The Fall of Maggie Brown

by Anne Stuart

  Too late to stop what had been in the works for far too long. The last thing anybody needed was a busybody poking her nose into San Pablo affairs, asking questions. The elections would be done in three days, and if all went well, a new order would be in charge. He wasn’t about to let anything, including an unwanted American, jeopardize it.

  Hell, it was nothing more than his duty to get rid of her. And on rare occasions, when he was bored and the price was right, he could be a very dutiful guy.

  Besides he was curious. Beneath that staid appearance, was Maggie Brown anything like the wild and passionate Stella?

  It might be interesting to find out.

  * * *

  THE MAN STOOD IN THE DOORWAY of the tumbled-down house across from Señora Campos’s prosperous little inn. He was the kind of man no one would look at twice—middle-aged, average height, a stocky build and a forgettable face. His very ordinariness had been his best stock in trade, one he’d used to advantage over the past thirty years.

  It came in handy today, as he stood beneath the doorway, out of the way of the light mist, and watched the American woman enter the hotel. No one ever remembered him. He was the Everyman of San Pablo.

  She’d been easy enough to follow—the stupid American had no idea anyone was interested in her whereabouts. No idea that she was unwittingly involved in the future of this country.

  She would know when he killed her. He could give her that much, so she wouldn’t die without knowing why. And he would do it as quickly and painlessly as possible. He liked to think of himself as a chivalrous man when it came to the ladies.

  But for his old friend Ben Frazer he wasn’t planning any such weakness. He owed him, owed him for the scar across his belly, owed him for the broken leg that still bothered him on occasion. With Ben Frazer, he had every intention of making it last.

  In the meantime, though, he was content to watch. To keep his distance, to follow the girl as she led him to his ultimate prey. It was only his good fortune that Frazer came along with the package. A sign that the job was meant to be his. He’d take care of business. And then, when it came to Ben Frazer, he’d take care of pleasure.

  El Gallito Loco, they called him. No one knew his real name, and he’d had so many he’d practically forgotten it himself. El Gallito served him well enough. If anyone was fool enough to think it was a harmless nickname, they would soon know otherwise.

  In the meantime, all he had to do was watch and wait. Ben Frazer would take him straight to his prey.

  And his own, exceedingly painful fate.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BY THE TIME MAGGIE MADE IT to the little cantina attached to the run-down hotel she was ten minutes late, and the man named Frazer was already waiting for her. Maggie was never late for anything. If she had an appointment she always arrived at least fifteen minutes early and then had to circle the block several times until she could reasonably present herself.

  But for some reason tonight she couldn’t get ready. It wasn’t as if she’d had a lot of choices in clothes. She carried a matching set of black and beige separates that would see her through any season and never needed ironing, and for dinner she always wore the plain black dress. For some reason it seemed a little too plain, a little too snug across the chest, a little too short, a little too everything. She wasted precious time trying everything else on in various combinations until she finally gave up and yanked the black dress on again.

  At least the rain had stopped, leaving the air sullen and humid. Her thick brown hair decided to stage a revolt against the damp climate, popping out of her smooth coif and curling around her face to make her look like a cherub. It eluded every attempt she made at taming it, and when she gave up and caught it in a scrunchie it immediately began to curl again. And she wasn’t the type for curls.

  Then she decided she looked too pale, and a woman needed makeup as a defense against the world, but for some reason the eyeliner and lipstick made her look like a wanton rather than a banker, so she scrubbed it off, only to discover that without it she looked seventeen and vulnerable.

  It was lucky she wasn’t an hour late.

  He was already drinking when she arrived at the table, his long fingers wrapped around a bottle of beer. He looked up at her, hesitated just long enough to be rude and then slowly rose to his full height.

  “Don’t bother being polite,” she said, taking the chair opposite him. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “I wouldn’t want to spoil your preconceived notions,” he drawled. “So when do you want to go?”

  She blinked. She’d come prepared to handle this meeting in a businesslike manner, and he’d already preempted her. “Go where?”

  “Well, I kind of thought you were interested in finding your sister, but if you’d rather go back to my place…”

  “You’re obnoxious, Mr. Frazer. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And the name’s Ben, Maggie.”

  “The name’s Ms. Brown, Mr. Frazer.”

  “You really want to waste time arguing about crap like that when your sister’s missing and your mother’s dying?” he said in his lazy voice.

  Damned man. “I believe my mother is holding her own at the moment,” she said stiffly. “And I don’t think my sister’s in any danger, she’s just being thoughtless. But we need to come to an understanding if I’m going to hire your services.”

