Fever Dreams

by Laura Resnick

  They stared at each other in shocked silence for a moment. Then, without knowing quite how it had happened, she was in his arms, kissing him back as ruthlessly as he kissed her. His lips ground against hers, hurting her, and she pressed harder against him, wanting more, wanting to know he was really, truly alive and well and whole.

  He broke off the kiss and buried his face in the hollow of her neck, hugging her with rib-bruising ferocity. She pressed her face against the warm, damp skin of his throat and dug her fingers into his back.

  He said, “If you ever do anything like that again, I'll shoot you myself, do you hear?” His voice was a husky growl.

  “Then you'll just have to shoot,” she said fiercely, still angry at him. “Did you think their bullets would just bounce off of you?”

  “Do you have any idea of the odds against his hitting me while he was riding a bike, for God's sake?” He sounded seriously annoyed with her. “Especially on a street full of garbage and pot holes? And in the dark, no less? He couldn't h—”

  “I don't care about your bloody odds,” she snapped. “You could have been killed!”

  He pulled away and started shaking her again. “Damn it, Maddie, I nearly had a heart attack when I saw you running toward me. Why didn't you stay where I put you?”

  She wanted to hit him again, but she restrained herself. “Why didn't you stay with me?”

  “Because I wanted to bring them in. Whoever they are, they just nearly killed dozens of people.”

  “The cafe!” she blurted. “People might be hurt!”

  She pushed past him. His hand clamped down on her arm.

  “I'll go first,” he said. “I am supposed to be protecting you.”

  “Oh, who cares about that now?”

  “I care!”

  “Pull yourself together, Ransom! This is serious!”

  He laughed. He actually laughed. “Okay, okay. We'll go together.”

  By the time they reached the scene of the explosion, two local traffic police had already called for back-up assistance and started pushing back the gaping crowd. A fire truck arrived then, but whatever part of the cafe hadn't been destroyed in the explosion was already consumed by fire. Madeleine watched the blaze soberly, realizing how close they had all come to dying.

  Using the skills he'd learned in the Secret Service, Ransom tended a young couple who had been wounded while passing by the cafe at the moment of the explosion. Miraculously, they seemed to be the only severe casualties, and they would survive if they got competent medical care. Luckily, they looked wealthy enough to get it.

  He wasn't surprised when Madeleine assisted him, competently following his instructions, never flinching as she helped him deal with the two victims, one of whom was in considerable pain. Her voice soothed the woman, whose hand she held until an ambulance finally arrived. Madeleine had obviously lost her head for a few moments back there, but she was focused and in control now. Ransom was learning to appreciate both sides of her.

  Madeleine was meanwhile learning to appreciate the differences between a wealthy country and a poor one. Public services here were poorly equipped, sparsely staffed, and inefficient. Thank God no more than two people had been seriously hurt, and that the cafe stood apart from the buildings on either side of it. And thank God for Ransom, too. Without him, they'd all have been dead. But, as he labored over the injured couple, he had no time to claim the mantle of a hero.

  Things got pretty confusing after the wounded couple was taken away by the ambulance. A dozen people with minor injuries had already removed themselves from the scene, but most remained to answer questions from soldiers, police, and journalists. A huge crowd had also gathered to watch the proceedings. Having apparently sent his mistress home by herself, a smelly and smeared Senor Martinez found Ransom in the crowd just as a black limousine pulled into the center of the scene. The spectators watched with fascination as General Escalante himself emerged from the dark car, accompanied by three Seguridores.

  “Ah. Mr. Ransom,” Escalante said, upon being shown the individual who could best explain what had happened here this evening. The general's tone dripped with dislike.

  “Hi, General. And here I was afraid we wouldn't have another chance to get together.”

  Seeing the snake-like expression in Escalante's eyes, Madeleine was tempted to elbow Ransom sharply in the ribs. It was stupid to bait the man. But she understood Ransom's behavior. In the aftermath of terror and near-death, the hormones kicking into her bloodstream made her feel heady and reckless.

