Darkness before the Dawn (18 page)

Something finally snapped. She hurled the coffee at him, screaming at him, rage and despair sweeping over her, washing away the self-control she’d always clung to. A red haze formed in front of her eyes, and she could hear the screaming voice in the back of her brain, knew it was her own but was powerless to stop it. …

Her voice was raw, her body ached, her hands felt swollen, and there were tight, crushing bands around her body. She opened her eyes, panting, and found that the tight bands were Randall’s arms, holding her. The screaming had stopped at last, and a deep, shuddering sigh left her.

In a matter of a few, mad minutes, she had trashed her apartment. The television was a blank screen of fuzz, the VCR
smashed on the carpet. Furniture had been upended, books thrown all over the place, the mirrors and pictures smashed. She looked up at Randall, and there was a welt over his eye where she’d managed to connect. She looked up at him and began to cry.

When she stopped crying, the living room was shadowed in twilight. When she stopped crying, she was lying on the littered floor in Randall’s arms, and his suit was rumpled and tearstained beneath her. When she stopped crying, his hard hands gently pushed the torn shirt off her shoulders, and he began to make love to her.

She was too exhausted, too drained to resist or protest. Besides, it made some crazy sort of sense to lie there in the mess and celebrate the life she’d tried to wish away. They made love in complete silence; his hands stripped the rest of her clothes away, and his mouth covered every inch of her body, soothing the aching flesh, claiming ownership with his lips. When his hands cradled her narrow hips and his mouth found her, she tried for a useless moment to squirm away. But his hands were firm, and all the fight was gone from her. She lay floating, removed, and then suddenly, shockingly, she was there—her body convulsed and her raw, torn voice called his name, pleading, demanding.

And he came to her, filling her with his passion, filling the emptiness inside her body, heart, and soul. He moved tenderly with her, giving her time to grow used to him, gently pushing away any lingering restraints until she was clinging to him, burying her face against his muscled shoulder as he drove deep into her.

This time, when reality returned, it wasn’t such a shock. The wool carpet was itchy beneath her bare back, his weight was holding her trapped without crushing her, and the buzz of the broken television warred with the hum of the air conditioner.
The artificial chill was rapidly drying the sheen of sweat that had covered her body, and she turned her head slightly to look into Randall’s dark eyes.

Whatever she hoped to see, it wasn’t there. Slowly he withdrew, pulling away from her, his face closed and shuttered. And her face matched his as she watched him.

“What time is the plane?” Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

“There are flights leaving almost every hour.”

Maggie nodded, picked up her scattered clothes, and rose gracefully to her feet. “It won’t take me long to get ready.”

He didn’t move. “I’ll pick things up in here.”

“No!” It came out a strangled protest, and it took all her last bit of energy to continue in a smoother voice. “Leave it the way it is. I want to see it like this when I come back from Chicago.”

He looked at her oddly then. Something broke through his reserve, and he started to speak. She waited, but he shut his mouth again and turned away. “Suit yourself.”

They were heading out of the lobby when a figure materialized beside them, coming out of the shadows with stealth that was second nature to him. “Hi there, sweetcakes,” Bud Willis said, his hand connecting with her bottom.

Mack would have broken his arm, Maggie thought. But Mack was dead, gone from her at last, and Randall just watched as Willis made his sleazy moves.

Bud Willis hadn’t changed in all the time she’d known him. Whether he was fighting with rebels in a Central American jungle or sitting behind a desk in Washington, he still had that feral expression in his colorless eyes. His once-short hair was now carefully styled, his suit was almost as good as Randall’s—and at this point, it was in better shape—and his killer’s hands were perfectly manicured. Maggie twisted out of his reach.

“It only needed you to make this day complete,” she snarled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Ask your friend,” Willis offered, and Maggie turned her outraged eyes to Randall.

“He’s giving us a ride to the airport,” he said calmly.

“I’d rather walk.”

“Honeybuns, you wound me,” Willis protested. “After all I’ve done for you?”

“What have you done for me?”

“Why, I sent you Randall, of course. What more could any grieving widow ask? She as good a piece of tail as she used to be, Carter?” he inquired affably. “She’s out of practice, but I’m sure a few hours in the saddle will get her back in shape.”

It took every ounce of her self-control to keep from fighting back. She stared at Willis in mute fury, biding her time.

“Willis, you’re being tiresome,” Randall said quietly. “Did you take care of everything?”

