Dangerous Waters (20 page)

"I love you," she said, desperation swallowing any pride.

His jaw muscles knotted, but his level gaze didn't change. "I was a fool last night. I'm a hunted man. Until that changes, you don't belong with me. You're safe now. Go home. You and I, we were a pipe dream, anyway. I'm not the kind of man for you. Being thrown together in danger narrows your view of the world. Give yourself a few weeks and take another look."

Some instinct made Megan pull the bedcovers over her bare breasts. As though modesty meant anything now. "And if my view of the world doesn't change?" she asked, her voice thick with unshed tears.

"I might give you a call. When my troubles are finished."

"If they ever are."

"Yeah. If." He swung away, then, and stood again with his back to her, looking out the window at the courtyard and swimming pool below their balcony. "Your flight leaves in two hours." He spoke roughly. "Norm'll take you to the airport once you're packed. I took a chance coming through there once. I don't want to run into anybody I know."

If last night had been a dream, this was a nightmare. Megan sat there cross-legged, knowing that nothing she could say or do would change his mind. Would she ever see him again? Find out how his "troubles" had ended?

On a choked sound of despair she fled to the bathroom. There she turned on the shower as hot as she could stand it. She let the spray hit her face, and cried. It was nearly half an hour before she could collect herself enough to begin the mechanical routine of getting dressed and drying her hair. She wished she were so drained she couldn't feel at all, but wasn't that lucky. Agony welled so painfully in her chest, it was all she could do to make herself open the door and face Mac again.

If Mac was still here.

He was. He'd finished packing his own things and started in on hers. She stood in the bathroom doorway for a moment and watched him cutting tags off her purchases and clumsily folding them. She must have made a sound because he looked up.

Neither moved for a painful instant. His gray eyes were dark, the lines of his face taut. She knew suddenly that he wasn't saying goodbye to her as casually as he wanted to pretend.

"Norm will be here in a minute," he said, straightening. "I thought I'd help..."

Megan nodded, biting her lip until it hurt. "I'll finish," she said abruptly.

Mac retreated. "Megan..."

But a knock on the door interrupted him. He swore under his breath, but went to answer it. "Who's there?"

She couldn't hear the response, but Mac released the chain and opened the door. Megan closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to maintain her fragile composure, then turned to face the man who had held their lives in his hands.

Rangy, graying, he was older than she had expected. He looked as if he'd been sick, paler than he ought to be in the Florida sunshine and a little too thin.

"Megan Lovell." He smiled and held out a big hand, which she accepted. He squeezed and released her smaller hand. "It's a pleasure. I'd have recognized you anywhere, even though you've changed a little. What was it they always called you in the headlines?"

"America's sweetheart," Mac contributed from behind his friend. He was distant again, somebody she barely knew.

Her fingernails bit into her palms and she said, "That was a long time ago."

Norm's smile faded. "But you can still swim. I'd be stuck with a new partner if it weren't for you."

"That was my job. I've rescued a few eight-year-olds, too."

"They didn't weigh two hundred pounds. Hell, I know how Mac feels about water. He was probably fighting you all the way."

Megan's gaze collided with Mac's again. She said slowly, "No. No, he was...very cooperative."

"You don't say. Well, you ready to go?"

"Not quite." She nodded toward the open suitcase. "If you'll just give me a minute..."

Megan finished packing in less than a minute. Behind her, she heard the two men talking.

"You going to stay here?"

"No," Mac said. "I'd better move around. Damn, I wish I could go home, but I don't dare."

"You haven't gotten used to other pillows by now?" Norm asked genially.

"Ah, it's not the pillow." When Megan turned around, her smallest bag in one hand, Mac looked past his partner, directly at her. His mouth curled into a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "After that sleeper couch of Megan's, anything feels like the Hilton."

Matching his tone was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. "You should have said something. I have an extra layer of foam rolled up in the closet."

"The hell you do."

A little guiltily, she nodded. That first night she'd been too resentful of his presence to make any extra effort, and she'd just plain forgotten after that.

