Against the Wind (22 page)

“You’re lying, Maddy,” he said. “I’ve known you long enough and well enough to know when you’re lying to me. What is it?”

She managed an airy laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do. Maddy, you’re no fool. You can’t hold out against the entire forces of Morosa and the rebels combined. Carlos wants that information just as badly as I do, and Carlos has gotten a bit … overeager in the last few months.”

“Why mince words? After all, you’re on opposite sides now. Carlos has apparently become a murdering lunatic. I have no doubt he’d cut off my ears and nose just for pleasure, but I can’t give you or him what I don’t have.
My father gave me nothing but the box of candy, which I delivered unopened to Senator O’Malley. Talk with him if you don’t believe me.”

“We have.” He stared at her for a long, frustrated moment. “When did you suddenly choose sides?”

“What?” It was an abrupt change of topic, and Maddy stared at him in confusion for a moment.

“I said, when did you choose sides? When you were down in San Pablo you seemed to think both sides were murdering cutthroats. When did you suddenly become so partisan to the rebels?”

She thought about it for a moment, uncertain whether to tell him the truth. Why not? she thought bitterly. What else did she have to lose? She met his gaze calmly. “When I thought you’d been murdered by the government.” She shrugged her shoulders in unconscious imitation of Soledad’s oft-used gesture. “My mistake, it seems.”

He stared at her in absolute silence, and there was no way she could tell what he was thinking. Then he reached for the door, not for her, and she knew he was lost to her more than a bullet or an explosion could have made him. He was dead to her.

“You’re going to have to give it up sooner or later, Maddy,” he said finally. “If not to me, then to Carlos, and you won’t like the way Carlos will get it.”

“Carlos is in San Pablo. …”

“Carlos was seen in Los Angeles last week, Maddy. He’ll find you. The only way to protect yourself is to give me what I want.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stubbornly. “Believe me, if I did I’d give it to you just to get you out of my life.”

“And that’s what it will take, Maddy. Because until
you hand it over I’m your shadow. You won’t be able to enjoy your comfortable Southern California lifestyle, you won’t be able to go anywhere without seeing me, remembering me …”

“Don’t!” Her voice was ragged with unexpected pain, and swiftly she cleared it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jake,” she said urgently. “I really, truly don’t. Go back to San Pablo and your beloved General Morosa and leave me alone. Please, Jake.” She hated to beg, but she had no choice. It was going to take her a long time to get over this, perhaps the rest of her life. She couldn’t even begin to recover until he was well and truly gone.

“I’ll leave you alone when you give me what I want,” he said, and there was no softness, no pity or caring in that gravelly voice. Then he was gone, the key buzzing angrily as he opened the door and hot air blasted into the car. Maddy lifted her head to watch him walk away, and she stared at his body hungrily, the tall, lean length of him in that damnable gray uniform that only meant death and oppression.

It was a good thing it was a Saturday afternoon and there wasn’t much traffic between McLean and Dulles Airport. She pulled into the rental parking section in a state of shock that approached a mild drunk, and even her gait in the high-heeled shoes developed a slight weaving.

The flight between Washington and L.A. went by in a blur as Maddy stared sightlessly out the window, into the fluffy bank of clouds. L.A. traffic wasn’t quite so merciful, but a small part of Maddy’s brain was working by that time, and she made it back to Hermosa Beach safely enough, parking the Alfa at a haphazard angle on
the street and stumbling into the dark interior of her apartment.

She dropped her purse and sat down on the sofa. It was past five, L.A. time, and dusk was approaching. Maddy sat there without moving, without turning on a light. She could feel the cool sea breeze from the ocean, but even that brought no solace. She sat there, numb, her hands folded neatly in her lap, staring into nothingness. It was there that Soledad found her.

“This is no good.” She clucked, bustling in the open door and flicking on the overhead light. It was almost dark when she arrived, and Maddy hadn’t moved more than a muscle or two in the hour since she came back. “You’re made of tougher stuff than that, Maddy. No daughter of mine, even if she’s a stepdaughter who’s two years older, is going to give in so weakly. I’ll fix you a good, stiff drink, some soup, and then you will tell me all about it.”

