Escape Out of Darkness (Maggie Bennett 1)

“Empty threats, Maggie. Think of the long hot shower you’ll get tonight. Probably a wonderful seafood dinner, maybe a local wine.”

“Sadist. Hand me a tortilla and be quiet. I’ve got to concentrate on my driving.”

“How are you going to concentrate on your driving when you’re trying to eat—”

“Shut up, Pulaski,” she said in a dangerous tone of voice.

“All right, Maggie. But I don’t think—”

Whatever he didn’t think was destined to remain lost as a bullet whizzed directly between Maggie and Mack, straight through the center of the cracked windshield.

“Hell and damnation,” Maggie cursed. “Duck, Pulaski.” She stamped on the gas, and the balky four-wheel-drive coughed, sputtered, and then jerked forward at a marginally faster speed. Another bullet whistled past her ear, followed by the ominous crack of a rifle, and Maggie hunched over the steering wheel, biting her lip and cursing in a low, steady voice.

“What the hell is this?” Mack demanded from his position on the floor of the front seat. “You sure you paid for this Jeep?”

“I don’t have your talents for hot-wiring,” she muttered as the Jeep careened wildly down the jungle track. Her vision was not the best, since she didn’t dare do more than peer over the steering wheel, and she had more than one glancing encounter with the underbrush before righting the vehicle. “I can’t imagine why someone would want to shoot at perfect strangers—” Another bullet slammed into the dashboard five inches from her hand, knocking out the speedometer, which didn’t work anyway, and Maggie stamped on the accelerator once more.

“I can imagine. Didn’t you take a good look at this Jeep, Maggie?” How Mack could manage to sound reasonable from his hunched-over position on the floor of the Jeep was beyond her comprehension, but his raspy voice was calm and collected. “This was some sort of government vehicle, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it once belonged to the local equivalent of the DEA. I imagine we’ve stumbled into a branch of the local import/export business that doesn’t care for government visitors. Probably doesn’t care for turistas, either. I think the sooner we get out of here, the better.”

“I’m driving as fast as I can!” she snapped as they bounced and jarred their way through the underbrush. The only sound in the steamy noontime air was the sound of jungle birds and the laboring noise of the old engine. “Do you hear anything?”

Slowly Mack pulled himself back into the front seat as Maggie took some of the pressure off the gas pedal. “I guess we’re out of range. For now.”

“What do you mean ‘for now’?”

“I mean I expect there are any number of drug operations in these jungles. And we’ll have to count on luck to avoid them.”

“Luck and my driving,” Maggie shot back, daring him to say something.

Mack only raised his eyebrows and sunk down lower in the seat. “Sure thing, kid. Wake me when it’s over.”

They drove into La Ceiba just after three o’clock in the afternoon. Maggie’s Rolex had survived its long submersion of the day before, but her nerves weren’t holding up as well. The sight of the bustling port city, surrounded by white beaches and fertile valleys, and the sheer mass of people sent mixed emotions through Maggie.

“Civilization,” Mack said.

“Yes. For what it’s worth.”

“For what it’s worth, I think there’s an airport here,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we could get a flight to Tegucigalpa.”

“God, I’d give my right arm to get rid of this damned Jeep,” Maggie said fervently.

Mack could have made the obvious comment, and she steeled herself for it. He’d never once offered to drive on the long, hot trip, even when she wrestled with the stubborn clutch, the stalling motor, or the windshield wipers, which had flown off their stalks when they’d hit a flash rainstorm. He hadn’t given her a word of advice when she’d had to drive the damned thing almost straight down a cliff, hadn’t done anything more than clench the door handle and his teeth when they’d skidded on the rubble and ended up sideways in a shallow streambed.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, would have made her give up in her battle to control the Jeep, and Mack must have known it. Even now he said nothing, simply waited for her to shove the damned gear shift into first and head down into the port city. She put her narrow, long-fingered hand on the gear shift, paused, and looked at him.

She had battled the jungle, the narrow track that was better suited to mules than motorized vehicles, battled and won. And never in her life had she known a man who could just sit back and let her fight her own way, in her own time. Who trusted her enough to know what she had to do. A sudden rush of gratitude, affection, and something more swept over her, and with it came the exhaustion she’d been holding at bay. He looked so solid sitting there, and suddenly she wanted to put her head on his shoulder, close her eyes, and forget her battles.

“Pulaski,” she said. “Would you drive the rest of the way?”

She’d finally managed to surprise a reaction out of him. His warm hazel eyes were startled, his eyebrows rose in his newly tanned face, and his mouth quirke

d upward. “Tired of fighting, Maggie May?”

“I’m not fighting you.”

“I know that. We both know who you’re fighting.” And of course he did, bless his heart. He knew her almost as well as she knew herself. In some ways even better. It was an unnerving thought, and one she didn’t have the energy to dwell on right there and then.

“Yes, I’m tired of fighting. Drive till you come to the cleanest, quietest hotel you can find.” She climbed out of the driver’s seat, stumbled around behind the Jeep, and stood by the passenger’s side.