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Well, the longer she put it off, the longer it would take to get to her mother’s swimming pool in Laurel Canyon. She would drag Mack Pulaski down to Houston, dump him, and then she was free. Without another moment’s hesitation she reached up and rapped sharply on the door.
There was no answer. Damn the man, she thought bitterly. He was told to stay put and wait to be rescued. So of course he’s gone for a walk. She banged on the door, more loudly this time, and then pushed it open. “Pulaski?” she called out, her voice low and even. “Are you in there?”
It was pitch black inside the little cabin, the bright glare of the sun penetrating only a few feet into the dim interior. Of course Mack Pulaski might not have gone for a walk at all. His enemies might have caught up with him and left him here in this arid climate to rot away. She took a reluctant, tentative sniff of the air. Dryness, dust, and the lingering odor of … coffee, she recognized with a start. If Mack Pulaski had gone, he hadn’t been gone long.
“Pulaski?” she called again. “Are you in there?” Steeling herself, she stepped inside, keeping her back straight and her eyes on the tiny pool of light from outside.
“Stop right there.” A voice issued from the back of the cavernous room. Raspy, raw, hoarse, it held a curious depth and power. She stopped where she was, grateful not to have to immerse herself farther into the darkness.
She couldn’t see a thing. She peered into the inky confines of the cabin, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see a faint chink of light from a shuttered window outlining a shadowy figure standing in one corner. The shape of the body radiated wariness, and Maggie found herself speaking in a low, soothing voice, as if to a cornered animal, ignoring her own irrational fears.
“Mr. Pulaski?” she said again. “I’m Maggie Bennett. I work for Peter Wallace. He sent me here to pick you up and take you to Houston.”
“Did he?” The rusty voice was skeptical, and the figure made no move. “Close the door and come over here.”
“No.” She was grateful her voice sounded so calm and self-assured. “I don’t like being in the dark. Why don’t you come over here so I can see you?”
“Why?”
Maggie considered controlling her temper, then gave up the effort. “Because I’m hot, tired, and hungry, and I don’t want to play games.”
“Okay, no games, but why the hell would I go to Houston?” Some of the wariness faded, and he moved closer. Not into the light, but close enough so that she could vaguely make out some of his features.
“Peter wants us to meet him there and I’m not exactly sure why. I’m just following orders, and my orders are to bring you to Houston.” She allowed the full irritation she was feeling to show in her voice. “Do you want identification? I’ve got plenty—”
“Hand it over. And move into the light,” that raw voice ordered, and she complied, tossing her open wallet at his feet. He bent down to scoop it up, and all she could see was his rumpled hair, his face still hidden in the shadows. “All right, I trust you,” he said finally, moving closer. “I can see you aren’t carrying a gun.”
“You can’t see any such thing,” Maggie said. “I’m wearing a loose shirt. I could easily have a gun tucked in the back of my pants. The pants legs are loose too. I could be wearing an ankle holster, pretend I needed to tie my shoe, and a moment later you’d be history. I own guns small enough to fit in the palm of my hand that you wouldn’t even notice until you had a bullet between the eyes. Don’t be so damned sure of yourself, Mr. Pulaski.”
He laughed then, a carefree sound in that ruined voice of his, and moved out of the shadows so that she could get her first good look at him. “What do you want, a strip search?”
“I want you to be careful. Your life and mine might depend on it.” He didn’t look much like the grainy photograph Peter had provided her with. The shaggy blond hair was shorter now and mixed with gray. He had several weeks’ growth of beard, a nose that had been broken at least once, and the warmest eyes she’d ever seen in her entire life. They were at complete variance with the rest of him—the rough-and-tumble clothing that had clearly been slept in, the tough-looking body that was maybe an inch taller than hers, the world-weary face and cynical mouth. His eyes were hazel and warm and lit with a sense of humor, and the effect was startling.
He was looking her up and down with those eyes, a curious, guarded expression on his face. “So you’re my bodyguard—Maggie, is it? You don’t look like you’ll be much protection against the kind of people who are after me. Those wrists of yours look so delicate they might snap in a strong wind.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
“I’ll get you to Houston,” she said, “if you follow me and do as I say.”
“If I follow you and do as you say,” he echoed thoughtfully. “Why did Wallace choose you for this?”
“Because a man and a woman traveling together are less conspicuous. And because I’m very good at what I do. Don’t be sexist, Pulaski. I’m a lot stronger than I look.” She turned back toward the welcoming light streaming from the doorway. “Let’s go.”
“Are you?” he said softly, almost to himself. A moment later she felt an arm swoop around her throat, cutting off her breath as she was yanked against a hard, implacable body.
She didn’t waste a moment on useless struggling. She knew exactly how long it would take for her to pass out from lack of oxygen, and she also recognized that he wasn’t using his full strength on her. She fought back, quickly, cleanly, efficiently, jabbing her elbow directly into his ribs, bringing her booted heel down on his instep, turning and raising her knee toward his groin and her freed hand toward his vulnerable throat.
But he was swiftly out of reach, far enough so that she had the time to recognize the attack for what it was, a test of her skills. “Satisfied?”
He nodded. “You’re fast and good.”
“And you pulled your punches. I could have taken you out even if you’d used all your strength.”
His smile was no longer cynical; it matched the warmth in his eyes. “I’m sure you could. Maggie, my fate is in your hands. Let’s go to Houston.”