  Martinez broke the tension by crying, “This man saved my life! He saved me!” He then took Ransom's hand and kissed it.

  Madeleine laughed out loud at the expression on Ransom's face. Everyone looked disapprovingly at her. Ransom's irritated glance suggested he'd get even with her later.

  Having already told the story to the police twice, Ransom was in no mood to repeat himself for Escalante's benefit, so he kept it brief and ended by saying, “When I saw Senor Martinez enter the cafe, it just clicked, and I knew those guys on the bike were planning a hit.”

  “And you claim you had no inside information?” Escalante's tone implied a wealth of unpleasant suspicions.

  “'Claim?’ Are you suggesting I'm in contact with rebels, or with terrorists?” Ransom challenged.

  “You've evidently made yourself a hero today,” Escalate said with bland cynicism. “Yet I find it very surprising that you leapt to such an extraordinary conclusion, based on so little evidence, and even more surprising that you proved to be correct.”

  “It's only surprising if you're a badly-trained, half-witted, over-decorated, under-qualified asshole with delusions of grandeur,” Ransom replied.

  Escalante kept his face expressionless, but his complexion darkened several shades. “Your insolence does not improve your situation,” he warned in a rigidly controlled voice.

  “And your incompetence does not improve yours,” Ransom shot back.

  Madeleine winced and decided it was time to take charge. “Mr. Ransom is overwrought, General, and I beg you to excuse him.”

  Ransom glared at her. “Don't you—”

  “I might have been killed, you see, and he takes his responsibilities toward me very seriously,” she continued, giving Ransom a warning glare of her own. “Indeed, it is undoubtedly his alert mentality when on duty, combined with his many years of service to the President of the United States of America, which enabled him to instinctively suspect danger.”

  “Of course!” Martinez agreed jovially. He eyed Escalante uneasily and added, “We would almost certainly all be dead if not for Mr. Ransom. Por favor, Carlos...”

  “I'm sure President Veracruz will be pleased to learn that his faith in Mr. Ransom has not been misplaced,” Madeleine added.

  “And yet you let the terrorists escape you,” Escalante mused, clearly trying to goad Ransom again.

  “He did no such thing,” Madeleine replied coolly, stepping on Ransom's foot. She wished she were wearing football cleats instead of torn stockings. “I myself saw him risk his life in an attempt to prevent their escape, General.” She briefly described the scene, carefully omitting any mention of her emotional state. Let Escalante think she was merely a silly woman who hadn't done as she was told.

  “And where is this gun?” Escalante asked.

  Ransom produced the Glock semi-automatic from his holster, already reloaded.

  Escalante examined it. “I will have to confiscate this as evidence.”

  “No way,” Ransom said. “I need it to protect Miss Barrington.”

  “Your needs are not paramount here.”

  “But the authority of President Veracruz is always paramount in Montedora, isn't it?” Ransom reached into his back pocket and produced a document. “Signed by El Presidente himself.”

  Escalante took the letter and read it. He then handed it back to Ransom with narrowed eyes and compressed lips. “Very cleverly worded, Mr. Ransom. My compliments.”

&n
bsp; “Can we go now?”

  “No. I may have more questions for you after examining the scene. You will be required to wait here for a little longer. You, too,” he added to Martinez.

  “But surely we can find a place for the lady to sit down,” Martinez said.

  Escalante's gaze swept Madeleine. His expression indicated that she looked like a bag lady. With a curt nod, he suggested they wait in his car. That wouldn't have been Madeleine's first choice, but the stone-faced Seguridore who turned and opened the limousine door for her looked quite capable of forcing her to get into the empty car if she balked.

  “Handy,” Ransom commented after the Seguridore closed the door on the three of them, shutting them inside. He sat across from her in the spacious passenger area, while Martinez sat to her right. “He can keep us away from journalists this way, too.”

  “Why does he dislike you so much?” Madeleine asked, examining her ruined stockings.

