Fever Dreams

by Laura Resnick

  The tears clouding in her eyes stopped him. Cold.

  He couldn't even breathe. “Maddie?” His voice sounded strangled.

  She swallowed. Looked away. Looked back. “Go. Please, go.”

  “I—”

  “Go!”

  No command in her voice now. No icy authority. Just panic. And something else, too. Fear.

  Of him?

  “Go...” she breathed harshly.

  Feeling as if she'd just gutted him, he turned and went.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ransom realized the moment he saw Madeleine the next morning that she was going to be her most Madeleinesque today. Her silk dress and little matching jacket were pale blue, so pale that she looked like she was encased in polar ice. Her facial expression was so cool it could have frozen water. She couldn't have been more distant if she'd been on the moon. And her unfailing, unruffled courtesy got on his nerves within twenty minutes. God, the woman could be aggravating when she put her mind to it!

  He got the message, all right. Hands off. It couldn't have been any clearer if she had written it across her perfect, uncreased forehead in fire-engine-red lipstick; not that he supposed Madeleine would be caught dead owning such a vulgar color.

  He'd spent half the fucking night (or, rather, the non-fucking night) worrying about her. What was she afraid of? Was she afraid of him? Had he upset her with that sudden, unforeseen burst of desire? Was she afraid of being unfaithful to Preston? Afraid of incurring Ransom's contempt if they slept together again?

  He'd spent the other half of the night castigating himself. He knew now that she'd been tired, depressed, and unaccustomedly tipsy the night he'd met her. Defenses down. Judgement impaired. In need of company and comfort. In need of things she normally didn't acknowledge, he figured, and vulnerable to emotions she normally kept locked away and hidden.

  Okay, so she shouldn't have skipped out on him like that. But hadn't he overreacted, at least a little? He winced with shame when he thought of the things he'd said to her in her office a couple of days ago. He'd never spoken to a woman like that before, whatever the provocation. Hell, who could blame her for being afraid to sleep with him again after that? Who knew what insults she was afraid he would let fly the morning after? Sex needed a little trust, and why should she ever trust him again?

  Well, that kind of thinking made sense at four o'clock in the morning. But now, sitting in an elegant conference room in a Montedoran bank, grouchy from a sleepless night and buzzed from too many cups of coffee, Ransom glared at Madeleine's back and called himself a soft-headed chump. He'd been willing to trust her again last night, hadn't he?

  “No,” Madeleine said calmly to one of the three bankers meeting with her in this high-ceilinged, air-conditioned, paneled room. “That's not what I've calculated, based on the interest rates you quoted me.”

  Ransom saw the three men exchange a glance. One of them left the room while the other two smiled charmingly at Madeleine. The oldest banker leaned forward and suggested they go over it again. Ransom almost sneered at him. After what Madeleine had said last night, it was pretty easy to see now that these men had looked at her pretty blonde hair and her gorgeous legs and her long-lashed eyes and had thought they could hoodwink her and get some extra profit on this deal, if the ranch sold. She'd eat them for lunch if they weren't careful.

  No, not Madeleine, he realized. She was much too subtle for that. She had her own methods, equally effective, and the younger banker was starting to sweat in the cool room. Ransom grinned wolfishly at him.

  “Yes,” Madeleine said. “Let's go over it again.”

  Okay, okay, Ransom was honest enough to admit that having a sudden and entirely unexpected erection probably impaired his judgement as much as a few drinks impaired Madeleine's. Maybe trust wasn't precisely what he'd been feeling when he reached for her last night. Still, she hadn't been immune to him. He knew how she looked when she was aroused, and he'd seen the signs just a split second before she'd panicked.

  “My lawyers will confirm that,” Madeleine said. She glanced at her watch. “In fact, we'd better wrap this up soon, gentlemen.”

  Ransom stifled a yawn. They'd been here for three hours. They were due to meet Madeleine's lawyers for an elaborate luncheon around noon. Then, ignoring the traditional siesta (much to Ransom's regret), Madeleine and her lawyers would work through the afternoon and well into the evening. Ransom would continue to watch over Madeleine, and everyone else would continue glancing nervously at him. It promised to be an excruciatingly dull day.

