Maggie's Hunt

====================== Maggie's Hunt by Karen Woods ====================== Copyright (c)1999 by Karen Woods First published by The Fiction Works, July 2004 The Fiction Works www.fictionworks.com Thriller --------------------------------NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Duplication or distribution of this work by email, floppy disk, network, paper print out, or any other method is a violation of international copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. --------------------------------*Prologue* Hunt Thomas sat across the desk from the red-haired man. The small room was decorated in the style which Hunt privately called "Utilitarian bureaucrat:" a small metal desk, two wooden chairs which had seen better days, and a battered filing cabinet. The only objects in the room less than twenty years old were the telephone, computer, and the shredding machine. Those were state of the art. "Listen, O'Shay, this really isn't a situation I want to get involved in. I am not a babysitter," Hunt said as he raked a hand through his dark, just beginning to gray, hair. "That's not my strong suit at all. Even when I was still active, it was never my area." "There's an old saying that you can buy in for a penny, but that it costs two to buy your way out," Colonel John J. O'Shay, III, replied with a smile. "I need this favor from you. I wouldn't ask otherwise."

"Why me?" John smiled again. "Michael McLaughlin will be in the running for the presidential nomination." Hunt smiled slightly, amusement in his slate gray eyes. "That should be interesting. But, I don't understand what this has to do with your sister. Or with me." "Mags, my half-sister, is Michael's stepdaughter." "Ah. And thus the request for a bodyguard. Why not the secret service? They are better equipped for that sort of thing. Taking care of the families of candidates and public officials is their job." "Mags would be miserable. She hates minders. Besides, I can't believe that the Secret Service would put up with the stunts that she would pull if she were to be placed under their supervision. After a few run-ins with my mule-headed sister, they would be only too glad to wash their hands of her rather quickly, I should think. Either that or place her in protective custody. Neither of those options are particularly palatable." "What kind of stunts she is likely to pull?" Hunt asked, carefully, in spite of the firm knowledge that by asking, he had just told O'Shay that he was becoming interested in the Colonel's sister. "Let's just say that over the years, Mags became, and probably remains, quite adapt at losing bodyguards and then disappearing into the woodwork, only to resurface when she gets good and ready to do so." "She makes a habit of doing that?" "I don't know that 'habit' is the right word. She's had instances where she has done so. Sometimes, I think that she is the reason why Michael went completely gray. I know that I have been concerned about her over the years, and she's never really been my responsibility. I can only imagine how she and Michael must have fought. Of the two of them, I don't know who is the more stubborn. As far as I can tell, it's dead even." "Her relationship with the Senator is shaky?" "I'm not certain that you could say that she still has much of a relationship with Michael." "Oh?"

"She did a bunk from Michael's house right after she turned eighteen. We only got a line on her because she wanted to be found. If she hadn't wanted to be found, I'm sure that locating her would have been a fluke." "Was there a reason that she left?" "I'm sure that there was a reason. But, she refuses to talk about it. Her fiance's funeral had been the day before she disappeared. I think that she just needed some time alone to think things out." "Eighteen is awfully young to be engaged," Hunt remarked quietly. "Mags has always been extremely precocious. She won the Leeds International piano competition when she was sixteen. She was the featured soloist with a major orchestra by the time that she was seventeen." "Margaret Mary O'Shay," Hunt replied lowly with a whistle. "This is your Mags?" "Ah, you've heard of her." "Yeah. I've heard her play. She is brilliant." "Yes. She is brilliant. But as far as I know, she hasn't played for an audience in years. Not since J. Roger died." Hunt nodded in acknowledgment. He remembered the story. "Why do you think she would accept a bodyguard, now?" "Let's just say that I would feel more comfortable knowing that someone was looking after her." "You would feel more comfortable. That doesn't answer why she would accept a bodyguard." "I'm not certain that she would. In fact, I am fairly certain she wouldn't like the idea at all," John O'Shay replied with a small smile. "If she knew." "If she knew?" "You and she have friends in common. It would be easy for you to infiltrate her life without her knowing about your protective role." "Common friends?" "Chuck and Natalie Ferra. Natty, Dani Faulks, Rusty Davis and Mags were roommates at boarding school."

Hunt raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure exactly what you want from me, O'Shay. Playing bodyguard to a woman who hates bodyguards isn't exactly my strong suit, you know that. Your suggestion that I pass myself off as her lover would require cooperation from the lady in question." "Not necessarily, Hunt," John said quietly. Hunt was silent for a long moment. "Those aren't games that I play, Colonel. There are specialists in the intelligence community who are trained for that sort of thing." "I wouldn't set a raven at my sister. Damn. What do you take me for?" John O'Shay replied hotly. "We've known each other for years, John," Hunt replied firmly. "I don't have to take you for anything. We both know who the other is, and of what he is capable. Why have you picked me for this?" "Because you are well trained. Because in all the years you were active in covert operations, there was never as much as a hint of a chink in your cover as a businessman. Because you are the sort of tough SOB whom she could identify with." "Are you complimenting me or insulting your sister?" "Mags is an exceptionally strong woman," John O'Shay replied, diplomatically, with a smile. "Strong, strong-minded, strong tempered, a loyal friend, and a fierce enemy. She's quite a woman. She'd run over any man who was weaker than she is. Fortunately, you aren't in that class." "I repeat, why me?" "I already told you. You share common friends with Mags. You can meet her as a social equal. You can plausibly use the cover of a romantic interest in order to explain your presence in her life. You aren't likely to raise eyebrows." "I always knew you were a cold bastard, John," Hunt replied dryly. John smiled, but the expression didn't touch the emerald green frostiness of his eyes. "I understand that you will be going stateside for a couple of months over Christmas. What will it be, your first time home in almost six years?" "Something like that." "You going to be seeing Natty and Chuck while you are stateside?"

"I've got an invitation to stay for a week or so with them, yes." "Mags spends a lot of her free time with them. You'll probably run into her. If you had been able to get back to Connecticut for the wedding, you would have met Mags there. She was Natty's maid of honor." Hunt recalled the wedding photographs Chuck had sent to him. The maid of honor had been a tall, striking, redhead, with eyes as green as those belonging to the man on the business side of the desk. "You are a real piece of work, you know that?" "Look, Hunt, I am asking you for a favor. I can't leave London for long enough to keep an eye on her during the election. And I know I would never talk her into leaving her job in order to come here." "What does she do? Now that she's abandoned her music?" "Pharmaceutical sales for Faulks. She's extremely good at her job. In fact, she's been the top salesperson for the last several years. I really thought she would have gone back to music by now." Hunt digested that information. "She sounds like a woman with her feet firmly on the ground." "I think that we can safely say that she is that. Look, Hunt, I need someone whom I trust to look out for her." "Trust. Can't you trust the Senator to look out for his own stepdaughter?" "Mags hasn't spoken to Michael since she left his house. She goes out of her way to avoid him. I don't know the precise reason for the estrangement. In all these years, she has never spoken of it to me, except to warn me off the subject. Whatever the reason, I would wager it is explosive and quite dangerous to her, especially now, with Michael in running for the nomination." "Would the Senator harm her?" "I don't think so. She has always been like a daughter to him. But, that doesn't mean some of Mike's enemies wouldn't like to get their hands on her." "What sort of relationship do you have with your sister?" John sighed. "Not as close as we should be. We exchange cards on Christmas, birthdays, that sort of thing. There is the occasional long chatty letter exchanged between Emily and Mags. Once in a while, I'll call her and we'll talk. I would like to be closer to her. But, it's difficult to maintain any degree of closeness when we are so far away from one another."

"What about your sister? Assuming I enact the scenario which you have charted -- I get her to fall for me -- how is she going to feel when the election is over and I am no longer in her life?" "Broken hearts mend a lot better than broken bodies." -------*Chapter 1* Margaret Mary O'Shay sat, reviewing her planned sales calls, in the rabbit warren of the small gray metal and cloth cubicles assigned to the members of the sales force. Confident that she would turn more than enough sales volume to earn the leadership awards for the quarter as well as for the year, Maggie rose from her desk and went to the small kitchenette to get herself a cup of coffee. She caught sight of herself in the mirror that hung on the wall just outside of the kitchenette area. As usual, her appearance was of the feminine, yet still consummate professional: long auburn hair skillfully arranged in a simple, but elegant, soft Victorian knot atop her head; makeup and jewelry understated; hand tailored skirted linen suit in a shade of green which exactly matched her eyes; and handmade, low heeled, lizard-skin pumps. Yet, she wondered if anyone ever saw under the trappings of her professional image to the woman underneath. Frankly, she wondered if she would ever be ready to let anyone see underneath that protective coloration which she had worked so hard to achieve. 'Confident', 'cool', and 'collected', were three words upon which she had built her public image. Added to those were the descriptors, 'competent' and 'conscientious'. She would have liked to have been the woman whom the image suggested. Nearly eight years had passed since the day that she had come here to beg her stepfather's half-brother for a job. Maggie smiled as she thought of the changes that had happened to her over the last few years. She was hardly the same woman. Thankfully. The day that she had taken a job here had been a day that she knew that she would never forget. It had been a little over a month after she had buried her fiance, a month after the day that she had read the mechanic's report about the 'accident' which had taken Jarod's life, a month after the day that she had fled from her stepfather's house in fear for her life. She had left Michael's house without any clothes except those on her back, and with no possessions except for her bankbooks and a few irreplaceable sentimental treasures, and an album of family photographs which she had hastily crammed into her oversized shoulder bag before fleeing from the estate. The fact that Jarod had been driving her car when he died told her more than she had wanted to know about who had been targeted as the 'accident' victim. She had

never, never, allowed anyone else to drive her car. Jarod had taken her car, without permission and out of spite, after she had broken their engagement. That confrontation had replayed itself in her dreams -- nightmares -- frequently enough over the years, so that she now could repeat it verbatim. **** The conservatory at Michael's estate had been a musician's dream. It should have been, Michael had spent a small fortune on equipping the room when he had married Maggie's mother, Patricia. This was the room in which Maggie had spent more of her time than in any other in the house. However, for most of the time after Patricia's death, Maggie had been in Switzerland at a boarding/finishing school where she had been sent. Looking back on it, now, Maggie couldn't blame Michael's then new bride, Susan, for shipping her off. Maggie had taken a strong dislike to Susan on sight. And the feeling had been more than merely mutual. Jarod and Maggie had been sitting on the piano bench. She had just finished playing a piece she was to have performed in concert in two weeks time. "Well?" she had asked as she looked at her fiance. Jarod had smiled at her. Funny, now, she remembered his smiles as condescending. "Technically, your performance is flawless, as usual. You have a brilliant technical ability, Margaret." The piece was one that she had always found moving. It had pained her that she hadn't been able to convey the depth of the emotions of the music. "I see." Jarod had put his arm around her. "Don't worry about it, Margaret," he had assured her. "So what if it your performance is a little naive? No one expects anything else from you at this point." "I expect more than a technically perfect and emotionally cold performance from myself!" "Not cold, Margaret. Extremely naive. Sweet. Just like you, Margie," she remembered that he had whispered softly in her ear. "However, we could work on building your emotional awareness, your knowledge of passion. Let's get out of here. Come back to my place."