  Ransom seemed to notice her appearance for the first time. “Jesus! Are you all right?” He reached down and pulled her feet up into his lap. “You're cut and all beat up.”

  “Were you horrible to him last time you were in Montedora?”

  “Where the hell are your shoes?”

  “Did you try to seduce his daughter or something?”

  “And your knees are all scraped,” he remarked, massaging her calves. Studying the rest of her, he added, “And you're filthy. You look awful.”

  “Or did you insult his wife?”

  “How did you get in this condition?”

  His head bobbing back and forth, Martinez finally held up a hand and declared, “Enough of this! Do you always speak this way to each other?”

  “Usually,” Ransom admitted, examining Madeleine's feet. “You should soak these as soon as we get back.”

  “Then why have you not yet killed each other?” Martinez asked in wonder.

  “My shoes fell off when you dragged me through the building. And I got those other abrasions when you threw me down on the street,” Madeleine said.

  “Escalante didn't like Veracruz calling in outside help,” Ransom explained, stroking her feet soothingly. “He was hostile to me from the beginning, but things got really bad after I recommended that Veracruz not let anyone, including the Seguridores, carry a gun at the Presidential Palace. And that included Escalante.”

  “Ah, yes!” Martinez said. “I remember now. Didn't he have you arrested?”

  “You were arrested? You never mentioned that. Ouch!”

  “Sorry. When Escalante realized that Veracruz intended to follow all my instructions, he tried to convince me to change my recommendation. When threats and bribes didn't work, he tried a little old fashioned coercion. Had me roughed up and thrown in jail.”

  “How could he do that?”

  “Escalante can do almost anything he wants. Luckily, Veracruz found out about it and got me out after a day. They both decided to treat the incident like a practical joke.”

  “Oh, Ransom! You should never have come back here!”

  “I had my reasons,” he said laconically. “Does Escalante keep any booze in here?”

  “Yes, I could use a drink, too,” Martinez said, investigating the small liquor cabinet.

  “No, for her feet,” Ransom said, taking a bottle away from Martinez. “We should disinfect these cuts.”

  “With French cognac?” Martinez sounded appalled.

  “You can have some when I'm done,” Ransom assured him. “Give me your handkerchief.”

  “But ... but it's a Ralph Lauren!” Martinez clasped a protective hand over his front pocket.

  “Never mind,” Madeleine said. “I've got one here.” She opened the small, flat purse she wore slung across her body. Her money and personal documents were inside ... The realization hit her at that instant: “My briefcase!”

  “What?”

  “Oh, no.” She cradled her head in her hands. “My briefcase. I left it in the cafe.”

  “What was in there?” Ransom asked, taking her handkerchief.

  “Copies of everything we worked on today. All my notes.”

  “Anything else?”

  She thought it over. “Nothing very important, I guess.”

  “Can that stuff be replaced?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” She sighed. “I'll call the lawyers and the bankers in the morning. At least I didn't lose anything until after meeting with them.”

  “Take off your stockings,” Ransom ordered.

  “What?”

  He gestured with the handkerchief and the cognac he held. “Take off your stockings. And you, Martinez—close your eyes.”

  “This is hardly the time—” Madeleine began.

  “Who the hell knows what kind of stuff is on those streets? Do you have any idea how well germs thrive in this climate?”

  “With all respect, Miss Barrington,” Martinez said gently, “Mr. Ransom is right. A hot, damp climate like this breeds bacteria very quickly. You don't want to leave those cuts unattended.”

  “Oh, all right,” Madeleine said, still brooding over the loss of her briefcase. “Well, at least I've got my passport and money.”

  “And your life,” Martinez added. “To think those assassins were after me! Me!”

  Ransom poured a generous amount of cognac onto Madeleine's handkerchief, then handed the rest of the bottle to Martinez. “Here,” he said with a touch of sympathy. “Have a drink. And close your eyes.”

  Martinez accepted the bottle gratefully, closed his eyes, and took a long, long swallow of Escalante's expensive cognac.

