The Fall of Maggie Brown (9 page)

“Elena found that for you?” he said in a troubled voice.

She opened her eyes reluctantly. They were already past the outskirts of town, heading into the dawn-lit day. “She did.”

“Hmmmph
,
”
he said. “She must really like you.”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Maggie said, too blissed-out over the can of soda to take offense. “Not everyone finds me so unbearable.”

“Not everyone finds me so unbearable, either,” he drawled.

“Maybe you behave better around other people,” she shot back.

“I doubt it. What you see is pretty much what you get. I just don’t happen to rub people the wrong way. The way I do with you.”

The vision of Ben Frazer, shirtless, hot, gorgeous, rubbing her any way at all was momentarily distracting. Disturbingly so. She made a noncommittal sound, taking another drink. She was right, the wind had already pulled her hair free of the tie. She was going to end up looking like heaven only knew what. Not that it mattered, of course.

“Diet Coke,” Frazer said in a musing voice. “I don’t remember the last time I tasted real live pop.”

“I’m not about to refresh your memory,” Maggie said. “If you want Diet Coke you can go back home.”

“How do you know where back home is?”

“I assume it’s somewhere in the United States. You must have family…”

“Not much family left, sugar. Just a brother out in Los Angeles and a sister in college in Colorado. In case you can’t tell, I’m not really the Southern California type.”

She glanced at him. “No, you seem more like the Idaho survivalist type.”

She’d surprised a laugh out of him. “Not that, either, but it’s closer. I like wandering the world. There are too many interesting places to see, too many people to meet to tie myself down in one place. Maybe eventually I’ll go back. And you’re right, I’ll probably pick someplace at the back end of beyond, though I have to admit politics aren’t of much interest to me.”

“Not even here? They’re in the midst of a revolution, and you don’t care?” she countered, shocked.

He shrugged. “Most leaders are the same, no matter what party they come from.”

She glanced back at the huge storage buildings they’d just passed. There were huge faces plastered all over them, of a man in a uniform, his face pitted either with acne scars or the crumbling facade of the walls. The esteemed dictator of San Pablo. “So you support Generalissimo Cabral?”

Frazer shrugged again. “Why shouldn’t I? Just because the U.S. doesn’t like him…”

“He’s a murdering fascist dictator,” Maggie said in shock. “How can you see the results of his government and not care?”

“And what makes you an expert on San Pablo all of a sudden? What would a banker from Philadelphia know about conditions in San Pablo?”

“I watch
60 Minutes
,” she said.

He laughed. “Don’t believe everything you see on TV, darlin’.”

“Who’s running against him in the election? Why isn’t his picture plastered all over the place as well?”

“Because Cabral’s the man in power, and he intends to keep the power by any means possible,” Frazer replied. “And if you want to know what The Professor looks like, there’s a newspaper under the seat. It’s a couple of weeks old but I imagine his picture is in it.”

She dragged it out. As usual, the
Generalissimo’s
ugly face was plastered over the front page. The text, without the complication of the San Pablo accent, was slightly more discernible, and it was easy to pick up the flattering essence of the article.

“The Professor?” she echoed, opening the brittle, yellowing pages.

“Ramon Morales de Lorca y Antonio. Better known to the people of San Pablo as The Professor, who’s fighting a losing battle against the General.”

She found him on an inside page. He wasn’t much more attractive than the ugly dictator, with a long, sorrowful looking face, a receding hairline, narrow stooped shoulders and glasses. He looked like a professor, all right. A scholar who lived in the intellect, not in the world. What good would he be against a military bully like Cabral?

“So you’re on the General’s side?” she questioned in disbelief.

“I didn’t say that. I just like to win.”

The Diet Coke was gone, the can empty and Maggie felt a fleeting pang of regret. She banished it sternly. “You’re not the man I thought you were, Frazer,” she said.

“Considering you’ve made it clear you think I’m the scum of the earth, I guess I should be gratified. I stick my neck out for no one.”

There was something oddly familiar about that statement, and the way he said it, but try as she could to place it, it eluded her. And then she remembered. It was a line from
Casablanca.
But was Ben Frazer playing a part, or did he really mean it?

“So what if we find Stella among The Professor’s followers?”

