“I did.”
Maggie considered moving away from him on the bench seat. At that point, she didn’t even want his blood splashed on her rumpled suit. But she stayed where she was, waiting, knowing there had to be more to it.
She waited for Leopold to cock the gun. He kept it on Randall, but his expression didn’t change. “Explain, mister.”
Randall shrugged his elegant, unconcerned shrug. “It was a choice given to me. I chose what seemed to be the lesser of two evils.”
“Not enough explanation, mister.”
“No,” Maggie said quietly, “not enough explanation. What happened on that day six years ago?”
His eyes met hers for a long, contemplative moment, and she wished she could read his thoughts as easily as he read hers. But as always, his thoughts and emotions were veiled, masked behind defenses that could never be breached. He looked at her, then turned back to Leopold with his usual self-control, ignoring the gun, ignoring the demands, making his own decision.
“Maggie and I had to get out of Eastern Europe. A bureaucrat named Miroslav Wadjowksa had agreed to provide phony passports. When I delivered the necessary photos, he developed a not-inconceivable passion for Maggie’s picture. He agreed to provide the papers if Maggie would be the one to retrieve them and provide a few hours’ entertainment at the same time.” He looked at Maggie’s still profile. “I could have put pressure on him to do it without the added inducement of sex, but I wanted Maggie to be kept busy for a while.”
“Why?” Leopold demanded.
“Because I’d been followed for the previous two days. Vasili knew about it and warned me, but he didn’t know how much the secret police knew. When Maggie went off to pick up the papers, I went off to distract the police. I mistakenly thought I was clever enough to lead them on a wild-goose chase, away from Maggie, and then escape them on my own. I’d overestimated either my skills or their ineptitude.”
“They caught you?”
“They caught me. I must agree with your assessment of the secret police. They are not very nice men. Not very bright, either, but quite adept at finding out what they want to know. They gave me a choice. I could tell them the name of my contact, Vasili, or they would kill Maggie.”
Maggie’s swift intake of breath seared her lungs and burned her heart. She sat very still, staring at his averted profile, still saying nothing.
“So you decided my brother was expendable—is that how you say it, mister?” Leopold’s eyes glittered with rage.
“I decided that Vasili had a better chance of escaping than Maggie. Particularly since I was being—detained—in a back room of the government building where Maggie was getting the passports. After a little—physical persuasion—I gave them the name they wanted, and they kept their part of the bargain. They let Maggie go and went after your brother.”
Maggie shivered in the warm summer air. “Randall, they tortured you. You aren’t to blame for breaking under the pain.”
His smile was wintry. “It would take days of pain to break me, Maggie. I’m not saying I wouldn’t, sooner or later. But it would take more than a few broken bones to do it. I gave them Vasili because they already had you in custody. Vasili was still out there, he still had a chance. You would have had no chance at all.”
Leopold nodded. “You made the right decision, mister. They would have killed her without hesitation, and then they would have found out what they wanted from you sooner or later. They are stupid men, but they know their job.” He lowered the gun. “They killed Vasili’s woman the way they would have killed yours. And Vasili watched, knowing that a word from him would have stopped them. He’s had to live with that, and there have been times when I think he would rather have died on the border. But this is a war, and Grilda knew the dangers as well as Vasili.”
“What?”
The boy shrugged and dropped the gun onto the seat beside him. “He told me to help you, that you were good people. He sent his special love to you, miss. His wife did not like that one bit, I tell you.” He turned back to start the car. “I am sorry I had to hold the gun on you, but I wanted to make sure you were worth risking my life for. I don’t take anyone’s word, not even my brother’s.”
“Leopold, what the hell are you talking about?” Randall’s cool distance had vanished. “Is Vasili alive?”
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.”
She heard his words with a sickening feeling in the center of her stomach. It didn’t surprise her that he knew—Randall knew everything. He was a very thorough man, and Bud Willis took particular pleasure in his knowledge of her phobia. She wasn’t really surprised that Randall would use that knowledge to terrify her, either.
What surprised her was the look of pain that clouded his eyes as he threatened her with the one thing she wasn’t sure she could withstand.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” she said, her voice low.
He looked at her, measured her response, and then he gave her a short nod. Without another word, he left the room, closing the flimsy door behind him and leaving Maggie to stare after him. Confusion, rage, and determination swamped her as she huddled in the middle of the bed.
What do I want from her? Randall asked himself as he moved down the three flights of stairs in the depressing Gemansk Grande Hotel. A good question, but one that he didn’t have an answer to.
He wanted to see the shadow of fear lifted from those remarkable aquamarine eyes. He wanted her smiling up at him the way she had six years ago with the trust and love that for some masochistic reason he’d destroyed.
He could have told her what had happened. He could have found her in New York and tried to explain. But he’d rebelled against that, had been unwilling to make excuses for himself when she should have taken him on trust, should have known that the decision he’d made had been inevitable. When he’d finally laughed at his own egocentricity and demanded complete faith while offering nothing in return, and when he’d finally accepted the fact that his need for her overshadowed his ego and his overweening pride, it had been too late. She’d been married to her first husband, a useless little wimp. He’d known it wouldn’t last, and he’d bided his time. He waited and waited and waited, and finally his time had come. He had her alone, and yet like some goddamned fool he kept driving her away.
