The Fall of Maggie Brown (4 page)

He snorted, enjoying the image. She was a pretty little thing, a bit small and pale for his tastes, but she’d likely be terrified of him. He liked it when women were frightened. Maybe he’d forget about chivalry and do her before he killed her. And make Frazer watch.

He shrugged, pushing away from the doorway where he’d been planted, motionless, for the past few hours. He’d better keep his thoughts on his job, not on his pants. The Professor had proven almost impossible to kill. Holed up in some mountain hideout in the north of the country, he was waiting until the elections were finished. He thought he’d come down to the capital and take the reins of government from El
Generalissimo
with no arguments, just because he’d won the vote of the people.

And he would win, there seemed no doubt of that now. No matter how many people had been bribed, threatened, bullied or coerced, there were still enough left, along with the stinking UN observers, to ensure that the thirty-year government of Generalissimo Francisco Cabral was on its last days.

Unless something happened to his opposition. All it would take was a single bullet and the people would once again turn to Cabral as their savior. Sheep, that’s what they were, and they needed to be guided by a strong, forceful hand. The
Generalissimo’s
iron fist.

And El Gallito was his right hand man. He prospered under the current government, and he’d told the general that this particular job was free. His campaign contribution.

Because if Generalissimo Cabral’s dictatorship toppled, then so would the comfortable life of El Gallito Loco.

And some things were just worth fighting for.

He didn’t bother following Frazer through the damp night air. He already knew where he was staying, knew where the Jeep was. He’d put a tracking device behind the back seat, but he wasn’t counting on that for the answers. He intended to stay within range of them as they led him straight to his quarry.

Frazer would leave at dawn, as he always did. The question was, which direction? Would he head south, to the lakes, north to the capital, or would he go west into the mountains. Word had it that Morales, The Professor, was hiding out in the mountains.

El Gallito hadn’t thrived in the business of assassination without having developed impressive instincts, though. He was counting on Las Palmas. He’d be waiting for them, keeping his distance, and if Frazer didn’t pass his hiding place by eight in the morning then he’d simply circle around and find out where he did go.

But he wasn’t troubled by doubts. This was all going according to plan, and the woman would force him to take his time, making it all that much easier for El Gallito to follow them.

And in three days, by the time the results of the election were announced, The Professor and half his followers would be dead.

Including Ben Frazer and the American woman with the silly shoes.

And El Gallito Loco would be secure once more, ready to face a comfortable retirement.

CHAPTER THREE

“I
SAID ‘FIRST LIGHT.
’” The voice came to her out of the darkness, and Maggie sat up, so fast she slammed her head into something solid, something that went “
ooof
,” something that hurt. Ben Frazer was leaning over her in the darkness of her tiny hotel room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, yanking the covers up to her chin. “And how’d you get in—I know I locked the door.”

“What I’m doing is trying to get out of here before too many people wake up and start asking questions, Maggie. And I picked the lock—I have all sorts of unexpected talents.”

“Great,” she muttered.

“Oh, trust me, you’ll be happy to make use of some of my more nefarious skills if the occasion calls for it. Get up. I’ve got coffee and rolls in the Jeep.”

“I’ll meet you out there.”

He still didn’t move. He was wearing a different shirt—this one was blue and had at least a few more buttons, and his long hair was wet, presumably from a shower. He hadn’t bothered to shave. And he looked far too at home standing by her bed. “You can get up now—I promise I won’t look.”

“I’m not moving until you’re out of here, and the longer you stay the longer it’ll be before we leave.”

The damned man sat down on the bed, and she had to scoot over rapidly so he wouldn’t sit on her feet. “I think we better get a few things straight, sugar,” he drawled.

“Don’t call me sugar,” she snapped.

“You don’t happen to be particularly sweet,” he said in a musing voice. “Maybe I like the irony of it.”

“Maybe I can find someone else to help me.”

“Ask Señora Campos. Without me you’d be squat out of luck. And that’s what we better make clear. From now on I’m in charge. You do what I tell you, no questions asked, when I tell you. This country is a boiling cauldron, and I have no intention of getting burned. The only chance we have of finding out who has your sister and getting her safely out of here is if you do what I tell you.”

