Maggie's Hunt

by Karen Woods

  Hunt nodded. “Go on,” he urged quietly.

  “I felt this same way before Daddy’s plane went down, before Mother died, and before Jarod died. I know that it isn’t rational. But, I am frightened.”

  “You are telling me that anytime that someone whom you love is about to be killed that you get a nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach?” he asked, completely seriously.

  Maggie was glad that he was taking her seriously. She felt ridiculous enough making statements like that in the first place. The fact that they were true had no bearing on the way that the statement sounded.

  She nodded. “Please be very careful, Hunt.”

  He smiled at her and took her hand. “I love you, Margaret,” he said quietly.

  “When we get back to London, I think that we should both sit down with our respective date books and find a good day for a wedding,” Maggie told him softly, a slight blush staining her cheeks.

  “Don’t tease me, Margaret,” Hunt said. “I want to hear those words from you, too much.”

  “I’m serious, Hunt. I am completely serious. I think that it is time that we get married.”

  He searched her face, as though he was trying to determine the truth in what she said. Then he smiled at her, broadly, genuinely, as though she had just made him the happiest that he had ever been in his whole life.

  Maggie returned the smile.

  “Then tell me that again,” he urged.

  “I think that it is time that we make wedding plans.”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  “Because I want to be your wife.”

  “Why?” he demanded again, softly.

  “Because you are so ugly and undemanding,” she teased.

  “Maggie,” he warned. “I’m serious. Why have you suddenly decided to make this engagement real?”

  “The usual reasons I suppose.”

  “Do the words really come that hard to you?” he asked.

  Maggie shrugged. “I guess that they do. I don’t mean to be difficult, Hunt. I do love you.”

  “Woman, it is high time that you told me that,” he said.

  Maggie drew a deep breath. “I know. I’m sorry to have been so obstinate.”

  “You and I could team teach stubbornness to mules, you know that?” he asked quietly, with humor in his voice. “Talk about the meeting of an irresistible force and an immovable object.”

  Maggie laughed gently. “Oh, Hunt . . . .”

  “Come on, Margaret. It’s late. You have to, at least try, to get some sleep tonight, if you are going to be functional at your meetings tomorrow. I’ll take you back to your hotel and let you rest. But, tomorrow night, we are going out and doing the town.”

  “You spoil me drastically, Hunt.”

  He smiled at her. “That’s the idea, woman. If I spoil you long enough, you’ll never be satisfied with anyone else,” he told her quietly, but in a tone which wasn’t all teasing.

  “Hunt . . . .”

  “What?”

  “Just ‘Hunt’.”

  He smiled at her. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “You think that you know me so well,” she mused as they reached his car.

  “Not as well as I’ll know you in fifty years, Maggie mine,” he replied easily as he handed her into the back seat of the luxury car. “Villa Magna, Carlos,” Hunt instructed the driver after he joined Maggie in the back seat.

  Maggie walked out of the office on Thursday feeling as though she had crammed a week’s worth of work into a day. She looked at her watch. The time had just barely gone five. She had enough time to get back to her hotel, to pamper herself with a long hot bath, a shampoo, a manicure, and a pedicure before she had to do both her hair and make-up, before dressing for dinner.

  She had hung her dress for tonight up in the bathroom last night before she had showered. Most of the wrinkles had come out with the steam. She could have asked to have the dress pressed, but she was always cautious about entrusting silk garments to hotel staff members since the time when her mother had a very expensive dress scorched by the staff at a Paris hotel.

  She looked at the black silk dress she had last worn at Natty’s party. Would Hunt remember it? she wondered.

  The temperature outside today had been barely sixty degrees. She suspected that it would be much chillier tonight. So, she put on the lined cloak which matched her dress before she quickly transferred to her evening bag the following items: her wallet and passport, keys, two Swiss army knives of her father’s—one fairly big, the other tiny but lethally sharp—which she always carried and had often found useful, a comb, a tube of lipstick, and a small pack of tissues.

  She took one last look at herself in the mirror before she left her room. Maggie knew that she looked elegant. Her hair was wound into a soft Victorian topknot, with little tendrils down her neck. She would have liked more elegant jewelry, but the two strands of pearls and matching earrings were all that she had packed.

  A look at the clock told her Hunt was waiting for her in the bar downstairs.

  Hunt was sitting in the bar, just as they had arranged. But, he wasn’t alone. Two other gentlemen had joined Hunt. She recognized one as a British politician. The other man was an American, by the sound of his voice, a Texan.

  Both men stood as she approached the table. Hunt rose as well.

  Maggie smiled broadly at her fiancee.

  Hunt made the introductions, and Maggie took a seat at the table. After a few minutes of light conversation, the men excused themselves.

  “What was that about?” Maggie asked.

  “Just three old friends happening to run into one another in a foreign country, Maggie mine. What did you think that it was?” he asked as he escorted her out of the bar.

  “Perhaps business having to do with a certain Uncle of yours?” she replied, seemingly easily.

  Hunt laughed. “I’ve told that relative that I will no longer be handling business affairs for him. I’m going to be a married man. It is time for me to settle down.”