“Do you think that’s likely?”

“No,” she said honestly. “She goes for swashbucklers like you, not scholarly types. I can’t see someone like The Professor exciting her romantic instincts.”

“Swashbuckler?” he echoed, horrified.

His reaction was almost as good as the can of soda had been.

“She’s too idealistic to be swayed by Cabral and his goons,” she said. “But she might be with one of The Professor’s followers. What would you do then?”

“Hand you over, take your money and get the hell out of there,” he said. “Swashbuckler,” he muttered again in disgust. “I am not a swashbuckler.”

“We’ll need to get back to Las Palmas. That was part of the deal.”

He sighed. “Okay, I bundle you and your sister back into this Jeep, tie up your sister if she resists, fight off The Professor’s men single-handedly and then get the two of you back out of the mountains and onto the next plane to the U.S. Simple. I think my price has just gone up.”

They’d left the city limits and were heading toward the mountains looming in the distance. Maggie took one last look at The Professor’s aesthetic countenance, oddly taken. He looked like a good man, unlike the fascist bully who ran the country. She shoved the paper back under the seat, grabbing onto the split leather seat as Ben ran over a bump in the road.

“How long will it take us to get into the mountains?” she asked.

“Most of the day. We’ll head toward Segundo tonight. I have a friend or two in the area who might have some idea where Stella might be.”

“Then why didn’t we head there in the first place?”

“Because I’m still convinced your sister is in the southern lake region,” he snapped.

She knew a moment’s hesitation. Was she being crazy to insist he take her west? Was he taking her farther and farther away from her sister, when time was in such short supply?

The silence stretched between them as they moved deeper into the countryside, and when she finally broke it her voice wasn’t as strong as she would have liked. “I need to find her, Ben,” she said. “I need to trust you. We’ll go where you say.”

He didn’t slow the Jeep, didn’t even look at her, but she knew he was considering his options. Apart from that, she didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on behind his tanned, impassive face, his electric-blue eyes.

“We’ll head west,” he said finally. “Salazar usually knows what he’s talking about. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

She allowed herself a cautious sigh of relief. She’d done it. She’d put her fate in his hands. Now all she had to do was really believe she could trust him.

She slid down in the seat, clutching the cracked leather with her fingers as they went over another bump. Even though the sun had risen the day was cloudy, hot and overcast, and ominous clouds hovered near the peaks of the mountains. “Does this vehicle have any kind of roof?” she asked.

“Nope. You afraid of a little rain?”

She sighed. “Swashbuckler,” she muttered again, knowing it annoyed him.

The Jeep jerked ahead slightly on the bumpy road. “Cut it out,” he growled, “or I’ll feed you to the crocodiles.”

“You have crocodiles in the mountains of San Pablo?”

“I’ll import some.”

She leaned back, satisfied that she’d annoyed him. It gave her a certain measure of security, knowing she got on his nerves. Elena said women adored him, and she could almost begin to guess why. There was no denying he was absolutely gorgeous, or would be if he had a shave and a haircut and a decent suit. And she’d seen flashes of his devastating charm—if he decided to turn that on a woman, then that woman would be hard put to resist. Even one who found him as totally obnoxious as she did.

A shave and a three-piece suit. She couldn’t imagine it, didn’t particularly want to. For some reason she didn’t want to see him tamed and civilized like some…banker. And if she were completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit that it wasn’t because she’d find him more attractive like that. If he were dressed like a banker, he’d be safe. And deep in her heart she didn’t want him safe.

“Why did you kiss me last night?” She hadn’t even known she was going to ask the question. It had been driving her nuts ever since she remembered, and she could still feel the damp heat of his mouth against hers, the rough thoroughness with which he’d taken her kiss. It might be the jolting of the Jeep, but she suspected it was something else causing her stomach to tighten into knots.

If she’d expected to surprise him by bringing up the subject she’d failed. He didn’t even spare her a glance. “Why did I kiss you? Simple enough. You stormed into Salazar’s place like a nagging wife, and it was the best thing I could think of to shut you up and to assert my authority.”

“Your authority?” she echoed, her hands curling into fists.