"I think that I'll stick to being naive." Then Jarod, normally placid Jarod, had become angry. "For God's sake, Margaret! We are going to be married in three months time. I want you to share my bed. You are eighteen years old, not eight. Grow up, will you?" When she was particularly angry, her eyes glittered. She knew that her eyes must have been glittering then. "Jarod, how many times do we have to discuss this? I don't believe in sex outside of marriage." "You won't share your bed, or anything else. You are a selfish bitch who will not open your heart to anyone. And you share nothing other than your heart, either. Why do you think that your music is so technically perfect but emotionally vacant? You can't even share your thoughts, your feelings. There are times that I've wondered if you have any feelings. And then, there are times that I know that you don't have any emotions. A frigid soul in an alabaster body. Beautiful, but absolutely lifeless." Maggie remembered flinching under his scathing tone. She yanked the gaudy diamond ring forcibly from her finger and gave it back to him. "I think that you had better leave now. Don't come back. I don't need that sort of abuse from anyone," she had replied in a deceptively calm tone while underneath she was seething. "Poor spoiled rich girl. You are so straight-laced that you can't even lose your temper. Who was it? Who tightened the strictures of propriety around you so firmly that you can't even raise your voice? You know that if the Senator had not been your stepfather, you would have never gotten this far in your career. He bought you the position with the symphony. And he offered me two hundred thousand dollars, if I would stay away from you. "I could have saved myself a case of terminal frostbite, if I had done as he suggested," Jarod had said in a voice full of disdain, almost hatred. "That's a lie!" Jarod had smiled at her, but the smile had been vicious. "Is it?" he challenged just before flung the ring back at her. "Keep the ring, Margaret. You need it more than I do. I, at least, have a career based on my talent. That is more than I can say about you. By the way, I took the money that the Senator offered. I thought that we could use it for a start on our life together. And I knew he would never tell you that he had tried to buy me off. I used part of the money to buy the ring. So, you might as well keep it. You may need to hock it one day so that you can have something to eat, because your talent alone will never see you through life." Then, he had stormed out of the room.

If she hadn't left her keys in the ignition of the Jag, Jarod might have still been alive. Nasty thing about tampering with the brake system on an automobile, the saboteur can never be certain that he will be going to strike at the intended target, or only at the intended target. **** These days, Maggie trusted nearly no one, for obvious reasons. During the last eight years she had not once stopped looking over her shoulder, although she now was able to do that without even thinking about it. This watchfulness had become nearly an innate part of her. That knowledge frightened her when she let herself think about it. Of course, she didn't frequently let herself think about it. Nor did she like the fact that she had become hard, almost tough, and often cynical. She wondered if she would ever feel truly safe again. And she marveled at her former naivete. There was a part of her who mourned for the trusting girl whom she had been. And then, there was a large part of her which now cringed at the thought that she could have ever been as gullible as to have believed herself in love with J. Roger Clark, known to his friends as Jarod. Thinking back on the day that she had come to Faulks asking for a job, Maggie wouldn't have blamed Guy, almost eight years ago, if he had not wanted to hire her. After all, she had, then, had absolutely no experience in sales. Frankly, she knew that she hadn't been a good employment risk for the corporation. She had been an extremely pampered eighteen-year-old child/ woman from a relatively wealthy family, with qualifications limited to: a diploma from an extremely exclusive Swiss combination high school and finishing school which included an advanced certificate from Ecole de Cusine La Varenne -- a good Parisenne cooking school; a collection of awards from national and international piano competitions; a scuttled career as a concert pianist; fluency in several modern languages which had been a by-product of a nomadic military existence; a first degree black belt in judo; and both an interest and ability in most rugged outdoor sports. Yes, looking back on it, she knew that if she had been in Guy Faulks position that she wouldn't have wanted to hire someone with her qualifications, or rather lack thereof. Yet, Guy had given her the job without a moment's hesitation. Not wanting to fall prey to accusations of nepotism, she had never discussed her family with anyone at Faulks. But, the connection between Guy and Maggie did not go unremarked upon, with people putting the absolutely worst connotation on the relationship. She had heard, and ignored, the rumors, letting them die away. Except, they never really did die completely away. Every once in a while, someone would make a sly, hurtful, comment about getting to the top by sleeping with the boss. But those speculations about Guy and herself were not the only ridiculous rumors which circulated about her. During the past few years at the annual sales conference, there had been drunken, boisterous, comments to the effect that Maggie had 'earned' the sales award by sleeping with the doctors and pharmacists with whom she dealt.

Maggie, for the most part, ignored those occasional comments. She did find it interesting, though when the rumors of her promiscuity were in such contrast with her overall reputation as Faulks' "Ice maiden". It would be nice if the rumors would be consistent, she had often thought with wry amusement. In the dead of night, alone in bed, Maggie often wondered if Jarod had been right about her. She had to accept the fact that she did have problems expressing her feelings. It was hard for her to reach out to people. But, Jarod was wrong about one thing. The lack of expression didn't mean that Maggie lacked feelings. No, she only wished it had meant that. Looking back into the past, Maggie strongly suspected that at her hiring Guy had fully expected her to fall flat on her face. Instead, in the nearly eight years that she had worked here, for Faulks Pharmaceuticals, she had been the corporation's top salesperson six years running, breaking her own record each year. Few people knew the product line better than she did. Few physicians or pharmacists could as easily recite the facts about specific drugs, such as counter-indications or the interactions with other drugs, with the ease that she could. Last year, her salary and commissions had been in the mid six figures. This year, she was beating her old record. Yet, she had spent very little of her income, proportionally. The majority had been invested quite well in various tax shelters. She knew that she didn't have to work another day of her life, if she didn't want to. She could retire tomorrow, live off her investments, and never have to touch her capital. Counting her trust fund, she definitely would never have to work another day in her life. However, she preferred to ignore the trust fund, in favor of standing on her own two feet. Supporting herself was something she had done quite successfully, as well as something she knew that she would continue to do successfully. At twenty-six, she was reasonably happy with both her income and her job. Truthfully, she didn't enjoy the job as much as she had when she had first started out. The challenge simply was no longer there. Her appointment to the vacant sales management position would give her a new set of challenges. She knew she was the person best qualified to take that position. The man who had held that job when she had begun here eight years ago was now a vice president. It was a position that could be a fast track into the upper echelon of policy makers. There had never been a woman in the position. But, there was a first time for everything. **** Returning to her small office cubicle, she noticed that the office mailboy had been around. She picked up her stack of interoffice memos and quickly scanned them. A sales contest for the next two weeks with the winner to receive a weekend for two at a lodge in the Adirondacks. A correction on some information that had been given to the sales force about a side effect of a new anti-arthritis drug. The third notice gave her pause, however. Matthew Stern, a young man whom Maggie herself had trained

only three years before, had been named to the vacant management position. Matt Stern was a personable enough kid, she supposed. Matt was twenty-eight, almost two years her senior. Still, she thought of him as a child because Matt Stern was, and probably always would be, terribly immature. He lacked the ability to envision anything more distant than a weekend date. He had barely made his quotas during his first year. The second year he had placed in the thirty-thousand circle -- a living, but not nearly up to his potential. Then, this year, his sales were going to put him in the forty-thousand range. Why in the world should they promote someone like him? He clearly didn't have what it took to be a topflight salesperson. So, how could he possibly motivate the sales force? There was no way that she could accept him as a supervisor, of this she had no doubt. "The only reason that he was promoted instead of me is that he is male," Maggie thought angrily, bitterly. She sat down at the computer terminal and called up the underused electronic memorandum system. She wrote a pithy letter of resignation stating her thoughts on the manner in which the company selected candidates for promotion. The letter stated that she strongly suspected that she had grounds for a successful sex-discrimination suit. Then she restated her qualifications, including her cum laude college degree in marketing and business management which had taken her six years of night school to finish, and contrasted them with the lesser qualifications of Matt Stern, who had never made leadership conference -- even on a minor level -- and who graduated in the bottom ten percent of his college class. She made it clear that since she had three weeks annual leave due her along with eight weeks accumulated personal leave and six weeks accumulated sick leave, she would not be returning. Then she sent that letter to the CEO, the head of personnel, the vice president of sales, and each member of the board of directors. She quickly gathered what few personal belongings she kept in her small cubicle, placed them carefully into her briefcase, and left the office. Then she went to the corporate gym, into the women's locker room, and emptied her locker into her sample case, before leaving the building. When she arrived home, the telephone was ringing. "O'Shay," she replied flatly. "Finally, Margaret," Guy Faulks, the CEO of her former company, said strongly. "What do you think that you are doing? What is this nonsense in this letter which my secretary just brought to my attention?"

"It's self explanatory, Guy. I know that you can read." "Margaret...." the elderly Mr. Faulks warned. "I said everything that needs to be said, Guy." "You don't understand..." "You're right on the money there. Goodbye, Guy." Maggie replaced the telephone into the cradle. She did not answer it when it immediately rang once more. Instead, she went into her bedroom, slipped out of her clothes, slid into black jeans, heavy socks, a black angora turtleneck sweater, and leather boots. Since she was supposed to go to Natalie and Chuck Ferra's house tomorrow for the weekend, she had already packed her bags. Grabbing the cases, she headed for the door of her apartment. The telephone continued to ring as she triple locked the door behind her. **** Michael McLaughlin was in his Capitol Hill office working through a stack of papers when the phone buzzed. "Yes, Naomi?" "Senator, your brother is on line one. He says that it is urgent," Michael's secretary said quietly. "Put him through." "Mike," Guy said firmly. "You've got to do something about Margaret." "Teddy Roosevelt said something along the lines of 'You have a choice, I can either govern the nation, or I can govern Alice. No man can do both.' Why should you think that I would have any better luck with Daisy? She hasn't even spoken to me during the last eight years." Guy sighed loudly. "Do you know what that girl has done?" "Why don't you just calm down, Guy, and tell me what she did to get you so worked up?" Michael replied patiently. "She quit. In a huff. She took all of her sales records with her. She took her appointment calendar with her. Now, she is threatening to sue the company for sex discrimination." "Does she have a case?"

"Of course she does. I wouldn't be worried otherwise. But you didn't hear that from me. And I will deny ever saying it. Look, I just thought that you would want to know that she's resigned. I thought that you might be able to make her come to her senses." "She's supposed to be at Natalie and Chuck's this weekend. I was planning to talk with her anyway. Or, at least, I was planning to try to talk with her this weekend. This silence has gone on too long." "Natty told me that she expected you. Honestly, Mike, couldn't you have arranged this so that you didn't risk Natty and Margaret's friendship?" "Have I ever done anything in the way that you think that it should be done?" Michael asked dryly. "Bottom line, Mike. I can't afford to let her walk away with those kind of proven sales contacts," Guy stated, ignoring the question. "Then you had better come up with some way of luring her back," Michael replied firmly. "She isn't usually unreasonable." "How can you say that after the way that she has treated you during the past few years?" "I'm sure she had her reasons. I don't know what they are, but I am positive that they aren't frivolous." "I don't need this, Mike. One of my senior executives dropped dead this morning from a massive coronary. He was supposed to take over the European operations. I've got to scramble now to find someone to take his place." "Daisy would fill that job well. She knows sales and your product line. She is reasonably well traveled and speaks German, Spanish, Italian, and French. She has management skills. And she is just bloody minded enough to be a formidable adversary over a negotiating table." Guy laughed boldly after a minute. "Oh, I knew that you would find an answer to our problems. Put her in the European VP slot. That takes her out of your hair as well so she isn't likely to embarrass you during the election. And she could handle the job." "You never did tell me, specifically, why she walked out on you, Guy." "No, I didn't," Guy replied before he broke the connection. ****

Susan McLaughlin walked into the Georgetown townhouse she shared with her husband, Michael, when they were in Washington. She looked into the mirror, examining her reflection carefully. She was no longer the brash, beautiful, young engineer whom she had been when she had fallen in love with Michael McLaughlin. Now, at the age of thirty-six, fine lines were beginning to show around her eyes. Now, she had to have her beautician touch up the strands of gray which were beginning to appear in her raven hair. Part of her wondered how long it would be until Michael's attention began to wander towards a younger woman. No, she resolved as she looked at her own reflection, she wasn't about to let that happen. Michael was hers. And she was never going to let him go. Never! With that resolve, she went into the bedroom to change her clothes so that she could go down to the weight room. There was no sense in letting herself lose muscle tone. **** Hunt Thomas leaned over the pool table in Chuck Ferra's game room. The grandfather's clock in the corner of the room just rang off noon. Chuck and Hunt had been college roommates and had maintained the friendship over the intervening years. People wouldn't have particularly cared to meet either of them in a darkened alleyway. But, unlike most tall, muscular, men, they were both faster, stronger, smarter, and -- from time to time -- much meaner, than they looked. "You want to tell me that again, Hunt." "I've decided that it is time that I get married. I want you and Natty to help find me a wife," Hunt stated easily as he missed a shot. "I don't believe you," Chuck responded as he easily put the 7 ball in the corner pocket. "You've never been a cold-blooded type." Hunt leaned back against the wall. "There's nothing cold blooded about this. It's time to settle down. Are you going to introduce me to some women, or not?" "I'm sure that Natty would be only too happy to make some introductions. There's one of her friends in particular who sticks in my mind. Maggie O'Shay. She'll be here tomorrow." "Tell me about her?"