  He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, the picture of patience. He hadn’t cleaned up much, though he’d lost the enveloping poncho that had covered him. He was wearing old, faded jeans, scruffy boots and a khaki shirt. He’d rolled up the sleeves, and the shirt was unbuttoned partway down his chest, exposing far too much tanned, golden skin. She was distracted, looking at that skin.

  He hadn’t shaved, but he’d tied back his ridiculously long hair, and he was watching her with a combination of amusement and patience, as if he were dealing with a cantankerous old woman. She didn’t like being patronized.

  “Well,” he said finally.

  “Well, what?”

  “Are you going to keep staring at my chest or are you going to tell me how we’re going to come to an understanding?”

  “You could always button up your shirt instead of walking around like a male model.”

  “The buttons came off. You wanna sew them on for me?”

  She pushed back from the table. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “Quitter,” he said, a note of laughter in his rough voice.

  She’d been about to rise, but his taunt stopped her. “Why are you trying to annoy me, Mr. Frazer?”

  “Because I want to see what you’re made of. If we’re going to go off into the hills looking for your sister I’ll need to know what to expect. In case you hadn’t realized it, this is a country on the verge of a revolution, and no one knows whether it’ll be peaceful or not. There are bandits, revolutionaries, not to mention the army of the esteemed president, Generalissimo Francisco Cabral. I’m not about to go into a dangerous situation like that without knowing what my backup is like.”

  “Who says I’m going with you?” she demanded, astonished.

  “You thought you could just pack your bags and head back to the States, leaving me with the task? Sounds like an excellent idea. I appreciate your faith in me.”

  “I have no faith in you, I don’t even know you,” she said irritably. “And I had no idea how you were planning to find her—you were the one who said you were my only hope. I expected I’d stay in town here and wait for you to get back to me. Maybe I could find some transportation to the capital city, make a few inquiries.”

  He shook his head. “Easier said than done, sugar. No cars to rent, and you’d have to leave the way you came. By bus, I presume?”

  Maggie shuddered. The endless bus ride north to Las Cruces from the tiny airport was possibly the worst five hours of her life.

  Frazer’s grin broadened. “I thought so. You just sit back, calm down, and I’ll tell you wh
at we’re going to do, and what you’re going to pay me to do it.”

  “I beg your pardon…” she began, outrage stirring once more.

  “Granted. Now be quiet and listen. Chances are your sister is somewhere in the southern part of San Pablo. That’s where the revolutionaries are centered. This is a small country, and I hear a lot about what’s going on. You said this was your twin sister? I haven’t heard of any Americans who look like you, but there’s been a tall, stacked redhead who’s been seen near the lake region in the south—”

  “That’s Stella,” she said grimly. “We’re not identical.” She waited for him to make some crack. If he’d heard about a tall redhead then he probably heard she was beautiful. She’d grown up in Stella’s shadow, despite the fact that she was seventeen minutes older. She should be used to it by now.

  “All right, we know where to start,” he said, for once not baiting her. “Fact is, I’ve got a vehicle and fuel, something that isn’t easily come by in San Pablo nowadays. I also know where to get more gas when we need it. The only other way you’d get to the lake region is to walk, and I don’t see you tramping all those miles in those high heels.”

  She glanced down at her shoes. They were Ferragamos, and she loved them. They made her calves look long and slender, even made her feet look sexy. Shoes were her one weakness, and she indulged herself shamelessly, secure in the fact that few people ever noticed.

  Ben Frazer was the kind who noticed. “I wouldn’t be wearing Ferragamos when we traveled,” she said. The moment the words left her mouth she could have cursed. She’d already tacitly accepted the fact they were going together.

  If he recognized he’d won, he didn’t show it. “Good thing,” he drawled. “We’ll take off tomorrow morning, head south toward the lake region by way of Las Palmas. I know a few people who might have some idea where your sister is, and who she’s with.”

  “She’s with someone named Ramon. I think he’s a rebel of some sort.”

  “Big help, sugar. Do you know how many men are named Ramon in this country? And the sides in this little conflict seem about evenly divided, and one person’s rebel is another person’s patriot. Besides, what makes you think she’s still with him? Is your sister the type for long-term relationships?”

  He already knew the answer, Maggie thought. He just wanted to make her say it. “No.”

  “All right, then. We’ll leave tomorrow morning for the capital. And don’t look so distraught—I know a better route than the one the bus took you. You’ll pack light, dress down and wear better shoes. You’ll let me ask the questions and you’ll stay meek and quiet.”

  There are no better shoes, she thought mutinously, but she said nothing. “And how much am I paying you for this little task?”

  “All expenses for both of us. It’s up to you if you want to pop for separate hotel rooms—I don’t mind sharing. Ten grand if we find her, five grand if we don’t.”

  “That’s outrageous!” she protested.

  “Haven’t you figured out that I am outrageous? You don’t have a whole lot of choice.”

