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“I was thinking
about my family. You got any brothers or sisters?”
“One brother. He lives in Seattle, drives a car very much like this one, and totally disapproves of me. Loves me, but thinks I have a helluva life-style.”
“So you do.”
Mack shrugged. “I like it when I’m not being gunned down. It’s not for Alan, but then I’d suffocate if I had to live his life. He’s a stockbroker, with a socially ambitious wife, socially ambitious children, even socially ambitious dogs. I think their image is more real to them than what’s behind it.”
“What is behind it?”
“Basically good people but lacking in depth. Do you have brothers and sisters, Maggie May?”
“Three sisters. Half sisters, to be exact.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Actually, I guess I have more than that. My mother had four daughters, my father had me and then three sons by his second wife. I tend to think of my half brothers as more like cousins. It’s odd, because they’re just as closely related as Kate or Holly.” She shook her head.
“So what were you thinking about your family?” It was a casual question, one to wile away the long hours of Arizona flatland, but Maggie wasn’t in the mood to spill her soul.
“Just that I missed them,” she said evasively. She could see by the look he gave her that he wasn’t fooled, but he dropped the subject. She was learning he had a way of doing that, pushing just a little bit, then pulling back when she got uncomfortable. She sort of liked that about him. She sort of liked a lot of things about him, even though she still wasn’t quite sure she trusted him.
“Do you have any more of those nails you threw on the road yesterday?” he asked in a tone of no more than casual curiosity.
She looked at him, as she had many times during the morning, trying to superimpose her memory of the legendary Snake on the rumpled, world-weary, very real man beside her. He had the mirrored sunglasses perched on his nose and his hands were resting with casual competence on the leather-covered steering wheel. Big hands, strong hands, she noticed.
And then his words penetrated her abstraction and Maggie was instantly alert. “I threw them all. Why?”
“Because while I think the Snow Princess is completely innocent, I’m not too sure about the Little Hustler from Mobile, Alabama. Vern and Donna Jean and Jennifer and Tommy are supposed to be inside. Instead, they look like Juan and Carlos and Manuel. And I don’t think they’re here to see the sights.”
“The men in the car yesterday weren’t Hispanic.”
“So we’ve traded one set for another. Great.” Mack straightened in his seat, just marginally, and she could see those strong, broad hands of his flex experimentally around the steering wheel. “Where’s the Snow Princess?”
“I can’t see it but I guess it’s behind the Little Hustler. Do you want me to drive?”
“I thought we already agreed that in these circumstances we didn’t have time to stop and switch drivers?” His voice was still casual. “You’re going to have to leave it up to me. Fasten your seat belt.”
At least he’d stopped calling her Superwoman, she thought gratefully. “Are you sure you can handle it?”
“We don’t have much choice, now do we? If it’s any consolation, I can tell you that I managed to survive two Ferraris, a Corvette, and a Jaguar XKE in my misspent youth. I can assure you I did not drive slowly.”
“This thing doesn’t handle like an XKE.”
“No, it handles like a goddamn tank. But at least it’s fast.” He cast a calm glance into the rearview mirror. “And I think it’s about time for it to prove its stuff.”
The Little Hustler had been gaining steadily. Mack had been accelerating, pushing the speedometer up and up, but the RV had managed to keep pace, even move closer. The Snow Princess was left far behind in the summer dust, but things were still overtly polite between the white sedan and the Winnebago. Maggie huddled down in the seat, her eyes trained on the side mirror.
“I think you’re right,” she said. “I don’t think our friends from Mobile, Alabama, want to talk.” Close up, their faces looked frighteningly implacable. “Why don’t you step on it?”
“I’m afraid I have. Does this thing go much faster than ninety?”
“You mean to tell me the Little Hustler is following that fast? The damned thing must be all engine!”
“Enough engine to keep pace with us, not enough to pass us. They’re going to realize that sooner or later, and we’re going to have to hope they don’t have guns. I don’t suppose … ?”
“Nope. I came straight from London. Even with a permit it’s too much trouble to carry weapons around the various airports of the world.” She allowed herself the luxury of swiveling around in her seat to get a good look, at their pursuers. At speeds of ninety plus there was no longer any pretense they weren’t in an automotive duel to the death. She swung back quickly, not even wasting her breath enough to swear. “They have guns.”
Mack shrugged. “Got any suggestions? You’re supposed to be protecting me.”
“Don’t remind me.” Suddenly she undid her seat belt and dove over into the backseat, almost kicking him as she went.