"I think that I had better let you draw your own conclusions about Magpie. And don't tell Natty that I am promoting any relationship between you and Magpie. My wife is very protective of her friends." Hunt laughed. "I'm not quite sure that I like the way that sounded." "Face it, Hunter," Chuck replied dryly. "Natty doesn't trust you as far as she can throw you." Hunt smiled broadly. "And here you have always claimed that Natalie was such a good judge of character." "She is," Chuck replied easily as he lined up a shot that finished clearing the table. **** The only light in the darkened room was the glow from the computer monitor. The only sounds were the incessant hum of the fan on the system unit and the quick click of the keys. Then, a high pitched computer generated tone through the modem said that the connection had been made. The tone was followed by a sign-on screen for the bulletin board. A few keystrokes brought up the 'situations wanted' screens. A few more keystrokes left messages for a select handful of finalists. A smile passed over the face of the computer hacker. Soon, very soon, Margaret Mary O'Shay would cease to be a potential problem. Soon, very soon, her death would serve a purpose few could imagine. Backing out of the bulletin board, the hacker then infiltrated the AT&T system and erased all records of the previous long distance call, as well as of the current call. After leaving the phone system and exiting from the communications software, the hacker shut off the computer and the monitor, plunging the room into both darkness and silence. Darkness and silence, what an appropriately descriptive phrase, thought the hacker. Too bad that Margaret Mary would not be around to appreciate the appropriateness of the description. -------*Chapter 2* Steering her convertible onto the private drive that led to Natty and Chuck's big house in Connecticut, Maggie knew the number of cars parked at the house said Natty was having another of her famous parties. When they had spoken the previous week, Natalie insisted that Maggie come up for the weekend, but neglected to tell her

that the house would be full of pre-Christmas merry makers. She chuckled lightly to herself before climbing out of her car with her dress bag, small suitcase, and cosmetic case. Maggie wasn't surprised at the party. For Natty, life was nearly a perpetual party. No reason was insufficient for Natty to use it as an excuse for throwing a party. With Christmas less than a month away, Maggie supposed that this had to be some sort of pre-Christmas gathering. Maggie rang the bell. Chuck answered. As usual for one of Natty's quite elaborate parties, he was dressed in an immaculately fitted, custom made, suit of evening clothes. Chuck was not a classically handsome man, but in evening dress, he was devastatingly appealing. In his normal enthusiastic mode, he picked her up by the waist and swung her around, after closing the door. "This is a surprise. We didn't expect you until tomorrow." "I could leave," she offered teasingly as he swung her around. Chuck laughed boldly. "You do, and my dear wife will have my guts for garters. Let me look at you." He held her out at arm's length, continuing to hold her by the waist with her feet a half meter above the floor. Maggie was by no means a small woman. At five-foot-ten in her stocking feet, she easily dwarfed most of her female friends. But, next to Chuck Ferra, she felt like a midget. Chuck had earned his living playing professional football in the position of line backer. But now, at thirty-five, he was retired. Football, Chuck had been quick to point out, was a young man's sport. At thirty-four, Chuck had decided to retire. He could have continued to play. His old team had offered him a very lucrative contract, in order to entice him to stay with the team. Football had been good to him, but he had wanted to be able to think back on the sport fondly, so he had retired while he was at the top of his personal form, while he was still free of any crippling injury. His college degree had been in business administration and accounting. Armed with a handful of relatively new licenses for different investment areas, Chuck was now occupied in managing his own investments as well as Natty's substantial trust fund. In spite of his rough and tough exterior, Chuck was an intelligent, kind, and generous man who loved his gentle wife to distraction. Maggie had often thought that if Natty had not gotten him first, that she would have liked to have had a chance to get close to him. But, he was her best friend's husband, which automatically placed him into the 'absolutely unavailable' category. "It's been too long, Maggie. You really should not work yourself so hard. You're

missing out on the good things by keeping that pretty little nose to the grindstone," Chuck said warmly just before he kissed her. Startled at the unfamiliar intimacy, Maggie began to push him away, but he directed her attention to the mistletoe hanging directly above her head. She laughed and shook her head. "You are a nut case, Chuckles. An absolute nut case." "It takes one to know one, friend," he replied as he lowered her back to the floor. Natalie walked up behind her. "And just what do you think you are doing with my husband, hussy?" Natalie said in a mock menacing tone. Maggie turned to face her friend. Natalie was always so beautiful with her perfect complexion, trim figure, periwinkle eyes and honey blond hair that fell to her knees, but tonight, she looked especially lovely. "Natty, if you only hadn't seen him first..." Maggie replied automatically in this almost ritual response before she threw her arms around Natalie and kissed her cheek. "You should have told me that you have a party going on tonight, I would have come up tomorrow as I had planned. But, I just had to get out of the City." "Nonsense. You know that you are always welcome here, Magpie. Now, you just run up and change into something suitable. I know you've brought something to wear. Chuck will show you to your room," Natalie replied warmly. "Oh, by the way, if Chuck isn't down here in five minutes, I'm coming after him," she added with a mischievous chuckle. "Five minutes?" Maggie responded in the same teasing tone. "Shucks, Natty, you're no fun at all." Natalie laughed, throwing her long honey blond hair back over her shoulders. "I'm not going to give you a chance to make him see what a fool he was to marry me. No way, you've got five minutes, then I come up," she teased. Chuck laughed heartily. "Not a chance, sweetheart," he said gently, "Marrying you was the single best thing that I ever did." "I'm glad that the two of you are happy together," Maggie replied with a smile. "Oh, we're all three very happy," Chuck said softly. "Three? Oh, Natty ... How wonderful!" Maggie replied warmly. "When are you

going to make me a godmother?" "Sometime in July," the other woman replied happily. All three of them were laughing and hugging, unaware that a pair of slate gray eyes were observing the whole exchange with a degree of amusement. Natalie dismissed them with a terse, "Just go change. There are some interesting people here tonight. Real potential husband material for you, Magpie." "Husband material?" Maggie asked, just before she mockingly hit her forehead with an open palm. "That's what I've been doing wrong all these years. I didn't know that prospective husbands came unassembled like a kit. Tell me, Natty, is it a difficult task putting one together? It can't be too difficult, since you seem to have done a good enough job with Chuckles, here. And we all know how little mechanical aptitude that you have," she quipped. Natalie and Chuck both groaned at the poor attempt at humor. "There are several eligible bachelors here tonight," Natalie said bluntly. "Bully for them. I hope that they have a good time. But, if you're waiting for me to take one of them out of circulation, you're going to have a long wait. I have no interest in marrying anyone. I'm strictly a career woman, remember?" Maggie countered gently. "You could do worse than settle down with one of my friends," Chuck added lightly. "I know..." Maggie replied mischievously. "I could find that my broker had absconded with my portfolio. I could find rats in my apartment. Or worse, I could find that the rats were all gone, thanks to the infestation of snakes. I could wake up bald...." Natty and Chuck both wore long-suffering looks. "Magpie...." Natty warned softly. "For pity's sake, would you please stop trying to marry me off. You are getting as bad about it as Michael used to be," Maggie said softly, with affection, and pain, in her voice. "Aren't you ever tempted to go back home to Michael, Magpie?" Natty asked gently. "I know that he misses you. And right now, it might be a good idea. He could use your help with the election coming up."

"Just lay off, Natty, please? I wouldn't crawl back to Michael's house if I were destitute and naked in a snow bank during the worst blizzard of the century," Maggie answered softly with an edge of ancient bitterness to her voice. She often told herself that there was no way that she would ever darken his doorstep again, voluntarily, that is. And she couldn't envision a circumstance in which she would go involuntarily without being either subdued or sedated. "We all want you to be happy, Margaret Mary O'Shay," Natalie countered quietly, firmly. "There is no need to take that tone with me." "Have you considered that I might just be happy as the career woman type?" Maggie queried. Chuck cleared his throat, then spoke derisively, "Yeah, a career woman without a career." "Bad news travels fast," Maggie replied quietly. "Doesn't it, though?" Natalie replied quietly. "Did Guy call you?" Maggie asked. "What are your plans, now, Magpie?" Natalie asked gently. "I don't know. The only thing that I do know is that I need some time to get my head together and to decide which way that I want my life to go. I have several options which I ought to explore," she replied softly. "From what I've heard, the job market is pretty tight just now. I thought that I might go back to school. Maybe, I'll take a Master's degree in Marketing or Accountancy. A friend of mine in LA offered me a job a couple of years ago as an A and R person for his record label. He said that I could have a job whenever I needed one. I just don't know, at this point. Besides, it is not inconceivable that Guy will come to his senses, see that I have an excellent case against the corporation, and offer me the job." "And maybe Santa Claus is real," Chuck said. "It's still possible that I'll have my job back before the first of the year. As soon as Guy calms down, he'll realize that I have a good sexual discrimination case against him. The bozo that they put in that management position isn't nearly as qualified for it as I am." "You wouldn't really sue Guy, Maggie?" Chuck asked incredulously. "Let's just say that I'm keeping my options open," Maggie replied guardedly. "And the suit would be against the company, not against Guy personally. I have no hard feelings against Guy."

"Marriage is always an option, Magpie," Natalie urged gently. "I'm not even sure that I have a heart to offer, anymore," Maggie said very softly, tightly. "You've made marriage your career, Natty. But, I don't think that is a path I would be happy following. I don't know that there is a man living whom I could trust that far." "Jarod's been dead for almost eight years," Chuck stated firmly. "You were little more than a child when you and he were engaged. It's time that you stopped mourning him. It's not good for you to be alone like you are." "I stopped mourning Jarod years ago," Maggie replied quietly. "That doesn't mean that I have any intention of leaving myself so open to pain again. I'm too much of a coward to center my life around any man. It hurts too much when he's not there anymore." "I would never use the word, 'Coward', to describe you, Maggie," Chuck informed her. "I don't know what else to call it." Natty shook her head in frustration. "You're impossible, Magpie. Go. And remember, five minutes." Natty looked at her watch. "Starting now." Nine minutes later, Maggie was descending the stairs wearing a black silk evening gown, cut on simple lines, with a bateau neckline in front which gave way to a wide vee in the back that came to a point at her waist, long straight sleeves and full, gathered, skirt that fell to the floor. She felt incredibly alluring wearing the gown. Along with the dress, she wore several lengths of braided silver chain. A pair of strappy spike-heeled silver sandals completed the outfit. Her auburn hair gleamed as it streamed over her shoulders and down her back. The barest hint of all of the exposed skin on her back was visible as her hair shifted when she walked. She took a glass of champagne from a circulating waiter and began to mix with the crowd. Natty had been correct, all sorts of interesting people were present. She was enjoying talking with some old friends and meeting a few new people. She normally avoided parties, except on business occasions, but she definitely was enjoying this one. As she circulated about the room, drinking far more champagne than was actually good for her, she became aware of a pair of slate gray eyes watching her every move. She carefully sized up the owner of the eyes. He was a tall, powerfully built, man. He had heavy-lidded slate gray eyes, coal-black hair with the barest of hints of gray at the temples, a high bridged nose, a square chin which was softened slightly by a cleft right in the middle.

