And there was no way to tell who’d be in residence in the big white pseudo-Italian monstrosity of a house that Sybil had held onto through good times and bad. There’d be Queenie, of course, Sybil’s devoted maid cum housekeeper cum nanny. For as long as Maggie could remember Queenie had been there, her ample bosom ready to be cried upon, her common sense ready to be leaned upon. Whatever failings Sybil had as a mother, Queenie had more than made up for them.
Any or all of her three sisters might be there. Jilly was still in college, and she spent most of her summers back in California. Holly was busy with her career as a model, but she and Sybil had always gotten along the best. Vanity was one trait Sybil could identify with. And Kate was commuting between Chicago and L.A., working with a small regional movie company based in the Midwest. With luck, Sybil might have a full house. Not to mention whatever young man was currently enjoying her favors.
No, it would be hectic, exhausting, and wonderfully innocuous after the past few days of blood and bullets. And within a week Mack Pulaski would be as much a part of her past as Randall Carter, albeit a less painful part. But it didn’t look as if a trip to Laurel Canyon was anywhere in her near future.
She should never have bought him those damned Jockey shorts. It had been meant as a joke, and he’d taken it as such. But the sight of him in them had been unnerving to say the least. And if she was going to spend months, weeks, or even days hidden away with him, their involvement was going to change. And she didn’t know if she was ready for that change.
Her love life, such as it was, had never been spectacularly successful. Granted, it had gotten off to a hideous start when she was sixteen. And her involvement with Randall hadn’t been much of an improvement. Randall Carter had taken her trust, her ridiculous faith in human nature that even her stepfather hadn’t managed to shake, and destroyed them, tossing away her love with a casual disregard, unlike the usual care he reserved for rare and precious things. But then her love hadn’t been rare and precious to him, it had been a disposable commodity—useful for a time, but only temporary. It hadn’t been temporary for her.
Her marriage had been doomed from the start—a rebound alliance to a terminally nice guy who was as far from Randall as she could get. And then a discreet couple of affairs, just to prove she was healthy, ending with Peter Wallace.
He was typical of the men she’d chosen since her eight-month marriage. Charming, gentle, undemanding, he, like all the others, had ended up backing away. She couldn’t blame them. After her disastrous mistake with Randall, she kept all her passions carefully banked. She couldn’t afford to let them flame out of control ever again.
Control. A nasty word. Maggie sighed, peering out the greasy window. They were heading over the ocean now, the greeny-blue of the Gulf a dubious safety net beneath them. The acrid scent of Lonesome Fred’s marijuana cut through the gas and diesel fumes that filled the cabin, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She could swim, and swim well. She could only hope to God she wouldn’t have the chance. Not unless it was in a nice big chlorinated pool in a Honduran Holiday Inn, if such a thing existed.
“Hey, passengers.” Lonesome Fred had stopped his whistling, but his voice was still cheerfully stoned. “Where are we heading? Honduras is a small country, but I need to have some idea of the general area.”
“By the Nicaraguan border. If you can find an airfield …”
“Lady, I don’t need no airfield. Leave it to Lonesome Fred.” And he leaned back and began to whistle again.
“Leave it to Lonesome Fred,” Mack agreed behind her. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, Maggie? You didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Maybe,” she said dubiously. “But I have the feeling that as long as I’m awake and paying attention, this thing will keep flying. Ridiculous, I know.”
“Ridiculous,” he agreed. She could feel his hand toying with the rough braid she’d fashioned. It felt suspiciously like a caress, but that was unlikely. He’d been paternal, calm, and almost businesslike that morning. No sexual tension whatsoever, all day long, and she was missing it.
Brooding on whether Mack wanted her or not was a good enough diversion. She needed to get her mind off the mess they were in, to stop going back and forth between possibilities and impossibilities. Sexual fantasies and frustrations could keep her mind off the pilot at least. With a sigh, she sank back down in the cracked leather seat and shut her eyes.
“Maybe not so ridiculous after all,” Mack’s voice rumbled in her ear. She opened her eyes with a start, looking up into his grim face. There was no laughing warmth in his hazel eyes. Something was wrong.
“What?” she murmured groggily, pulling herself up. The seat belt held her back, and she suddenly remembered where she was. “What’s happened?”
“We’ve lost the engines, man,” Lonesome Fred called out from the cockpit, sounding completely unruffled. “Looks like you’re gonna get your chance to swim.” And he lit another joint.
With a shriek of rage, Maggie leapt for the front of the plane, but the seat belt jerked her back. She struggled with it, slapping away Mack’s restraining hands. “Leave me alone, Pulaski,” she snarled. “I know how to fly, better than that idiot at least. Maybe I can get them started again.”
“No time, Maggie. Grab this pillow and put your head down. Now, goddamn it!” he added at her mutinous expression.
She could feel the plane gather speed as it hurtled toward the ocean. “Take your own seat, too, then,” she snapped.
“It doesn’t have a seat belt.”
“Oh, my God,” she moaned. “Then hold on to me.”
“I think your chances would be better if—”
“I don’t give a damn what my chances are. Hold on to me or I’ll unfasten the seat belt and beat Lonesome Fred into a pulp as we drop into the ocean.”
He laughed, and if the sound was slightly forced, his hazel eyes warmed for a second. “You’re a hell of a woman, Maggie May,” he said.
“I know.” She smoothed the pillow in her lap. “Put your arms around me and your face on the pillow. Who knows, maybe we’ll survive.”
“Who knows?” He followed suit, kneeling beside her. His arms were strong and hard around her, and quickly she pressed her torso down on top of his, bracing herself for the impact.
“Geronimo!” Lonesome Fred shouted from the cockpit, and a second later they hit the water.
The force of their impact was tremendous, knocking Maggie back, ripping her arms away from Mack. She felt his body fall away from hers, and then everything blacked out, for minutes … for seconds. …