Maggie's Man (17 page)

"Maggie."

Her hand beat more emphatically.
"Tired!"

The voice backed off. She snuggled back into
the warm abyss.

"Meow."

Huh?

"Meow," the voice tried again,
sounding like a cat with
laryngitis. "I'm a three-legged cat,"
it insisted. "And I want to be fed."

One eye reluctantly cracked open, letting the
light flood in. "Whuh?"

Cain smiled down at her, his expression wry.
"Rise and shine." Her other eye managed to crack open, then she
blinked owlishly, blinded by the bedside light. A couple more blinks and Cain
came into focus. "What time is—ah!" She bolted upright in the bed.
"What did you do to your
hair?"

He grimaced immediately. "I had a feeling
it didn't come out right."

She could only stare at him. "Come out
right? What were you even attempting?"

His shoulders hunched, he definitely looked
chagrined now. "I thought I would shave it off."

"What in the world for?"

"Hair dye seemed very complicated … and
obvious."

"I see. And a mohawk isn't?"

"It's not a mohawk." He sat a little
straighter. "It's just not … any thing."

"Cain, you shaved off the sides like …
like bald laurels. Why don't you just shave off the rest?"

He looked very uncomfortable now. Finally, he
squared his shoulders and peered at her steadily. He said quietly, "I
forgot about my birthmark."

"Oh. Too distinguishing?"

"You could say that." He abruptly
raised his hands and pulled back the golden locks still waving over his
forehead, imitating baldness. "Who do I look like now?"

She couldn't help herself. She started to
giggle. Then she just had to laugh. Then she held her belly and howled on the
bed.

"It's not that funny!"

"But you're right. It's so true. You look
just like Gorbachev!" She collapsed on the bed and laughed harder. He
stood with an obvious sigh of disgust.

"Get ready. We leave in ten minutes. I'm
sticking to baseball caps."

"You're going to go out in public like that?"
She was still giggling over his haircut. She'd actually seen similar styles on
teenage boys, the shorn sides leading up to longer, fuller hair on top. It
suited a young surfer dude a bit more than a thirty-year-old man.

Cain shook his head, and clearly having had
enough of the subject, turned on the TV.

For a moment, Maggie was too stunned to move.
Then she whispered, "My God. Brandon…"

And it was. Brandon stood before the cameras,
looking very serious and composed in a striking charcoal-gray suit. His face
was lean, his eyes harder than she remembered, as if the past two years had
erased even the memory of how to smile. Oh, Brandon…

"Turn it up, turn it up." She was on
her knees immediately in front of the TV, though it wasn't necessary. With a
concerned frown, Cain was cranking the volume.

"—a reward of one hundred thousand
dollars," Brandon had just finished stating. "Of course, I am willing
to work with you, Mr. Cannon, and act as a liaison between yourself and the
authorities. I will even hire legal counsel to represent you if you desire. All
I ask is for the safe return of my sister, Maggie. She's a gentle woman who's
never harmed a soul, a warm, caring sister, daughter and granddaughter—"

Maggie scowled unconsciously. As someone with a
psychology background, she understood what Brandon was doing—humanizing her so
that the psychotic would stop seeing her as just an object. Still, Brandon made
her sound as interesting as Betty Crocker. It couldn't be any worse if they
flashed her baby picture across the screen.

Or could it? As if reading her mind, the TV
screen abruptly filled with an eight-year-old photo of Maggie sitting on the
back of one of the Tillamook County Dairy Parade floats, a bamboo fishing rod
dangling from her hands. C.J. and Brandon sat on either side of her, all of
them wearing straw hats, rolled-up jeans and old T-shirts. Maggie was the
centerpiece of the picture, however, her red hair in Pippi Longstocking
pigtails and her face just plain ridiculous with its huge, delirious smile.

"Don't look at that!" she cried and
flattened her hands over the incriminating photo. The picture was already
vanishing, though. Now Brandon filled the screen once more, strong, dignified
and powerful.

"As I have said," he repeated
steadily into the camera, "return Maggie to us and no questions will be
asked. I will do everything in my power to help you, my family will do
everything to help you. We are well connected and well-to-do. Just give us back
Maggie, safe and sound. One hundred thousand dollars, Mr. Cannon. One hundred
thousand dollars."

The camera faded back to the newscaster, who
recapped that Maggie had been missing since morning and was believed to be a
prisoner of the escaped convict, Cain Cannon. Cain's black-and-white prison
photo was flashed across the screen, his face grim and appropriately dangerous
looking.

Maggie glanced at him surreptitiously. His
green eyes remained riveted on the TV, sharp and wary. He turned at her gaze,
his face perfectly expressionless.

"Well connected, well-to-do?" he
quizzed.

She smiled weakly. "Maxmillian had a
policy about only marrying rich women. He loved a poor one, but he only married
the rich ones. My mother … Brandon's mother, too."

"Define rich, Maggie."

Her hands twisted on her lap. She didn't want
to give away too much, but she wasn't a match for his hard green gaze either.
"Well, my mother's family is remotely connected to the Duponts. Her father
had a real gift for the stock market, too, I gather. My mom is an artist, a
sculptor. She doesn't make a whole lot, but the trust fund is generous and
well, so are her 'benefactors.'"

"And this Brandon? He could pay a hundred
thousand dollars?"

Maggie nodded even more miserably. "His
family had money as well, but then they fell into hard times. And the divorce—it
was expensive to divorce Max. Brandon took what was left and went to New York…
He's a bit of a Wall Street wizard," she confessed in a rush. "He
worked so hard, building the capital into enough to buy back the estate for his
mother, though it left him still wiped out. He figured no problem, he'd just
work a little harder. Two weeks later, his wife died and the insurance policy
paid him a million dollars. It did something to him. Now, he does everything he
can to lose that money. Honest. But he has the Midas touch. Every sure loss
turns into a sure win and now … he has
a lot
of money, the poor
man."