  “Five thousand if we find her, two if we don’t.”

  He leaned back. “You impress the hell out of me, Maggie. Nothing like haggling when your own family’s lives are at stake.”

  “I’m a banker,” she said sternly. “I take money seriously.”

  He hooted with laughter. “I should have known. Do you have a calculator for a brain and an adding machine for a heart?”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about my heart, Mr. Frazer. It’s not going to have anything to do with you.”

  His slow, lazy smile was quite possibly his most potent weapon. She wanted to slap it off his face, and yet at the same time it stirred odd, unexpected feelings in the pit of her stomach.

  Hunger pangs. She hadn’t eaten since morning, and then it had only been some limp toast. “I don’t…” she began, when Señora Campos herself set down two big bowls in front of them. The stew was savory, rich-smelling, with beans and rice and chunks of meat, and she could only be glad her stomach never growled loudly.

  “Señor Frazer ordered for the two of you, Miss Brown,” she said. “This is our house specialty.” She’d been planning on ordering a plain grilled chicken breast. Maggie had never been one for spices, or ethnic food in general. Her father always used to say they were two of a kind. They liked food they could recognize.

  She didn’t even want to speculate where those chunks of meat came from. With Señora Campos beaming down on her, and Ben Frazer watching her with his mocking eyes, she had no choice but to pick up a fork and start eating.

  The first bite made her cough and choke, and she reached for the first thing at hand. It turned out to be Ben’s bottle of beer, but she was in no condition to quibble.

  “Good, isn’t it?” Ben said cheerfully. “Señora Campos prides herself on her cooking. Try another bite—it gets easier on the virgin palate.”

  She glared at him, about to inform him that nothing about her was virgin, when she thought better of it. With Señora Campos standing there she had no choice but to take another, smaller bite, bracing herself for the fiery heat of the spices.

  Her eyes were watering, but she chewed gamely, fighting her way past the initial assault of the stew. It was surprisingly delicious.

  “It’s good,” she said, forgetting to mask the surprise in her voice.

  “You need a little spice in your life, sugar,” Ben murmured lazily.

  “I don’t need anything in my life but my sister’s whereabouts,” she said, taking another drink from his beer. The stew was wonderful, but it had to be washed down with something cooling. “I’m very happy with my life.”

  “You have a man, Miss Brown?” Señora Campos asked.

  If it had been Ben she would have dumped the stew in his lap. As it was, the kindly lady who ran the small inn meant well, and Maggie summoned up a faint smile. “Not at the moment, señora,” she said.

  Señora Campos cast a fond look at Ben, then back at Maggie, and a benevolent smile wreathed her face. “Bueno,” she said. “I’ll bring more beer,” and she disappeared back into the cantina.

  Maggie had lost her appetite. “What did you tell her?”

  “That you had hired me to help you find your sister. After all, she was the one who sent you to the bar in search of me. It’s not my fault she’s an incorrigible matchmaker. She’s been trying to set me up for as long as I’ve been here. I’m a challenge to all the matchmakers in San Pablo and trust me, there are far too many of them. They never give up hope.”

  Her curiosity got the better of her. “And just how long have you been here, Mr. Frazer?”

  “Long enough. You done hogging my beer?”

  She hadn’t realized she was still holding it. She handed it back to him, turning her attention to the stew. She was getting used to the fiery strength of it—her eyes barely watered anymore. They ate in silence, and she kept her eyes focused on the rapidly disappearing stew. She was going to have miserable heartburn that night, and if she had any sense she’d push the bowl away. But it was too tempting.

  She looked up into his eyes. They were as tempting and dangerous as Señora Campos’s fiery stew.

  She set down her fork. “If we’re leaving first thing tomorrow morning then I’d better say good night. I have a lot of things to do if I’m going to be ready.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as none of your business. What time do you want to leave?”

  “First light. Have you got cash?”

  “Travelers’ checks. And an ATM card.”

  He snorted. “You really don’t have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”

  She pushed away from the table. She’d had enough of Ben Frazer for one day, and they hadn’t even spent an hour together. Stella was going to owe her, big time for this. “But you’re going to keep me safe, aren’t you? That’s what I’m paying for, isn’t it?”

  He smiled, his s
low, devastatingly sexy smile.

  “Don’t worry, Maggie. I’m going to take real good care of you. And that’s a promise.”

  * * *

  EL GALLITO HAD SEEN ENOUGH. The two bickering Americans weren’t going to spend the night together, more’s the pity. It would have made his life a lot easier, but in the end it was unimportant. There was nothing he was going to do about it until they led him to his eventual target, and in the meantime it didn’t bother him if they wanted to sleep in different places or wanted to do it in the middle of Señora Campos’s neat little patio.

  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.