Leopold was waiting in the Fiat, and he whistled as the Gemansk variant of a pretty girl walked by. Once more, Randall felt a clean sweep of relief that Vasili hadn’t died. Enough people were on his conscience already; it was a blessed joy to offload at least one soul.
Leopold looked up and waved at him, his broad mouth creased in a friendly grin. Randall stepped out into the Gemansk sunlight. What did he want from Maggie? What he didn’t deserve and would never own.
Just her body and heart and soul.
Maggie peered out the grimy window into the industrial daylight of Gemansk. The tiny white Fiat roared off into traffic, out of sight.
It was all ridiculously simple. Red Glove Films was listed in the thin, tissuelike phone directory. Maggie stripped off her crumpled suit and high heels and replaced them with an anonymous pair of jeans, an oversize shirt, and her Nikes. She could blend in with anyone, and her clothes wouldn’t interfere if she had to run for it.
She’d be back in the room before Randall returned, and if he didn’t like the fact that his unwanted partner had bested him, that was too damned bad. She’d gotten too used to relying on herself the last few years—she wasn’t about to start being passive now, particularly with Randall. If she wasn’t very careful, he would swallow her up, leaving her empty and hollow and hopelessly dependent.
No, she was going to make a move herself. And then she’d wait for him with the name of the intermediaries between Red Glove Films and Stoneham Studios, and she’d snap her fingers at his disapproval.
That thought made a broad grin light her face as she let herself out of the hotel room. The delightful fantasy kept her cheerful as she walked straight into the arms of the secret police.
fourteen
There were times, Maggie thought, when her own idiocy and gullibility amazed her. As if life could be so simple, she mocked herself, searching for a comfortable position in the dark sedan that was carrying her through the city. No comfortable position seemed possible with her wrists handcuffed behind her back. She leaned back against the seat and shut her eyes for a brief moment, ignoring the dark figure beside her.
How could she have been so stupid? The taxi that pulled up in front of her when she left the dubious security of the Gemansk Grande was just a little too convenient, the driver a little too military, his assurance that he knew how to get to the offices of Red Glove Films just a little too pat. They’d traveled three blocks when he’d pulled over and two men had joined them in the taxi, one in the front, one beside her. The man in the front wore a uniform and carried formidable weapons, the man beside her was in plainclothes.
There’d been a brief, nasty battle, one that had ended with the handcuffs on her wrists and a large welt on her captor’s face. And then she was shoved into a corner as the taxi took off down the street.
She listened to the man beside her regain his temper and his breathing, and she spared a brief glance for his profile. There was a wide red welt against his pale, pasty skin, and his small dark eyes looked like raisins in a suet pudding. He took a deep, calming breath and turned to meet her gaze. His wide, almost casual grin was oddly, horrifically familiar in the dank interior of the taxi.
“So rude, Miss Bennett,” he chided. “When all we wanted to do was give you a proper welcome on your return to Gemansk. You left too abruptly six years ago—and we were delighted you saw fit to visit us once more.”
Maggie just stared at him, at the face she knew but had forgotten along the way. “I believe you have the advantage of me,” she said politely. “In more ways than one. Have we met?”
The man beside her laughed in surprise and admiration. “You Americans. Always so brave. My name is Miroslav Wadjowska. I am second commandant of what you call the secret police. Welcome to Gemansk.”
Maggie inclined her head regally. “You’ve been promoted since last we met, Mr. Wadjowska. Six years ago you were a visa clerk.”
He smiled. “Six years ago I was third commandant of the secret police. You and your friend underestimated us—we knew what you were doing back then.”
“Then why did you let us escape?”
A shadow crossed Miroslav’s face. “A mistake, I’ll grant you.”
“Just one? Randall and I got out separately,” she said.
His face darkened further. “Two mistakes. My men were so intent on catching that little traitor Vasili Baskinski that they let you cross the border and escape our reach.”
“And Randall?”
“Another error, and this one, I must confess, was mine. Any normal man would have been unable to move after the interrogation he got. My men are known for their efficiency, and most people, if they survived at all, wouldn’t have been conscious for days. Your friend is just a bit inhuman.”
Maggie thought back to Randall’s enigmatic face and managed a grin. “He can be.”
“You aren’t wise to remind us of failures, Miss Bennett. It will only make us more determined not to fail again.”
She sighed. “My dear Mr. Wadjowska, what ever gave you the impression that I was wise? Anyone with any claim to wisdom wouldn’t have walked into this little trap. Especially since you were kind enough to warn us by sending my old purse along.”
He grinned, showing blackened teeth. “It was stupid of you,” he agreed. “But no matter how clever you’d been, we would have caught you. The reappearance of your purse was a minor touch to frighten you into making just such a foolish move. We were planning to visit your hotel room the moment your friend and Vasili’s brother returned.”
“Friend? Vasili’s brother?” Maggie questioned innocently.
Miroslav Wadjowska reached over with deceptive ease and slapped her across the face. He was left-handed, and his knuckles slammed into her left cheekbone with stinging force. She blinked for a moment as involuntary tears of pain filled her eyes, but she forced her face into impassivity.
“You’ve been watched since your arrival. We saw Leopold meet you at the airport, though we did lose you somewhere between the airport and the city. We know that Leopold has followed in his brother’s traitorous footsteps. We know that the two of them have gone off somewhere.”