  He'd been right yesterday. He should keep his mind on business. He'd lost his head over this woman again, and look at the results: he was sleepy, a little slow, and not very sharp-witted today. If anything went wrong, he'd be lucky not to get his fool head blown off.

  And it was all Madeleine's fault, he fumed with more fury than fairness. Damn her. Why couldn't she just be like any other woman?

  * * * *

  Facts and figures blurred before Madeleine's eyes by the time they wrapped things up at her lawyers’ offices. It had been a tedious day, the only comic relief being the wary looks everyone kept casting at her casually dressed bodyguard.

  Well, he did look pretty ferocious today, she acknowledged. One might almost think he had been born with that scowl on his face. Madeleine knew better than to tell him to snap out of it. Ransom's mood would improve when Ransom decided he wanted it to improve, and not before. Besides, it was easier to deal with him this way. When he felt charming or kind or philosophical, it was too hard to keep her distance. She didn't know why that was, but she had recognized the truth of it and realized that she must be more careful from now on.

  My God, last night she had been moments away from tumbling into bed with him again! His touch, his soft apology, his tenderness, the sudden blaze of desire in his eyes ... She'd wanted him enough to be willing to throw her whole life away for another night in his arms.

  And then all the remembered shame and embarrassment and fear of exposure had flooded her, and she'd practically crawled across the room to get away from him. As contemptuous as he had been of her in New York, how could she even consider abandoning herself like that with him again? Would he wait until she begged, until she was nearly weeping with pleasure, and then comment that even a Barrington woman wanted a guy with a hard-on? Madeleine shuddered. Would she start worrying all over again that he would reveal what kind of carnal, voracious woman she became when she was alone with him? Would he tell another woman, as he'd told her, that he “got laid” last night? And what about other women? Who was the woman he'd slept with on his last night in New York? Another one-night stand, or a regular girlfriend? Good God—did he have a wife? Madeleine realized she really knew nothing about Ransom.

  She absently exchanged farewells with her Montedoran lawyers and turned to leave their offices. Ignoring the other men, Ransom rose with predatory grace to precede her, his jacket flashing open to reveal his gun; it had been returned to him upon leaving the Palace this morning. Madeleine eyed the plain ring he wore as he opened a door and escorted her out onto the street. It could be a wedding ring, she supposed, but that didn't mean it was. For one thing, wedding rings were usually worn on the left hand, and this ring was on his right hand. Besides, why would—

  “Dammit,” Ransom said, startling her.

  “What?”

  He looked at her with some exasperation. “Notice anything?”

  She frowned at the sarcasm in his voice. Then she realized the problem. “Miguel's not here with the car yet.”

  Ransom glanced at his watch. “He's late.” He scowled again and added irritably, “He mentioned something about taking Senora Veracruz on a ‘shopping trip.'”

  His tone made it clear that he didn't believe for a moment that Miguel and the First Lady of Montedora were actually shopping this evening. Remembering what he had said about Miguel's probable involvement with the woman, she asked, “Will he be long?”

  “Could be,”
he said morosely.

  It was dark, humid, and still hot. The noisy street was crowded with cars and people. A few electric signs blazed in the night.

  “Then let's get something to drink across the street,” Madeleine suggested, pointing to a fashionable cafe. “We can keep an eye out for him from there.”

  Ransom nodded and took her elbow, guiding her across the street. Traffic in Montedora City was a free-for-all, and pedestrians were fair game. She had to dash to the sidewalk when a noisy motorbike bearing two people roared right past her heels, nearly knocking her down.

  When they entered the cafe, Ransom asked for a table by the window. Madeleine noticed other women looking at him as they were shown to their table. Sensual, smiling women. Women who hadn't spent all day closed up in meetings, pouring over facts, figures, and indecipherable real estate laws. Women who didn't spend their lives and their energy trying to prove their capability in a man's world. As she walked past the small, wealthy, and fashionable elite of Montedora City, she recognized that the elaborate dresses and lush hairstyles of the women indicated that they had their own way of getting what they wanted. After a day like this, their age-old methods suddenly seemed enviably easy.

