Honeymoon Hotel

by Bretton, Barbara

  Maybe --

  "Drop the gun, John!"

  He turned and looked at Maggie.

  She was standing ten feet away from him and she had a pistol aimed at his head.

  "Drop the gun," she repeated in a tone of voice he didn't recognize. She sounded terrified."This isn't a joke. Drop it now before you get hurt."

  "Is this some kind of joke?"

  "It's not a joke." A man stepped out of the darkness. He held a wicked semi-automatic on Maggie. "You want to drop the gun now before things get ugly."

  John stared at Dave, his replacement drummer. "What the hell--?"He dropped the gun.

  Maggie's relief was palpable as her own weapon clattered to the floor at her feet.

  "You two were supposed to be in Bermuda," the man said. "You weren't part of my plan."

  "And you were supposed to be a replacement drummer," John shot back. "Looks like we both got screwed."

  "Sometimes you have to make your own luck," Dave said as Maggie flashed John "shut up" signs with her eyes.

  "Let him go," Maggie said, her voice eerily calm now. 'He isn't involved."

  "Wish I could help you," Dave said, "but we're all in this together now."

  "In what?" John asked. "A takeover of a rundown honeymoon hotel?"

  Dave started to laugh. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

  "That's what it looks like."

  Dave glanced over at Maggie. "He really doesn't know?"

  She shook her head. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. He's not involved in any of this. Let him go and I'll do whatever you say."

  "Wish I could, sweetheart, but I'm afraid we're all in this together now. It's too late to stop."

  Maggie paled visibly and his gut twisted. Too late to stop what? He didn't know Dave from a hole-in-the-wall. He'd showed up as a replacement drummer, recommended to Terry by a friend of a friend of a friend, anonymous and forgettable.

  And now the guy held their lives in his hands.

  He didn't know what the hell was going on but there was one thing he was sure of: Maggie was on the side of the angels.

  He watched as her expression turned steely with resolve and John's adrenaline surged as his mind flashed back to that night in his driveway when she'd unleashed her martial arts skills. He didn't know what she had planned but he had no doubt she wouldn't give up without a fight. He had to be ready, had to do whatever it took to make sure she survived whatever the son-of-a-bitch had in store for them.

  "The Poconos?" He fixed Dave with a mocking look. "Why didn't you storm the Garden last night? The New York press would've put you on page one."

  "John." Maggie sounded a warning. "Let it go."

  "No, I'm not gonna let it go." He was operating on pure instinct. "Doesn't a dying man have the right to know what the hell he's dying for?"

  "Listen to the bitch," Dave snapped, beads of sweat forming along his hairline. "You're--"

  Suddenly Maggie's eyes rolled back in her skull and she dropped to the floor in a boneless heap. Every cell in his body burst into painful, undeniable life. He had one chance to get it right. He hurled himself at the ersatz drummer, his body slamming into the other man with almost seismic force. Dave grunted. The weapon went flying as they careened into the wall with a loud crash. The other guy took most of the impact but John's teeth rattled from the force.

  In an instant Maggie was on her feet with the gun aimed at the guy's head.

  The narrow passageway suddenly filled with operative types, tall men and women in dark suits who handcuffed the drummer then silently spirited him out the way they had come. One, a man with a shock of crazy hair, lingered for a moment to say something to Maggie, who nodded then smiled.

  And then he was gone too, leaving John wondering if dinner on the plane had been laced with hallucinogens.

  He met Maggie's eyes. "What the hell just happened here?"

  "I guess I have a lot of explaining to do," Maggie said, her eyes dancing with a combination of relief and triumph.

  From the other side of the wall he heard the sound of voices and footsteps, the whirr of cameras.

  "It's too late," she whispered, motioning for John to be quiet. "We have to stay put until it's over."

  "Maggie --" She clamped her hand over his mouth.

  "Come with me, John," she whispered, leading him up the catwalk. "There's something I think you should see."

  #

  It wasn't every day you crouched on a catwalk thirty feet in the air, peered through a concealed peephole and watched the four most powerful leaders on earth sign a treaty pledging to make this a safer, saner world.

  He glanced at Maggie crouching next to him, her coppery-blond hair falling across her face.

  It wasn't every day you found out the woman you love could give 007 a run for his money.

  The leaders rose from the table and embraced one another as the room erupted into applause. He still didn't know what the hell they were signing, but from the smile on the president's face it was something pretty damned good.

  "You are on our side," he whispered, still transfixed by the scene below. "Aren't you?"

  "Of course I am," she said, leaning over and kissing the side of his mouth. "Silly question,."

  It was a good thing they were still applauding below because his laughter broke through. "If you think that question is silly, wait until you hear the rest of them, Maggie."

  "No secrets from now on," she said, her voice soft and true. "I promise."

  He took her hand and together they watched history in the making.

  Epilogue

  It was raining when Holland's plane landed at JFK, a dark, hot, miserable rain that suited her just fine.

