by Karen Woods
She had looked at a number of ‘flats’ as the British called their apartments. But, nothing had appealed to her. Her expense account would continue to pay for lodging here as long as that proved necessary, but she wanted to have her own place. It would have to be a place that spoke of success, elegance, and power, without being intimidating, since the apartment would be a statement of her position, a place to entertain, as well as a place in which she could crash. Houses or apartments like that simply were not readily available.
“Good evening, Miss O’Shay,” the desk clerk greeted her.
“Good evening. Any messages for me?”
A hand came down on her shoulder.
Maggie removed the hand from her shoulder, then turned rapidly.
“I couldn’t leave the message that I wanted to leave for you. It would have embarrassed the clerk,” Hunt stated softly.
Maggie smiled. “Bad pennies certainly turn up, don’t they?”
Hunt laughed. “Really, Margaret . . . .” he chided. “Is that any way to greet your betrothed after a prolonged absence?”
Maggie shook her head. “It’s good to see you, Hunt. When did you arrive?”
“I walked in about fifteen minutes ago. Do you have plans for the evening?”
Maggie laughed. “It’s the first night that I’ve been in England in which I haven’t had a business commitment. I was planning to have a swim, take a sauna, and then order dinner in my room and turn in early. But, those plans are hardly carved in stone. What do you have in mind?”
“Dinner and a quiet evening at my flat.”
“I’d love to have dinner with you, Hunt, provided that you don’t expect me to cook.”
“What? You won’t make me one of those luscious chocolate cakes?”
“Not tonight, Hunt. I’m too tired.”
“Can you make anything other than cakes and breakfasts?” Hunt asked lightly.
“Don’t you think that you should have found that out before you proposed?”
Hunt smiled. “I had planned on cooking anyway. Shall we go?”
“Let me stow my briefcase in my room, and freshen up first.”
Hunt smiled. “Vanity, thy name is woman,” he teased.
“Oh, hush,” Maggie replied lowly. “Come on up to my suite while I change.”
Hunt smiled broadly. “Ah, geez, Maggie, I like you just the way you are.”
“Hunter Alexander!”
“Come on, Maggie mine,” Hunt urged as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
“Good as new. Well almost,” she qualified.
Maggie’s bodyguards followed at a suitable distance, then joined them in the elevator.
“Make yourself at home, Hunt. Help yourself to a drink,” Maggie said as she dropped her briefcase on a table. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“How are things going?”
“Hectic.”
“Did you get the crisis resolved?”
“It wasn’t easy. But, the feathers are smoothed. And everyone is reasonably satisfied.”
“You are a born diplomat, Maggie mine.”
“I actually enjoy the work. I didn’t know that I would, but I’m finding it exhilarating.”
“I can believe that, you thrive on challenge,” he countered.
Maggie smiled broadly. “Yes, I do.”
Hunt smiled at her. “Did I tell you how incredibly gorgeous you are?”
Maggie laughed. “Oh, please . . . .”
“Ah, Maggie. When will you learn that I seldom say anything which I don’t mean?”
“I’m going to go change now. I’m assuming that I could easily get by with slacks for the evening. You aren’t planning on anything formal, are you? Just a quiet evening at home?”
Hunt nodded. “Wear jeans if you want to. I’m easy to get along with.”
“I’ll be out in a few minutes. Have a seat.”
Maggie locked her bedroom door behind her as she went in to change.
Hunt smiled as he looked around the apartment. There weren’t many personal items here. He wanted to get a handle on the woman. During the past few weeks, he had gotten a fairly comprehensive report on her background from the private investigator he had hired. He hadn’t expected any major surprises. There hadn’t been any. Well, maybe one, he corrected. There hadn’t been any serious male/female relationships in her life since Jarod had died.
Hunt had to ask himself why she had lived like a nun for so many years. Was she still grieving for Jarod? That was a question he didn’t want to ask. Yet, it was highly preferable to the other question: Had her relationship to Jarod been so destructive that she had lost all confidence in her ability to maintain a man/woman relationship? But, that was a question he had to ask himself based on what he had learned about J. Roger Clark.
Hunt whistled as she returned to the living room. “You get prettier every time that I see you. Some redheads can’t wear black without looking pale and wan. You look elegant, almost ethereal.”
Maggie checked her purse for her key. Then she took a long look in the mirror above the table. Her black wool slacks and gray cotton cowl necked sweater were nothing exceptional. Her only pretension to elegance lay in the two strands of pearls around her throat and matching ear studs. “Shall we go?”
Hunt drove through the London streets like a native. Maggie’s bodyguards followed them, after Hunt gave them directions.
“I don’t know how you do it. I have an excellent sense of direction, normally. Yet, London confuses me. I never know where I am or how I got there,” Maggie admitted quietly. “The streets are laid out without any semblance of logic. That coupled with driving on the opposite side of the street, leaves me totally at a loss.”
