“Sounds like the plot for a movie,” she said in a doubtful voice. “Do you have any proof?”
“Not a speck. Just tons of circumstantial evidence, including motive and opportunity. Alicia’s brother is a retired admiral. A forcibly retired admiral who’s been very vocal about the shabby way he’s been treated. He’d have access to top security documents.”
Maggie shook her head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. “It seems awfully farfetched.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” he replied in a lazy voice. “Most spy scenarios are. But they happen, just the same. The first thing we do when we get back to the United States is have Bud Willis check into Admiral Wentworth.”
“He’ll love it,” Maggie said, wondering if she dared lean her head on Randall’s shoulder. Her lip was bleeding again, and Randall wouldn’t like blood all over him. No, she’d better stay upright. “That still doesn’t explain who killed Francis, or why he was dumped in Kate’s bathtub.”
“No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t exonerate your sister from murder at all, only from possible treason.”
“You’re so comforting, Randall,” she said with a sigh.
“I do my best.” His hand reached up and cupped the nape of her neck, and the decision about leaning was taken out of her hands. He pushed her face against his shoulder, forcing her to relax. She winced as her abraded skin rubbed against the rough shirt, and then she sighed, releasing all the pent-up tension that had been singing through her nerves. “Go to sleep, Maggie. Leopold’s going to go the long way around to get to Saltash, just in case we have anyone following us. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
“I’d sleep better if you let go of me,” she muttered grumpily, not even bothering to stifle the yawn that swept over her.
He didn’t say a word, but his hands kept her a gentle captive in his arms. Through the gathering dusk, she could just see the outline of his profile and the grim line of his lips and nose, and for one sleepy moment she wanted to press her mouth against his and see if she could soften that unsmiling face. But then exhaustion overtook her. Sometime, someday in the distant future, she would begin to understand Randall Carter. But right now she was too exhausted even to begin to make the effort. With a deep sigh, she gave herself up to sleep.
fifteen
She felt light in his arms. Not like the solid mass of muscle and warm hard flesh that he knew made up Maggie Bennett, but curiously fragile, and it took all his resolve not to tighten his arms around her, hold her closer. Protective instincts were foreign to him, and the determined woman sleeping so soundly and so unwillingly in his arms wasn’t the sort to want or need protection.
He’d been ready to storm that dull gray fortress that housed the Gemansk government offices. But Leopold’s surprisingly cool head had prevailed, and he’d waited for the dusk to close around them. Then his planned heroics became totally unnecessary as Maggie crawled through that narrow window with her damnable self-possession.
He’d always avoided self-sufficient women. His wife, his lovers, even his one-night stands had been soft, pretty, dependent women who listened to his advice, waited for his decisions, and expected him to lead the way. Maggie had been the one exception. She refused to be led, refused to listen, refused to fit into the mold.
“We have company again, mister,” Leopold said cheerfully from the front seat, breaking into Randall’s thoughts.
Maggie awoke with a jerk, and he felt her wince in his arms. He had no idea how badly she’d been hurt crawling out of that window, but now wasn’t the time to ask. She scrambled off his lap before his hands could tighten.
“Who do you think it is?” she questioned in a slightly husky voice.
Leopold’s shrug was eloquent in the darkened car. “It could be anyone. I would guess that it’s Wadjowska. He has a certain reputation, and he won’t like it that you got away. You’re lucky you got out so fast, miss, before he had time to question you. He likes to hurt women.”
Randall could feel her shiver in the darkness. “Does he?” she said coolly. “Then I’m glad I didn’t wait around for a white knight.”
“You missed your big chance, Maggie,” he drawled, his eyes intent, peering through the gloom at her. “It’s not often that I bother to rescue damsels in distress. It would have been worth the wait.”
She turned to him, and he could see her eyes, wide and curious. “That’s not true,” she said flatly.
“It wouldn’t have been worth the wait?”
“Randall, I had access to classified files when I was with the Company. I don’t know what you?
??ve been doing for the last six years, but before then, every mission you took was a rescue. Boat people from Cambodia, babies from Viet Nam, political prisoners in Chile and Nicaragua, kidnap victims in Italy. You came to Gemansk to rescue me the first time, remember?”
“I remember.”
“So why do you say you don’t rescue people?” she shot back.
“Maggie, have you suddenly decided I’m a saint?” he questioned, keeping his voice lightly amused. “It’s highly flattering, but I’m still the same man who sent you out to whore with Wadjowska and abandoned you.”
“Considering that you were being tortured, I think you have a good enough excuse,” she said. “Miroslav was talkative before he locked me in that room.”
Irritation and something else swept over Randall. The last thing in the world he wanted was her gratitude. He didn’t want her to feel she owed him anything; he wanted her to come to him because of the same deep, irrational, overwhelming need that rode him like a devil. Starry-eyed sentimentality was the last thing he needed.
He shrugged. “What of it? I’ve been tortured before, and even if I’m damned careful, it’s likely to happen again. Does that make me a good man, Maggie? Does that make me someone you can like, respect, and trust?”