Maddy turned her head, and the muscles were stiff and unyielding. “Jake’s alive.”

“I know, Maddy.” For once in her life Soledad was kind.

“For how long?”

“He called me three days ago.” Soledad told many lies when it suited her, but she also knew when the truth was needed, however painful it might be.

“You know he’s working for General Ortega?”

“So he said.” Soledad was busy in the kitchen, and her voice was distracted. A second later she reappeared, a dark amber drink in her hand. “Drink this.”

Maddy took the glass, staring down at the lone ice cube and the withered slice of lemon that floated in the dark, pungent liquid. “What is it?” she roused herself to ask.

“Straight rum. Drink it.” When Soledad used that tone of voice there was no denying her. Maddy drank, choking on the results.

Soledad sat down beside Maddy on the sofa, taking the empty glass from her and setting it on the table in front of them. “Do you have any idea what he wants?”

Maddy shook her head. “No idea at all,” she said truthfully.

Soledad’s dark, pretty face was troubled. “Well, we’d better try to find out. If Jake doesn’t get it, Carlos will. And I—I am very much afraid of Carlos, my daughter.”

A little frisson of fear ran across Maddy’s backbone. “He won’t hurt me,” she said, not believing a word of it.

“Of course he will, and the only person capable of stopping him is Jake,” Soledad said.

“Surely the police …”

“Carlos has been dodging one of the best-organized armies and terrorist squads in the world today. Do you seriously think the L.A.P.D. is any match for him?”

There was no answer Maddy could give to that irrefutable piece of logic. If the only person who could help her was Jake Murphy, then she would do without help. Besides, he was only likely to help her if she gave him what he wanted, and she truly had no idea what it was. Someone else must have whatever Carlos and Jake were seeking. Perhaps it had died with Richard Feldman in that steaming jungle.

“You really don’t know, Maddy?”

She met Soledad’s dark eyes. “I really don’t know.”

Her tiny stepmother nodded. “Then there’s nothing we can do. I think you ought to go to bed, Maddy. You look dead on your feet.”

“I’d rather not. I—I don’t want to be alone.”

Soledad nodded again. “Then lie down on the sofa. I’ll
find you a blanket and pillow, and I will stay and keep you company.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Maddy protested weakly.

“I know I don’t. But I will.”

The moon was shining in the darkened living room, and Maddy moved restlessly on the sofa. She could see the shadowed shape of her stepmother, keeping vigil in the darkness. “Soledad,” Maddy whispered.

There was a moment of silence, and Maddy wondered if Soledad was asleep. “Yes, my daughter?”

“Do you still love Jake?”

The next pause was even longer, then she spoke. “Not anymore. Do you?”

Always and forever, Maddy had promised herself six months ago, fourteen years ago. “No,” she lied, and Soledad’s answering laugh was a cool lilt of disbelief.

The small house by the ocean was empty when Maddy awoke from her cramped night on the sofa. There was no sign of Soledad anywhere, only a note by the refrigerator.

“Gone away for a few days, daughter mine. If Carlos is in town I don’t want to be here, and neither should you. Go to Jake if you need help. He is the most trustworthy man I know.”

That wasn’t saying much, Maddy thought as she made herself a pot of coffee. Soledad hadn’t gone in much for trust in men, and if Jake was a prime example she’d done even worse than Maddy suspected. Soledad’s spelling was atrocious, and for a brief, pain-swept moment Maddy remembered another ill-spelled letter that had been hoarded and reread until the yellow lined paper was soft with age. She slammed her hand down on the counter in a vain attempt to block out the memory.

She didn’t leave her house until late afternoon that
Sunday, and then only to walk on the beach. Her brain had mercifully gone on automatic pilot, and she moved through the hours in a kind of beneficial fog.

But Monday dawned bright and clear, and the real world had to be faced. She could feel those eyes, watching her, as she drove through the early-morning traffic toward Hollywood, but she shrugged off the feeling. It had to be sheer paranoia.

