At the Edge of the Sun (Maggie Bennett 3)

“Does Beirut have any hotels still standing?” Maggie asked.

“Not many,” Randall said. “And we’re not going there. We’ll be staying with a friend of mine in the Hosni section of Beirut. It’s on the outskirts of the city, as far away from the fighting as anyone could manage. At least it was a couple of weeks ago.”

“A couple of weeks ago?” Maggie echoed.

“Where do you think I’ve been for the last four months?”

“I hadn’t even thought about it,” Maggie lied.

“If I’d been in the States I would have been around you.”

“Not if I could help it.”

“Children, children,” Holly mocked. “I thought we weren’t going to fight any more?”

Randall’s mouth was a grim line. “Must be the air. I’ll draw you a map, Ian. You can find us if you try.”

Maggie sat down on the narrow, sagging b

ed that was nothing more than a cot. The cracked plaster walls were dark and waterstained, the tiny room wasn’t much bigger than her bathroom in New York, but for the moment it was away from Randall’s increasingly intrusive presence, and for that she was more than grateful. Even Holly’s idle chatter was driving her to the edge of madness, and the silence in the small room was heaven.

She coughed, trying to clear her lungs of the dust that lingered in the bright, dry air. It had been a hell of a drive. Randall’s friend Mabib had been waiting for them, his battered Peugeot barely running, and their journey through the destroyed city had been slow and depressing. Through the rubble and desolation Maggie could see the traces of what had once been the loveliest city in the Middle East, and she sank back against the ripped cushions of the car and shut her eyes, half listening to the desultory conversation between the men in the front seat.

“I hadn’t expected to see you so soon, my friend,” Mabib had said.

“I hadn’t expected to be back so soon,” Randall had answered. “I’d hoped to see you on more peaceful ground.”

“We don’t often get what we hope for. Where did your friend disappear to?”

“He wouldn’t say. We’re looking for a man, Mabib. An Irishman, medium height, medium build, reddish hair, blue eyes.”

“Flynn,” said Mabib.

“You know him?”

“I know of him. I had word that he arrived last night, and right now he’s somewhere outside the city, at one of the training camps. The terrorists of this world are an odd bunch, my friend. They wander the world like nomads, always finding a home at the trouble spots. Flynn’s on some crazy sort of sabbatical, teaching some of our more bloodthirsty patriots.”

“Can you help me find him?”

Mabib had shrugged. “Who knows? I will ask around. Your friend might not help matters. It would be better if you left it to me.”

“We’ll do that.”

Maggie had opened her mouth from the backseat to protest, then shut it again, not saying a word when they arrived at the sturdy little house that, despite damage, was still standing. She’d been quiet, almost apathetic when Mabib had led her to her room, and she sat there on her bed, wondering where her energy and pride had fled. She could only be grateful she had a room to herself, even one so tiny. The house itself was so small she was surprised she’d been allotted a private room. Thank heavens for small favors, she thought with a weary sigh, sinking back on the bed.

The door opened without the courtesy of a knock, and in the shifting dust motes and bright sunlight she could see a tall, narrow figure outlined there.

“What do you want, Randall?” She didn’t bother to move, to sit up, she lay there on the bed and summoned up a weak glare.

“Are you all right?” He moved into the room, shutting the door behind him, plunging the room back into shadows, and Maggie saw him drop his suitcase on the floor.

“What do you want?” she repeated. “And why did you bring your bag with you?”

“We’re sharing the room, Maggie. Mabib’s house can’t accommodate privacy—there are only three rooms with the roof still on. Mabib, his wife, and three children are in one, Holly and Ian, if he ever returns, are in the other.”

Maggie was off the narrow bed in a flash. “Forget it. Holly and I can share a room …”

He caught her by the door, his hand like a manacle around her arm. She had no choice but to halt, but she stared up at him, a defiant expression on her face.