There were no two ways about it. The man was unbelievably, heart stoppingly gorgeous! A line from Steven Spielberg's film _Always_ came to her mind: "Twisted steel and sex appeal." For this man, Maggie thought, it applied. She couldn't deny that he was simply one of the most handsome men whom she had ever seen. Maggie's thoughts alternated between "I've got to meet this guy" and "Sure, he's handsome. But, I bet that he knows it. No man can be that good looking without being conceited as the Devil himself." Several times during the evening, she attempted to approach him, but on the way, each time, became sidetracked in various conversations as old friends whom she hadn't seen for some time stopped her. **** Well into the evening, one of the Chuck's former team-mates swatted her strongly on the derriere as she walked past him. Without a moment's hesitation, even though the blonde giant of a man outweighed her by a good hundred and thirty pounds and was a good foot taller than she, Maggie had set her glass of champagne down on the mantle and turned to face the big man, fire in her eyes. The big, brown-eyed, blonde man smiled the kind of big toothed grin that reminded her of a wild predatory animal bearing its fangs, prior to an attack. "Whatsa matter baby, doncha like bein' touched? A pretty filly like you should like to be touched," he drawled, derisively and slightly drunkenly, both coupled with an unmistakable Texan accent. Chuck, who had been making his way across the room with the gray eyed man, increased his speed until he came to stand near Maggie and the big blonde. "Bill, you don't want to antagonize that lady. Believe me, Billy boy. Apologize, please." The gray eyed man stood beside Chuck. The man called Bill laughed manner before he placed his hands on Maggie's waist and lifted her a good three feet off the floor. "Such a pretty littl' thing. Doncha think that she belongs on a ped'stal? Think that I'll put'er on one." Maggie's green eyes flashed with anger, as she kicked off her sandals. "What you will do is to put me down, right now." "Maggie, please," Chuck pleaded. "He was retired with a bad knee. Be careful. You could put him into a chair, or worse, for a long time. Be careful. For God's sake." "I'll try not to hurt him, seriously," Maggie assured Chuck quietly, with a confidence

in her voice that obviously sent chills down the spines of several of the people surrounding them. Bill simply laughed. His smile, like his laugh, was thoroughly obnoxious. He looked over at Chuck. "This filly couldn't hurt a fly." "Put me down, now," Maggie replied firmly, "And you will never have to find out just how wrong you were about that." "You ain't in no position to demand nuthin', little darlin'," the man called Bill drawled quietly. "I'm not your darling, little or otherwise," Maggie replied sharply. "Please put me down." Bill's hands tightened painfully around her waist. "Good. Never liked 'em little," Bill replied. "You're jus' 'bout right." "Am I now?" Maggie replied tightly, with the barest hint of amusement in her voice. "Put me down, big man. This is your last warning." Bill laughed loudly. "Or what?" "Or I will put you down," Maggie said. Bill simply laughed. Maggie placed her bare feet on his thighs, pinched him hard on the pressure points on the base of his thumbs, and sprang backwards out of his pain-loosened grasp in a series of moves too quick for most people to follow. She landed on the balls of her feet with her feet apart, in a battle stance, as Bill yelped in pain. Bill held his hurting hands gingerly. He cursed. "You broke my hands!" "No. Your hands aren't broken. But, I could have broken them, if I had wanted to. You will be all right in a few moments. Now, you owe me an apology, big man. And you owe me one, now." Bill looked at his hands. Then he looked at her, with pure rage in his eyes. He charged at her. She didn't have time to think. So, she simply reacted. Using his own momentum against him, she grabbed both his wrist and his suit lapel and pivoted, sending the man down to the floor with a perfectly executed floating hip throw. But, she followed through to make certain he didn't injure himself badly in the landing. He shouted curses as he went down.

"The bigger they are," Maggie said tightly, as she quickly stepped back out of the man's reach, "The harder they fall." Several people laughed, but it was a nervous sort of laughter. "Magpie," Natty asked softly, "Was that really necessary?" Maggie turned to her friend. She smiled sheepishly. "Maybe not, but it got my message across. And, after the day I've had, that felt good. Sorry, Natty." Natalie shook her head. "You certainly know how to liven up a party." "Don't I though?" Maggie responded dryly. "Just the life of the party. One of my many undeniable talents." Chuck helped his former team-mate to his feet. "Now, Bill, you owe Maggie an apology, I believe." "Sorry if I offended your del'cat sense ... abilities, ma'am," Bill drawled. Maggie's eyes narrowed as she looked at the big man. He was no more sorry than she was the Queen of Sheba. Maggie made a mental note not to turn her back on the big man, especially if he was holding anything sharper than a wooden spoon. "You certainly like to live dangerously, don't you, big man?" He smiled. "S'only way to live. The adren'lin high says you're alive." Maggie returned the smile. She picked up her champagne from the mantle. "May you never regret that philosophy," she toasted him. "To your continued good health. And to the return of gentlemanly behavior." Maggie felt the gray-eyed man's appraising and approving glance. "Well, Magpie," Natalie said dryly. "Now that you've called attention to yourself. Why don't you play for us?" Maggie laughed as she scooped up her sandals and walked over, still barefoot, to the grand piano. "Is this thing in tune?" she asked quietly. Natalie laughed. "No. It is a full step out of tune, some of the strings are missing about every other third, several hammers are broken, and the pedals are disconnected," Natty stated mendaciously. "Of course, it is in tune. I wouldn't do something like that to you, Magpie." "What do you want to hear?"

"A collection of Chopin waltzes," Natalie replied softly. "Are you sure?" "Humor a pregnant woman," Natty suggested with a smile. "I'm not sure that I would be doing you any favors," Maggie replied. "It's been some time since I've played for more than my own amusement." **** Her arms felt tired. But, it was weariness borne of her mental, not physical state. Maggie hadn't played those waltzes for anyone since she had played them in competition. She hadn't played them at all since her mother had died. Chopin waltzes had been her mother's favorite music. Frankly, after thirteen years of not playing them, Maggie was surprised that she even remembered the pieces. She was stunned that she had managed to get through them without making horrendous mistakes. There were times that Maggie wondered if she had done the right thing by back burnering her music. But, nothing could be gained by questioning past decisions, she told herself. She went over to the bar to get a drink. Then she met the gray-eyed man whom she had seen earlier. "That was some move that you put on Bill," were his first words to her. She laughed softly. "It was more civilized than the move he put on me." "Probably," Hunt agreed. "Bill has never been known for any degree of finesse in dealing with the ladies." "His style is more Neanderthal, than anything else," she said. "Well, the Neanderthals did eventually die out," Hunt said. "Did they? Well, maybe. But, seeing Bill, I very much doubt it. That man appears to be a case of genetic recidivism. Evolutionists around the world would have a field day with him." He laughed. "I've heard of getting picked up, but, that was ridiculous!" she continued with a slight laugh. "True!" he agreed, chuckling. "It was amusing to watch a lovely lady put Bill in his

place." "And his place is?" "Groveling at her feet, of course." She took a sip of champagne, then shook her head. "My fiery Irish temper is going to get the best of me one day," she replied. "Somehow I doubt it. You seem to be the type to always be in control of yourself and to know what you are doing." "I only wish that were true," she remarked to herself, rather cynically, in a low tone not meant to be overheard. "You were playing with Bill. If he had posed a real threat, what would you have done?" he inquired softly. "Whatever I had to in order to emerge both victorious and with acceptable losses," she replied flatly. "I do believe in assuring my survival." "That's a good military sounding reply." "Oh it is, isn't it? I really had thought that I'd gotten all that nonsense out of my system." "Are you, or were you, in the military?" Hunt asked. "Good grief, no. If I were, I'd be up on charges, for sure, over tonight's incident for conduct unbecoming to an officer," she said. "I've far too sharp a temper to ever make it in the military. I would've been in the brig or stockade before I even had completed the first week of basic training." "We haven't been introduced. I'm Hunt Thomas. And you are?" "My new friends call me Maggie. Maggie O'Shay," she told him as she extended her hand for a shake. Instead of shaking her hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed each finger lightly, before he rolled her hand over and kissed her palm. "Then I shall be certain to call you Maggie. I definitely want to be your friend," he replied huskily. "In fact, I'd love to be more than friendly." She smiled warily. "Are you always so direct?" "No. But, I have this feeling that you aren't a game player, Maggie O'Shay. Let's start by being friends, shall we?"

"Friends," she said. "So, friend, tell me about yourself. What is it that you do for a living?" "Sales, at least until this afternoon," she said quietly. "Now, I am between positions." "You play beautifully. I would have thought that you were a musician by training." Maggie smiled. "My mother insisted that music was a civilizing force. She thought that Daddy was intending to turn me into a certifiable heathen, so she made me take lessons. I have only a moderate talent. Nothing more. That's one of the reasons that I make my living in sales." "You're too modest, Maggie O'Shay," Hunt said. "No. Just honest." "Excuse me. You wouldn't be the O'Shay girl who placed first in the Leeds International ten years ago, would you?" a woman bystander asked. Maggie sighed. "That was a very long time ago," she replied as she turned to the very polished middle-aged woman. "I never enjoyed Chopin's waltz in G flat, Opus 70, number 1, as much I just did your interpretation of it, a few minutes ago," the woman said. Then she rummaged around in her small evening bag. "This is my card. We are looking for a featured soloist for the symphony. If you are interested, get me an audition tape to place into the selection process." Maggie looked at the card. The woman was a member of the board of directors for a well-known symphony orchestra. She smiled at the woman. "Thank you for thinking of me. This is certainly something which bears consideration." "You were the featured soloist for...." the woman asked sounding puzzled. Maggie cut her off. "Yes. I simply lost the heart for it." The older woman nodded sympathetically. "Yes. I had heard that. It was bad enough to for that accident to have taken J. Roger from the music world, but for it to have claimed both of you is such a waste." Maggie smiled tightly. The last thing that she wanted was to be reminded of Jarod

Clark and the fool he had played her. "You've got enough maturity now to get past the naivete which used to plague your performances," the older woman said quietly, kindly. "You should be performing. You have too much talent to let it lie dormant." Maggie smiled slightly. "You wouldn't happen to know my stepfather, would you?" The woman looked at Maggie questioningly. "Never mind." The older woman smiled. "Think about this, please?" she asked before she took her drink, and went to mingle. Hunt looked at her, then at the card that the older woman had placed in Maggie's hands. "Now, there's an offer which doesn't come along every day," he remarked. Maggie tucked the card up her sleeve. "That much is true," she replied. "'A moderate talent. Nothing more'?" Hunt echoed her previous words to her. "I've nearly always been my own worst critic." "You did say that you are between positions?" "True." "Then this offer should be something you'd want to pursue?" "It might be worth thinking about if I were certain that I was good enough," Maggie said honesty, showing more vulnerability than she would have been comfortable showing if she had been aware of how she sounded. Hunt filed that away. Something, sometime, had robbed this woman of her confidence in her music. He looked at her questioningly. "Why are you between positions?" he asked suddenly, moving the conversation on to an easier subject. "Upper management and I had a disagreement. I resigned in a blaze of anger," she replied. She sipped her champagne. "Like I said, I have a temper that gets the better of me occasionally," she added dryly. "Rarely, but when I let the temper free, it's something to behold." "Sounds like a large disagreement between you and management." "They promoted a man whom I had trained to the position of my boss."

"Is he any good at his job?" "Not as good as I was at mine. He made a living, not a good living, but a living. I was the top salesperson in the company for several years running, in spite of having used connections to get the job." "What was the product line that the company sold?" Hunt asked. A mischievous streak overtook her. She answered in one word, "Drugs." She should have said 'pharmaceuticals', but she always had liked to see the shocked look which passed over people's faces when she announced her occupation. "You aren't serious." "Deadly," she quipped, trying not to smile. Since he thought that she was into street drugs, she'd just play along with him. It was the best way to tell what his sense of humor was really like. "I see," he remarked softly. Too softly. Maggie saw a flash of indecision as she knew that he wondered if he could or should break off this conversation. She could almost formulate the thoughts she believed that he was having: What would Chuck and Natalie have to do with a drug dealer? Is that why Chuck was so upset when Bill came on to her? "You aren't all upset by the legalities of the situation?" he finally asked. "Not particularly. That's what we pay the attorneys to worry about," she retorted with a grin. "I just make certain that I move product." "The penalties for dealing in illegal substances are stiff," Hunt commented harshly. "I'm vaguely aware of that. But, I'm not anticipating any major difficulties along that line." "You've got everything under control, right?" Hunt asked. "I think that I can handle almost anything that comes along," she countered. "Somehow, Maggie O'Shay, I do believe you. You are a strong woman." "Thank you," she said looking away from the warmth, and humor, in his eyes. "How did a beautiful woman like you get involved a business like that, anyway?"