"We'd better go," Norm said. He sounded so gentle, she had a feeling he was reading between the lines.

"Yes." Megan blindly turned and picked up her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. "All right."

"Megan." When she turned, tears hot in her eyes, Mac had crossed the room and stood just behind her. His wide shoulders blocked her from his partner's sight.

She looked up at him mutely, and he said in a low voice, rapidly, "Megan, there's no other choice. Damn it, you know that."

In her heart, she did know. But would a promise be asking too much? Was he not making one because he was afraid he wouldn't live to keep it? Or because he thought that in the end she would let him down? Did Mac really believe she would see him differently once she didn't need him to protect her?

"Goodbye," she said. "Will you at least call me someday, so I know?"

He groaned, bent his head and kissed her. For a moment she forgot where she was, surrendering to the sensations: his mouth hard on hers, the texture of his shirt under the hand she'd automatically raised, the warmth beneath the shirt, his breath on her wet cheeks when he lifted his head.

"I'll call," he said roughly, and stepped away.

Norm had her suitcase, so Megan picked up the smaller bag and went, without looking back.

*****

"No," Mac said, and stared down his boss on the other side of the desk.

"Goddamn it, McClain..."

"How many months is it that I've already wasted? Three? Four? And the bastard found me anyway. I've done enough running. It's time to end this thing."

Norm had the other chair in the office, though he'd remained silent until now. "We have Silva," Norm reminded him. "He doesn't owe Saldivar any loyalty. He's a smart man..."

"Too smart to talk." Mac shook his head. This conversation was a rerun. "As things stand, he'll serve a few years in prison, be back in business. There won't be any business if he doesn't prove now how discreet he can be."

"Sooner or later, something will break."

"We've tried that way," Mac said flatly. Later would be too late for him. Maybe he was a fool to think he had a chance at a future with Megan, but he knew there wouldn't be any future if he had to run forever.

"So what do you have in mind?" Mac's superior asked. "Do you plan to take out an ad in the Herald?"

"If that's the best way to get word out," Mac agreed coolly. "We've played the waiting game long enough. He wants me badly. We can use that. You know how he feels about failure. His pride'll be hurt. If Saldivar has a vulnerable point, his pride is it. Let's set him up, and make sure it works."

"And if it doesn't?" his boss asked.

Like a kid playing cops and robbers, Norm pointed at Mac and clicked with his tongue as he pretended to pull the trigger. Mac didn't let his expression show any change. He just waited for the silence to end.

At last his boss nodded abruptly. "Okay. Maybe you're right. Maybe we have screwed around long enough."

Mac leaned forward. "Then let's make plans."

"This time, let's bring some more people in on it. I've stayed in touch with the Miami police on this, and I think the DEA can help us. They both want him as badly as we do."

"You'll set up a meeting?"

"For tomorrow, if I can get everybody together that soon."

"Good," Mac said fiercely.

At a knock on the frosted-glass inset of the door, Mac's superior raised his voice. "What is it?"

Bill Marshall opened the door and stuck his head around it. "We have a big problem," he said, in a voice that had Mac and Norm rising to their feet. Bill's gaze went straight to Mac. "Megan Lovell's been kidnapped. Her mother just called."

*****

Megan had spent the flight replaying in her mind the last days and weeks, knowing it was pointless but unable to stop herself. Would Mac come to her when Saldivar was stopped?

At least she knew now that he loved her, but in the end that might not be enough.

She wondered if he really believed that for him she was willing to walk away from everything that had ever been important to her. Remembering her stubbornness those first days after she rescued him, she couldn't blame Mac if he didn't believe her. It amazed even her how utterly she had changed. She had been so certain her life was satisfying! And now?

Now it would be empty. Unseeing, Megan gazed out the small window beside her seat. Her cottage— it would be hardest to bear, because every room was imprinted with memories of Mac. The meals they had cooked and eaten together, the bathroom where his towel had hung beside hers, the living room where he slept—she hadn't even stripped the sheets off the sleeper couch, she thought. Her bedroom... She drew a shuddering breath. How could she go home?

