by Anne Stuart
Her face was wet with tears. She had no idea how long it was when he lifted his head to look down at her, cupped her face and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I forgot to bite you,” he whispered. “Next time.”
He was smiling at her. He was still inside her, holding her in his arms, and she felt the last little bit of doubt dissolve and vanish. “Next time,” she said. And she smiled back at him.
* * *
HE GAVE THEM THEIR NIGHT. El Gallito wasn’t particularly interested in sex—for him it was simply a function of the body, one his fifth wife took care of without enthusiasm or complaint. He had no interest in watching or listening to Frazer and the American.
It would have been the perfect vengeance to walk in on them at a crucial moment, but the assassin resisted the temptation. After all, he’d had a long day tracking Frazer, and he needed his rest if he was going to be any good as a marksman the next day. It wasn’t as if it would be his only chance to sneak up on the two of them unawares. First light would be time enough. They’d be so worn-out they’d sleep deeply, and they wouldn’t even hear his approach.
He slept in the SUV, lightly, as was his habit, waking by the first light of day. He switched on the battery and the radio of the car, searching for the first election news.
The main radio stations were state controlled, and the word all week had been of Generalissimo Cabral’s upcoming victory. The powers that be would allow no less, and El Gallito, being a pragmatic man, took it with a grain of salt.
But the crackly, static-filled voice on the radio filled him with foreboding. They were discussing what would happen if the government changed hands, and El Gallito knew the situation was dire indeed.
There was no way the state-owned radio would be allowed to even hint at such a possibility unless it were already a sure thing. If Morales survived the election, Cabral was lost.
But El Gallito hadn’t followed his nemesis across miles of mountainous terrain to admit defeat. He switched off the radio, turned off the battery and slid from the front seat. He’d waited long enough. Time for the two lovebirds to awaken and meet their fate.
* * *
SHE LAY IN HIS ARMS,, pale, sated, trusting. Frazer wasn’t fool enough to sleep. He needed to slip away from her, get his butt down the valley to The Professor’s headquarters and warn him.
They’d be packing up by now, ready to head down to the capital and claim victory. They’d be careful—The Professor had a bodyguard detail composed of the best men. Frazer should know—he trained them himself.
But they didn’t know that El Gallito Loco was on the hunt. El Gallito knew this area as well as anyone—the moment they left their safe haven then Morales was a sitting duck.
She didn’t wake when he slid out from beneath the covers, from the embrace of her body. He looked down at her for a long, miserable moment.
It was sex. It was good sex. No, scratch that, it was great sex. And there was no particular reason for it to have been that great. She was practically a virgin, and he was used to women who knew how to please a man and take their own pleasure. She was like a little nun, afraid of his body, afraid of her own, afraid of everything under the covers.
Ah, but she’d been easily persuaded, curious and quick to learn. He’d talked her into all sorts of things, pushing her, and she’d responded with an innocent delight that had stolen his breath, his heart, his soul.
In a different world he’d climb back under the covers and wake her, slowly, so that when she opened her eyes he’d be inside her again, and she’d smile up at him, that lazy, wicked little smile—
But this was his world, and he had responsibilities. Including abandoning her in the mountains while he saw to The Professor’s safety.
He was going to have to tie her up, and she wasn’t going to like it. He would have much rather have the tying up be mutual, but that wasn’t in the cards. He’d send someone else to release her, probably Carlito. Carlito was six feet seven, dumb as an ox and gentle as a lamb with women. He’d take Maggie safely back to Las Palmas. Maybe by then she’d be ready to know the truth about what happened to her sister.
Or maybe they’d simply manage to get her back to the States for the time being, while the new government took charge.
She was never going to forgive him. Which was just as well—forgiveness might lead to all sorts of other things and he didn’t have a hell of a lot in common with an anal retentive banker from Philadelphia.
Except the best sex of his life. And a curious, awful feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of never seeing her again that had absolutely nothing to do with sex and everything to do with…
Don’t go there, he told himself sharply, grabbing his clothes and heading out toward the pool.
By the time he got back to the ruined room where they’d spent the night she was almost dressed. She’d found a T-shirt and the baggy pants from the night before, and she didn’t look at him, busying herself with folding up the blankets.
It was what he expected. She was ashamed of the night before, embarrassed by what they’d done, wishing she’d never even met him. She probably wouldn’t look him in the eye or even speak to him if she could help it, which would make his plan a lot easier. If she wasn’t looking he’d be able to sneak up on her with the ropes and get her trussed up before she could try to defend herself.
Not that he’d have much difficulty. He was much stronger than she was. She had a certain resilient strength that was surprisingly erotic, though…
He had to stop thinking about it. “Good morning,” he said, moving past her and reaching for the duffel bag. The ropes were coiled in one corner, and his hand found them easily.
“Morning,” she muttered, concentrating on the blanket.
He held the rope behind his back, moving toward her, trying to rid himself of any thought, any emotion, any regret.
And then she looked up at him, Her eyes were huge, shadowed, her mouth soft and bruised-looking from his. She looked him straight in the eyes, and her mouth curved in a tentative, wistful smile.
“I’m in love with you,” she said.