Hunt asked. "You think I'm beautiful?" she asked with a smile. "Very." "Thank you. That was the nicest thing that I've been told this evening." "How did you get your job, Maggie?" Hunt asked. "Family connections. The CEO is a half-brother to my stepfather." She watched the expression on his face become very strained before continuing, "Several years ago, after my fiance was killed...." Why did she almost tell him about Jarod? That was none of his business. She shook her head slightly. "It doesn't matter now," she said after a moment's pause. "Some things are better left in the past." He nodded in understanding. "Yes, some things are." Silence stretched between them. Hunt cleared his throat, said, "So the argument between you and management is not only professional, it's family?" "More or less." "That's rough." Maggie shrugged. "I'll live." Hunt smiled at her. "I know that you will," he said gently. "You strike me as a survivor. So, now that you are unemployed, what are you planning to do with yourself?" "Unfortunately, I've got a covenant not to compete clause in my contract. So, unless I want to risk a hefty lawsuit, I'm going to have to work in a field that couldn't possibly be construed to infringe on that clause for the next two years," she explained, frustration clear in her voice. "That's very businesslike of them," he remarked. "Of course. They should be businesslike. We aren't talking about a tiny operation here. I'm sure that you've heard of it, even though it is a privately held corporation, Faulks Pharmaceuticals." A half grin went across his face. "Pharmaceuticals?" He chuckled. "You did that to me on purpose!"

"Everything that I told you was correct. I can't help what assumptions you walked into the conversation with," she remarked softly. "I take back what I said earlier about your not liking games. I think that you like some games, especially semantic ones, quite a bit." "As a matter of fact, I do like word games of all kinds." Hunt smiled at her. "I thought so." "Hunt Thomas, I like your style," she said with a laugh. "Not everyone could take being put on like that with such good humor. I like a man with a sense of humor." "Maggie O'Shay. I rather like the cut of your jib, myself," he replied with a small, incredibly sexy, grin which sent a wave of warmth through her. "Do you think that we could find someplace a bit more secluded. I'm dying to kiss you and have been since I saw you walk in earlier tonight." "I wouldn't want such a handsome fellow to die for the lack of a kiss," she teased lightly. She merely brushed his lips with hers, yet it was the most moving sensual experience of her life. She pulled away as if she had been shocked. Hunt smiled at her and nodded. "Don't deny that there is something there between us. It's magical." "Yes," she murmured. "Hunt, we barely know each other. Let's take this a little slower. I'm acting totally out of character tonight. I guess that my resignation must have affected me more strongly than I had thought." "That or all the champagne that you've been drinking," Hunt offered quietly. "You've had, what, five glasses in the last hour?" "I didn't count them," Maggie replied, with a smile. "But you obviously have. I wonder if I should be flattered that you've been paying that much attention to me." "Flattered or frightened?" he asked softly. "I'm not frightened of you," Maggie said firmly. "It takes more than a man keeping an eye on me to frighten me. Men have been watching me all my life." Hunt smiled. "That I can believe. I wonder what it would take to frighten you, Maggie O'Shay," Hunt said thoughtfully.

"I think that the last time that I was really scared witless was a couple of years ago." Maggie's face took on a faraway expression. "What happened then?" "I took a week's vacation. An old school friend loaned me her house in Martinique. You might recall Hurricane Henry. It was late in the season. All the hurricanes were supposed to have been over and done with. But, Henry put them all to shame." "You were there?" "Unfortunately. There I was, alone, during the storm in a beach front house, at least a mile from my nearest neighbor. I like storms, don't get me wrong. A storm that blows free is a wondrous thing to behold. But, Henry was an experience that I don't believe that I wish to repeat." "You could have been killed." She shrugged. "I've been living on borrowed time for a long time, Hunt. I just got through that without having the loan called," she replied. "One of these days, my luck will run out." Hunt nodded. Borrowed time? He forced a smile. "You are quite a woman, Maggie O'Shay. Getting to know you is going to be an experience." Maggie laughed. "Hopefully a more pleasant one than Henry." "Hopefully," Hunt replied gently as Maggie put down her empty glass on the bar and picked up another. He frowned as she sipped the effervescent liquid. "Don't you think that you've had enough?" "I have a hollow leg. Alcohol seldom fazes me." Hunt laughed lowly. "You think that you could pass a sobriety test?" "Are you a cop?" Maggie asked lowly. "Not hardly." "I could pass any sobriety test that you wanted to give, then," Maggie replied with a smile. "Count backwards from ninety nine by threes," Hunt suggested.

Maggie smiled broadly. "99, 96, 93, 90, 87, 84, 81, _et cetera, et cetera, et cetera_. Not meaning to sound like Yul Brenner in _The King and I_. Satisfied?" "Not by a long shot, Maggie, not by a long shot," Hunt said softly. "I doubt that I will ever be totally satiated where you are concerned. No matter how long we know each other, Maggie, I am always going to crave your company." Maggie looked at him and sighed. "Let's not rush this, Hunt," she said, sounding almost desperate, as if it were herself that she were trying to convince. "I've always believed in letting things proceed at their own pace," Hunt replied, with both gentleness and firmness in his voice. "I never rush things, or prolong the inevitable. You and I, Maggie mine, are inevitable." Maggie looked at him for a moment before speaking, "That sounds almost like a threat." Her voice held the slightest bit of hesitation. "More like a promise," he said quietly. "Sooner or later, Maggie O'Shay, we are going to be much more than friends to one another." "Well, now you know all about me," she replied quickly, changing the subject. "Not hardly," Hunt replied with a small smile. "Tell me about yourself, Hunt? What do you do?" "I'm what the British call a merchant banker. I put together financing for businesses. And my company provides consulting and support services," he said quietly. "I've been active in putting together joint ventures between firms from different countries." "Should I have recognized your name?" Maggie asked. Hunt smiled broadly. "Only if you move in finance circles." "Sounds like you keep busy." "I do. I travel a good deal. I'm in Europe mostly. This is the first time that I've been home in almost six years." "Where in Europe?" "Most countries," Hunt said. "I've been putting together some joint ventures in the former Soviet Union during the last few years as things there began to open up. I've also got some ventures going between English and Spanish companies, as well as some between French and Italian companies, Swiss and Danish organizations, Belgium and Irish firms, and Dutch and German corporations. I keep offices in

London, Paris, Bonn, Madrid, and Zurich." "Sounds like a busy life." "Let's just say that I am seldom bored," he responded with a genuine smile. "Although, some times, often, I would like to have the luxury of boredom." She laughed. "I can identify with that. In sales, you are always scrambling for business. No matter how good you were today, there's tomorrow to think about. It's not a field that easily lends itself to complacency." "I know the feeling. The bad part about working for yourself is that the work isn't feast or famine. It is often feast followed by famine, at least during the early years. You get so busy with whatever deal you are working on that you can't prospect for business. So, you are left scrambling for work after the completion of the contract. I know that I found that to be the case when I first went out on my own." "You do business in several countries. I take it that languages are no problem for you, then." "I usually have a good translator with me," Hunt said with a large smile. "Yourself?" she offered, reading his smile. "I am something of a linguist," he stated. "Why do I think that is an understatement?" "I knew that you were a woman of rare understanding," he said. "So, how do you know Chuck and Natty?" she asked changing the subject, uncomfortable with the warmth of his tone. "Chuck and I go back a long ways. We were college roommates." "You weren't at their wedding." "No. I was, ah, tied up at that time." "There's a story behind the way that you phrased that." "Maybe when we know each other better, I'll tell you." "I'll look forward to it, Hunt." "Well, Maggie O'Shay. Where did you learn the moves that you put on Bill?"

"Oh, here and there. I was an army brat. It's amazing what you can pick up when you're around Special Forces people during your formative years," she said. "I learned to defend myself, climb mountains, swim, scuba, survive in the wilderness, sky dive, and shoot. Those were Daddy's hobbies and he insisted on including Momma and I on his outings. Occasionally, even my brother, John, would join us on camping trips." She smiled at the memory. "That was when he could get leave." "Those sound like good memories." "They are. John and Michael taught me to scuba dive when I was seven. We had almost three weeks in the Caribbean. We sailed around on this big two-masted schooner. There was a crew of all of Daddy's closest friends. I don't think that I ever saw my father as happy as he was during those two weeks. Except, maybe for the vacation we took when I was nine. We walked part of the Appalachian Trail. I held them back. But no one minded. We all just had a good time being together." Her expression closed up. "That was the last vacation we had as a family." "Who's Michael?" "Michael McLaughlin," she answered quietly. "Admiral McLaughlin?" Hunt echoed. "Of Naval Intelligence?" "Yeah. Although these days he is called 'Senator McLaughlin', and he likes to distance himself from his military days, to an extent," she softly, almost painfully. "He and Daddy were very good friends, closer than most brothers. They met when they played opposite one another in the Army/Navy game." "Hmmm. I know a John O'Shay who is posted to the American Embassy in London. Tall fellow, red hair, green eyes, petite blond wife by the name of Emily. You look something like him." Maggie nodded. "I should. He's my brother. Last I heard, he was posted to London as some sort of military attache." Suddenly, she wasn't comfortable that he knew more members of her family than she knew of his. "He's quite a bit older than you are." "John's from my father's first marriage. His mother died when he was a plebe at the Point. Then Daddy married Momma." "That means that your father was General Jack O'Shay."

"That's right. General John Jacob (Jack) O'Shay, Jr. Four stars. He was a good man. One of the finest. I still miss him. God, I miss him." Hunt nodded in acknowledgment. "Yes. We lost a great man when your father's plane went down. You know, in many ways, we have similar backgrounds. I was a Marine Corps brat, myself, although my father was much lower ranking than yours was. My father retired after twenty as a light colonel." "When a family has a long history of service, like mine, with six generations of West Pointers, promotions seem to come more easily." "You didn't go to West Point." "No. John held up the family tradition. I knew that I wouldn't have lasted a week. So, I didn't even try." "You had no other brothers or sisters?" "Only John. But, he's twenty years older than I am. We aren't all that close, as you probably figured out. Do you have any brothers and sisters?" "Five. Three sisters, all older. Marie is a high school principal and is expecting her first grandchild next month. Martie followed in Dad's footsteps in that she is a Captain in the Marine Corps. Melody is an attorney with a store front, mostly pro bono, practice in a small town in Colorado. Twin brothers, Daniel and Jason, ten years younger than I. Mom and Dad run an Inn in Vermont. The twins just finished their Masters degrees in hotel management and business administration, respectively. They will be taking over for Dad and Mom at the Inn. My parents have finally decided to retire for the second time." Maggie smiled. "That is some family." "I'm proud of all of them." "I can tell. Your parents have been together for a long time?" "Since two weeks after Dad graduated from Annapolis and took his commission in the Marine Corps, forty-four years. Marie is forty-three. Martie is forty. Melody is thirty-seven. I'm thirty-five. The twins are twenty-five." "It's nice that your parents have been together so long. Daddy died when I was ten. Mom remarried six months after Daddy died." "You sound bitter, still. Why?" Maggie shook her head, then she shrugged. "My stepfather and I haven't spoken to