School would be starting in... It took her a moment to calculate. Four days. Other years at this time, she had been excited, planning eagerly, reading the files on her new students. Now she couldn't seem to recall a single name.

Megan leaned her head back and closed her eyes. All she knew for certain about the weeks to come was that the tension of waiting would never leave her. Every time the phone rang, she would answer with breathless fear, afraid to hear the worst.

She was bone-tired by the time the plane landed in Portland. Her father was coming to meet her, but she'd arranged for him to pick her up at an airport hotel in the morning. She had intended to finish replenishing her wardrobe, she remembered. She wasn't in the mood anymore, but she was glad she didn't have to face him immediately. Perhaps by morning she would have come to terms with herself and be ready to hide some of her desolation.

Once her flight landed, Megan exited the plane and collected her baggage. With only her purse, a small case, and the one large suitcase that rolled on wheels, she dodged the porters and headed for the doors.

Outside was the usual chaos: cars parked and double-parked while passengers unloaded or loaded luggage and kissed drivers hello or goodbye. Taxi drivers honked and several hotel shuttles were departing. Megan stood for a moment, disoriented. Real life with a vengeance. She wasn't ready for it.

Ahead she saw a taxi, a departing passenger leaning in the window to pay off the driver. She tugged on her suitcase and hurried toward it.

Behind the taxi was a blue sedan she scarcely noticed. Two men had gotten out and were passing her on their way toward the doors into the terminal. When one of them bumped her she said an automatic. "Oh, I'm sorry," and didn't really even look at him.

That was her mistake.

Before she could even react, Megan's arm was grabbed and she was hustled toward the blue car. "Hey!" she protested, just before she was stuffed into the backseat.

"Wait a minute!" She scrambled toward the opening, but it was blocked by a large, dark-suited man who slammed the door. "Let me out!" She pounded on his shoulder and tried to shove past him. Her only reward was the sound of the trunk closing, presumably on her luggage.

"I'm very sorry," the man said, and slapped a hand over her mouth and shoved her down.

Megan fought for all she was worth, but fruitlessly. The car moved smoothly away from the curb and joined the slow traffic passing the terminal. A moment later, it picked up speed.

The man released her mouth. "You can sit up now if you want."

She was shaking and gasping for breath. Instead of docilely settling back in the seat, she grabbed for the door handle on the opposite side of the car from the man. It was locked.

Before she could find the lock, his hands closed around her wrists and he shoved her back in the seat. Out the window she could see that they were moving fast now anyway—too fast. She would die if she jumped from the speeding car.

Her breath came in little sobs as she sank back against the seat. For the first time she looked at her abductors. All Megan could see of the driver was close-cropped dark hair. Another man was in the front seat: short black hair, a business suit, and dark skin. The one beside her, although larger and somehow tougher-looking, matched in all essentials. All three were Hispanic.

If anything, terror tightened its grip on her throat. Saldivar. They must work for Saldivar.

"Why are you kidnapping me?" she asked, in a voice that shook only slightly. "I don't understand."

The man riding in the front seat beside the driver turned his head and raised a skeptical brow. "No? I think maybe you could guess."

"If this has something to do with the man I rescued from the lake..."

"Special Agent James McClain."

"I didn't see the men who tried to kill him. It was getting dark..." She had to swallow. "I couldn't possibly identify them."

He shrugged. "We don't care about that."

"Then...then what?"

"You're bait," he said bluntly. "We're guessing that McClain won't take a chance with your safety."

"You mean I'm a hostage."

"Yes. You have nothing to fear if the man you were foolish enough to resurrect is willing to pay his debt to you."

"You'll let me go."

"Yes. You're of no interest to us. Well," he smiled amiably. "That's not quite true. I must admit to personal curiosity about you. A pretty young woman like you, yet you must have ignored the boys to live in the swimming pool. What made you?"

Oh, God! Megan thought, knowing she was on the verge of hysteria. He wanted to discuss her past as a competitive swimmer! But hadn't she read that if you were kidnapped it was a good idea to make your captors like you?