“Admiral Wentworth is being watched. The limousine is waiting.” He made an extravagant gesture toward the door. “And I’ve got another name for you: Caleb McAllister.”

Maggie heard the name with real dread. “What about him?”

“He’s got to be involved in this shit up to his neck,” Willis said. “His tracks are all over the place—the asshole doesn’t have enough sense to cover up anything. We’ll get him anytime we want him. Alicia Stoneham’ll be a harder nut to crack.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Listen, she may be one tough broad but—”

“No, I mean I don’t believe it about Caleb.”

“Believe it. It’s him or your sister, sweetcakes. Take your pick.”

“Someone was trying to frame Kate. Maybe someone’s trying to frame Caleb, too,” Maggie insisted stubbornly.

“Maybe. You making it with him, too? I woulda thought Randall would be enough for you.” He reached out and pinched her arm, pinched the bruises Randall’s hard hands had left. “You like it rough, don’t you? If I’d known, I woulda
made more of an effort. I like a woman who appreciates pain.”

With a seemingly casual gesture, Randall draped a friendly arm around Willis’s narrow shoulders. He smiled a peculiarly sweet smile as Willis’s ferret-face whitened in sudden pain. “Don’t mess with my woman, Willis.”

Willis still managed his skeletal smile as the veins on his forehead stood out. “Your woman, Carter? You’re sounding human like the rest of us. Who would have thought we’d hear the great Randall Carter refer to a piece of ass as ‘my woman.’ ” He grunted. “Shit, man, cut that out!”

“I thought you were a man who appreciated pain,” Randall said gently.

“Not my own, man,” Willis protested. “Tell him to let me go, Maggie.”

Maggie only smiled.

A moment later, Willis was released. “Dammit, man, you don’t need to get so touchy,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “I was just kidding.” The colorless eyes that watched Randall above the smiling mouth were those of a cobra waiting to strike.

“When are you going to move on the admiral?”

“When you give me the word, man,” Willis said. “Not a damned second sooner, I promise. You going to wrap this up tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“You going to help him, sugarbuns? Or are you just going to be waiting with your legs spread?”

Randall reached for him again, but Maggie got in the way. “What do you think, Bud?” she said sweetly.

“Jesus, I don’t know,” he said. “You lie there and pretend he’s that dead Polack?”

Maggie moved closer, pressing her soft breasts up against him as she repressed a shudder of distaste. “No, Willis. I pretend he’s you.” And then she brought her heel down on his instep.

He moved, but not in time. “Ouch, Maggie, there’s no need
to be so sensitive! You’re acting more like a couple of frustrated spinsters than two people who’ve been fucking their brains out. We’re in this thing together—you don’t need to beat up on me.”

“Poor Bud,” Maggie said sweetly. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you and Randall take the limo to the airport, and I’ll get a taxi?”

“Have you got any more information for us, Willis?” Randall inquired with apparent courtesy.

“Nope. Just that we’re ready to grab the admiral when you get things sewed up in Chicago. Unless you want to bow out—”

“I’ll take care of things. I like to finish what I start.”

“Don’t let the merry widow keep you from nailing her sister if she’s involved. I want Stoneham and McAllister on ice by the day after tomorrow. If you get tired of Mrs. Pulaski here, you can send her back to me for a little discipline. Might as well spread some of the hot Danish around.” He reached out to pinch her again.

Maggie had had enough. She lunged for him, but Randall was faster. He caught her around the waist and held her while she struggled, muttering dire threats and insults.

“If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here, Willis,” Randall said with a cheerful drawl, his strong hands pressed against her middle as she fought him. “If I let her go, there won’t be enough left of you to bury at Arlington.”

“Hey, man, I’m going,” he said, backing away nervously. “Tell your mother I’m looking forward to seeing her again.” And he disappeared back into the night.

“Hell and damnation!” Maggie said. “Put me down!”

Randall obeyed immediately, dropping her onto the marble floor of the deserted foyer. She staggered slightly and stumbled into him, then she quickly righted herself. “Wouldn’t you know my damned mother would have gotten involved with a scumbag like him?” she demanded.

“Don’t believe everything Willis tells you,” Randall said.

She was still staring out into the hot city night. She gave
herself a tiny shake. “No, you’re right. I always was too gullible where Bud Willis was concerned. What do you think about what he said?”

“Which scintillating remark?”

Maggie sighed. “Caleb. Do you think he’s really involved?”