  “Buck up,” Ransom said, startling her. “You knocked their socks off today. I was watching.”

  She laughed ruefully, set down her briefcase, and took her place by the window. “How did you know I was—”

  “Brooding? I've seen you brood before. You brood like a silent film star.”

  “Oh. Well. As long as I'm not obvious.”

  “You were tough today. I was...” He changed whatever he had intended to say and concluded, “I was impressed.”

  She sighed. “Thank you, Ransom. I just hope it all pays off.”

  “Hungry?” When she shook her head, he asked, “What do you want to drink?”

  “A vodka tonic, if they've got good vodka here.”

  “I have a feeling they do,” said Ransom, looking around at the clientele.

  The cafe, like the law offices, was located in the small, central area that hosted the city's rare display of wealth. The Hotel Tigre wasn't very far away. There used to be a better hotel just around the corner from here, but it had been destroyed by fire three years ago.

  “What's wrong?” Madeleine asked, noticing Ransom frowning at something outside the window.

  “A motorbike just went past.”

  “And?”

  “It's the same one that nearly knocked us down five minutes ago.”

  She didn't understand. “So?”

  “So I wonder why it's circling the block.”

  “Maybe they're lost.”

  “Maybe.”

  She wasn't interested in that. She was interested in getting something to drink. She gave her order to a handsome waiter, then nudged Ransom, who was still looking out the window.

  “Cerveza,” he muttered absently.

  The waiter nodded and left them. Ransom ignored Madeleine while she waited for the drinks to come, only once muttering “third pass” as he watched a motorbike speed past the window. She wondered how he could tell it was the same bike, or why it fascinated him so much. However, having spent all day talking, she was content with the silence. She glanced around the room and noticed a couple of young women watching Ransom. Maybe they hoped his lack of interest in her was a sign that he'd be interested in meeting them.

  He was a man women liked to look at, she knew, having done her own fair share of looking at him. She studied his profile as he gazed out the window. How familiar that profile was becoming—the slightly crooked nose, the full lips and strong jaw, the lock of golden brown hair which fell over his forehead, the faint scar at his temple, a fine white line running into his hair ... She would never get tired of that profile.

  Since the thought was not conducive to her peace of mind, she forced herself to focus on something else. Anything else. She looked around the cafe. To her surprise, she saw one of last night's dinner guests enter the front door.

  “Who's that?”

  “Who?” Ransom asked, following her gaze.

  “Wasn't he at dinner last night?”

  Ransom blinked. “Yeah. That's Martinez, Veracruz's Chief of Staff.”

  “And is that, er, lady at his side Mrs. Martinez?”

  “I'd say that's his new mistress. I guess the old one didn't last very long.”

  “You knew her?” Madeleine asked dubiously.

  “I saw her. Martinez isn't discreet.”

  “Not many men are.”

  “Sexism, Maddie? I thought you were too intelligent for that,” he chided.

  She smiled. “Still, th—”

  “Not discreet,” he said suddenly, vaulting out of his chair.

  She almost flinched in surprise. “What—”

  “Shit!”

  He hauled her out of her chair without ceremony and pulled her away from the window.

  “What are you—” she began, confused and alarmed.

  “Let's get out of here! But first let's warn that horny idiot that—”

  “Ransom!” She lost a shoe in her haste to keep up with him as he virtually raced across the cafe.

  “Mr. Martinez!” Ransom barreled straight into the man, dragging Madeleine behind him. “Get the hell out of here! Two assassins are about to make another pass by this place. This time, they'll be signalled that you've arrived. Go!”

  He spoke so quickly and authoritatively that the bewildered man barely raised a protest when Ransom forcibly shoved him through the double doors leading into the kitchen and shouted something at the bemused cooks. Ransom turned around and shouted something else in broken Spanish. Madeleine didn't entirely understand, but she caught the gist of it. Something about assassins coming here right now, everyone leave.

