At the Edge of the Sun (Maggie Bennett 3)

“Yes.”

“He didn’t give the customers at Champignons a fighting chance, Maggie. And he wouldn’t give us one either. He’d shoot us in the back before we even knew what hit us, and he’d enjoy it. Tim Flynn is like a mad dog, and we’ve got to destroy him the safest way we can.”

“I still don’t like it,” she said stubbornly.

“I’ve got a surprise for you Maggie: Neither do I. But it’s a choice we have to make. As long as Ian doesn’t mess things up.”

“Why don’t Holly and I go now and try to find him?” Maggie interrupted, pushing away from the wall. “No one knows who we are—we could wander where we please.”

“No.”

“Don’t give me orders, Randall,” she said in a dangerous tone of voice, their afternoon interlude forgotten. “I’ll do what I damn well want.”

“Over my dead body,” he snapped. “I know a hell of a lot more about what’s going on around here than you do. For one thing, you and Holly look too damned much alike in spite of Holly’s hair color. You’re almost the same height, have the same eyes, the same stubborn mouth. And you both look like your mother. You can be sure that Flynn hasn’t kept quiet about his little coup. People aren’t discreet in places like this—they like to brag about their latest exploits.”

“Are there other places like this?” Maggie interrupted. “I was hoping it was unique.”

“I don’t really know. I don’t think it is. Don’t try to evade the issue, Maggie. Whether you like it or not, you’d be recognized before you got within ten feet of Flynn.”

“At least we can find out where he is,” she said desperately. “Maybe we can take care of him tonight. For God’s sake, Randall, we’ll have witnesses tomorrow. And what if he recognizes us before he goes under?”

“We want witnesses, Maggie. To prove it was just an accident. And I’ve already prescribed a sedative for him. By the time he’s wheeled into the operating room he won’t be able to open his eyes. For once in your life, do what I tell you.”

“You expect me to stay cooped up in this room like a good little girl?”

He ignored her sarcastic tone. “The quieter we are, the better.”

“And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime we wait,” he said, his tone icy and remote like the Randall of old, brooking no opposition.

“What about Ian?” Holly broke in, her voice sm

all and tense.

“Ian’s a big boy. He’ll have to take care of himself,” Randall said.

“But what if he can’t?”

“Then there’s still nothing we can do about it without blowing our cover. We’ll take care of Flynn tomorrow morning, Holly. And I expect we’ll find Ian with him.”

“But will he be dead or alive?”

“Flynn or Ian?”

“Either of them.”

Randall sighed and suddenly Maggie was remembering the night outside the pub in Northern Ireland, where he’d forced her to hold still while they listened to a massacre, listened and did nothing to stop it. Choices, he’d said. Tough, miserable choices. And right now he was making another one that they both hated. She could only hope it was the right one.

“We’ll find out tomorrow,” he said, and his voice was infinitely troubled. “Until then we wait.”

And Maggie, hating and loving him, turned back out to stare into the partying crowd.

nineteen

Cul de Sac had finally shut down for the night. The gambling tables in the huge banquet hall were silent, the pool was empty, the halls were cleared. At four in the morning the African night reigned supreme, and the dregs of the earth slept peacefully.

Or Maggie supposed their sleep was peaceful. She had no way of telling, but she was more than ready to guess that they weren’t troubled by nightmares as she was.