He stopped his forward pace, stunned. “Oh, hell,” he said bitterly. “That’s all I needed.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS PRETTY MUCH WHAT she’d expected as a reaction to her declaration of love, Maggie thought. She didn’t even know what had prompted her to announce such a thing. It was going to cause nothing but trouble, and if she’d had any sense she would have kept her mouth shut.
Problem was, she’d spent her life being sensible, and right now she wanted nothing more than to be free and irresponsible and let her emotions run wild. She was in love with him, a man she barely knew, a man who was everything she shouldn’t want in a man. It was irrational, illogical and, unfortunately, true. She could deny it all she wanted, she could go back to Philadelphia and marry another banker and raise two perfect little suburban children but she’d always be in love with Ben Frazer.
She loved him enough, however, that she hated seeing the look of abject misery on his face. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” she said breezily, folding the blanket into a tiny, perfectly aligned square. “It’s probably just postcoital bliss. Great sex tends to make a woman fanciful.”
“It does.” His voice was low, flat, and she didn’t know whether that was an agreement or a question.
She babbled on. “You’ve had great sex before, so you’re not likely to start thinking you’re in love. I’m sure I’ll get over it the moment I get back to Philadelphia. All I have to do is have sex with someone else and I’ll forget all about you.”
He made a low, growling noise, and she thought maybe he was grinding his teeth.
“Really, there’s nothing to look so miserable about,” she continued. “I’ve given up on finding Stella, at least for now. I’ll go back home and forget all about you.”
A spasm of emotion crossed his face, one she couldn’t read. He took a step toward her and then stopped, his expression
blank as he stared past her.
She turned and followed his gaze, and promptly dropped the blanket into the ashes of the smoldering fire.
“He knows where your sister is, señorita.” The man was pointing a gun at both of them, a large, nasty-looking gun. “He’s always known.”
“Who the hell are you?” Maggie demanded. In her entire life no one had ever pointed a gun at her. The man standing there was nondescript—middle-aged, average, the sort of man she might have passed on the street and never looked twice at. Except for his eyes. One look at his eyes told her that he was capable of absolutely anything, and she wished she’d kept her big mouth shut.
“Do you want to tell her, Frazer?” the man said. “After all, you were about to tie her up and leave her here to my tender mercies.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She had enough courage left to protest that absurd statement.
But then Ben drew his hands from behind his back, and let the thin, strong rope drop to the ground. “I’d introduce you but I’m afraid I don’t know his real name,” Ben said in a steady voice. “He’s called El Gallito Loco, roughly translated as The Crazy Chicken.”
“Rooster.” El Gallito corrected. “The Crazy Rooster. And I tend to think of myself as a fighting cock.”
“Because he’s good with razors,” Ben said in an emotionless voice. “He’s a killer, usually on hire to Generalissimo Cabral. Though I can’t imagine why he’d come all this way just to kill me.”
“Don’t be naïve, Frazer. I’d cross the street to kill you, just for the sake of our past, but I wouldn’t come all the way up here unless I have bigger fish to fry. No one knows where Morales is. You’re going to lead me to him.”
“No.” He was moving backward, toward the duffel bag, and El Gallito turned the gun on Maggie’s stomach.
“Don’t bother looking for your guns, Frazer. I took the liberty of removing them while you were otherwise occupied.”
“You carry a gun?” Maggie demanded, shocked.
“He can be quite lethal himself, señorita. Your intrepid guide happens to be Ramon Morales de Lorca y Antonio’s right hand man. In charge of security, in charge of training his bodyguards. I still can’t figure out why he’s dragged you all over the country instead of simply silencing you, but then, Americans are ever a puzzle.”
“Who?”
“Better known as The Professor. The man who will be the leader of San Pablo unless I do something about it,” the stranger said.
“And you really think I’d take you to him?” Ben countered. “You’ve lived longer than that, pal. I’d gladly die before turning him over to you.”
“Yes, I know. But would you let me kill the girl?”
Ben didn’t even look at her. Didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”
“I don’t think The Professor’s mistress will be too pleased with that.”
Frazer shrugged. “That won’t be my problem, now will it? You’ll kill us both.”
“What’s The Professor got to do with this?” Maggie demanded.
“Shut up, Maggie!” Frazer snapped.
“She doesn’t know, does she? While you were dragging her on a wild-goose chase and humping her bones she never had the faintest idea that her sister’s been happily living with the man who wants to be president of San Pablo.”
“Ramon?” Maggie breathed.
“Ramon Morales de Lorca y Antonio. The Professor.”
“He’s not her type,” she protested.
“When it comes to true love there’s no such thing as type,” the stranger said.
“Now who would have pegged you for a romantic?” Frazer drawled.
“Oh, I’m a very romantic fellow. I intend to make sure both The Professor and his American girlfriend die together, so they can spend eternity at each other’s side. I wish I could do the same for you two, but she’s a liability.”
“So am I. I’m not giving him up.”
He was a paunchy old man, but lightning fast on his feet. Before Maggie realized what he was doing he’d crossed the room and caught her in an iron grip, and she could feel the cold steel of the gun pressed beneath her breast.
