Darkness Before the Dawn (Maggie Bennett 2)

“Jet lag,” she said dourly now.

He nodded. “You’ll feel worse later.”

“Reassuring,” she muttered.

“I try to be helpful. May I remind you, Maggie dear, that you weren’t invited on this particular expedition?”

“Then why did you buy me a ticket?”

“I saw you lurking behind me trying to be inconspicuous, and I knew if I had you shadowing me, you’d be even more obtrusive.”

“Damn you, Randall! I know how to shadow someone!” she said furiously.

“You’re out of practice. And time and the current situation are too important to risk while you relearn your trade.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you are an unpleasant, condescending bastard?” Maggie inquired in a polite tone of voice.

“Many times.” Again that faint smile flitted across his face. “Among other, less complimentary things. My heart isn’t breaking.”

“You don’t have a heart.”

He stopped dead on the tarmac, just outside the door to the airport, and Maggie careened into him. His long, hard fingers caught her arms. There was no gentleness in him. His bleak eyes looked down into her defiant ones, and his thin mouth curled into what might have been contempt. But then again, it might have been something else. He started to say something, then thought better of it, and his painful hands released her.

“What were you going to say?” she taunted. “Were you going to tell me you have a heart like anyone else?”

Once more he’d withdrawn behind his masterful defenses. “Maybe,” he said. “Except that you’re probably right. Hearts and emotions are sentimental weaknesses we can’t afford. I’m probably better off without one.”

“Haven’t you ever loved anyone?” It came out before she could stop it. “Forget I asked that stupid question,” she added hurriedly. “I already know the answer.”

“Do you?” His voice was rich and deep, and it sent shivers down her backbone. He reached out, opened the door, and held it for her with ironic courtesy. “Far be it from me to disillusion you, Maggie. But try to be a little more romantic. We’re supposed to be lovers.”

She paused, half in the door, half out. “Why?”

“Why else would we be traveling together?” he replied with great practicality. “Either we’re lovers or we’re working together. And I don’t think we want the local government to think we’re here in any sort of professional capacity, do we? Do we?” he prodded gently when she said nothing.

She looked around her before answering. The airport was sparsely populated; their few fellow travelers had long since moved through customs and departed. Only the brown-uniformed officials remained, and the expressions on their broad, slavic faces were identical: curious and suspicious.

With a sigh, Maggie threaded her arm through Randall’s and smiled up at him a wide, loving smile that never reached her distrustful eyes. “You’re right as always, darling,” she said, pitching her voice so that their observers could hear her. Reaching up, she pressed her lips against his hard jaw. She lingered just a minute, and she could feel the tension throbbing through him, feel the pulse beneath her mouth. And then she pulled back, more unnerved than she let on. “We’re going to have a marvelous vacation,” she added.

He stared down at her, his eyes stormy, his face enigmatic. “I’m sure we are, Maggie,” he said, his voice too low for the officials to hear him.

Gemansk customs went smoothly. Too smoothly, she thought, still keeping a besotted simper on her face as she clung to Randall’s arm. Their luggage was inspected with only cursory interest, and no questions were asked. All her instincts were aroused. Why should Gemansk be so lax, given the troubled state of the country’s internal affairs?

Whatever the reason, the two of them were safely through customs, through the narrow, dour corridors of the dark little airport, and out in the sunshine in a matter of minutes. Maggie immediately released Randall’s arm and stepped away from him with nervous speed. He stared down at his crumpled sleeve, smoothed it with an absent gesture, and raised his gaze to Maggie’s defiant one. And then his face grew very still as he stared at something, or someone, over her shoulder.

“Taxi, mister?”

Maggie turned and followed the direction of Randall’s enigmatic stare. She was barely able to swallow the small scream that welled up in her throat. Standing in front of them, an engaging smile on his youthful face, was Vasili.

But it couldn’t be Vasili! For one thing, Vasili was dead; Maggie had seen him gunned down. For another, even if he were alive, he’d be years older than the lanky teen-ager who was grinning at them now. She moved back a step and came up against Randall’s body; his hand pressed down on her shoulder in reassurance. For once she didn’t jerk away.

“We could do with a taxi into town,” Randall said carefully. “Do you know a decent hotel? We haven’t had a chance to make reservations.”

The boy threw back his head and laughed. “Me, I can show you anything you want, mister. You want to see the war memorial? Very impressive, I promise.”

She felt Randall’s hand relax when the boy made that prearranged response.

“You’re Leopold?” Randall asked.