one another in years." "Why?" "It's a very long story." "I've got all evening." Maggie finished off the glass of champagne. "One evening would not suffice. Would you care to dance with me?" Hunt smiled. "I thought that you would never ask." They made their way into the room set aside for dancing. Slow, soft music was flowing from the speakers and the room lighting dim, romantic. He took her in his arms. He felt the lean trimness of his body against the soft firmness of hers. The sweetness of her perfume had tingled his nose, bringing him into an even deeper awareness of the woman. After a very short time, he had whispered in her ear, "I like the way that you feel in my arms. Perfect, like we were meant for each other." "We are both too old for fairy tales, Hunt," she warned. "Fairy tales?" "Love at first sight." "Why do you think that is a fairy tale?" Hunt asked. "Attraction at first sight, maybe I can buy that. But love? No. Love is something that takes time to develop between a man and a woman. It's built on something more than raging hormones." "Let's find someplace more private," he said. "I want to discuss something important with you, Maggie." "Chuck's den is probably empty. We could talk there, I suppose," she said, reluctance plain in her voice. Hunt's mouth twitched into a half smile. "You really don't trust me, do you?" Maggie looked at him. "I trust very few people, Hunt. I've found myself being more open with you than I probably should be with a stranger. Please don't be offended at my walls. They are habitual. It's nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?" he echoed. "I'd like to find the man who hurt you so badly, Maggie." Hunt pulled her closer. "Every time that I feel us getting close, you back away as if I scorched you. Then I see the shutters come down over your eyes like you are keeping distance between us. One minute, you are open. Then the next, you close up tighter than a camera shutter." Maggie shrugged. "Come on. Let's go to sit and talk quietly." "I'd rather that you invited me to your bedroom," Hunt said. "No, Hunt. I don't know you anywhere near well enough for that." "You want me, Maggie," he told her. "I don't think that there is any sense in denying the obvious," she said dryly. "But, I've never been one to sleep around. I don't believe in casual relationships, Hunt. I've seen far too much harm come out of people rushing attractions into affairs which burn out all too rapidly. I don't choose to live that way." Hunt smiled at her, in the way that he would have smiled at a particularly bright child who had just given an insightful answer. "I'm glad to hear that, Maggie O'Shay. Shall we go talk in Chuck's den?" -------*Chapter 3* Maggie went inside Chuck's den, followed by Hunt. "Sorry, to interrupt you, Chuck. We were just looking for someplace quiet to talk." "It is rather loud out there, isn't it?" Chuck replied easily. "Come on in, Maggie." That was when she noticed that there was someone else in the room; someone sitting in Chuck's overstuffed chair, with his back to her. She only needed to look at the back of his head to know who it was. "Hello, Michael," she said, trying to control her surprise and fear. "Maggie?" Hunt asked, concerned, as he took her arm. Chuck excused himself, closing the door firmly behind him as he left, a fact Maggie barely noted since her attention was fixed on her stepfather. "Hello, Daisy. I've been looking for you. But, of course, you knew that. Why else would you have been avoiding me for the last few years?" Michael said softly, almost menacingly as he rose from the chair and turned to look at her.

"You knew where I was," she corrected firmly. "There was no way for you not to know where I was. If I had wanted to hide, I assure you that I wouldn't have gone to Guy for a job. If I had wanted to disappear without a trace, I certainly could have done so." "I do understand that," Michael replied with a small smile. **** So this is McLaughlin, Hunt thought. Admiral Michael E. McLaughlin, USN (ret.), former chief of Naval Intelligence. McLaughlin was a big, burly man who could have easily passed for someone in his late forties, when in actuality he was sixty plus. He stood six foot three, and weighed in at nearly two-hundred pounds of pure muscle. His platinum hair and full beard had made him look like some Viking raider. All that was missing was a battle ax and a horned hat. In fact, he was something of a modern day pirate. His naval salvage operations had made him incredibly wealthy, in the years since his retirement. So, this was Michael E. McLaughlin, the honorable U.S. Senator from Virginia, and favored to be the next Republican nominee for President of the United States. And Maggie's stepfather. Things are getting interesting. **** "Why are you here, Michael?" "That was some exhibition that you put on earlier, my dear. Your skill level has improved. I believe that I'm the only one in miles who could still take you down," he said. "I wouldn't suggest that you try, Michael. You might be over estimating your ability. After all, you are sixty-eight-years-old," she countered. "Your bones are quite a bit more fragile than mine. I would really hate to have to hurt you." Senator McLaughlin laughed. "Daisy. Daisy. What am I to do with you?" "You could start by pretending that I don't exist, Michael," she said. "After all, you've done an outstanding job of staying out of my life during the last few years. I doubt that you'd find it difficult to continue in that pattern. Why don't you make an effort?" "Daisy, dearest, we have to talk," Michael said, taking on a commanding tone. "Do you come home of your own volition, or must I compel you?" "In spite of your tendency to push people around, Michael, you might find that task rather difficult to accomplish. As you've yourself remarked, I've advanced several levels since our last encounter. I doubt that even that Susan would have any use for

you, if you came home in a body cast," she replied. "Although I really wouldn't want to face the charges resulting from putting a US Senator in the hospital, I will, if you force me to it, Michael. You know I am telling the truth." Michael's eyes narrowed; he glared at her. **** Hunt felt the unfamiliar shiver of pure fear run down his spine when he saw the amount of anger on the larger man's face. "Daisy," the big man warned. "I believe that the lady would like you to leave her alone. I assure you that if she can't enforce that wish, I most certainly can," Hunt interjected. "I won't have my fiancee threatened by anyone." Hunt's arm went around Maggie and he pulled her close. Hunt had continued smoothly as he saw Maggie's expression. "I know, Maggie, darling, that we were intending to wait before telling any one, but I won't have you being bullied by anyone. He's got to know I'm not going to let anyone push you around." Maggie smiled at him, then said, "It's okay, Hunt. I can fight my own battles." Hunt laughed, then dropped a light kiss on her temple. "I am well aware of that, Maggie mine," he said. "However, I'm not about to sit back meekly and allow anyone to bully you. The only reason I didn't step in earlier tonight was that I knew that you wouldn't appreciate it. I don't like watching you fight your own battles, but I know that you have to do it, for your own sake." "Oh, Hunt...." "You listen to me, Daisy, I've just about had enough. I've been waiting for you to come to your senses since you stormed out of the house almost eight years ago without telling anyone where you were going. It's time we talked this out and settled our small domestic difficulties." "Go away, Michael McLaughlin!" she snapped. "You've got one hell of a convenient memory. I don't need or want your interference in my life. I thought by now, that even you would have been able to come to that conclusion. Although it upsets your male ego and patriarchal attitude, I'm managing just fine without you managing my life. I'm a grown woman living my own life on my own terms, not a child in need of guidance. Why don't you just get, and stay, out of my sight?" ****

"Daisy, you are going to listen to me. The only thing you have to decide is whether we talk here or at home. But we are going to talk and we are going to talk, tonight. I've waited too long to put off this conversation any further," Michael said. "Make up your mind, Daisy. You're not getting out of this house without speaking privately to me." "Watch me, Michael! Just watch me," she countered. He gestured over to the window. "Look out of the window, Daisy. See the two men in dark suits and overcoats by the backdoor." Maggie walked over to the window while still holding onto Hunt's arm. Her face lost all color, as she carefully surveyed the men. The slight flare to their coats declared that they were armed. **** Hunt saw the same evidence and didn't like it all. And he was fully aware that she had drawn the some conclusions. "What's going on here, Maggie?" Hunt asked too quietly for anyone to hear but her. "It's a long story, Hunt. I'll tell you later, if you're still interested," she whispered. "I'm sorry about this, Hunt. I didn't mean to get you involved in my personal problems." "If you need help, just say so." "Believe me, you don't want to get more involved in this. Michael makes a very bad enemy. While I am willing to fight him, I don't want to be responsible for any injury to you. Heaven help me, I care about you too much to want to see you hurt." Hunt took her hand, noticed that she was trembling ever so slightly. He kissed her temple. Then he whispered in her ear, "I'm glad that you care for me. I've rather fallen for you, myself. And I'm not scared of the honorable Senator." "That's only because you don't know him," she replied. "For your own sake, Hunt, please don't get any more involved in this." "I'm already in for a penny." he told her quietly. "But the pound could be flesh. Your flesh. Please be careful. Michael doesn't play fair." "I'm not going to let you face whatever this is alone. You need a friend, now."

"Please, Hunt, just don't antagonize him." Hunt nodded. Michael smiled as Maggie and Hunt had turned to face him. "Yes, I see that you remember James and Tony. Fred and Vinnie are at the back door. Roger and Tomas are at the side doors. So you see, on way or the other, Daisy, you will speak to me tonight." "You always were a bully, Michael. Did you have to bring in your hit squad?" _Hit squad?_ Hunt had mentally echoed. _What kind of trouble is she into? Why did the Senator have a hit squad?_ "My men are not a hit squad!" Michael protested. "They are simply my bodyguards. I've been worried sick about you without proper security. Don't you have any idea of the kind of danger that you are in without adequate security? It isn't safe for you to live alone. There are all kinds of people out there who would just love to make an example of you, just to get to me, especially now. Especially after Sunday." "I assure you that I can take care of myself, Michael," she said. "Besides, I'm not anyone important. No one would use me to get anything." "You are important. Certain people, if they learned how important you are to me, could hurt you in order to get to me. You'll become even more of a target after my announcement is printed on Sunday," Michael said, his voice sounding as if it held nothing but pain. "I don't want to see you caught in the middle of anything unpleasant, Daisy. You are too precious to me for me to allow you to put yourself in that position. I will not allow you to place yourself in that position." "That's just so much bull, Michael. I can take perfectly good care of myself," she asserted strongly. "I have for years, and I will continue to do so." "Perhaps your fiance will excuse us?" Michael said. "There's nothing that you could say to me in private that you can't say in Hunt's presence," Maggie replied. "I'm staying here until and unless Maggie asks me to leave," Hunt said. The urge to protect Maggie came as a surprise to him. But, it was too strong to fight, so he gave in to it. Only with one other woman had Hunt experienced anything like this. But, Regina had been dead for many years.

When Hunt had been a teenager, he had asked his grandfather how a man recognized the woman whom he would marry. He still remembered the answer, "A man marries the woman whom he wants to both ravage and protect. A successful marriage has to have both elements. With a woman whom a man only wants to take to bed, the passion will burn out quickly, leaving nothing more substantial than ashes. You can't build something lasting with ashes, Hunter. On the other hand, with a woman whom a man would like only to protect, there will be no real passion. The years are all too long, Hunter, to spend them with a woman who doesn't keep you stirred up. You need to have both passion and tenderness. One without the other just doesn't work." Hunt had known since the first instant that he had seen Maggie that she was capable of stirring both desires within him. That had come as a surprise to him. But, Hunt had lived with the unexpected for so many years that he had learned not to fight it. Now, all he had to do was to convince her of the rightness of letting the relationship develop. Well, maybe not all. They also had to get through this confrontation with Michael McLaughlin. Of the immediate two tasks, Hunt didn't know which was going to be more difficult. Chalk up one more correct assessment for John O'Shay. **** "Will you talk with me, voluntarily, or do I have the boys move in? If they step inside the house, things will become rather nasty," Michael warned. "You'd end up facing a charge of kidnapping, Michael. Do you really think that whatever you have to say warrants your going to jail over? Do you really want to ruin your election chances over this?" she asked. "Because, Michael, the scandal resulting from this would finish off any hopes that you might have had of ever occupying the oval office." Michael laughed. "You'd never file the complaint against me, Daisy. We both know that, in spite of the harsh words that pass between us, you still love me too much to see me in jail." "I wouldn't make odds on it, Michael," she retorted. "It's a long shot, an extreme long shot. All I want, Michael, is to be left alone. Please abide by my wishes in this matter." "No, Daisy. This time, we have to talk. I've given you a long enough time to stew. That's over now. My patience with you is exhausted. Make up your mind. Are you going to talk with me, now, or do the boys move in? I guarantee that things will be