  Madeleine reached under the hem of her dress, unhooked her garters, and rolled down her stockings. Ransom peeled them off her feet and dropped them on the floor.

  “This'll sting,” he warned.

  “Go ahead.”

  He smiled at her imperious tone. “Yes, milady.”

  He was right. It stung. She bit her lip as he applied the alcohol to the cuts and scrapes on her feet, knees, and elbows. When he was done, he offered her a swig of the cognac. She accepted, then passed the bottle to him. He swallowed a mouthful, then handed it back to Martinez, who drank some more.

  “I tell you, I never thought things would deteriorate so,” Martinez said, handing the bottle to Madeleine.

  “Oh?”

  “I think I shall resign my office and leave the country.”

  “Really?” Madeleine asked. “Are things as bad as that?”

  He nodded. “The whole country is in turmoil. And now Veracruz is planning something dangerous.”

  “What?” Ransom asked, passing the cognac bottle back to him.

  Martinez looked around nervously. After a pregnant pause, he whispered, “He intends to remove Escalante from power.”

  “Are you sure?” Madeleine shook her head when Martinez offered her the bottle again.

  “Of course I am sure! Do you think I am a fool?”

  Madeleine tactfully refrained from answering that.

  “Have another drink,” Ransom suggested to Martinez. “How do you know this?”

  “Know what?”

  “That Veracruz plans to have Escalante de-clawed,” Ransom clarified patiently.

  “Oh, my mistress told me.”

  “How did she know?”

  “Veracruz told her.”

  Madeleine frowned. “Why?”

  Martinez shrugged. “Men are careless in the throes of passion. He let it slip out one afternoon, when they were in bed together.”

  “Oh.” Madeleine briefly wondered if the woman slept with Escalante, too. Then she asked curiously, “Veracruz talks politics in bed?”

  “Not every man is as smooth as I am,” Ransom said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “So Escalante is on his way out?”

  “Only if the plan of Veracruz is successful.” Martinez took another swallow, then leaned forward and whispered confidentially, “But Escalante has ears everywhere.”

  “Still, it would be a smart move for Vera
cruz,” Ransom mused. “Escalante has too much power, and his Seguridores are too dangerous.”

  “Yes,” agreed Martinez. “They are dangerous to everyone.”

  “Could Veracruz do it?” Madeleine asked Ransom.

  He shrugged. “It depends on the plan. And on who helps him.”

  “My health is very delicate,” Martinez moaned. “This is very bad for me.”

  “Who do you think was behind tonight's assassination attempt?” Ransom asked.

  Martinez swallowed more cognac and wiped his mouth with a dirty sleeve. “Who knows? The Doristas? Or perhaps the LPM; they intended to blow up Veracruz in his car, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. Have you received any recent threats?”

  “No. Oh, it is very hard to stay alive when one has so many enemies,” Martinez said mournfully.

  “Yes, I'm sure.”

  “I want to resign. I want to leave the country.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I want to go to Wyoming.”

  “Wyoming?” Madeleine repeated in surprise.

  “They have real cowboys there. And everyone says it is a very quiet place.”

  “He's drunk,” Ransom said unnecessarily.

  “But sincere,” Madeleine added.

  “And how are you?” Ransom asked, his tone changing.

  She met his eyes. “I'm fine. Just a little sore.” She stretched and admitted, “My back hurts.”

  “I'm not going to apologize.”

  “I know.” She glanced at his cheek, where the mark left by her palm had faded. “But I'm sorry I hit you. I've never hit anyone in my life before.”

  He smiled wryly. “I seem to bring out your temper.”

  “I never used to have one,” she muttered.

  “Of course you did. You just never let anyone know it.”

  That struck too close to home, so she changed the subject. “Thank you for saving my life. We'd all be dead now if—”

  “You're lucky you're not dead.” He brushed aside her thanks and admiration to pursue a topic that concerned him more. “Next time I tell you to—”

  “But how could I just—”