Escape Out of Darkness (Maggie Bennett 1)
Mack leaned back, all deceptive ease, and smiled at Willis. “What makes you think we’re shacking up?”
“You forget, friend, that I’ve known her longer than you. I’ve seen that look on her face before. You finally get over Randall, Maggie?”
She could feel her face flush, damn it. “Yes, Willis, I finally got over Randall.”
“We had bets going,” Willis said affably, leaning back in an unconscious imitation of Mack. “How long did it take you? You were pretty far gone.”
Mack hadn’t even turned to look at her. “I think we’re a little more interested in Van Zandt’s whereabouts than Maggie’s ancient history, friend.” He gave the last the same mocking emphasis.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“He’ll be here tomorrow morning?” Maggie demanded, hope rising.
“I’ll tell you where he is tomorrow morning,” Willis corrected her. “Shit, Maggie, don’t be so goddamn antsy. If lover boy over there isn’t enough for you, you can always join me and Consuela. I’ve got a pair of handcuffs that would be just your size—”
“Go to hell, Willis,” Maggie said.
He shrugged, turning to Mack. “What can I say? The woman doesn’t like me, God knows why. I try to be charming.” He turned and said something in rapid-fire Spanish to the cowering Consuela, and then turned back with a grin. “You’ll be staying in the room behind the kitchen. It’s not the Waldorf, but then nothing in this fucking country is. Why the hell can’t they have revolutions in civilized places, like France?”
“I wasn’t aware they were having a revolution in Honduras,” said Maggie.
“Hell, you know what I mean. Besides, with these crazy countries, it’ll probably be the next one to go. Remind me not to sign up.”
“I trust, hope, and pray that I won’t ever have to be within a hundred miles of you again,” Maggie said fervently, no longer hiding her disgust.
“Ah, Maggie, I love it when you’re angry,” Willis said, reaching out to pinch her breast.
His hand never connected. One moment he was leaning over her, grinning, the next he was flat on his back, spread-eagled, with a very large, very angry Mack pinning him to the rough stone floor. He held a knife to his throat, one he’d managed to pull off of Willis himself, and the mercenary lay there, motionless, numb with shock and fury.
“Listen, friend,” Mack said in his husky growl, “it’s time you learned a few things. One, you keep your goddamn hands off my woman. Two, you make the supreme effort and behave like a polite human being the rest of the time we’re here, and three, you tell me, right now, where the hell Van Zandt is.”
Maggie didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Willis was one of the fastest, best in the business. There were very few people who could floor him, and she was still not quite comprehending that Mack had done just that.
Apparently Willis was suffering the same shock. “What the hell … ?”
Mack pressed the knife a little harder against his throat, and a tiny spot of bright red blood stained the knife. “Right now, friend,” he growled.
“Go fuck yourself,” Willis said.
“Listen, asshole, I’ll cut off your ears, your nose, and your balls if you don’t tell me, and tell me fast,” Mack told him in a genial tone of voice, and Maggie started to choke. “I haven’t had a very pleasant time these last few
weeks, and I’m not about to put up with it any longer than I have to. And, quite simply, I don’t have to wait till tomorrow morning. You’re going to tell me now, Willis. Aren’t you?” His voice was gentle—dangerously so.
Willis hadn’t gotten to the top of his ill-chosen profession without learning how to read his enemy. “Hey, all right, man,” he said, grinning. “So you’re a little impatient. All you had to do was ask nice.”
Mack matched his smile. “I’m asking nice, Willis. Where’s Van Zandt?”
Willis grinned up at him. “Switzerland.”
sixteen
“Switzerland?” Maggie echoed in stunned disbelief. “What in God’s name is he doing in Switzerland?”
“Waiting for you.”
“What?”
“If you could get your friend off me,” Willis grunted, “I might tell you.”