, and he'd stretched himself out flat on the ground, ear pressed to the slightest crack where light filtered up at him. He couldn't understand anything the two men were saying, but he knew the word Nyet when he heard it.

  Either The White Elephant had gone international, or Maggie had somehow gotten herself involved in something more dangerous than he'd ever dreamed.

  She'd said her uncle was on the premises. She'd never been clear on what the man actually did for a living, but if that Rolls-Royce and those fancy suits of his were any indication, whatever Alistair Chambers did he was handsomely rewarded for doing it.

  She could be part of it, too, a small voice reminded him.

  The White Elephant's financial troubles were well documented. He had the facts and figures stacked neatly in a file beside his desk. She could have fallen into a trap lined with dollar bills.

  "Damn it to hell!" He cracked into a wall where no wall was supposed to be.

  This sneaking around inside the walls was getting him no place. If he could only get back to her apartment he could put his suspicions to her, then maybe she would explain what in hell was going on.

  He was beginning to have visions of himself as a dusty bag of bones with only his Rolex and his dental work to identify him by.

  He tried to orient himself. There! About fifty yards up ahead a small shaft of light was filtering sideways. He moved toward it, picking his way over crumbled rock and splintered boards. Maybe that was one of the secret doors he'd been looking for. Maybe over the years it had warped, and he'd be able to pry it open.