much more pleasant if they don't have to coerce you to communicate," Michael said. "What choice have you left me?" she asked. "None, really. At least, I see that the years of your refusing to speak to me haven't dulled your sharp perception of reality," Michael retorted, his eyes narrowing, appraising of her face. "I'm not leaving this house with you, Michael. If you try to force me, you'll regret it. I guarantee you that." "You must come home," Michael snapped. Maggie bristled. "You are no longer in any position to tell me what I must or must not do, Michael Edward McLaughlin!" she said, her voice harsh. "I can no longer view the estate as home. It hasn't been home to me for years, and it will never be home to me again." Michael sighed. "I wish that you wouldn't make this unpleasant, Daisy. I don't want to have to force the issue. But I will if you make that necessary. Your security is too important for me not to. Now, will you speak with me of your own volition?" "I'll listen to you for ten minutes, in private, right here," she said flatly. "After our talk, either you leave or I do. Knowing you, I would venture a guess that your goons have strict orders not to draw their weapons. We both know that I could not take down all six of them and get away from you, especially since I am certain that you've taken the precautions of disabling my car, probably by means of a missing distributor cap or something else equally simple and crippling. But, Michael, I swear by all that I still hold Holy that if I leave, and have to make my way through your people, you are going to have some serious hospital bills to pay for your employees." Michael had nodded an acknowledgment. "I expect nothing else from you with the training that your father and I saw that your received." "Just leave the General out of this. It's not going to earn you any points by invoking his memory." "Maggie, you don't have to talk to him," Hunt said. "If you don't want to talk with him, you don't have to. I'm standing right here beside you." She turned to him and smiled. "Thank you, Hunt. I appreciate the offer. But, I'm afraid that I do have to speak with him. There's unfinished business between us. Give me ten minutes, then fetch me, please." Her words were calm, but the calm didn't come close to masking her very obvious

fear. "If you're sure, Maggie. Ten minutes. I'll be just outside. If you need help, shout." "Thanks, Hunt. I appreciate it." Hunt knew it was wrong, but he stood outside the door of the den listening to the conversation through the door he hadn't quite closed. He hoped that he would be able to figure out what had spooked John O'Shay so profoundly that he called in the markers. "Daisy, come here, let me hold you," the man's voice begged. "No. Don't touch me. You know that I don't want anything to do with you, Michael." "The house is so lonely without you." She laughed cynically. "With Susan there? C'mon, Michael, I can hardly believe that you even miss me. Is the honeymoon over, already? You two have only been married eleven years. Or is it just the hero worship that you miss? I'm sorry, Michael, but I can no longer see you as a mixture of Superman and saint. I don't believe in heroes any longer." Michael's voice sounded strained. "Daisy, I can't believe you really hate me. We used to be so close." "Hate you? You certainly gave me reason enough to hate you. How in the world do you expect me to trust you, again?" "I always did the best that I could for you, Daisy McLaughlin." "The name is O'Shay. It was never McLaughlin, you know that." "That's your fault. I wanted to give you my name when you and Patty moved in with me," Michael replied defensively. "That would have been wrong for both of us, Michael," she said, her voice almost too soft to hear. "Can't you see that? And it would have been an insult to my father's memory. I was born an O'Shay. You might have supplanted the General in Mother's memory, but you will never do so in mine." He didn't know her well, but Hunt didn't think Maggie was the sort to hold a grudge without cause. Whatever was behind this, it had to have been major. If it was serious, disclosure could ruin the Admiral's chances of being elected. And that might be enough to endanger Maggie.

No wonder John had wanted to have someone keep an eye on Maggie. Hunt silently damned his imagination and ability to construct scenarios. There was no sense in borrowing trouble. Yet, he had the strong feeling he was not so much borrowing trouble as jumping into it with both feet. Hunt only hoped he wasn't jumping in over his head where Maggie was concerned. He edged an inch or two closer to the door, listened intently. "Didn't I give you everything that you wanted? Didn't you have clothes, a good education, jewelry, cars, and everything? I don't know what more I could give you," the man said, sounding confused. "Material possessions, Michael. You always gave me material possessions. All I ever wanted was your time and some demonstration that you cared about me, about what I wanted out of life. Or, at least, what I wanted out of life, if that wasn't a direct extension of what Mother wanted for me. Did you think that I'd be content for the rest of my life to sit in some beautiful mausoleum of a house, wearing silks and satins, and seeking nothing more than to work on my music and to entertain others? Didn't you know me better than that, Michael?" "Talent like yours should not be wasted, my dear," he said. "Besides, what's wrong with a glamorous lifestyle, Daisy?" "It isn't for me, Michael. I need more than that, Michael. I need to feel like I am making a contribution to something." "Right. That is why you were working for Faulks," Michael said, cynicism plain in his voice. "At least, that was honest work which I could do well. And the medications I sold were useful to people in a very practical way. In a small way, I've helped heal people. I don't think that should be under valued." "Nonsense. Do you know how many people would have done anything for the chances that you threw away?" "We both know that I was never good enough to be a featured soloist. Oh, technically, I had the skill. But being a sought after soloist means more than being able to play the music perfectly. It means giving of yourself, opening yourself up, becoming part of the music, making yourself vulnerable. I never could do that. I don't have the courage to make that kind of public display of myself. You pulled the strings to get me the featured soloist position. And everyone knew it, except me. If I can't get an opportunity on my own merits, I don't want it, Michael. It's just that simple."

"What are contacts for, if we can't use them to help the people whom we love?" "With help like that, who needs enemies?" "Do you think that Guy gave you the job on your merits, initially?" Michael challenged. "No, I know he never would have hired me, except he wanted me to fall flat on my face so that I would run back home to you," she replied. "But I didn't fail, Michael." "I've always done the best that I could for you, haven't I?" "Yeah, right! You practically offered me to the highest bidder. Did you really think that I would marry any of those turkeys and thugs that you kept bringing home?" What sort of a relationship was this? Hunt asked himself as he became more and more confused. Something here just didn't fit. He began mentally shuffling the portions of the puzzle that he understood. There were still too many holes for him to be able to understand the situation between Maggie and her stepfather. "I didn't pick out turkeys and thugs, Daisy. They were all good men. Any one of them could have provided you with a stable home, and a good income. Any one of them would have kept you so busy, in and out of bed, that you wouldn't have been bored." "As for my supposed low level of tolerance for boredom, have you ever considered that the reason I was so bored entertaining your friends was simply that, combining them all, they collectively don't have enough personality to suit an oyster? The kind of life I had when I lived with you isn't what I want at all. I thought by this time that you had figured that out. With only a few notable exceptions, you have never been either a stupid or blind man, Michael." Hunt heard the older man take in a deep breath. "You're still angry over Jeremy. Still angry that I tried to buy him off." "His name was Jarod. As for the bribery, well, that's really minor. So, he took your money, and ignored the conditions, so what?" "You aren't still upset about that, then?" Michael asked carefully. "I only did what I thought was best for you. You weren't anywhere near mature enough to handle that man." "In a way, it might have been better for him, if he had accepted your offer with the conditions," Maggie replied, her voice thick with remembered pain. "If he had taken the money and stayed away from me, he wouldn't have died as he did."

"Then why are you still angry? What have I done?" "What have you done?" she echoed incredulously. "Why am I still angry? I don't believe that I'm hearing this! Michael, must I spell it out for you? Are you going to make me use the words? You have to know why I am still angry. Stop playing innocent with me. You've always known everything else that went on in your house. It isn't reasonable for me to think that you don't know about this." "If you had married him, I severely doubted you would have lived to see the age of twenty-one. The man would have bored you to death, honey," Michael replied, sounding like he was teasing her, trying to lighten her mood. "Very funny, Michael," she drawled. "So, to save me from being bored to death, you either ordered or condoned Jarod's murder? That's wonderful, Michael, just wonderful." He had someone killed? Wonderful! What have I gotten myself into? Hunt asked himself. McLaughlin had a reputation as a hard, but fair, man. Hunt had a difficult time believing that the Admiral would have someone killed. The pieces still just didn't fit. However, if Maggie was right, she definitely needed help. If she were right, Michael McLaughlin definitely had a reason for wanting to harm her. "Jerome died in a car crash, honey. I had nothing to do with it," Michael said, sounding firm but soothing. "It was an accident. Why do you call it murder?" "Don't hand me that line, Michael. I know differently. True, I read the police report. I also read the mechanic's report on the car. Don't tell me that you didn't know the brake cylinders on my car had been drained of brake fluid and refilled with xylene." "What?" Hunt was as startled as Michael sounded. If that was true, then someone definitely was murdered. Why hadn't she gone to the police with it? Or had she? Had things been covered up? "And his name was Jarod. Jarod, not Jeremy, not Jerome. Jarod. You can at least do me the courtesy of getting his name correct." "What do you know about xylene in brake cylinders, Daisy?" Michael asked. Yes, Hunt wondered, what does she know about that? She laughed, sounding almost cynical, but there was pain there, as well. "I know that xylene is a freely available industrial solvent which will gradually eat through the

gaskets on the brakes. That will allow the xylene to leak out. While the solvent is working, so are the brakes. But, when it has leaked out, the brakes are gone as well. I'm not a stupid woman, Michael. I've never been slow to pick up on things. With all the Special Forces people who were in and out of my life when I was growing up, you don't think that I would have learned a thing or three about such things? For pity's sake, this was a favorite assassination trick during the 'Nam." "Are you sure the car was tampered with?" Michael asked, his voice strained. "Of course, I'm certain of it," she said quietly. "I wouldn't make a statement like that without proof." "There are many reasons why brakes could fail, honey." "When the police decided that the wreck was an accident, I had the car looked at, closely. You remember Carl Wright?" "Of course, I remember Carl. He was a good man. No one knew more about vehicles than Carl," Michael said. "He looked over my car then told me what had been done to the car. I have it in writing, along with independent lab reports. All that information is locked away. There are three complete and notarized true copies. One copy is in my lockbox, one copy is with an attorney, and the third is entrusted to an order of cloistered nuns who are, now, my primary beneficiary." "Why didn't you go to the police with the information?" Michael demanded. "The police had ruled the death as accidental. That meant there was either corruption or gross incompetence involved. Either way, it was simply too dangerous to call them on it," she said tightly. "If they were corrupt, I risked being killed by the cops. If they were incompetent, I risked an attempt on my life, possibly, probably, a successful one. It was a zero sum game, Michael. The only way to stay alive was to opt not to continue with play. I've never been shy about taking a risk, Michael. But, only a fool would have continued pursuing the matter when there was no way to win." "I think that you are being unduly paranoid, sweetheart," Michael said, his tone gentle. "And this from the man who told me not twenty minutes ago that he feared for my safety?" she demanded. "No, Michael, I am not being paranoid about it. I have proof." "If you think that he was murdered, why have you kept it to yourself? That's not like you. You've always been more direct in your dealings with people."

"For God's sake, Michael, Jarod's death had dirty trickster written all over it. All of the members of your security force were, and probably still are, former members of Seals, Green Berets, Rangers, Delta, or military intelligence. Each of them had the knowledge of how to do the job. Think about it, Michael. Jarod might have been the one to die, but he was driving my car!" Michael drew a sharp breath, "You think that...." She cut him off. "Get real, Michael. What else am I to think? I had never allowed anyone else to drive my car. That was well known. The staff made jokes about Daisy and her Daisymobile. Just for your information, Michael, I hadn't given him permission that day. He just took the car. He was looking for some way to get back at me." "Get back at you?" Michael asked quietly. "Two-hundred-thousand dollars, Michael. I suppose that I should be flattered that you paid him two hundred thousand to stay away from me. But, you needn't have bothered. I did eventually see through him. I gave him his walking papers." Michael sighed loudly. "Daisy...." "I was obviously supposed to have been driving the Jag when the brakes failed." "Daisy!" "Just hear me out, Michael. It had to have been an inside job. My car was never parked out of sight, except at home. It was my car. I must have been the intended victim! Me, not Jarod, whose only mistake was in choosing the wrong way to strike out at me. What else was I supposed to think? How was I supposed to trust anyone at the estate? With that knowledge, was I to stick around and wait for the next attempt on my life?" "You kept quiet to protect me?" Michael asked softly, but only after a long pause. "You thought that someone in my household, or even that I, was trying to kill you, and you kept quiet about it." There was a note of incredulity in his voice. "You had just begun your first term in the Senate, Michael. That was something you had wanted for as long as I can remember. You had, and still have, an opportunity to do so much good for the country," she told him. "The greater good was served by my keeping silent." "Daisy...." "Hush, Michael. If I don't say this now, I may never have the courage to say it. And

you're right. This conversation has waited far too long. I couldn't be certain exactly what was going on, or even whether I was still in danger. I still can't be absolutely certain of that. All I knew was that if I were going to be killed, the best thing for you would be for me to be disassociated from you. I knew that I couldn't stop any further attempts on my life, were any to be forthcoming. I had thought about running to John and Emily. But, I couldn't bring myself to endanger them, either. I had to stand by myself, alone, separate. Doing anything else would have just allowed other people to be harmed," she said, her voice even but holding an under tone of pain. "One person had already died as a result of being near me. I was unwilling to take the risk of having more blood on my hands, even indirectly." "You have never made any indication to anyone that you thought Jarod's death to be anything except an accident," Michael said, sounding thoughtful but not disbelieving. "How would it have helped Jarod to have sought revenge for his murder?" Maggie asked wearily. "Would it have brought him back from the dead? No, the only thing that making this public, or taking it to the police, would have done would have been to ruin your political career, and possibly, probably, put me in even more danger. No matter how much I wanted someone to pay for Jarod's death, doing anything about it would have just been adding insult to injury and making a bad situation worse." "I'm not a murderer," Michael said. "You know that. You should also know I would never hurt you, in any way." There was a long pause before she said, "Someone wanted to. That someone had to have been a member of your household, Michael." "Don't talk about this to anyone, honey. I'm going to find out what really happened there. It's been several years, so it isn't going to be easy. But, I still have some contacts. I'll find out. It would have been easier if you had just spoken to me about it at the time, Daisy. But, no, you go and assume the worst and run out. You couldn't even trust me, a little, could you?" His tone dripped with emotion -- Hunt thought he could hear both hurt and anger. "Trust you? Why should I have trusted you when I had just discovered that you had bribed Jarod, that you had basically bought me my position with the symphony, and that someone had tampered with my car? No, Michael, asking me, then, to you, to trust anyone, was more than was humanly possible," she said, her voice sounding infinitely weary. "Will you trust me, now?" "I want you to swear to me that you had nothing to do with the tampering of my car."