  After a decade of civil unrest and violence, the Montedorans reacted quickly to Ransom's announcement. Madeleine thought she'd be trampled in the sudden shrieking stampede for the door, but Ransom turned and dragged her into the kitchen, still shouting in a mixture of English and bad Spanish.

  Madeleine was as bewildered as she was frightened. The shrieking and chaos around her seemed surreal as the staff escaped from the kitchen by way of a back door. One fat old man, apparently the head chef, didn't want to leave. He glared at Ransom and argued with him in rapid Spanish, pointing at something he was cooking. The situation was so absurd that Madeleine wanted to laugh. Then Ransom pulled his gun out of its holster and pointed it right at the man. Madeleine gasped. The chef's eyes bulged. He followed Ransom's instructions and finally left his creation behind, but he complained all the way to the back door.

  “Jesus, I hate perfectionists!” Ransom growled, following the man and roughly hauling Madeleine behind him.

  “I'm a perfectionist,” she muttered, stumbling again and losing her remaining shoe.

  “I know. It's one of the things I find most aggravating about you.” They emerged from the building and found themselves in a back alley.

  “But what are you—”

  Her question was cut off by an explosion that shook the earth beneath her stocking feet and seemed to split her skull wide open with its reverberations. Ransom flung her to the ground and threw himself on top of her. They waited, but nothing more happened.

  When Ransom rolled off of her, Madeleine demanded, “What was that?”

  “A bomb,” he said, helping her rise. “They must have thrown it through the window, where we were sitting.”

  “Oh, my God!” she gasped, horrified. “We'd have all been ... been killed.” She started shaking.

  His voice was firm and urgent. “I want you to—”

  “Mr. Ransom!” someone cried.

  Ransom turned and saw Martinez and his wailing mistress emerge from a huge pile of rubbish in the alley. “Stay there!”

  The couple obediently burrowed back into their hiding place.

  “Ransom!” Madeleine grabbed his shoulder as he turned to go. “What are—”

/>   “You stay here, too. Behind those barrels.”

  “But—”

  “Do it!” He shoved her behind two large barrels, then ran through the alley and turned into the street. Madeleine didn't even think. She just followed him. They'd already nearly been killed once today. She wasn't going to let him risk his life a second time. She stumbled into the darkened street on shaking legs and saw him running toward the street corner. She ran after him.

  The motorbike came around the corner and sped down the street toward them, the riders anonymous in their helmets. Madeleine saw Ransom stop and bring his gun up to fire. Still running, she saw the bikers ride into a pool of light cast by the only streetlamp. One of the riders raised his gun and pointed it at Ransom.

  “No!” she screamed.

  Ransom glanced over his shoulder and saw her.

  The next thing she knew, she was lying face down on the street, with Ransom's knee planted in the small of her back and his gun firing directly over her head. Hot metal bullet casings kept flying out of his gun and hitting her. Her cheek scraped against rough pavement. Ransom's weight pressed relentlessly on her vital organs. She couldn't breathe. There was a roaring sound that rivaled the explosions directly overhead. The roaring faded, and then the explosions stopped. Her ears rang, but she could still hear the hysterical crowd in the distance and Ransom's harsh breathing directly above her. He was cursing viciously.

  He mercifully removed his knee from her back, but the hands that hauled her to her feet were not gentle.

  “God damn you, Maddie! You could have been killed!” He shook her very hard, his fingers bruising her arms, and shouted, “Are you out of your fucking mind? You could have been killed, damn you!”

  Breathless, dizzy, frightened, furious, and in pain, she hauled off and hit him. As hard as she could. A solid, open-handed smack right across his face. In a tone she had never before used, she cried, “So could you, you idiot! How dare you risk your life like that! How dare you scare me like that! How could you ... Don't you ... I...”

  Her voice broke. Her heartbeat thundered through her ears. Blood raced through her shaking limbs. The imprint of her palm stood out whitely on his flushed cheek. She felt a tear trickle down her face.