Hunt laughed. “I can understand that. I didn’t dare drive until I had spent almost a year working in the City.”
“Why here and not Wall Street?”
“Um. A relative offered me a job when I left college. Being raised as a Marine Corps brat meant that I was used to traveling. Taking that job meant that I could see a part of the world that I had never seen,” Hunt explained honestly. “A plus of the job was that it was as a traveling consultant. I had itchy feet at the time, and couldn’t imagine settling down in one place.”
Maggie laughed. “A relative, huh? Like maybe your Uncle Sam?” she offered.
Hunt was silent for a moment. “That was quite a deduction.”
“Not really. It was pretty simple to put the pieces together. Do you still have itchy feet?” she asked, suddenly serious.
Hunt glanced over at her. “No, Maggie,” he told her quietly, firmly. “I’m ready to settle down and raise a family. I don’t have to travel any more.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not going to push you, Maggie mine.”
“Hunt . . . .”
“Maggie?”
“Never mind.”
“Just relax, Maggie mine. Dinner and a quiet evening. You look like you could stand to unwind a little. No pressure. Just a relaxing time with a friend.”
Maggie smiled at him. “You are a nice man, Hunt.”
“Many people would call me by different descriptors, Maggie. I’m not particularly known as a nice man,” he warned. “In fact, many people would tell you that I am anything except nice. I have a reputation as a . . . .”
“Shark,” she completed. “I know. But, that’s business.”
“You’ve been checking on me?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Flatters me, I think,” he admitted.
“Didn’t you think that I would be curious about any man who proposed marriage that soon after we met? Or a man who insisted on me wearing his ring? Or, more importantly, any man whose ring I would consider wearing on such a short acquaintance? I’m not a fool, Hunt.”
He laughed. “I didn’t think that you were.”
“I don’t think that either of us will ever underestimate the other.”
Hunt glance
d over at her. “So, what do you think of my reputation?”
“I suspect that it was well earned. You are thought of as a shrewd, tough, businessman who does not suffer fools gladly. I can see that in you.”
Hunt smiled broadly. “We’re almost there.”
He looked in the rearview mirror once more.
“Are we still being followed?”
“Looks that way. Someone is following your security people. Do you know who?”
“No. I don’t know who they are. I’ve never gotten a good look at the followers. They are being terribly obvious about it. It is almost as if they are hoping to provoke me into seeking them out.”
“That could prove dangerous.”
“Why do you think that I’ve continued to give them a wide berth?”
Hunt laughed lightly. “You can handle yourself.”
“The only thing that continues to bother me is the bugs I keep finding in the phones.”
Hunt appeared deceptively calm. “Keep finding? Like removing them only to find the devices replaced?”
“I’ve left them in place. I’ve been more than slightly afraid to let these people know that clearly that I’m on to them. The last thing that I want is to provoke a direct encounter with them. If I have spotted the tails and found the microphones, there is a good chance that they are rank amateurs which means that they are unpredictable, at best.”
“What do you mean, then that you keep finding the devices?”
“Paris, Madrid, Vienna. I’ve found bugs in my telephone in all those cities. And I’ve not stayed in the same room on any two visits to the cities.”
“Business or your personal lines?”
“Just the personal lines. There is a security company in each country which comes through the offices on a twice weekly basis to sweep for bugs.”
“Are you frightened?”
“I’d be lying if I said that I was totally unconcerned. But, ‘frightened’ is a bit strong of a word to use. ‘Annoyed’ would be about right.”
“You know that your stepfather is right. You are a target because of your connection to him,” Hunt replied tightly. “Would you like me to arrange for more bodyguards for you?”
“I hate bodyguards. No, thank you. I can manage with the ones that I have.”
“Can you? Suppose that you were to be outnumbered and outgunned.”
“In that case, the presence of more bodyguards would just add to the body count,” she said as Hunt parked the car. “I don’t need the blood on my hands. I don’t know how I will live with myself if there is another attempt made on my life and one or more people die as a result.”
“Maggie, it wouldn’t be your responsibility.”
“Wouldn’t it? I am the one who insisted on having bodyguards. Isn’t that funny? I hate bodyguards. Everyone who knows me knows how much I hate bodyguards. Yet, I’m saddled with them, now, because I made it a condition of accepting the job.”
“You are enough of a pragmatist to be able to do whatever you need to do in order to survive,” Hunt said approvingly. “That is a good trait.”
“Is it?” Maggie asked, rhetorically.
The building Hunt parked before was a modern block of apartments set in well landscaped gardens. Or, at least, she thought that they would be spectacular in the daylight.
“Let me guess, you have the penthouse.”
Hunt laughed. “I can afford it.”
“I never doubted it in the least.”
“You’re beginning to trust me, a little, at least,” he replied with satisfaction in his voice.
“Are you going to feed me, or was that an unfounded rumor?” she responded.
“Is the way to your heart through your stomach?”
“Haven’t you heard? I have no heart.”