Cain shook his head like a man trying to cast
off a spell. "Maggie, conversations with you start defying all
reason."

She shrugged. "You asked."

"So I did," he muttered.

A new face filled the screen, a young man with
pale face, wayward brown hair and dark, burning eyes. "Joel," Cain
said softly and instantly stiffened.

"We're willing to pay fifty thousand
dollars for any information leading to the capture of Cain Cannon," the
young man announced squarely, his dark eyes blazing. "The reward is simply
for information. As a police officer, I must remind you that this man is armed
and dangerous—do
not
attempt to approach him on your own. And ladies,
please understand he can be very charming. Certainly my sister…" The man's
voice broke slightly. "My sister thought he was very charming. But he is a
cold-blooded killer who committed an unspeakable act—"

Cain's lips twisted. "I knew him when he
was just sixteen," he murmured, talking over the young man's laundry list
of Cain's sins. Maggie could only stare at him in wordless horror. "Good
kid, wanted to be a saxophone player much to his father's chagrin. He was good,
though. Kathy I and I used to go listen to him downtown at some of the jazz
clubs. I thought he should pursue it, and once as a surprise he took one of the
Knight's Tour formulas I had written and translated it to music. Math really is
music, or music math, of course. Bright, bright kid." He stopped, the
pictures filling his mind all at once. The trial. Kathy's family sitting at the
front pew, Ham right beside them. Joel, standing at the end during sentencing,
those dark eyes so filled with fury.
How could you, how could you, how could
you?

Cain reached out, placing a hand on the top of
the TV to steady himself. He was dizzy all of a sudden, and his heart beat fast
and almost painfully against his ribs. "I understand he became a police
officer in the end. He's sworn to rid the world of all the scumbags like
myself."

His voice trailed off. He couldn't breathe
anymore and he had to blink three times to get his eyes to focus. He could feel
Maggie's gaze on him, wide-eyed and shocked and of course, filled once more
with fear.

The newscaster reappeared on the TV screen.
"The police have set up a special hotline number for any information you
may have." The 1-800 number flashed across the screen. "Again, Cain
Cannon was convicted six years ago for the brutal slaying of his girlfriend,
Katherine Epstein. The man is considered extremely dangerous and is armed. He
has an extensive background in weapons and survival training, is rumored to be
well connected with various militia movements and should not be approached.
Please contact the police immediately with any information you might
have."

The news broke to a commercial. Maggie sat
perfectly immobile on the floor. Cain's hands were still braced on the TV and
his body felt slightly disjointed, as if it no longer belonged to him.

"Get ready," he said, his voice faint.
He swallowed and forced himself to sound firmer, in control. "We're
leaving now."

Maggie's mouth opened, then closed. Five
minutes ago, she would have had something smart to say. Five minutes ago, she'd
been laughing at his resemblance to a former world leader. Now, she was
terrified of him.
Ladies, the man can be charming … but remember who he is.

Oh God, oh God, she had forgotten. She looked
at him and she just saw a man, a stoic, desperate man ready to take on the
world and her heart bled for him and she wanted to help him.

He had her exactly where he wanted her. Ready
to aid and abet a felon.

"Maggie,
move."

"You can't outrun an entire state,"
she whispered abruptly. Her gaze lifted to his face. Her eyes pleaded with him.

"It will be a challenge."

"You could still turn yourself in. My
brother is a man of his word. He'll help you, he'll hire you the best
lawyer—"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" The
question was abrupt, his voice louder, harsh.

Helplessly, she shook her head.

He took a deep breath. She saw for the first
time that his hands were gripping the edge of the dresser so tightly his
knuckles had gone white. Tension corded his neck and rippled down his back. He
looked very, very, dangerously on edge.

He spoke, the words carefully enunciated.
"For six years, Maggie, I've been using the legal system. I've reviewed my
case, the trial transcripts. I've gone over similar cases with a fine-tooth
comb. I've filed motion after motion, seeking some flaw in the testimonies, the
evidence, police procedure, trial procedure, anything. There is none. I had a
decent attorney, I had due process, and a jury of my peers found me guilty—all
according to the book. There is
nothing
a lawyer can do for me."

"You could try to plead insanity,"
she suggested weakly.

"Do I look insane to you?
Do I?"

Of course she shook her head. He didn't foam at
the mouth, he didn't rant and rave. He was a computer programmer, a
mathematician at heart, and he couldn't stop acting like one any more than he
could stop breathing.

He picked up the backpack he'd purchased
earlier and started stuffing all the supplies in it. Tentatively, hesitantly,
Maggie rose.

"How does Brandon know you were
kidnapped?" he asked abruptly.

She froze. "I … I imagine C.J. contacted
him."

"So he is around as well?"

Wordlessly, she nodded.

"Do you think offering a reward is all
that they will do?"

Her gaze fell. Miserably, she shook her head.

"They'll come after me," he stated.
"I bet Joel will as well. As well as the rest of the police and any bounty
hunter or get-rich-quick schemer who likes the sound of fifty thousand dollars.
Then there's Ham. This state is getting very crowded, Maggie."

"Well what did you expect?" she fired
back abruptly. "You murdered someone! Even if it was a rash act of
passion, you're still planning on killing your own brother. You knocked out a
guard. You took a hostage. You've … you've done bad things!"

He opened his mouth, and for a moment she saw
something work in his eyes. He looked on the verge of protest, then he just
looked disgusted. He shook his head, his eyes suddenly flat.

"Get ready to go.
Now."