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“No.”
She ignored that. “Just long enough for me to make plans. We need more money, we need clothes, we need plane reservations.”
“Forget it, Maggie. I know what I have to do.”
“Don’t be a turkey, Mack. We’ve already agreed. We’re going to Switzerland and face Van Zandt.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Mack …” Her voice held a warning.
“I’m going alone.”
“The hell you are.”
“You don’t have any say in the matter, Maggie,” he said wearily. “Too many people have died because of me. I’m not going to let you walk into danger again. This is between Van Zandt and me, and I intend to take care of it. Without your help.”
“Too bad, Mack. You’ve got my help, whether you want it or not,” she shot back. “I hate to remind you, but I’m in charge of this expedition and I—”
“Not anymore.”
“Listen, you macho pig, just because I’m not made of steel doesn’t mean that you’re suddenly the boss of the world,” she snapped. “I have as much right—”
“Maggie,” he said gently, “you’re fired.”
She stopped mid-tirade, too startled to do more than stare. “What?”
“I said you’re fired,” he repeated. “I hired the services of Third World Causes, Ltd., and I can fire them. You’re out of a job, Maggie. Go back to your office and help them out of the mess Peter’s death will have thrown them into. I can take care of the rest of this on my own.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Of course I can. I just did.” He unbuckled his seat belt. “The plane’s empty. Shall we go?”
“Not until we get this settled,” she began, but he rose and moved past her, starting down the narrow aisle, and she had no choice but to chase after him, feeling uncomfortably like a terrier snapping at his heels.
The winding tunnel was empty of passengers as she followed him off the plane and into the terminal. The flight attendants had even dispensed with their mechanical smiles, watching them go with undisguised relief. Mack kept marching, ignoring her as she hurried to keep pace with him, and for a moment she contemplated tripping him as she headed toward customs.
“Listen, you jerk,” she yelled at him, “if you don’t slow down and listen to me, you won’t have to worry about Van Zandt—I’ll kill you first. Damn it, Pulaski, will you stop for a moment?” She grabbed his arm, but she might have been a flea for all the difference it made. He just kept going, dragging her along with him with supreme disregard.
“Where do you think we’re going?” she demanded finally, when even using all her strength did little more than slow his pace a trifle.
“You’re going into the city. I’m putting you in a taxi and then I’m finding the next flight out for Switzerland,” Mack deigned to reply. “And I’m not about to argue with you, Maggie. This is nonnegotiable—you’re staying, I’m going.” They reached customs, joining the shortest line, with Maggie desperately wracking her brains for ways to defeat his sudden stubbornness. It wouldn’t take them long to get through customs, considering they had only the battered knapsack and not an ounce of contraband on them. And then Maggie had little doubt he’d do just as he said, bundle her into a taxi and send her off. She would, of course, order the taxi to turn around and drop her back off, but the maze of terminals at JFK wouldn’t help matters. And there were any number of airlines flying to Switzerland—she’d have to try each one before she found the one Mack was taking.
“Mack, listen to reason,” she said. “I have contacts, and I know Van Zandt a hell of a lot better than you do. You don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell if you go alone. For God’s sake, Mack,” she said, suddenly desperate, “I don’t want to lose you.”
That got his attention. He looked at her, their eyes almost level, and the stubbornness faded into the warmth she had become used to, and that sexy mouth of his curved in a smile that would have done Snake proud. “Maggie,” he said in his gravelly voice, and his hand reached up to gently touch her chin. She winced, and he leaned over and kissed her, first on the lips, then on her bruised chin. “You almost convince me, sweetheart. But I can’t risk it, I can’t risk you. And there’s nothing you can say or do to make me.”
“Do you have anything to declare?” the bored customs man demanded, and Mack moved ahead.
It took them only a few moments to pass customs, and then they were moving on down the wide corridors, heading for the gate that kept passengers from the rest of the world. Police and security guards were all around them, paying them not the slightest bit of attention, and Maggie’s hopes rose. At least they weren’t on the lookout for them yet. Maybe Van Zandt’s machinations had failed, maybe no one connected them with Peter’s death.
Suddenly Mack’s footsteps slowed. They were nearing the security gate, and hurrying passengers pushed around them as he came to a dead stop. Maggie almost barrelled into him, and she had opened her mouth to complain when she saw the expression on his face.
“What is it?” she demanded.
“Mancini.” His voice was flat, unemotional, and her gaze followed his.
He looked more like a stockbroker than a criminal, Maggie thought. Mancini was a beautifully groomed, beautifully dressed man in his mid-forties. He looked like any other rising executive, until you looked into his eyes. Even from that distance Maggie could see their cold, empty depths, so very like Willis’s, and she shivered.
