Escape Out of Darkness (Maggie Bennett 1)

“What makes you think I grew up in Texas?” The waitress had placed a dark glass of bourbon in front of him, and he took a slow, appreciative sip, his eyes never leaving her.

“I’m good at accents. You must have left Texas early, because there’s some California overlaying it.”

“Good God,” he said disgustedly. “Just what I always wanted to hear.”

“Not too much though. I grew up in California so I’m sensitive to the accent.”

“Well, your ear has let you down this time. I never lived in Texas. I did, however, have a best friend who came from Port Arthur—maybe I picked it up from her.”

“Her?”

“Her.” He didn’t elaborate. “And the time I spent in California was when I was with the Why, and most of us were so stoned we didn’t talk much. Guess again.”

She took a sip of her warm, vinegary wine. “Not the East Coast, definitely. You don’t really look rural, though that may be the result of the last few years. But I’d guess you were from a city. A big, nasty city like Chicago. You have the look of a street fighter about you.”

“Right the third time. I grew up in the inner city. I think I joined my first gang when I was eight years old. Problem was, I always picked the wrong gangs. We kept getting the shit beat out of us.” He laughed his raw, sexy laugh.

“What were you doing in Chicago in the first place?”

“My father dragged the family there after the war, looking for work. He found it for a while, but by the time I was a kid he’d left us. My mother always said either Alan or I was bound to go to hell—we couldn’t both make it.”

“And which of you made it?”

Mack grinned. “Who do you think, Maggie May?”

“I think I made a big mistake.”

He looked startled. “Why?”

Maggie stared in shock at the platter of chicken-fried steak. “I should never have ordered this.”

He laughed again, and she found she was liking that laugh more and more. “What did you think you were getting?”

“A nice chicken cutlet.” She eyed Mack’s thick, red steak with longing.

“I tried to tell you. With chicken-fried steak they take the oldest, ugliest piece of steak, coat it in flour, and slap it in old grease till it’s the texture of shoe leather. Then they pour white gravy that’s not quite as tasty as library paste on top of everything. The biscuits look good, though.”

Maggie poked at the mess on the chipped china platter. “You wouldn’t want to trade?” she said in a properly wistful voice.

“Immerse yourself in the experience, Maggie,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll save you a bite of the real thing.”

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically. She picked up her fork, put it down again, and leaned across the narrow table. She reached out, gently stroking the side of Pulaski’s momentarily startled face. She liked the feel of his skin, warm and smooth, with character lines. She smiled up at him, a tremulous loving smile. “Darling,” she said in a barely audible voice, “we’re being watched.”

He didn’t move, didn’t swivel around, as the realization darkened his eyes. And then he grinned back at her, a sexy grin promising all sorts of things a lover would promise. He moved his head to kiss her hand, his mouth hot and damp against her palm. “I still won’t trade you my dinner,” he whispered.

“I’m going to be sick.”

“You didn’t have to eat all that chicken-fried steak, Maggie.” Mack’s hands were relaxed on the steering wheel as they moved out along Route 10. “As a matter of fact, you didn’t have to eat any of it. We could have ordered another steak for you.”

“I didn’t want to call attention to us.”

“Maggie, you’re getting paranoid. Those men weren’t after us, they didn’t even look up when we left. They were probably just some sort of sales reps for a gas company.”

“You’ll be glad I’m paranoid, Pulaski,” she muttered darkly. “Just because they didn’t leap up and follow us doesn’t mean they aren’t after us. They didn’t look like sales reps to me, they looked like CIA.”

“They looked like DEA to me,” he drawled. “That’s Drug Enforcement Agency, my innocent one. But I’m not about to let paranoia take over. I’m not the only wanted man in the Southwest, you know. I don’t even know for sure who wants me.” He cast Maggie an appraising glance in the dusk-darkened car. “I don’t suppose you do?”

It sounded almost wistful, but Maggie decided it had to be an illusion in his ravaged voice. “Now isn’t the time for fooling around,” she said in her most severe, schoolmarmish voice. A voice that was at odds with her long, tanned legs, the rough cotton shorts and shirt, the tousle of thick blond hair wisping around her perspiring face. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to save your butt. I would appreciate it if, in the meantime, you wouldn’t covet mine.”