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Leopold laughed, cheerful in the summer sunshine. “You think a few bullets would stop my brother? He’s as alive as you and me, training Resistance groups in the southern mountains. He has four sons of his own. He’s very much a man, Vasili is.”
“Four sons?” Maggie echoed faintly. “We’ve only been gone six years.”
“It took him a couple of years to recover from his time with the secret police,” Leopold said with an apologetic shrug. “He’s already got another little one on the way.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Amen,” said Leopold piously, yanking the steering wheel. Moments later, they were bumping over the rutted wheat field, back toward the highway.
Maggie leaned back against the seat, gripping the door handle. She wasn’t ready to be tossed back into Randall’s arms. There was too much information she had to digest before she could decide how she was going to react to all this. She could feel his eyes on her, questioning, but she refused to meet his gaze. Shutting her own eyes, she pressed back against the backrest and did her best to shut out the world.
It was an uphill battle. She could feel his presence beside her, feel the tangible heat of his body, and she knew that all she had to do was relax her death grip on the door handle to be flung once more into his arms. It wouldn’t be her fault, and with luck he wouldn’t release her this time, either, and she could ride into Gemansk held safely in his arms. …
She was out of her mind! There was no longer any doubt of it. His quixotic gesture six years ago, which had almost killed a young man, didn’t change anything. Even though it proved he wasn’t a completely heartless villain, it still didn’t change the essential facts of his nature. Randall Carter was a cold man, incapable of love, laughter, and light. And the power he was once more exerting over her still scared the hell out of her.
The hotel room was small, dark, and depressing. True, it was the epitome of luxury compared with the one-room apartment they’d shared six years ago, but it wouldn’t take much to better that dour place. Maggie stared around at the drab green walls, the double bed with its garish orange bedspread, and the worn carpet beneath her feet and sighed.
Before he said a word, Randall made a thorough search of the room to make certain it wasn’t bugged. Then he went to the window and dropped the curtain back over the gloomy view. “Next time, let’s chase down leads in Monte Carlo,” he said. “I’m getting weary of Eastern Europe.”
Maggie sank down onto the bed, kicked off her high-heeled sandals, and looked at the man. He was becoming more and more of an enigma. “You want to tell me about it, Randall?” she said.
He stood there at the window, and the fitful sunshine outlined his tall, elegant body. He’d been remote and silent during the ride into Gemansk, centered on his own thoughts, and Maggie had known there was no way she could break through. Just as there was no way now.
“Tell you about what?” he countered, dropping into the uncomfortable chair with a grimace. “I’m meeting Leopold alone. The fewer people the better. Remember I didn’t ask you to come along—you simply showed up.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it,” she said ruthlessly. “Not that that isn’t a separate issue, and if you think I’m going to wait in this damned hotel room while you go out and have all the fun—”
“Hardly fun, Maggie,” he said. “And you know as well as I do that it’s easier for two people to elude the secret police than three, especially when one of them is in high heels.”
“I brought my Nikes.”
“You can jog around the hotel room.”
“Randall, you are rapidly losing any gains you might have made in
my esteem.”
“Good,” he said. “Don’t be a sentimental idiot, Maggie. That decision six years ago was based on common sense and nothing else. If I thought it would have saved the mission, I would have sacrificed you without a second thought.”
For a moment, she believed him. For a moment, she could see him discarding her life without hesitation or a backward glance. Then she let her gaze travel over the shuttered face, the stormy, unreadable eyes, the thin line of his mouth that so seldom curved in a smile, and suddenly she knew he had lied. He wouldn’t have sacrificed anyone if he could help it—his guilt over Vasili’s supposed death had clearly haunted him.
But her death would have been worse. It wasn’t ego or wishful thinking that made her realize that. She looked at that enigmatic face and simply knew.
“You could almost convince me,” she said softly, “except that I’m not quite as gullible as you think. I’ll tell you what really interests me right now—why you’re trying to convince me that you’re a cold-blooded monster. What do you want from me, Randall?”
A shadow crossed his face as he answered. “Not a thing, Maggie, except to have you wait here like a good girl while I go meet with Leopold.”
“Good girl?” she echoed in an explosion of anger, knowing he’d goaded her on purpose, knowing and still being livid.
“I promise to save some of the ‘fun’ for you. I want your word, Maggie. Swear that you’ll stay here, or I’ll lock you in the bathroom.”
“Try it,” she taunted, holding her ground as he advanced on her.
He stopped just out of reach. “You don’t think I’d do it?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” he said softly. “I’d do it, and I’d turn off the lights. There’s no window in the bathroom, Maggie. It would be pitch black in there. And you’d be trapped, alone, in the darkness.”