“What do you mean, who has my sister? You think someone’s holding her hostage?”

“There’ve been rumors,” he said. “I told you, we have a lot of warring factions in this country. If she’s in the lake region, it’s in the heart of bandit territory.”

“I didn’t come prepared to pay ransom,” Maggie said, worry superceding other issues, such as his body far too close to her legs.

“We’re not going to pay ransom. We’re going to get her out.”

“And you can do that?”

He nodded. “I can do that. If you do exactly as I say.”

It all seemed so simple. Do what the man said, and he’d find Stella and get her back. So why was she resisting?

“Okay,” she said. “You’re in charge.”

“Good. Now get the hell out of bed.” Before she even realized what he planned to do he’d risen, caught her shoulders and hauled her out from beneath the covers to stand on the bare wood floor.

Dead silence. “Well,” he said in a bemused voice. Unfortunately he was so surprised he didn’t realize his hands were still clamped on her shoulders, and she couldn’t yank free and dive back beneath the covers.

It wasn’t as if she expected anyone to actually see what she slept in. She was the soul of practicality as far as the world could tell, but even the most pragmatic of humans could have a fanciful streak, as long as they indulged it carefully.

Maggie was careful. She bought ridiculously extravagant shoes, which people seldom noticed. And erotic sleepwear, since she always slept alone.

The current outfit, brought along because it was easy to pack, was a leopard-patterned velour halter and matching thong panties, which exposed at least six inches of flesh between the bottom of the tank top and the top of the glorified G-string. All exposed to Frazer’s unblinking gaze.

She was too mortified to even move. And then she jerked herself out of his grasp, grabbed the sheet off the bed and draped it around her body with all the dignity of a Roman goddess. “I’ll be ready in five minutes,” she said in an icy voice, daring him to say anything.

Ben Frazer was smarter than she’d given him credit for. He didn’t say a word, simply backed away, his face expressionless. “The Jeep’s parked out back. I’ll be waiting.”

The door closed behind him, and she still didn’t move. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted. He’d done nothing but get on her nerves since they’d first met, and now when he had something real he could use to taunt her, he was unnaturally restrained.

She dropped the sheet, looking down at her body with a distant eye. It was a good body, good proportions, maybe a little thinner than she would have liked, a little less chest than she would have liked, but all in all she didn’t have much cause for complaint.

So why hadn’t Ben Frazer acted like a ravening wolf?

Relief, that was what she was feeling. Sheer relief. It was bad enough that he was obnoxious and offensive—at least he wouldn’t be coming on to her as well.

She dressed quickly and efficiently, tossed the rest of her clothes into her carry-on and was out the door within the five-minute time period. She found him in the Jeep, feet propped up on the open door, his hat tilted over his eyes as if he had all the time in the world.

“I have to find Señora Campos. I haven’t paid my bill yet.”

He shoved his hat back, and in the early-morning light he looked like a bandit himself, with his scruffy face and long hair. What in the world was she thinking of, going off into the unknown with him?

“She knows we’ll be back.”

“We will?”

“It’s a small country, Maggie. Once we get your sister we’ll circle back here and settle your accounts before we get you out of San Pablo for good.”

Considering that was exactly what she wanted, there was no reason she should have been annoyed with his plan. Of course he wanted her out of San Pablo. That’s what he was being paid to do. But she couldn’t keep a tiny bit of doubt and suspicion from dancing in her brain. Why was he so eager to get rid of her?

She didn’t have much choice in the matter. He was still lounging there, looking at her, so she dumped her suitcase in the back seat of the Jeep and climbed in beside him. He ran his eyes down her efficient, travel-proof clothes. “Khaki’s the wrong color for you, sugar,” he drawled. “It washes you out.”

“Thanks so much for that fashion tip. You said you had coffee?”

“In the thermos at your feet. There are sweet buns there as well. You look like you could stand to pack on a few pounds.”

