At the Edge of the Sun (Maggie Bennett 3)

Then she smiled, a dour, satisfied smile. She nodded once, then turned and headed out the door. Flynn would find no help from that quarter—just one more soul to dance on his grave.

It was time. It was past time, Ian thought, pushing away from the wall, pausing to wipe his sweating hand on his khaki pants before clutching the gun again. His footsteps were absolutely silent as he crossed the room, the doorknob cool beneath his damp hand. Slowly, deliberately he opened the door to the bedroom.

* * *

“I had just about given up hope of you, boyo.” Flynn was sitting up in bed, his bright-blue eyes maliciously cheerful in the artificial light, his engaging grin splitting his handsome face. “Though in the end you impress even me. I never thought you’d catch up with me here.”

Ian’s palms were suddenly dry. He stepped into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. He might have to make a quick getaway, and he didn’t want anything slowing him down. “I did tell you, Tim,” he said, his voice calm and even. “When you least expect it, I’ll be there.”

“To be sure, I didn’t expect you,” Flynn said, leaning back against the pile of pillows. The waterbed shifted and rolled beneath his weight, and Ian’s grip on the gun tightened infinitesimally. “But you’re welcome any time. Especially when you bring such lovely company.”

“What the hell …” His voice faded as he sensed a presence behind him in the doorway. Someone very tall and very female, and he began to sweat again. “Damn, Maggie, what are you doing here?”

It was worse than he’d thought. “Not Maggie,” Holly said. “She’s still wandering the halls, looking for you.”

“How did you find us, Annamaria?” Flynn mocked.

She looked at him, unmoved by that sunny smile. “I simply asked someone.”

“Who did you ask?” Ian’s breathing was harsh, labored.

“A man in a wheelchair.”

Flynn laughed. “Well, that takes care of that, doesn’t it? Lazarus may not be my favorite person, but he won’t like having guests murdered in their beds. Better do it now, Ian, or you won’t get any chance at all.”

Slowly Ian raised his gun, aiming it directly at Flynn’s naked, hairy chest. His arm was trembling, just enough to throw off his aim, and he used every ounce of his strength to still the tremors. He cast only a quick, worried glance at Holly’s pale face before walking farther into the room.

“You can’t do it,” Flynn said. “There’s too much of your goddamned British sense of justice and fair play. You can’t shoot an unarmed man in bed, no matter how much he deserves it. And I have no intention of making it easier for you. I’m not going to go for my gun. I’m just going to sit here and wait until you’re ready to admit you’re too damned civilized. And by the time that happens Lazarus will be back with help.”

“Maybe,” said Ian. “Maybe not.” He still held the gun pointed at Flynn.

“Remember the good old days, Ian?” Flynn said with a sigh. “Just the three of us, you, me, and Maeve. What a group we made. I was always the leader, and Maeve would do anything I said. You were less obedient. I should have done something about it back then.”

“You weren’t into cold-blooded murder when we were thirteen years old,” he said flatly.

Flynn grinned. “Wasn’t I, then? And what do you think happened to Maury Piper? He didn’t just happen to drown, you know. And who ended up with that bright-red bicycle of his?”

The gun trembled for a moment, then held still again, as Ian’s impassive eyes kept watch on the man in the bed. “So I underestimated you,” he said. “So did Maeve. It’s probably too late for her—she’ll get caught sooner or later. But in the meantime you’re going to pay for what you did to her, and for what you did to all those people.”

“Maeve isn’t going to get caught, Ian,” Flynn said, his voice an enchanting lilt. “Didn’t your friends tell you? Maeve is beyond the reach of the British army, Interpol, or anyone else who wants to interfere. She’s beyond anybody’s reach.”

“You killed her?” Ian’s voice was thick with disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, but I did. Look at it this way: I did you both a favor. She’d outlived her usefulness. There was no way you could ever be brother and sister again. She took after her renegade father too much, while you’re just like that tight-arsed British major that sired you.” Flynn smiled. “So do your worst, me boy. I more than deserve it.”

“I plan to,” Ian said, moving into the room. Now the gun was very steady.

“But do remember,” he continued, “that I’ll win in the end. If you shoot me like this you’ll be descending to my level. You’ll never crawl back up. And, of course, your lady will be a horrified witness. Do you want her watching you commit cold-blooded murder?”

“No, I don’t. Go away, Holly. Go back to the room. I’ll meet you there the moment I finish with this.”

“I’m staying.”

Flynn grinned. “Stubborn as her sainted mother. Speaking of which, Annamaria Holly Bennett, I have some of her jewels still with me. I’m not about to give them back, but you might like to see them.” He reached over to flip back the pillow beside him.

Ian cocked the gun, waiting, hoping to see Flynn’s hand emerge with a weapon. It emerged with a fistful of jewels that shimmered even in the dull artificial light. “I couldn’t bear to part with them,” he said with a sigh. “I plan to cut them up and then cash them in one at a time. Your mother had such wonderful luck with her husbands and lovers. Until she met me.”

Ian stared at him, sick with frustration. “Get out of bed, Tim.”