Escape Out of Darkness (13 page)

“Do they have offices in Tegucigalpa?”

“Senora, I do not know. I do not know if there are any members left alive. The last I heard they had all run to Costa Rica and were trading thousand-dollar weapons for a few miserable pesos. Rabid dogs, all of them.” He hesitated. “They will be of no help to you and Senor Pulaski. If I do hear of anything, however, I will send word to the Holiday Inn Plaza.”

“How did you know where we were staying?” Maggie was suddenly aware of a cold trickle of unease sliding down her narrow backbone.

Castanasta shrugged, his smile firmly back on his face. “Where else would
norteamericanos
be staying?” he inquired. “I will be in touch, senora.”

They had no choice but to leave. All of Maggie’s instincts were warning her of danger, but the faces of the RAO around them were bland, even helpful. But something was definitely wrong, and the center of her back prickled with the feel of a shotgun trained on it.

The two of them walked in silence down the dusty, deserted street. Their taxi had long since disappeared, and so had any other sign of life. They were at the corner when Mack finally spoke.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he muttered. “Did you trust them?”

“No. But then, why should I? Members of their group or the ACSO tried to run us off the road in Arizona.” They turned the corner and headed uphill, back toward the center of the city. “I wish I could figure out what is bothering me about that meeting.”

“Something’s bothering me right now,” Mack said. “When we got here there were children playing in the streets, old men gossiping, women doing laundry, dogs and goats roaming around. And now the whole damned place is a ghost town. I think we’re in trouble, Maggie.”

She wanted to deny it, wanted to reassure him, but she couldn’t even open her mouth to do so. And then she realized what was wrong. “He knew your name.”

“What?”

“He called you Pulaski,” she said grimly. “I introduced you as Jack Portman, and he called you Senor Pulaski. We’re in deep trouble.”

The sudden silence of the hot afternoon was broken by an ominous sound. It was the unmistakable sound of a machinegun clip being jammed into place.

“Maggie,” Mack groaned. “I think we’d better get the hell out of here.”

“Pulaski,” she replied, “I think you’re right.”

The empty, silent street suddenly turned into a blazing, white-hot nightmare. Maggie dived around the corner, Mack on her heels, as the roar of machine-gun fire shattered the stillness. And then they were running, racing down the rough cobbled streets with the certain, terrifying knowledge that their lives depended on it. Maggie didn’t even turn back to make certain Mack was following; she could only run for her life and hope he was doing the same.

The maze of narrow, twisting streets heading back toward the center of town aided their escape. She could hear the pounding of booted feet, the martial shouts and orders from behind them, and she doubled her speed. Occasionally a face would peer from a window, someone would start out a door and then quickly retreat. And Maggie and Mack kept running.

A volley of shots rang out just as Maggie careened around another corner. She saw the plaster spurt off the side of a house as she turned to check for Mack. He was keeping pace with her, showing no signs of tiring, no signs of panic. She wondered if she appeared equally stoic. She doubted it.

The soldiers were gaining on them. Both she and Mack were in good shape, and they were fortunately unencumbered by heavy artillery. But the pounding footsteps and rapid-fire Spanish were getting closer and closer.

One more corner, and Maggie dashed around it. To be confronted by a tall stone wall.

Mack raced past her, leapt over the top of an abandoned car,
and was on a shallow rooftop before she had time to do more than assimilate the situation. “Move your ass, Maggie,” he shouted, his raspy voice raw with his heavy breathing.

The rebels were behind them, closing in. She had only a few seconds to spare, and it was a dangerous, possibly deadly, idea. But she was suddenly confronted with the chance that she might lose him, as she’d lost everyone else, through her stubbornness.

She ran to the wall, a wall she could scale in seconds, and held up her arms. “Help me, Mack.”

He stared down at her in complete dumbfounded amazement, not moving. Seconds seemed to hang like hours in the hot afternoon, and the footsteps grew closer. May as well go all the way, Maggie thought. I may die for this stupid idea. “Help me,” she said. “I can’t make it.”

She had a moment to admire the touching aspects of her plea. If she expected Mack to be similarly moved, she was in for a shock. A look of complete, absolute fury whitened his face, and without a word he leaned down, wrapping his hands around her wrists like steel manacles. He yanked her up, slamming her knees against the edge of the roof, just as the rebels rounded the corner. And then he jerked her after him, a second ahead of the next spray of bullets.

Finally they reached a different part of town. The streets, while still narrow and twisting, were free of litter, the charming pastel houses were newly painted and spotless. One or two older American cars could be seen parked along the side streets, and dogs and children, both clean and well-fed, roamed freely.