“A woman without a man in a place like Salazar’s is someone who’s fair game. I had to claim ownership, and fast. I could have hit you, I suppose, but I figured kissing you would bother you more.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly. “I would have preferred the slap.”

“I know you would,” he said in a soft, treacherous voice. “So why don’t you tell me why you kissed me back?”

* * *

T
HAT SHUT HER UP,
as he knew it would. She slid down in the seat, arms folded across her chest, doing her best to ignore him. A good thing, too. She was getting to him better than anyone had in years, and it was taking far too much of his energy to ignore her.

It would be just as easy to wander through the mountains of San Pablo as it was in the lower altitudes, and up here they were less likely to run into people who could speak English and answer her damned questions. With luck they could be within a thousand yards of The Professor and his followers without her having a clue.

Besides, the moment he’d heard about El Gallito Loco he knew he’d had no choice. The Professor had to be warned. If he had to drag Maggie into the mountains, so be it.

She was getting harder and harder to distract from her goal. Or maybe that was because he was finding her equally distracting. He could smell the soap on her skin, the shampoo in her hair as it blew dry in the breeze. He could smell temptation and sin on the air. But he couldn’t smell redemption.

There was only one way to shut her up, make her forget about her sister, her questions, her hostility. One way to turn her from a terrier with a bone to a soft, melting mass of femininity. He could take her to bed. And he didn’t doubt for one minute she’d let him do it, against her better judgment.

Somewhere out there El Gallito Loco was gunning for The Professor. And if history could be trusted, he’d be gunning for Frazer as well. It was three years ago that he’d made his second attempt at killing The Professor, and Frazer had been there to stop him. He should have killed him then and there, but Frazer had a sentimental aversion to killing people. It certainly would have made things easier if he weren’t hamstrung by scruples.

But then, if he weren’t, he’d belong in the
Generalissimo’s
camp.

He didn’t know whether those scruples would keep him from taking Miss Blanche Magnolia Brown to bed.

He sure as hell hoped not. He was looking for an excuse, any excuse, to touch that mouth again. If it could serve to distract her from her incredibly ill-timed quest then it was a sacrifice he was more than willing to make, he thought with a wry smile. She’d told him he’d never coax that orgasmic sound from her.

He was going to prove her wrong.

* * *

E
L
G
ALLITO WAS HUMMING
underneath his breath. Frazer’s rusted out Jeep made so much noise that his quieter, modern SUV was drowned out. As long as he stayed out of sight he could keep pace with the two of them as they led him straight to his prey.

He hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy. He didn’t mind that Salazar had warned Frazer about him—it only made Frazer more determined to get to The Professor and warn him. He wouldn’t linger in the mountain villages with his American girlfriend—he’d go straight to the source.

With luck, the job might be finished by nightfall, and El Gallito would be back in the capital in time to celebrate the election results. San Pablo law was very clear on such matters—if the elected official dies before he takes office, his opponent wins the position. Even if the people of San Pablo mourned the tragic passing of Morales The Professor, they would soon happily return to the old order of business under Generalissimo Cabral’s firm rule.

In the meantime, El Gallito was content to enjoy the warm afternoon, the sunshine beating down in his late-model SUV, and hum beneath his breath. Any job worth doing was worth doing well.

And El Gallito Loco, the assassin, was a master at his craft.

CHAPTER EIGHT

M
AGGIE LOOKED UP
at the clouds overhead. The day had gone from sullen to threatening as they climbed higher and higher into the mountains, and Maggie’s mood had gone from dire to deeply depressed. They hadn’t passed a village, a farm, even a wild animal in hours, and Maggie couldn’t rid herself of the fear that she’d made a very big mistake in insisting they head west.

Why had she thought that old man was any more trustworthy than Frazer? For all she knew he’d sent the two of them into an ambush. Didn’t Frazer say he was some kingpin in the San Pablo underworld? He could be in league with bandits. There was a thriving trade all over the world in holding Americans for ransom, and she couldn’t remember if she’d told anyone other than Frazer that she worked for a bank. Maybe they were heading straight into some bandits’ lair, they’d cut Frazer’s throat, hold her for some ridiculous sum of money her bank would refuse to pay, they’d rape and kill her and dump her body on top of Frazer’s and no one would ever know what happened to her…