“Ah, yes. The ice maiden of Faulks sales department. Ice except where the elderly Mr. Faulks is concerned, at least.”
“That’s a lie,” Maggie said hotly.
Hunt smiled. “I wondered if you would lose that infamous temper of yours over that.”
“Why are you playing with me, Hunt?”
“I’m not the one who is playing, Maggie mine. Now, come on, let’s go feed you. You look like you’ve dropped ten pounds in the last three weeks. And lady you don’t have the weight to spare.”
“Seven. I’ve lost seven pounds.” Maggie protested as she got out of the car.
“Come on, I’ll feed you. After all, I can’t have you wasting away to skin and bones,” Hunt said, a teasing note in his voice.
Hunt looked perfectly at home in his kitchen. “Make yourself useful. Chop the onions and the broccoli for the stir fry while I slice the meat.”
“You certainly have all the tact of a Marine.”
“I learned from the best.”
“You certainly did. How is Hank?”
“The same as he always is. There wasn’t a day go by when I was home he didn’t tell me what a fool I was not to have gone with you, what a fool I was to let you out of my sight, what a fool I was not to have bundled you off to Nevada for a quick marriage.”
“Hank certainly speaks his mind, doesn’t he?” Maggie replied easily.
“That, he does.”
They worked companionably turning out a simple meal of stir-fried beef and broccoli with oyster sauce, and steamed rice.
Dinner was eaten in a companionable silence. Then Maggie and Hunt adjourned to the living room after they cleared away the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. Hunt put several CDs in the changer, and set the selector to continuous play. Eine Kleine Nacht Musick floated through the air.
“Hmmm,” Maggie murmured quietly as she sank into the sofa. “Mozart.”
Hunt sat beside her. Her head rested on his shoulder. Before the end of the first part of the piece, she was sound asleep. He smiled softly as he looked down at her. Before the end of the first CD, Hunt had joined her in the land of dreams.
It was broad daylight on Saturday morning before either of them awoke. When Maggie shifted her head from his shoulder, he came instantly awake.
“I didn’t mean to let you sleep like that,” he apologized.
“I didn’t mean to sleep like that,” Maggie replied. “You make me feel safe, Hunt. That’s something that I haven’t felt in a long time. Thank you.”
Hunt listened to the gratitude in her voice and wished he heard love.
“I’m glad that you feel safe with me. You know that I would never hurt you.”
“But, it’s more than just not hurting me. You were telling the truth about loving me. I had my doubts about that. But, Hunt, I am not sure that I am ready to go further than friendship,” she admitted quietly.
“How about some breakfast? You think that you are ready for that?” he asked gently, affectionately.
“Why don’t you go shower and shave? I’ll cook breakfast.”
Hunt smiled at her. “All right.”
When Hunt entered the kitchen twenty minutes later, the smell of baking muffins, frying sausage patties, and coffee assaulted his nose.
He walked over to Maggie and lightly touched her shoulder. “Smells good.”
“Why don’t you set the table? This should be ready in about four minutes.”
“You can cook more than cakes and waffles,” Hunt stated as he dug into the breakfast she had set before him.
“No, this is an illusion,” Maggie said, grinning at him.
“I’ll take you back to your hotel in a little while. Unless you’d like to see something of London?”
“That would be nice. Could we return to my hotel, first though. I need to check for messages, and I would like to shower and change clothes. I feel completely rumpled. Work out an itinerary, please. I need to give the minders some idea of where I will be so that they can keep a better eye on me.”
Hunt smiled at her. “No problem. What do you want to see first?”
They walked into her hotel lobby arm in arm. Maggie knew that she wasn’t imagining the car that had
followed them from Hunt’s apartment complex. She didn’t at all like this feeling. Who was following her? And why?
The one thing that she didn’t like was the realization that she had mostly accepted the presence of those who were following her. The fear that she had initially felt was fading away, only to be replaced by wariness. Yet, she knew, in time even the wariness would fade. Fear gave a person an edge, but it was difficult, if not impossible to maintain over long periods of time. She only hoped that the men guarding her were more vigilant than she herself felt.
She and Hunt were standing at the elevator talking quietly when a deep voice spoke from behind her. “It is about time that you decided to show your face, woman.”
Maggie swung around on her heels. “John!”
“I’ve been trying to call you since eight last evening,” her brother said strongly as he stood there looking at her, disapproval blazing in his green eyes. “I think that I now understand where you have been.”
Maggie blushed. Looking at John was like looking into her own father’s face. Her father was long since dead by the time that she reached dating age. But, she imagined that her father would have worn that same expression had he caught her in such an apparently compromising situation.
“Good morning, O’Shay,” Hunt said.
“Thomas,” Maggie’s brother answered shortly before returning his attention to his sister.
Maggie looked at John. “Well, are you going to just stand there scowling at me?”
“We need to talk,” John stated in a tone that was little shy of harsh.