  In her present mood, Florida's constant sunshine, coupled with Rosie and Bert's connubial bliss, was too out of sync with reality.

  All the way home she'd badgered Joanna mercilessly, but her friend stuck to her story; not even Ryder had known Holland made the trip to Florida.

  If Joanna knew how Alistair had discovered that fact, she wasn't saying. Besides, she was so engrossed in this sudden passion for news that Holland had finally left her to her copies of The New York Times and The Philadelphia Inquirer.

  For a change, luck with her. She found a cab to take her back to Manhattan, and within an hour she was curled up with a cup of coffee and the next day's script.

  Her phone messages had amounted to nothing -- naturally no call from Alistair. But there had been three calls from the florist information her that a dozen red roses were awaiting delivery.

  He even knew when she was coming home. If she wasn't so tired, she'd search her apartment for a hidden camera.

  The TV was on low, and she was taping an interview with a gorgeous female psychologist who was explaining how to live a great life without a man. That from a woman who'd probably never been without a man in her life.

  Suddenly a male voice broke through. "We interrupt this program to bring you a special report."

  Probably another politician caught with his finger in the shredder. So what else was new?

  "We're standing here at the foot of Mount Snow in East Point, Pennsylvania."

  East Point? Wasn't that right around where Maggie Douglass had her inn?

  "History is being made here this afternoon."

  Either she was going crazy, which was a distinct possibility, or that was The White Elephant looming behind Peter Jennings.

  "A major step was taken today toward total nuclear disarmament. In a small country inn tucked away in the Pocono Mounts of Pennsylvania, the leaders from the four superpowers met in secret and --"

  That certainly did look like The White Elephant, but then there must be dozens of quaint country inns up there.

  ". . . the press secretary said the formal signing of the document is going on at this moment, to be followed by a press conference wherein . . ."

  Wait a minute!

  There in the back, right behind a huge barbed wire fence was a man who looked
remarkably like Alistair.

  Clearly she'd had too much sun and too many margaritas this weekend. Alistair Chambers at a Summit Meeting held at his niece's inn.

  Ridiculous.

  "Complete details on this surprise Summit on the evening news."

  She quickly rewound the tape and pressed the play button.

  There was Peter Jennings. There was the barbed wire fence. She got down on her knees directly in front of the screen.

  "My God!" She rocked back on her heels, hands shaking. It was Alistair, wearing the navy-and-grey silk tie she'd bought for him at Bijan three weeks ago.

  She backed the tape up a few inches and froze it again. As if Alistair weren't a big enough surprise, there was Ryder O'Neal lurking behind him. That shock of wild hair was a dead giveaway.

  Holland didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she did both.

  He wasn't a gunrunner or a smuggler or a financier with a string of fast horses and faster women.

  He wasn't married or gay or crazy.

  She still didn't know what exactly he was but she knew what he wasn't, and at the moment that was enough.

  She'd forgive him a weekend with Maggie Thatcher any day.

  And she intended to tell him so in person.

  #

  The Summit Meeting was over.

  Beyond the window of his temporary office at The White Elephant, the last of the shiny black limousines disappeared en route to the airport, and Alistair breathed easy for the first time in months.

  The disarmament treaty had far exceeded expectations, and a sense of cautious euphoria had everyone smiling.

  Maggie was still berating herself for not sharing her concerns about Dave Beneker (formerly Gregory Spenser) with Alistair but ultimately no harm done. Beneker was an ex-PAX operative whose split allegiance had resulted in a painful parting of the ways not long after Maggie had joined the organization. Beneker's need for revenge had grown over the years as his hatred of democracy and freedom burned out of control. A series of plastic surgeries, altered fingerprints, and a new identity -- accomplished with the help of like-minded radical types -- had enabled him to ingratiate himself into the music world and ultimately into Honeymoon Haven next door. Had it not been for Maggie and John, the bombs would have been detonated thirty minutes ago and the world would have been plunged into chaos.

  That, of course, was the short version. Beneker had needed help along the way and three current PAX operatives were already being held in isolation, pending further investigation. There were painful times ahead and long hours for those involved, but Alistair would think about that later. Right now he would rather look at his beloved Maggie and her John , as they sat by the window,holding hands.

  The sight of that simple connection between them made him think of Holland.

  His resignation had been drafted, and as soon as Air Force 1 was airborne, he would submit it for approval.

  But he suspected Holland's approval would be harder to come by.

  Straightening his tie, he walked toward his niece and extended his hand. "You did a fine job, Magdalena," he said as she stood up to embrace him. "I am prouder of you than I know how to convey." His voice cracked unexpectedly, and for the first time in many years, he made no attempt to disguise his emotions. "You are more like Sarah than I ever realized."

  Maggie's eyes glistened with tears, and she kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she said softly. "I'll treasure that."

  Tyler sat quietly on the couch, watching them, his eyes intelligent and thoughtful.

  He was a good man, this John Adams Tyler, the kind of man Alistair had always wished his beloved niece would find. His intelligence and sensitivity were balanced by an impetuous, romantic nature that should make the years ahead interesting to watch unfold.