Mack dropped her wrist like it was leprous. “We’re out of danger,” he said flatly, and she could see the rage vibrating through his sweat-soaked body. A rage she couldn’t even begin to understand. “I’ll see if I can find us a taxi back to the hotel.” And without another word, he walked away from her.

She stood there on the neat, quiet street and watched him go. She’d betrayed herself, and her highest principles, to bind him to her, to give him what she thought he wanted. She’d given
him the power over life and death, and instead of bringing them closer, it had enraged him. And the tension and panic of the last minutes faded into a rage of her own.

He was back, moments later, with one of the local taxis. They rode together in silence back to the center of Tegucigalpa. She could feel Mack’s anger, and her own fury matched his, until they both marched stiffly through the lobby, heading for their room with one infuriated accord.

“You realize that Castanasta knows where to find us?” Mack said angrily when they were alone in the elevator.

“Yes.”

“What do you intend to do about it?”

“Not a goddamned thing. If he wants to blow you up, he can damned well do it, with my blessing,” she said through gritted teeth.

Together they marched down the wide, luxurious hallway of the newly built hotel. She could feel him waiting, hovering on the brink of some sort of explosion as she fumbled with the key, and she found she was looking forward to it. They stepped inside the cool, dark room, and she closed the door, intending to turn around and confront him with his unreasonable behavior.

She didn’t have a chance. He caught her shoulders in a painful, iron grip, turned her around, and slammed her with a great deal of unnecessary force against the wooden door. “Don’t you ever do something like that again,” he said, his voice shaking with fury.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she shot back. “And get your goddamned hands off of me.”

His fingers only dug in deeper, and he slammed her back against the wall for emphasis. “That touching little scene in the alleyway. ‘Help me, Mack,’ ” he mimicked savagely. “ ‘I can’t make it.’ ” His voice was a simper. “The day you couldn’t make it over that wall twice as fast as I could will be a cold day in hell, and I know it as well as you do! What the hell do you take me for?” He was absolutely roaring with rage.

“I was too tired—”

“Bullshit! You were playing games, Maggie. You decided I was some insecure male who needed my ego stroked, so you figured you’d let me save your life. In doing so you risked both our lives, and all for some stupid whim. Let me tell you, lady,” he continued, thumping her against the wall for emphasis, “I don’t need you or anybody else stroking my ego. I don’t give a damn if you save my life time and time again. I don’t have any overweening macho pride that will make me reject you in the long run, and you should know me well enough by now to realize it.”

“If you’ll stop throwing me against the wall,” she managed through gritted teeth, “I’ll explain to you—”

“I don’t need any explanations. You may not know me, but I know you like the back of my hand. I know the way your mind works, and I know how you try to manipulate me so you can feel in control. Well, forget about control, lady. You’ve just blown it completely, and it’s a whole new ball game. From now on you’re going to have to be completely honest, with me and with yourself, and no more manufactured rescues, no more dewy-eyed little pleas for help. Got that?” He banged her against the wall one last time, and it was one time too many.

She lashed out with every ounce of her strength and knew immediately she was outclassed. He had been holding back when he’d jumped her in Utah, but now he was using every ounce of the power in his body to subdue her, and it was considerable.

But Maggie knew a few tricks of her own. She twisted, turned, slammed her foot down on his instep, then swiftly brought her knee up to his groin.

Thankfully, for both their sakes, he was faster than she was. He twisted out of range, still gripping her shoulders, and then they were on the heavily carpeted floor, rolling over and over as Maggie tried to punch and pound and hit him.

It was hopeless. He was much larger than she was, and his hands were everywhere. The silent afternoon was punctuated by
the sound of their heavy breathing, the grunts and curses as she fought like a madwoman. All in vain. She ended up lying beneath him on the floor by the bed, her wrists held down by his arms, his body straddling hers, as she glared up at him, panting in exhaustion and fury.

She’d managed to connect more than once, she noticed with triumph. She’d split his lip by banging her head against him, there was a long scratch down one side of his face, and if she were really lucky, she might have given him a black eye. He just sat there, his weight holding her immobile, his face impassive.

And then suddenly the whole tension shifted and changed, from raw anger to a blazing sexuality that was free from rage. Slowly he leaned down and kissed her, full and hard on the mouth, and she could taste the blood she’d drawn. Without hesitation she opened her mouth to him, reaching out for him with a passion just as raw and overwhelming as her suddenly vanished anger.

He released her hands to rip at her jumpsuit, and she did the same, pulling his shirt off him, straining against him with a desperation that knew no bounds. And then they were naked on the rug, hot, straining flesh melting together. He entered her immediately, and within seconds she was arching around him, shivering and crying and moaning her release into his hungry mouth. And he joined her, his body rigid in her arms, and they sank together into that tiny death that was a triumph over the greater one they had just avoided.

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.”