Darkness Before the Dawn (Maggie Bennett 2)

Her Nikes were silent as she raced up the driveway. The cold sweat that covered her body evaporated in the blazing heat, and the last of her panic left her. She was calm and very determined and ready to take on anything.

The voices were loud enough to alert her. Kate’s usually soft voice was angry, carrying on the stifling summer air, and Maggie moved around the house to the wide back terrace, following the sound unerringly.

“I want you to tell me where my baby is, Alicia!” The two of them were turned away from Maggie as she lurked by the corner of the big white building. She could see Kate’s profile, the tangle of brown hair, the furious eyes, the determination in her mouth.

Alicia waved a cigarette-laden hand at her. Her fuchsia-painted mouth looked garish on her unusually pale face. “How many times must I tell you, honey, that I have no idea where she is? I don’t know why you think I’d touch little Chrissie, but if you don’t calm down and leave, I’ll call the police.”

“Do you want to tell them about Francis?” Kate demanded. “About Red Glove Films and your brother and how you’re managing to keep Stoneham Studios afloat? I’m sure they’d be very interested in hearing about it.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Kate,” Alicia snapped, her horse-face devoid of color. “You must have slipped a cog somewhere. Hell, I can understand it—you’ve been under a lot of pressure with that stinker of a husband. Why don’t you come in and have a drink, and I’ll call that sister of yours to come get you? You need a vacation.”

“I need my baby!” Kate cried. “Just tell me where she is, and I won’t say a word about the spying. I can keep Maggie quiet, too—she’ll do as I tell her.”

Alicia leaned forward and stubbed out the turquoise Sobranie on the glass-topped patio table. “I’m afraid we can’t count on that,” she said suddenly, her voice flat and dead. “You know I hate violence, honey, but you leave us no choice. We’re going to have to shut you up.” And her hand came up with a small, efficient gun in it, trained directly on Kate’s chest.

Maggie froze. If she made any sudden moves, Alicia might shoot her sister, whether she really wanted to or not. Slowly, carefully she edged closer to the corner of the building. The two women were within several feet of her; if she found the right sort of projectile, she could knock the gun out of Alicia’s hand. Maybe.

“I don’t give a damn what you do to me, Alicia. I just want to know where my baby is.”

“I really don’t know. We didn’t take her. You might ask your sister.”

Kate’s mouth curved in grim smile. “That’ll be a little difficult, won’t it, if you’re planning to kill me?”

Maggie had already slipped off one of her Nikes, preparing to aim it at Alicia’s gun hand. She weighed it in one hand, then lifted her arm overhead to throw it.

“You’ll have plenty of chances to talk to her,” Alicia said. “Won’t she, partner?”

Maggie felt body heat close behind her and saw the shadow on the terrace in front of her. She quickly started to wing the sneaker at Alicia, but an iron hand clamped around her wrist, grinding the bones together. Another hand grabbed her rear. She didn’t need to hear the mocking voice to tell her who it was or to assure her that neither Caleb nor Randall had anything to do with this treasonous tangle.

“Not so fast, sweetbuns,” Bud Willis murmured in her ear. “Don’t you know it’s rude to eavesdrop?” And he shoved her out onto the terrace.

“Thank God, Maggie,” Kate breathed.

“Don’t thank God yet, Kate,” Maggie said, her voice thick with self-disgust as she stumbled toward the two women, aided by Willis’s rough hands. “I’m not helping matters.”

“You surely aren’t, and that’s the truth,” Alicia said, putting the gun back into her pocket. Maggie considered diving for it, but then she felt the unmistakable chill of a larger-barrelled gun in the small of her back, and she forced her muscles to relax. “We’re going to have to take care of them both, aren’t we?” Alicia asked. “No way around it?”

“No way around it, old lady. We have to cover our tracks as best we can. These two can go with the house; Carter and McAllister at the studio. You’ve already got your plane tickets.”

Alicia nodded, looking very old. “It was worth

a try,” she said, lighting another cigarette, this time a pink one, and shoving it into the long black holder. “I thought I could save the studio. I should have known it was impossible.”

“At least you’ll have enough money to keep you and your brother living in style,” Bud said, moving around to smile his skeletal smile at Maggie. “And I won’t come off too badly, either.”

“You’re absolutely crazy, aren’t you?” Maggie snapped. “Have you been behind this all along?”

“Hell, no. I just cut myself in on the action two weeks ago when I found out what was going on. It seemed like too good a scam to pass up.”

“How did you find out about it?”

“That stupid little faggot got cold feet and turned state’s evidence. It was pure luck that he got passed over to me. I persuaded him to keep quiet, then came out here last week and cut myself in.”

“What happened to Francis?” Maggie prompted.

Willis shrugged. “Well, he seemed so eager to talk, I had to shut him up, didn’t I? I thought it was a nice touch, bringing him over to your sister’s place. I heard you were due for a visit, and I figured she’d have Superwoman bail her out. I was hoping you’d be the one to find him and not your sister—maybe it would remind you of the Polack. At least you ended up dragging him around the city. Damned funny.”

A light shiver of horror iced her skin at Bud’s cheerful malice. “But why did you send Randall here?” she demanded.