  Alistair started to say something to him when he heard his name.

  "Chambers?" One of his aides popped up at the door. "We have a problem."

  Maggie and John fell silent.

  "Serious?"

  The young man shrugged. "You'd better come with me."

  He followed the young man out of the room with Maggie and John close behind him.

  "Is it a problem with the motorcade?" he asked. "Difficulties at the airport?"

  The young man said nothing. Alistair followed him through the main lobby and outside.

  "Over there by the gate," said the aide, a huge smile breaking across his serious face. "Someone wants to speak with you."

  Alistair turned. The fence was being dismantled. Stacks of wood and wire were piled along the perimeter, and the only section still standing was the gate.

  And that's where she was.

  Framed in the opening stood Holland Masters, surrounded by baskets of long-stemmed red roses.

  Eyes brimming, he made his way toward her.

  "A baker's dozen?" he asked, stopping just inches away from her.

  She met his eyes and nodded. "A baker's dozen."

  "We have a great deal to discuss, Holland."

  She whispered something to low, for his ears alone, and he pulled her into his arms and opened his heart.

  "Yankee ingenuity," he said softly. "Why didn't I think of that?

  #

  Maggie sighed as she watched her uncle and Holland head toward the Rolls-Royce. "I love happy endings."

  John looked down at her. "How do you know there's going to be a happy ending? Holland still doesn't know what he does for a living. How will he explain it the next time he disappears?"

  Maggie snapped her fingers. "Easy as pie," she said. "He's quitting the organization."

  "I'll be damned," John muttered. "Just when I thought I'd be in for some high adventure."

  "Oh, you'll be in for plenty of high adventure, Mr. Tyler," she said with a laugh. "From here on in, The White Elephant is going to give you a real run for your money." The Summit Meeting had ended less than five hours ago, and already reservations were lighting up her switchboard.

  He grinned and tugged at a lock of her hair. "Give it your best shot, Maggie. I love a good fight."

  Maggie swayed on her feet as a wave of bone-crushing fatigue swept over her.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, putting his arm around her for support.

  "Exhausted," she said, leaning against him. How solid he was. How strong and good and true. "It's been quite a day."

  He swept her up into his arms. "I'll take you back inside. You need some sleep."

  He pressed a kiss to her mouth, and suddenly she wasn't quite so tired any longer.

  "They're dismantling everything inside," she said, tilting her head toward The White Elephant. "It's so loud, so --"

  His eyebrows arched. "Don't tell me you want to go back to my place."

  "Don't sound so surprised, Johnny," she said with a soft laugh. "If I'm going to fight you for Pocono supremacy, shouldn't I take another look at what I'm up against?"

  "Think carefully, Maggie. Mirrored ceilings, sunken tubs, roaring fireplaces. You might find yourself compromised."

  She kissed him at the corner of his mouth. "That's what I'm counting on. Now that we're involved --"

  "We're not involved," he interrupted as they headed toward her car.

  Her heart lurched. "We're not?"

  He leaned against the Jeep with Maggie still in his arms. "We're getting married."

  Her breath caught. "Married?"

  "Married."

  Joy blossomed deep inside her heart. "You Brooklyn boys are so pushy."

  He pulled her closer. "Tell me you love me."

  So she did exactly that and they went back to Hideaway Haven to make a little history of their own.

  ~~End of HONEYMOON HOTEL~~

  A note from the author about Playing for Time

  The world was a very different place when I sat down to write the PAX series of books We weren't on the internet. We didn't walk around with iPods and smartphones and GPS devices that can pinpoint an anthill on the other side of the world. The Soviet Union was our biggest
international worry and global terrorism had just begun to register as a genuine threat.

  When I re-read Playing for Time, I was trying to decide whether or not I should update the story to fit today's world. However, it didn't take me long to decide against it. Some of the references will be new to younger readers. Some of the references will bring a smile to the faces of older readers. Some of the references will remind you of just how innocent we were in those pre-9/11 days.

  I think the story stands on its own. Ryder and Joanna would work just as well in today's world but you know the old saying: "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." They are happiest in the time and place where I first found them and I hope you'll read Playing for Time and agree.

  Happy reading!

  Falling in love was easy

  Staying alive? That's a whole other story . . .

  Ryder is an undercover operative for PAX, a worldwide antiterrorist agency that flies beneath the radar

  Joanna is a Hollywood makeup artist whose magic turns fantasy into reality on a daily basis

  He's a spy looking to come in from the cold

  She's a woman who's never had a real home

  Sizzling passion . . . heart-stopping danger . . . the ultimate choice . . .

  #

  PLAYING FOR TIME

  The PAX Series - Book 1

  Chapter One

  Ryder O'Neal swore as he rearranged his right leg on top of the mahogany table in front of his couch. The cast was heavy and hot and it itched like hell, and after six weeks of imprisonment, Ryder was at the end of his rope.