  Maggie smiled broadly. Then the expression became concerned.

  “What’s troubling you, Maggie mine?”

  “Give me some time to work it out, Hunt. I’m not even sure that I can put it into words yet.”

  He smiled gently and nodded. “All right. When you are ready to talk, you’ll know where to find me.”

  “Speaking of finding,” she replied easily. “When are you going to find me some dinner? And where are we going?”

  “I thought that you might enjoy the casino. I know that I feel lucky tonight,” Hunt said.

  Maggie laughed.

  Maggie really didn’t have much of an appetite by the time that they got around to eating dinner at one of the three restaurants in the Casino. Her mind was too full of the implications of her decision to marry Hunt. Frankly, she had been surprised that she had been able to keep her mind on her work, today.

  “Second thoughts?” Hunt asked quietly.

  “No. Fourth, fifth, twentieth, but not second,” she answered.

  Hunt smiled at her. “There will be no going back, after we take those vows, Maggie mine. Be sure that this is what you want.”

  “I do. But, I would be less than sane if I weren’t concerned about marriage. It’s a big step, Hunt. A permanent step.”

  “We are both throw backs to a simpler time, Maggie mine,” he said.

  Maggie smiled and laughed. “Personally, I like the times that we are living in, Hunt.”

  “If you are done with the food, shall we go into the casino for a while, before we drop into the nightclub for the cabaret and dancing later?”

  “I wonder if I’ll be able to concentrate on the games any better than I have been able to on this meal?” Maggie speculated.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “You, as if you didn’t know,” Maggie replied easily.

  “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

  “Hunt . . . .” she said h
esitantly.

  “Maggie?”

  “We’ll talk later . . . .” she replied, with an involuntarily blush. “You aren’t going to just drop me off at the hotel, are you? You will come up to my room, won’t you?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes. Please. We need to talk.”

  Hunt nodded.

  Maggie felt Hunt grow progressively more tense as the evening went on. “What is it?” she asked quietly as they started from the casino into the nightclub.

  “Do me a favor,” Hunt replied tightly. “Never wear that dress in public again.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t like the way that men look at you when you are dressed that way,” he said.

  “Don’t you think that you are being more than a little unreasonable?”

  “Unreasonable?” Hunt asked tightly, keeping his voice low. “Unreasonable? No, I don’t think that I’m being unreasonable. A man likes his wife to be admired, but not too much, by too many.”

  “Let’s not make a scene, Hunt, please? This was supposed to be a fun evening. Instead, you have practically snarled at everyone who has even smiled at me.”

  “Only the men. Margaret, the back of, or rather the lack of a back on, that dress is a walking invitation to assault. There isn’t a man worth the name who sees you in that dress who will not create a fantasy about taking it off of you,” he said harshly.

  Maggie froze in her tracks. She glared at Hunt, her green eyes blazing. “I like this dress. I feel very feminine when I wear it. And I intend to continue to wear it, whenever, and wherever, I want to,” she said quietly, with far too much control in her voice.

  Hunt took her by the arm and steered her back towards the entryway to the casino. “We can’t fight here. Let’s go.”

  Retrieving his coat and her cloak from the checkroom, they awaited in silence for Carlos to bring the car around.

  In part of Maggie’s mind, it registered that they were about to have their first real fight. The rational part of her warned her that if she wasn’t careful, this could also be their last fight.

  Once in the car, and traveling back towards Madrid, Maggie asked tightly, “Just what gives you the right to tell me how to dress?”

  “The fact that you have agreed to be my wife, for starters,” Hunt replied sharply.

  “Wife, not property,” Maggie replied equally sharply.

  “Margaret. ”

  “Don’t ‘Margaret’ me, Hunter. There is absolutely nothing indecent about this dress. I am showing much less skin than most of the other women in the casino were.”

  Hunt glared at her. “I don’t care about the other women in the casino. I just don’t want other men to be looking at you with lust and speculation in their eyes.”

  “You’re imagining things, Hunt,” she said quietly.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “So, what do you want, Hunt? That I should adopt the Arabic chaddor and cover myself from head to toe whenever I go out in public?” she demanded.

  “That would be a start,” he replied quietly, with a laugh.

  Maggie joined in the laughter. “I do love you, Hunt.”

  He kissed her lightly, tenderly, then retreated before the passion could flare completely out of control. “That was a down payment on the rest of the evening,” he whispered into her ear. “The first time that I saw you in that dress, I wanted to take it off of you, slowly.”

  Hunt stroked her face. She turned her face into his hand and nuzzled his palm. Slowly, he raised her chin. Then his lips covered hers. He kissed her lightly several times, whispering endearments to her between kisses.

  “I love you, Hunt,” Maggie said.

  A rear tire blew out on the car before he could reply.

  ‘Carlos’ expertly maneuvered the vehicle over to the side of the road before getting out of the car. Hunt and Maggie also removed themselves from the car. That was when they realized that ‘Carlos’ was not Carlos.

  The driver held a 9mm Luger automatic on them as an old panel van pulled up. In rapid Spanish, they were ordered to get into the van.

  Another car pulled up behind the van. Two big men whom Maggie identified as her bodyguards got out, guns drawn. The rear doors of the van were flung open.

