At the Edge of the Sun (Maggie Bennett 3)

Slowly she replaced the receiver. No change in Sybil’s condition, damn it all. Well, no news was good news—at least she hadn’t worsened. Maggie crossed the room, ignoring their watcher. All they needed was a weirdo complicating matters. The sooner they got through customs and into London the happier she’d be.

There was no sign of Green Eyes when they climbed into their taxi. Maggie leaned back against the seat, next to Holly’s slender shoulders, and looked out the back window of the cab. The sturdy silhouette of the driver behind them was ominously familiar. She almost fancied she could see his green eyes, still watching them.

“Damn.” She ducked back down again. “He is following us.”

Holly didn’t turn. “Did we ever have any doubt?”

“Not really,” Maggie said with a sigh. “Do you recognize him?”

“Never seen him before in my life,” Holly said. “Should we ask the driver to try to lose him?”

“Not on your life. I want to find out who he is and why he’s tailing us.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

“Ask him politely,” Maggie said.

“And if he won’t tell us?”

Maggie’s smile was grim. “He’ll tell us,” she said.

Holly eyed her warily. “I expect he will,” she said in a faint voice.

three

Maggie had chosen a discreet, upper-class hotel in the heart of London, one that catered to the famous and not so famous who had the wherewithal to avoid crowds. The lobby resembled the sort of private men’s clubs she’d always imagined when she read Dorothy L. Sayers mysteries, and she half expected to find an elderly corpse propped neatly beside a potted palm.

Checking in was accomplished with quiet efficiency, and as Maggie turned with Holly to follow their masses of luggage she kept her gaze averted from Green Eyes.

He should look out of place in these surroundings, Maggie thought as she stepped aboard the wire cage lift. With his rough clothing, his tough, pugnacious air, he should have been like a bull in a china shop. But he wasn’t. For some strange reason he fit into the elegant surroundings as if born to them, and Maggie’s curiosity grew.

“What are you going to do?” Holly asked as they rose above the lobby, leaving Green Eyes staring after them.

“I told you, find out why he’s following us. I can’t jump him when you’ve commandeered half the bellboys in the place—this is the sort of thing that needs to be accomplished without an army of witnesses. I’ll wait till they’ve gone and then take a little walk down the hallway. I have no doubt at all I’ll find him waiting for me.”

“Uh, Maggie, he looks awfully strong …”

Maggie only smiled. “Trust me, Holly.”

It took all her self-control to wait patiently as three extremely handsome young men placed Holly’s twelve suitcases in one of the bedrooms of the large suite. It took every ounce of calm to stand there, looking out the window, as Holly flirted and tipped and sent them on their way. And it took every bit of her inner balance to calmly wash her hands and face, retrieve the Colt 380 from its hiding place, and head for the door.

“I’m coming.” Holly hadn’t even bothered to change, a rare situation indeed, but Maggie was having none of it.

“You’ll stay right here. I don’t need anyone else in the line of fire.”

“Are you actually going to use that thing?” Holly eyed the gun warily.

“Not if I can help it.” She dropped it in the pocket of

her Irish knit cardigan. “But it doesn’t hurt to carry insurance.”

“No,” Holly said faintly. “It doesn’t hurt.”

The hallway was still and deserted. Maggie moved down the narrow carpet without a sound till she came to a spot she’d noticed on their way in, a shallow hallway leading to what was probably a linen closet. Ducking in, she waited there, listening, her back pressed against the wall as a measured pair of footsteps moved down the hallway.

She could feel the tension running through her exhausted body, and she held herself taut and still, listening, desperate not to make the kind of mistakes that weariness inspired. She stood there, unmoving, as an elegant, elderly gentleman passed the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief that she’d had the sense to wait till she was certain. The sound of his door closing almost muffled the next set of footsteps.

This time she knew. By the itching in her palms, by the adrenaline buzzing through her, by instincts older than civilization.