“I don’t know. I think we can’t be sure of anything at this point.”

“It would break Kate’s heart.”

“You aren’t going to say anything to her.” Randall’s voice was implacable. It wasn’t a request, and it wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

A dozen possible retorts rose in her mind, starting with “Says who?” and going downhill from there. She closed her mouth and promised nothing.

“Do you hear me, Maggie? If he is involved, we can’t afford to have him warned. You’re to keep your damned mouth shut, or I sure as hell will find a way to shut it.”

She smiled up at him. He was angry with her; his blue-gray eyes were stormy, and his sexy mouth was a pinched frown. She couldn’t believe that she’d once thought him passionless and inhuman. “You know, you’re beautiful when you’re angry,” she said with a mischievous smile, feeling suddenly, oddly playful. There was something to be said for catharsis, both emotional and sexual.

“Maggie …” His voice held a very definite warning.

“Are we going to Chicago?” she questioned in a dulcet voice.

He stared at her in mute frustration, then thrust out his arm for her to take. “We’re going to Chicago,” he said. And after only a moment’s hesitation, she took it, following him out into the New York City night.

They were back at Kate’s apartment well before midnight. Randall could see tension begin to build in Maggie as they deplaned at O’Hare, and he watched it grow during the ride back into the city in his Jaguar. He knew without false modesty
that he was the cause of it. She was wondering where he was planning to sleep tonight.

The apartment was deserted when Maggie opened the door with only slight but telltale fumbling. The matching VCRs were still in place, the curtains were open to the dark Chicago night, and a note was taped to one of the television sets. Before she could reach it, Randall had ripped it off the screen.

“Maggie, where the hell are you?” he read. “Chrissie’s still with Sybil—I’ve gone with Caleb to check out a lead in Wisconsin. Stay put. Kate.”

“Damn,” said Maggie.

“Indeed,” said Randall. “If he’s as bad as Bud Willis thinks, your sister might be in deep trouble.”

“He’s not. I’m sure we can trust him. I have excellent judgment when it comes to people.”

“Do you?”

She looked at him then, her face flushed and defiant. “I used to. I think I probably still do.”

He kept his face impassive, watching her. He wanted to scoop her up into his arms and carry her off to the bedroom, like a scene in a movie. He didn’t move, just watched the tension tick through her body.

“Well, I guess there’s nothing we can do now,” she said finally, when he said nothing. “What are we going to do about Alicia Stoneham?”

“We’re going to find out who’s working with her. Whether it’s Caleb McAllister or someone else, we need to know before we make our move. And we need more proof than just the word of someone at Red Glove Films.”

“How did you get him to tell you?” she asked, and he could see the curiosity burning beneath her nervousness.

He smiled a faint, wintry smile. “You don’t want to know, Maggie.”

“Maybe I don’t,” she said with a sigh.

“It’s just as well your sister isn’t here. I don’t trust your ability to be discreet. It would be just like you to blurt out
everything about Caleb and Alicia, and the fewer people who know at this point the better.”

“You mean you expect me not to say anything about Alicia, either?” she demanded, outraged. “What am I supposed to tell her when she asks where I was?”

“Tell her you were in bed with me,” he suggested coolly. “Tell her we had a long passionate weekend in your New York apartment, writhing around on the living room carpet.”

The nervousness was leaving her, replaced by healthy anger. “You’re such a bastard, Randall,” she said.

“I know.” He crossed the room, took her resisting hand in his, opened it with no trouble whatsoever, and placed Kate’s note inside. His hand reached up and gently traced the bruised side of her face; his thumb brushed her cut lip. “You look like you’ve been through a war.”

She stood very still beneath his hands. And then, to his complete astonishment, a very small, very tentative smile lit her face. “You don’t look so hot yourself,” she said, raising her hand to touch the welt across his forehead.

It was all he could do not to take her then, not to pull her into his arms and make love to her until they were both exhausted. But they were both exhausted already, and he had things to do.

He couldn’t resist, though. He caught the hand that had gently touched his forehead and drew it to his mouth, kissing it with great tenderness. And then he moved away.

“Get some sleep, Maggie,” he said, ignoring the startled expression in her aquamarine eyes. “I can’t afford to have jet lag impair your efficiency.”

“No,” she said, “we wouldn’t want that.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Sleep as late as you can—there’s nothing we can do for a while.”

“Where are you going?”