  Hunt pulled Maggie down to the ground. “Stay down, Maggie.”

  There was a burst of suppressed fire. There was the sound of breaking glass blending with pain-filled screams.

  A car ran off the highway after a burst of automatic weapons fire.

  Then, as suddenly as they were opened, the rear doors to the van were pulled closed with a thud.

  “On your feet, both of you,” the fake Carlos ordered in English.

  Hunt and Maggie were pulled into the van. The side door was pulled shut and the van sped away with the squeal of tires.

  The four armed men in the cargo compartment of the vehicle all wore ski masks. Two were armed with Uzis equipped with the noise suppressors that were commonly called silencers. The other two were armed with AK-47s with similar retrofit to lower the volume of the report. There was a curtain separating the cargo compartment from the driver’s compartment of the van.

  There was no doubt in Maggie’s mind that these men meant business. There was also no doubt in her mind, that even with Hunt’s and her own proficiency in judo, that they could not disarm the men without one or the other of them, probably both of them, being hurt or killed. While each of them were willing to take that risk for themselves, neither of them were willing to risk the other.

  “What do you want?” Hunt demanded in fluid Spanish.

  “Justice. Freedom,” the biggest of the men stated in heavily accented English. “Life for my people.”

  “And how is kidnapping us going to advance your cause?” Hunt asked in Spanish.

  The man smiled. Or at least, Maggie thought that he had smiled from the way the knitted fabric of the ski mask shifted. “Ah, Mr. Thomas, we don’t want you. We only want the woman. You are a bonus.”

  “I’m no one special,” Maggie told them in rapid Spanish.

  The leader of the group laughed. “No one special,” he denied mendaciously, sliding back into heavily, too heavily, accented English. “Just the woman in charge of a multibillion dollar a year American drug company operating in Europe, the fiancee of a wealthy American businessman, the daughter of an American General, the sister of a high ranking American military intelligence officer, and the stepdaughter of the next President of the United States. No, I can see that you are no one special.”

  Maggie and Hunt exchanged glances.

  “Don’t even think about it,” the leader of the group stated firmly, his accent slipping slightly.

  One of the other men tossed a roll of three-inch wide, heavy duty, fiber reinforced, strapping tape at Maggie. In rapid Spanish, he instructed her to use the tape to bind Hunt’s feet and hands.

  Hunt nodded when Maggie looked at him questioningly. His look told her not to argue with them, that there would come a time for fighting but that now was not it.

  Reluctantly, Maggie complied with her captors’ request.

  She fished her knives out of her purse, allowing the men to see only the big knife. She used the larger knife to cut the tape after binding Hunt’s wrists behind his back. Then she tucked the small knife up Hunt’s sleeve.

  Once she had bound Hunt, one of the men came over and took the tape from her. “It is your turn, Senorita,” he told her.

  But, they only bound her hands behind her.

  “If our demands are not met,” the leader said, “Miss O’Shay will not live to see her stepfather’s election this November.”

  The leader took a 10 by 13 envelope and shoved it between Hunt’s shirt and his trousers. “These are our demands. If you don’t survive, they will still be made known when they are found on your body. Remember that,” the man said in Spanish.

  Hunt nodded tightly, all the while giving the leader a fierce look. “I’ll remember.” His words w
ere more of a threat than a promise.

  The van screeched to a halt. The side door was opened and Hunt was turned around and struck on the back of the head with the butt of one of the men’s rifles. He fell, landing partially out of the vehicle. Two of the men picked up his legs and pushed him the rest of the way out of the door and onto the pavement. The muffled thud of one of the guns firing added to the horror.

  Before Maggie could stop screaming, the van’s door had been closed and the vehicle sped on through the night.

  Chapter 9

  When Hunt awoke, his first sensation was that of pain. The second was that he was in a place that smelled of disinfectants. The third was that he was not alone.

  “Maggie?” he asked quietly not opening his eyes.

  “No, Hunt,” Michael’s voice said. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “They took Maggie,” Hunt said tightly as he opened his eyes. The light in the room was almost blinding. Hunt closed his eyes against the light. His head hurt to the point of making him ill.

  “Who are ‘they’?” Michael demanded.

  “I wish that I knew,” Hunt stated coldly. “I wish that I really knew. I’ve a score or two to settle with them.”

  “Senor Tomas,” another voice said in accented English, “I am Ramon de Santiago. This is a very grave situation, Senor. We need your assistance.”

  “We’ve got to get Maggie back safely,” Hunt said as strongly as he could as he tried to sit up, only to relapse into the pillows.

  “Take it easy, Hunter. You’ve got a concussion, and some bruises. You were very lucky,” John said lowly. “What did they hit you with, anyway, a four by four?”

  “The butt of an Uzi, I think,” Hunt said wearily. “But it might have been an AK-47. The men were armed with both. And they were only too willing to use both of them.”

  There was silence in the room for a moment.

  Hunt opened his eyes.

  He saw the button on the bed that would make the head of the bed raise. He pressed it. Pain shot through his head but he continued until he was sitting up. A wave of nausea passed over him.