Frazer was frozen, unmoving. And then he shrugged. “Kill her. It won’t make any difference. The people of San Pablo are worth one innocent American life.”
El Gallito put a meaty hand on her shoulder and shoved her to her knees. She could feel the cold steel at the back of her neck, and bile rose in her throat. She didn’t want to die, and she most particularly didn’t want to die vomiting.
She heard the cock of the gun, and she squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath, stupidly, when it would be her last breath. She was going to die, and Ben Frazer was going to stand there and let it happen. The silence would be broken by the blast of a gun, and then it would end, everything.
“Don’t.”
The moment had stretched into an endless eternity, broken at the last possible moment by Ben’s voice. Maggie let out her pent-up breath in a silent whoosh.
“You’ll take me to The Professor?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t make the mistake of calling out and warning him, now would you? Because then I’d have to kill her anyway, and you would have gained nothing.”
“I’ll take you to him, but you’ll leave her behind. She’d just slow us down,” Ben said, his voice cool and emotionless. She looked at him, still on her knees in the dirt, but he was staring straight ahead.
“She comes with us. She’s my only guarantee that you’ll do as you promise.”
“And then what?”
El Gallito smiled, a perfect, feral smile. “You know I’ll try to kill you. But I’ll be much more concerned about The Professor and his girlfriend. If you’re lucky you’ll get away. But I’d leave the country if I were you. Generalissimo Cabral is not happy about coming so close to losing power, and he’ll make it his goal to wipe out any last bits of support for The Professor. And I imagine The Professor’s people won’t be happy that you turned traitor.” He sighed happily. “No, maybe I won’t kill you. Destroying your life would be much better.”
“Still can’t get over the fact that I beat you. Twice,” Frazer taunted him.
El Gallito’s smile vanished. “A fluke. But this day’s work will more than make up for it. On your feet, señorita. We have an appointment to keep.”
* * *
THEY WALKED SINGLE FILE, following the narrow pathway. Ben went first, leading the way, not daring to look back at either Maggie or El Gallito. He was still sweating in the cool mountain air.
He’d survived more than thirty years living on his instincts. His instincts had told him that El Gallito wouldn’t kill Maggie, not yet, and he’d risked her life on that instinct. He’d won, but it had been a close call, and once El Gallito had put the barrel of the handgun at the base of her skull he’d known he was caught.
He shouldn’t have caved in. If El Gallito had executed her he’d have no more bargaining power to make Ben do what he wanted him to, and the assassin was too smart a man to make a mistake like that.
But in the end, Ben couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk Maggie, even though logic told him that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. He couldn’t let her go.
She hadn’t spoken to him, looked at him, since El Gallito had hauled her to her feet. And there had been nothing he could say, particularly with the assassin watching her. He’d used her, betrayed her, made her trust him and then destroyed that trust. And now he was probably going to end up getting her killed as well.
What was there he could say that would make it better?
He knew the answer, much as he wanted to avoid it. The plain, unpleasant, unvarnished truth that he didn’t want to admit.
They were nearing the divide, where the paths converged and led down into the hidden valley. There was always the possibility that everyone had already packed up and left, but he didn’t think so. The plans had been made weeks ago, and The Professor wasn’t the kin
d of man to let fear influence him. He would do what he’d decided to do, and to hell with the forces of darkness that tried to stop him.
He could hear the faint rasp of her breathing behind him, but she didn’t say a word. She had to be exhausted—she wasn’t used to the terrain or the altitude, nor, he expected, the hard work. She was a city woman, a banker, not used to scrambling over rocks.
The brush was still covering the split rock, and he pushed it out of the way, exposing the entrance.
“Very clever,” El Gallito said behind them. “I would have searched for days without finding it.”
Ben turned, blocking the way. “Why don’t you leave us behind here? He’s down there—The Professor and most of his company. There’s no other way in—I can’t warn him, and he’ll be a sitting duck. Maggie and I will just hold you back.”
“Kind of you to be worried about me, but I think we’ll just keep on,” El Gallito said. “She may have been fool enough to trust you, but I’m not so innocent.”
She wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t look at either of them. He could see the absolute weariness and fear radiating from her. “I need a break,” he said abruptly. “Give me a few minutes to rest.”
El Gallito’s wry grin was far from reassuring. “Your lady-friend can have a rest, Frazer. You can even sit with her and whisper sweet nothings. I have nothing to fear. I’m the one with the gun, and I’m not troubled by moral or ethical concerns, thank God.”
Without another word Maggie collapsed on a rock, her head bowed. El Gallito was true to his word, keeping his distance, and Ben approached her, determined to say the words.
She looked up as he drew near, her gaze murderous. “Don’t even try it,” she said. “I’ll let him shoot me before I talk to you.”
“Don’t be an idiot. There’s a chance we can get out of this if we work together,” he growled, keeping his voice low.
“Maybe I’d rather die,” she shot back.
“Well, I wouldn’t. He’s going to be watching us pretty closely and we probably won’t have another chance to talk. Our best chance will be when we come in sight of the encampment. Once he starts looking for Ramon he’ll forget about us, at least for the moment. When I give the word I want you to hit the dirt.”
