Escape Out of Darkness (Maggie Bennett 1)

her own doubts as to the wisdom of that unavoidable piece of barter, and Mack’s reaction only reinforced her own.

“They did what?”

“I traded them one hundred dollars of American money and the gun. We were out of bullets. It wouldn’t have done us much good.”

“We could have bought ammunition, Maggie. Even without bullets we could have scared someone off with it. Or are you prepared to catch bullets in your teeth, Superwoman?”

“Don’t call me that.”

He was muttering to himself under his breath. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Trust me.” Her voice sounded completely confident, hiding her very real doubts as the jungle around them seemed to thicken to her paranoid eyes.

“Oh, I trust you, Maggie. With my life.” If the sound of his drawling voice wasn’t completely reassuring, Maggie chose to ignore it. He flipped the crumpled map back, folding it over and laying it in his lap. “I think we ought to head back toward La Ceiba, catch the highway that goes through San Pedro Sula, and then on to Tegucigalpa. It’s about as direct as we can get, it has the advantage of major cities and probably adequate hotels, and it would cut our trip in half.”

Maggie bit back the odd little twinge of annoyance and relief. She hadn’t had time to more than glance at the map—she hadn’t even considered the possibility of heading back up the north coast to the bustling little resort area of La Ceiba. But paved roads and a bed for the night sounded almost too good to be true. “What do you suggest we use for money? I only have two hundred dollars left. And as you already mentioned, Visa isn’t ready currency around here.”

“It will be in the larger towns like San Pedro Sula,” he replied. “Don’t you think?”

“Don’t throw me any crumbs, Pulaski,” she snarled. “You’re right, I’m wrong, and my ego isn’t so fragile that I can’t admit it. How do we get to La Ceiba?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Maggie.”

She bit her lips, glaring at the underbrush. “You may as well—you haven’t held back so far.”

“You’ve been driving toward La Ceiba for the last hour anyway. I should think we’ll hit it by midafternoon.”

“The hell I am!” she exploded. “I’m heading due west—”

“La Ceiba is due west, Maggie. Tegucigalpa is directly south of us,” he interrupted calmly.

She would like to have driven the balky Jeep into a banana tree before admitting he was right. She’d envisioned the geography in her mind, but turned it sideways. She’d been carefully heading west, thinking it was toward the Pacific Ocean and the Honduran capital halfway between, and instead she’d simply been moving farther away.

“Pulaski,” she said in a deceptively gentle voice, “no one likes a smart ass.”

“Maggie,” he replied, his raw voice curiously sweet, “no one likes someone who’s perfect.”

“Then I guess I don’t have to worry about whether you like me or not,” she said with a brittle laugh. “I’m getting further and further from perfection every day.”

“I like you, Maggie,” he said. “I like you just fine.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a Holiday Inn in La Ceiba?” she asked in a mournful voice, changing the subject.

“What is this fixation about Holiday Inns? I’ve seen enough in my younger days to last me a lifetime. Don’t you want to immerse yourself in the experience anymore?”

“I want to immerse myself in a heated swimming pool, a hot tub, a sauna, and a king-size bed with clean sheets.”

“Sorry, it looks too small to have a Holiday Inn. There might be some nice resorts by the beaches, but I would think you’d be happier if we took a small hotel in town.”

“I wouldn’t be happier, but I’d be smarter. All right, Pulaski, I know when I’m beaten. But tell me there’s a Holiday Inn in Tegucigalpa.”

“We can probably find a Fodor’s Guide in La Ceiba that will tell us. That is, if Fodor even publishes one.”

“I wouldn’t think too many people are eager to travel in Central America nowadays,” Maggie said. “Still, they must have some sort of guide. I’ve got a good memory for geography and history but I can’t remember much about Honduras except that it’s all mountains.”

“Good memory for geography? Then why were we heading in the opposite direction?” Mack drawled.

“Shut up, Pulaski, or I’ll hand you over to the rebels when we reach Tegucigalpa. I’m sure they’d be more than happy to help you find Van Zandt. Or at least make sure that you wouldn’t ever need to see him again.”