“But five hundred dollars?” Maggie said.

“We could bargain them down even lower, but I’m afraid they’d take it out on your friend before returning him,” Mabib said with a shrug. “You have enough cash on you?”

“I do,” Holly said, a glint of steel in her aquamarine eyes.

“That’s not necessary, Holly …” Randall began.

“Yes, it is,” Maggie interrupted him. “If I know my sister, and I do. Right, Holly?”

“Right, Maggie. I’m down to three suitcases, thanks to him and his high-and-mighty attitude. I want to be the one to bail him out of the mess he’s gotten himself into.”

“He won’t thank you for it,” Randall warned.

Holly grinned. “I sincerely hope not. I want it to drive him absolutely crazy.”

Randall shook his head. “There are times, Holly, when you frighten me even more than your sister.”

“Really?” Holly looked genuinely pleased. “Thanks.”

Randall and Mabib were gone a long time. Mabib’s wife spoke no English, merely smiled shyly as she cooked something arcane and delicious smelling in the bombed-out courtyard of the building. Her children, equally shy and equally pretty, played among the shattered mosaics. Maggie gave up trying to communicate, accepting two dishes of the fragrant supper and carrying it back to her room. The room Randall was fool enough to think he’d share.

Holly was waiting for her, pacing the narrow area, her high-heeled silver sandals tapping on the stone floor. She was dressed, appropriately enough, in rose chiffon harem pants, her midnight hair a cloud around her beautiful face, and she accepted the dish with a grimace before sinking down on the dusty stone floor.

“I don’t suppose you know what this is?” she asked, poking at it with the large spoon Mabib’s wife had provided.

“Haven’t the foggiest. Eat it anyway. Who knows when we’ll be fed again.” Maggie sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, watching her sister through the shifting shadows. Night was falling, darkness closing in around them, as Mabib’s house didn’t have electricity. She shivered.

“Why is it taking them so long?” Holly asked anxiously.

“I gather these things require careful handling. Don’t worry, Holly. They’ll bring Ian back.”

“I’m not worried about Ian.”

“Aren’t you?” Maggie forced herself to take another bite. It was some sort of stew with a meat she didn’t care to identify, but it was warm and tasty, not to mention filling. “You could have fooled me.”

“Ian Andrews is a pain in the butt.”

“Yes,” Maggie agreed.

“He keeps ditching my luggage every chance he gets.”

“Yes.”

“We’d be better off without him.”

“Possibly,” Maggie murmured, feeling quite clever. “So what are you worried about?”

“Sometimes, Maggie, you can be extremely irritating,” Holly snapped.

She grinned, unrepentant. “There’s nothing unusual with being attracted to a man who’s all wrong for you. Plenty of women do it all the time.”

“Including you?”

&nb

sp; She wanted to deny it, wanted to deny that she’d ever been attracted to the cold-blooded, murdering bastard who didn’t even know how to love. But she seldom lied, and if she’d tried Holly would have seen right through it. “Including me,” she said, putting the half-finished stew down on the floor next to the bed.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the tiny room, broken only by the sound of Holly’s spoon scraping the now-empty bowl. “How do you think Sybil’s doing?” she asked, her voice small and forlorn.

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