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“But Consuela …”
“We can’t help her. Come on, Maggie, we don’t have much time.” His voice was low, urgent. “Get in the car, or I’ll knock you over the head and cram you in there.”
“The hell you will. I’m not going to let them kill—” She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Mack’s devastating fist shot out, and she had only enough time to register a faint surprise. Then everything went mercifully blank, just as she heard the volley of gunfire in the distance.
seventeen
It started with a slow, throbbing pain in her head. Not just the top of her head but the whole damned thing, starting with her jaw, radiating up through her cheekbones, throbbing through her ears, stabbing her eyes. Even her hair hurt. She lay in a tumble, trying not to move, all her energy concentrated on the hope that if she could just hold still it wouldn’t hurt so much.
It was a vain hope. It took her a few moments to realize she was being jounced along in the darkness at a rapid pace, another minute to recognize the backseat of the Jeep Cherokee. Even from her semicomatose state she could see the lightening sky through the windows. She must have been unconscious for a long time for it to be dawn already.
Then other things began to intrude—gunfire, screams, and the unmistakable smell of fire. And Maggie realized it wasn’t dawn lighting the sky behind them. It was the burning village of Chicaste.
The Jeep bounced over something, careened to the left, and then pulled straight ahead. She didn’t dare move her head or even try to lift it, when the slightest effort might make it fall off her neck and roll on the floor. She lay there, panting slightly as she tried to control the pain, and then she remembered.
It was Mack driving the Jeep at such a murderous pace through the jungle. It was Mack who’d slugged her in the jaw, knocking her unconscious and possibly loosening every tooth in her head. It was Mack who’d stopped her from trying to save poor Consuela. The memory of that volley of bullets came back to haunt her, and she could feel her fists clench.
The bastard, she thought, not moving as the Jeep racketed along. The heartless, despicable bastard. How dare he interfere, how dare he hit her, how dare he take over, ignoring her, forcing his will on her, treating her like an idiot?
The answer was simple and unavoidable. Because she had been an idiot. There was no way she could have helped Consuela—she could only have brought the further wrath of the Liberation Army down on their heads. But she’d been too furious to realize it, and Mack’s cooler head had prevailed, stopping her from killing both of them. She owed him her life.
It wasn’t an easy thing to live with. He’d helped her more than once, but it had never been as clear as it was now. She had no choice but to face the fact that her own stupidity had almost screwed them completely. And she’d needed to be rescued from herself.
Damn it, damn it, damn it. If only they could go back a few hours, maybe … But no, she knew she’d do the same thing again. She couldn’t calmly climb in the Jeep as they shot an innocent victim like Consuela. She’d always have to fight, even if it killed her. But she had to wonder how Mack could live with the memory of Consuela’s lost eyes as she faced her executioners.
“Am I about to have a gun placed to the
back of my head?” His rough voice broke through her absorption. “If so, you’d better give me some warning.”
Instinctively, she felt for the gun. It was still tucked in the waist of her jeans. “Why should I put the gun to the back of your head?” God, it hurt to talk! Her jaw felt as if it was made of cement, and even her eyelashes ached.
“Because I forcibly overruled you. There wasn’t time for a democratic discussion of the issue.”
Slowly, gritting her teeth, she pulled herself into a sitting position. There was no way it wasn’t going to hurt, and the only thing she could do was ignore the pain. She took a deep, shaky breath. “So might makes right?”
“In this case.”
“Did they kill her?” Her voice was flat, emotionless.
“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t know?”
She considered it. “You don’t lie. At least, you haven’t lied to me. I heard the gunfire before you slugged me. Are you telling me you didn’t see whether she fell?”
“They weren’t shooting at the people lined up in the square. They were shooting at your friend Willis,” he said grimly. “He must have thought he could sneak past them when they were busy with their prisoners. He was mistaken.”
“Did they kill him?” She was no more than distantly interested.
“I expect so. He fell. I didn’t stop to watch. I just drove the hell out of there before they could stop us.” He quickly glanced back at her. “Do you mind?”
“About Willis? No. He was bound to come to a bad end sooner or later.”
“What about me?” Mack persisted, and she could hear the diffidence, the peculiar uncertainty in his voice.
“What about you?” she countered.
“Are you planning to use that gun on me for interfering?”
“Do I have to say it?”
