At the Edge of the Sun (Maggie Bennett 3)

“Oh, I’m just waiting till after dark. Besides, I think Ian will find him, by sheer animal instinct if nothing else.”

“Why didn’t you tell him he killed Maeve?”

Randall shrugged. “I didn’t want to distract him. He’s got enough motivation.”

“He’s going to have to find out sooner or later.”

“I think he might already guess.”

Maggie turned away from the window, and looked at him. “What else do we do?”

“We wait,” he said. “We wait, and we watch.”

A remnant of a grin warmed her face. “Rats. I was hoping we could take a little nap. Jet lag, remember?”

He managed an answering smile. There’d be too few chances in the future, but they didn’t dare take this one. “Curb your appetites,” he said. “Business first.”

“Yes, sir.” She sank down on the bed, kicking off her sandals. “Wake me when something happens.”

She was asleep almost instantly. He sat there, half his attention trained on the jovial, charming Irishman out by the pool, half his attention on the sleeping figure not four feet away, wishing he dared have a good, stiff drink. If he kept up being distracted he wouldn’t have to worry about making a tiny, fatal mistake. It would happen anyway.

It was almost an hour later when Flynn finally lifted his tanned, muscled body from the chaise and wrapped a burly arm around the skinny redhead before starting toward the east wing of the building. Randall sat there, watching, unmoving, intent. His patience was rewarded. Moments later he saw them pass by the third-floor hallway opposite them. They passed by the first, but not the second window, which narrowed them down to one of three suites, if the building’s layout was the same on both sides of the courtyard. Slowly he leaned back, breathing a sigh. He looked over at Maggie, still sound asleep, and he began to untie his tie.

The bed sagged beneath his weight as he eased himself down beside her. Her breathing wa

s slow and shallow, and he could see the faint web of veins beneath the translucent skin of her temples, the beginnings of lines fanning out from those beautiful eyes. They weren’t from laughter, and he had to take some responsibility for that. She hadn’t seen enough laughter in her life, and she wouldn’t find it with him. He had to let her go.

He touched her, gently, his long fingers whispering against her vulnerable neck. This might be the last time they had together—he ought to make the most of it.

But making the most of it wasn’t stripping off her clothes and losing himself in her warmth and fire. All he wanted and needed was to touch her, to steal some of her softness and comfort. Moving carefully, he rested his head against her breasts.

She sighed, stretching her arms around him, never waking. The white-gold light of the merciless African sun blazed down on them, stretched out on the queen-size bed, as Randall followed her into a temporary respite that would last too short a time.

Ian was pacing the room repeatedly. Holly sat curled up by the balcony that looked out over the fortress walls, out into the burnt-out wasteland, and sighed. “You aren’t going to help matters, Ian,” she said in her most practical voice.

Ian glared at her. “Where the hell are the others? We’ve been waiting here for over three hours and there’s been no word.”

“I’ve been waiting over three hours. You got to go see Lazarus.”

“Much good that did me. He was worse than useless. I was hoping he might be someone I knew, but I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“You did manage to fool him, didn’t you?”

Ian looked affronted. “Of course I did. Do you think he would have let me come back if I didn’t?”

Holly shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Who knows? We’ve been set up all along the way—maybe this is just part of some major trap.”

“Maybe,” said Ian. “And maybe we’re fools to sit here like rats.” He stopped his pacing as a sudden, decisive expression darkened his green eyes. “And maybe I won’t just sit here. I’m going out to reconnoiter.”

“Don’t you dare!” Holly shrieked, leaping upright.

“The hell I won’t. No one told me I had to stay put. Lazarus said I was to make myself at home, enjoy the pool, visit their goddamned fitness center. I believe I’ll do that.”

“You can’t leave me behind in this room,” she said. “I’ll go crazy.”

“You can come along. After all, you’re supposed to be a terrorist groupie—you may get to play up to Carlos the Jackal.”

“Spare me,” she said. “This claustrophobic hotel room is preferable. But what if someone recognizes you?”