Randall sighed. “Sit down, Maggie.”

“I don’t want to sit down, I want to—” She found herself sitting, with Randall leaning over her, doing his absolute best to intimidate her. She glared at him, ignoring her pounding heart and sweaty palms.

“We’re in a dangerous situation, madam,” he said, his voice harsh and clipped. “While we’re in Beirut this is no longer a democracy. I’ve lived here, I know what’s going on. For the duration of our stay I’m in charge, and we’re all going to do what I say. Two women in one room is asking for trouble. Everyone around knows we’re here, and I don’t care how good you are at taking care of yourself, when it comes right down to it you aren’t as strong as Ian. He’ll do a much better job taking care of Holly than you can.”

“If he returns,” Maggie snapped. “And if he doesn’t kill her himself.”

“He’ll return. Don’t let your pride endanger your sister’s life, Maggie. You’re too smart for that.”

“Do you really think I’m going to share this bed with you, Randall?”

A small grin lit his usually sober face. “You have before.”

“Forget it.”

“I’m not likely to do that. However, I imagine Mabib can find you some bedding for the floor.”

“Me?”

“You’re the one with objections to sharing the bed, not me,” he pointed out politely. “You can have the floor.”

“You bastard,” she began, when the door opened once more, and Holly stood there, her face pale in the shifting sunlight.

“Maggie, Randall,” she said, and her voice was shaky. “You’d better come.”

Randall rose swiftly, and Maggie watched the sudden, gentle concern with an odd feeling of jealousy. He’d never been that tender with her. “What is it, Holly?”

“Mabib’s had word. Ian’s been kidnapped.”

seven

“Calm down,” Randall said flatly, and his prosaic voice snapped Holly out of her incipient hysteria. “Whoever has him, they’ll probably be willing to trade.”

Mabib had appeared in the door, and his dark face was creased with worry. “It’s a group calling themselves the Children of God, Randall. Apparently your friend was fool enough to go wandering up in the hills, looking for training camps. He ran into those bandits instead. They’ve got him, and they want an exchange.”

Randall nodded. “What terms?”

A sour smile lit Mabib’s face. “Five million dollars and freedom for all political prisoners in Syria.”

“What?” Holly shrieked.

Randall appeared singularly unmoved. “Don’t worry, Holly,” he said absently, and once more Maggie felt that start of jealousy. “They’ll bargain.”

“But five million dollars—”

“How organized are the Children of God, Mabib?” he asked. “I’m not familiar with that particular splinter group.”

“With reason, my friend. They’re the most pitiful of a pitiful bunch. They have no organization, no money, no plans, no power. They roam the hills outside Beirut like wild dogs, preying on anyone who falls in their way. I would think, since they haven’t killed your friend yet, that it will be a simple enough matter to get him back.”

“Five thousand, do you think?”

“No, no,” Mabib said. “Five hundred dollars will be more than enough.”

“What about the political prisoners?” Maggie spoke for the first time.

Randall’s blue-gray eyes touched her pale face briefly. “I imagine asking for political prisoners is merely a face-saving device.”

“Indeed, yes, miss,” Mabib assured her. “They’re bandits, nothing more. By asking for political prisoners they’re trying to ally themselves with the PLO in case anyone comes after them. Once they know they’re getting money they’ll drop all other demands.”

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