She always arrived at the ancient, five-story building that housed the Greater Hollywood Help Network at a little past eight. At that hour she missed the very worst of the traffic, and it gave her a blessed few minutes of peace in which to drink her third cup of coffee, do the L.A.
Times
crossword puzzle, and generally gather her inner and outer resources before the stress of the day began. The social workers drifted in between eight thirty and nine, and their clients showed up any time after that, though early afternoon was usually the peak. Even though nominally Maddy had little to do with the clients, when a new group of San Pablan refugees arrived she always managed to be in the front room to greet them, particularly when there were children. There were times when only the innocent laughter of children could make her smile again.

It mattered little whether the refugees were legal or illegal aliens. The network was a private agency, not directly answerable to the federal government, and Maddy and the social workers made very sure not to ask too many questions.

The parking lot was almost empty when she stopped, and the attendant yawned extravagantly as he took the keys. The streets were deserted. Hollywood street people and bag ladies were nocturnal creatures. Maddy paused at the corner, staring around her, her feet resting on
Norma Shearer’s gold star. She could feel the eyes on her, watching her, and a little shiver ran down her spine.

She wouldn’t turn and look, she told herself. She wouldn’t. There wouldn’t be anyone there, and she’d feel like a fool. She wouldn’t look.

But it was a losing battle. Slowly she pivoted on her high heels and there, five yards away on a deserted stretch of Hollywood Boulevard, stood Jake Murphy.

He was dressed differently, and Maddy didn’t know whether to be relieved or more disturbed. He no longer wore the starched gray uniform that stood for everything she hated, or the khaki fatigues that reminded her of that jungle war, or the dark, three-piece suits of his days as a Secret Service man. He was wearing faded denims that hugged his narrow hips and swept the length of his long legs, an equally faded denim shirt, and boots that even from this distance looked like they were Frye’s best. Fancy stuff for a simple soldier, Maddy told herself grimly. She could see a glint of silver around his neck in the early-morning sunlight, and a pair of dark glasses hid those merciless hazel eyes from her. She was just as glad.

The building was deserted as she headed swiftly into her office. For a moment she’d considered retrieving her car and driving away, as far and as fast as she could. But she couldn’t spend the rest of her life in hiding from Jake Murphy. She’d faced him once, she’d face him again and prove to him just how unimportant he was.

She made the huge urn of coffee with practiced skill, having chosen that menial but undeniably crucial task for her own, then leaned back against Sally’s desk to watch it
perk. Sally Floody and her sister-in-law, Chris Morey, were the two best social workers on the staff, and every day Maddy thanked heaven for their sure, delicate touch and deep, human concern. Their only drawback was that they made lousy coffee.

It took forever to perk that morning, and Maddy badly needed that coffee. The sight of Jake had unnerved her, the silence that followed only made it worse. Any moment she expected him to pop out from behind a desk, to grab her and start demanding heaven knew what. If only she knew what he was talking about. She’d gladly give him anything Sam had passed on to her, just to get him out of her hair. But Sam had given her nothing but the gold medallion as a final, belated token of love, and she wouldn’t part with that for the world.

The coffee urn finished its business with a
whoosh
and sigh, and Maddy poured herself a huge cup in the mug Soledad had given her. It read “I survived San Pablo,” and suddenly Maddy was having her doubts.

Her office was in the corner on the cool northwest side of the building, and the narrow Roman blinds were still drawn from the previous weekend. The darkness was soothing. Setting the mug on her littered desk, she sank into her chair, a nervous hand playing with the medallion beneath her crisp cotton shirt.

This time she didn’t jump. How he’d managed to slip past her in the dark, deserted building, how he’d managed to find her own private office was beyond her comprehension. But he was there, leaning back in the chair usually reserved for the social workers or San Pablan refugees. He might almost qualify as the latter, she thought with a trace of misplaced humor.

“Would you like some coffee?” Her voice was perfectly
modulated. Damn, she was cool, she thought with a shaft of real pleasure.

His small, careful smile acknowledged her control. “Not right now. Have you thought about what I asked you?”

“About some mysterious final mission from Sam? Yes, I’ve thought about it, and you’re out of your mind.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

“I’m sure you have.” She took a sip of her dark, scalding coffee, refusing to grimace as she burned her tongue.