It was the final straw. “Forget it,” she said, reaching for the door. “I’ll find someone else—”

He caught her wrist as she tried to slide out of the Jeep, and she bit back a little yelp of pain. He was strong, very strong, a fact that both unnerved and reassured her. “I told you, there is no one else,” he said mildly. “Drink the damned coffee and we’ll get out of here.”

“Then stop picking on me.” Once the words were out she realized she sounded like an adolescent whose braids had been tugged.

“But you’re so much fun to tease, Maggie,” he said. He was still holding her wrist, his long dark fingers wrapped around her paler flesh, but it didn’t hurt. “If you didn’t rise to my bait each time I wouldn’t be so tempted.”

“Fight the temptation.”

He didn’t say a word, just looked at her. And then he released her wrist and started the Jeep, moving down the alleyway before she could make up her mind to jump out.

She broke the silence as they reached the end of the small village. “There’s no seat belt.”

“Nope.”

“What if we have an accident?”

“We’ll probably die,” he said. “But I don’t intend to have an accident.” He swerved to avoid a group of chickens wandering in the road. He was driving fast, and besides lacking seat belts the open Jeep seemed to be lacking shocks as well. It was going to be a long day.

“You’re such a careful driver?”

He turned to look at her, not at the road, as they barreled along. “No. But I’m damned good at surviving. Be grateful you ran into me and not some loser.”

“Oh, I am,” she said sweetly. “Every waking moment.”

The coffee was sweet, strong and milky. She drank it out of the thermos since he’d taken the only cup, wincing as some splashed onto her chest. The buns were still warm from the oven, a fact that brought her her first moment of comfort in what seemed like centuries but in fact was only about a week since Delia had announced she was dying and sent Maggie to fulfill her deathbed wish. She was trapped in a miserable situation and the only way to survive was to count her blessings. Good coffee. Great buns. A plan to find her sister after nothing but dead ends. And Ben Frazer seemed to have lost interest in talking, a rare boon indeed.

“Maggie,” he said, out of the blue, destroying that particular illusion. He drove too fast on the miserable, rutted dirt roads, but she didn’t waste her time telling him to slow down. She knew a contrary man when she met one.

“Yes?” She kept her voice cool and unwelcoming. Maybe she could slide down in the seat and close her eyes, pretend to sleep. Except that she had to hold on to the torn seat with both hands to keep from being bounced right out of the vehicle.

“You don’t seem like a Maggie to me. That’s much too friendly and down-to-earth for a banker from…where’d you say you were from?”

“Philadelphia.”

“Figures,” he said. “I’m surprised you aren’t Margaret. You look like a Margaret to me. Actually you look like a Harriet, but I don’t suppose that’s an option. Unless your middle name’s Harriet.”

“It’s not.”

“So who called you Maggie, Margaret? Someone with a sense of humor?”

“My name isn’t Margaret.”

“What is it? Magda?”

“If this is your idea of pleasant small talk I’m perfectly willing to do without it.”

“You know why you can count on me to find your sister?”

“No.”

“Because I’m tenacious. I never give up. What’s your name?”

He was going to find out sooner or later. It was on her passport, her ATM card, which he’d already assured her was useless, even on the travelers’ checks. “Blanche Magnolia,” she said.

Her careful driver swerved, just missing a tree. “Blanche Magnolia? And your sister’s name is Stella?”

“Stella Hyacinth, as a matter of fact. My mother was fond of Tennessee Williams and spring flowers.”

“I see. Couldn’t you get it legally changed?”

“I love my mother, Mr. Frazer.”

“I love my mother, too, but not if she’d named me Hyacinth Magnolia.”

“Blanche Magnolia. And if it were you you’d have a lot more to complain about.”

He was back to watching the road, thank God, but he spared her a passing glance anyway. “Very funny,
Ms.
Magnolia,” he murmured.

“There’ll be a bonus in it for you if you don’t call me that name. I’m offering cash incentives.”

“Ah, but there are some pleasures that money can’t buy,” he said. “We should be in Las Palmas by dinnertime. I’m afraid we’re not going to be in the best part of town.”

“I’ve been to Las Palmas. I didn’t even know there was a best part of town.”

“Honey, if you stayed near the airport you were in the high-rent district. Las Palmas is a pit.”