"On my sainted grandmother's grave, Daisy, I swear to you that I had nothing to do with the death of your boyfriend," he said solemnly, "Which resulted from the sabotage of your car." "That wasn't what I asked you to swear to," Maggie replied. "Daisy, I had nothing to do with, and no knowledge of, any tampering done to your brakes. I swear." "Okay, Michael. I believe you. I've always been able to tell when you were lying to me." "Now that we've got that settled, when are you going to move back home?" Michael asked. "Jack and Patty asked me to take care of you." "Leave my parents out of this, Michael!" she warned sharply. "You haven't heard a single word that I've said, have you? I don't want to be 'kept'. All I wanted was to, for once in my life, lead a normal existence. Whatever 'normal' is. I'm not sure that I know what that word means. All I know is that the rarefied air of ivory towers is stifling, Michael." "Princesses deserve towers, Daisy. You always were a princess. Please come back home." "Sorry, I just can't." "What more do you want?" "I'm standing on my own two feet, now. I enjoy that. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had thought that you might even be proud of me. I finished my degree in marketing, graduating with high honors. It wasn't easy, but I did it at night while working at Faulks during the day. Did you know that? I've earned more in the past year than most working class people make in ten years. I'm an independent woman, standing on my own two feet. And I don't need you, Michael, or anyone else to protect me." "Of course, darling girl, I'm pleased with what you've been able to accomplish. I'm proud of you. But, right now, you are out of a job. I'd like to have you back home with me, at least until you are married to that young fellow who is listening at the door." "Hunt can be trusted," Maggie said. "What do you know about the man?" "Enough. I know enough about him," Maggie responded quietly. "I trust him."

"Do you love him, Daisy?" Hunt waited for that answer. "What is 'love', Michael?" she answered, the weariness stronger in her voice. "I thought I knew once, but I am no longer that naive." "Daisy, don't dismiss love that easily. It is one of the few things that makes life worth the effort," Michael said. After a moment, Michael added, "Don't stand there and shrug at me, young woman. Are you really going to marry that young man?" "I've stopped making predictions about the future, Michael," she said. "I can't do anything but live one day at a time. Planning for the future is a waste of time. Especially, when I am not certain that I have a future." "If you really felt that way, you would not have been a good saleswoman," Michael replied somewhat sharply. "Don't kid a kidder, Baby Girl." "Don't call me that, Michael," she replied, her voice suddenly harsh. "I miss Jack, too," Michael said, his tone softer. "I know that you do." "Come home for a while, Daisy. Conserve your resources." "I'm hardly likely to starve, Michael." "I never said that you were," he protested. "You came into control of your trust fund last year. Even if you never worked a day in the rest of your life, you wouldn't starve. Jack and Patty saw to that." "I can't move back to your house, Michael," she said softly. "I don't think that I need to restate the reasons." "Then let me hire some bodyguards for you. You could easily go to the lodge. Stefan could use a hand with the winter trade. You know how he is always talking about how difficult it is to keep good help." "I can't hide from life, Michael. I've never been one to run and hide. I'm too much my father's daughter for that." "Jack was the finest man I'd ever known. He was an officer and a gentleman in the

best of the Army tradition. You do favor your father. Sometimes too much," Michael had replied sadly. "It used to bother your mother how much you were like Jack. Patricia used to worry herself sick over your willfulness. I can't tell you the nights that she laid awake, troubled by your stubbornness." "Don't even try to invoke Mother's memory as a means of making me compliant," Maggie warned. "It won't work. I won't stand for it." "Come home, Daisy. I need your help with the presidential campaign. I need my family around me." "If for no reasons other than PR, right?" Maggie asked. "Now, Daisy. Cynicism doesn't become you." "I'm not going to go home with you, Michael," she said firmly. "Even if the person responsible for the accident is no longer around, Susan and I have never gotten on." Michael laughed bitterly. "I remember. But, we're all older. The relationships will be different now." "You're deluding yourself, Michael. Susan sees me as a threat to her security. And there was a time that she was right. There was a time that I would have said or done anything to get her out of your life, Michael. I never thought that she was good enough for you. I still don't. The difference now is that I know that what I think doesn't matter to you." "That's not true!" Michael replied firmly. **** Hunt pieced things together. Patty had married Michael within a few months of Jack O'Shay's death. Then Michael had remarried shortly after Patty's death. Maggie's stepfather's new wife, Susan, who was only a few years older than Maggie, obviously resented her strongly. The situation between the young women had probably been little less than a state of open warfare. No wonder she had said that it would take more than one evening to explain the reasons that she had been distant from her stepfather for years. **** She sighed before continuing, "She is the woman that you have committed to. At the very least, you owe her the privilege of having a peaceful home. We both know that if I were to return to the estate the last thing that Susan would have would be peace. I can't say that your marriage to her makes me happy. But, the fact remains that you are married to her. Go home and have a happy life. I wish the both of you

only the best things." "Well, I guess that I've done all that I can do to lure you back home with me. It really isn't going to work, is it?" "No. It isn't going to work, Michael. I can't believe you actually thought that it would." Michael laughed. "No, I didn't believe I would really be able to lure you back home. But, I had hoped we might make peace between us. You know, I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow. When you came early, you threw all of my carefully rehearsed plans right into the trash." "That's why I don't make detailed plans, except when I have to coordinate efforts with others," Maggie replied quietly. "If you won't come home, at least come to work for my campaign. I need a smart and savvy national volunteer coordinator. You always were good at motivating people." "I don't know, Michael. I don't know. I'm going to have to think about that." "Will you promise me that you will not sabotage my campaign?" Michael asked quietly. "I won't purposefully say or do anything which will reflect badly on you," she pledged. "I know that you would be one of the best presidents that this country ever had. You have to know that you have my full support." "I suppose that I should be satisfied with that," Michael said slowly. "At least, you no longer hate my guts." "I'm not sure that I ever hated your guts, Michael," she answered. "You should know I've changed my will," Michael said softly. "I don't want anything from you, Michael." "Susan will have a life estate on the house and grounds. At her death, it will revert to you. I've allowed her an annuity sufficient to keep her in a moderate lifestyle. Everything else is going to be yours, free and clear. You're going to be a very wealthy woman, Daisy." "Why in the world would you want to do that?" she asked. "Who else would I leave everything to? My stepbrothers' families certainly do not

need the money. And, after all, Jack was closer to be than many of the members of my own family. I've always thought of you as the daughter whom I never had." "I'm warning you, Michael. Leave me your fortune and within one year, it will all be given to charity," she said softly. The man's voice sounded odd. "Well, maybe it will buy my place into heaven. I'll be seeing you, Daisy. Be well, be happy. And let me hear from you, occasionally." "Take care of yourself, Michael. Give my regards to Susan," she said, sounding polite. "Just kiss me goodbye." "Sure," she said as she leaned up and kissed him chastely on the cheek just as Hunt opened the door. "You said ten minutes, but since you didn't seem to be killing each other, I thought I'd just let you talk it out." Michael smiled at Hunt, then turned his smile to Maggie. "That's a considerate young man, you've got there, Daisy. I've got the feeling that he would have tried to take me limb from limb, if I had been a threat to you." "'Tried' is not the operative word, sir," Hunt replied. "'Succeeded' would be much more appropriate." Michael laughed boldly. "Well, Daisy, are you going to introduce us?" Maggie smiled broadly. "Michael, may I present Hunt Thomas. Hunt, this is my stepfather, Senator McLaughlin." "Thomas? I recall a Hank Thomas who was three years behind me at Annapolis. Any relation?" Michael asked. "My father." Michael smiled. "You favor him, son. What is Hank doing these days?" "Running the family's Inn in Vermont. And preparing to retire for the second time." "He stands out in my memory as an athlete and a fine sailor," Michael replied thoughtfully. "Give him my regards when you speak with him." "I will," Hunt said.

"You could do a lot worse for yourself, Daisy. Have you set a date?" Michael said with evident approval in his voice. "Not as yet, Sir," Hunt answered for them both. She smiled and spoke with genuine affection in her voice, "Michael, you are a real S.O.B." Michael laughed as he remembered their old private joke. "I hope that means Sweet Old Buzzard." "It does," she replied with a slight laugh. "God speed, Michael." Michael laughed in return. "Listen, young man, you take good care of my Daisy. She thinks that she is invincible." "She knows her limitations, sir," Hunt replied. "Would you both, kindly, stop talking about me as though I were not in the room?" Maggie snapped. Hunt smiled at her. "Sorry, Maggie mine." Michael looked appraisingly at his stepdaughter, then at Hunt. "Take good care of her." "Yes, sir." "And Daisy, I'll have your mother's wedding dress cleaned and sent to you. Patty always wanted you to have it for your own wedding." "Michael...." Michael smiled at his stepdaughter. "You will let me walk you down the aisle, Daisy, won't you?" Maggie looked at Hunt. Hunt smiled at her. Then he looked at Michael. "I'm not certain that it will be a big enough wedding to warrant that, sir. The ceremony will be very quiet, I'm sure." "You will be married in the Church?" Michael asked. "Patty would have wanted you to be married in the Church." "I have no intention of marrying outside of my faith, Michael," Maggie assured him.

Michael shrugged. "I must be getting old. In my day, women all wanted big, memorable, expensive, weddings. But, things change, I guess." "That's what makes life interesting," Hunt said. "Call once in a while. At least, let me know that you are alive," Michael said warmly as he kissed her forehead, then walked away. She watched until he was gone and then sighed in relief. "I suppose that you're curious?" she asked, caution coloring her voice. Hunt smiled, "Hey, the past was there before. It's always going to be there. I just have one question." "Only one? Go on, what do you want to know?" "Will you marry me?" "Ask me that again, Hunt, after we've known each other for a while longer, okay?" she answered quietly. Hunt smiled broadly. "You are willing to entertain the thought?" Maggie laughed. "I've always loved that phrase, 'to entertain a thought.' You can almost imagine inviting the thought to take a seat, pouring it a cup of coffee, and settling in for a cozy heart to heart. Quite an image." Hunt smiled at her. "You never answered my question." "Yes, Hunt. I'm willing to think about it at some later date, after we have gotten to know one another better. But, marriage is a very serious step. We need to know each other much more thoroughly before I would even think about it." "That's all that I can ask right now," he said softly, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "I promised myself a month's vacation. I was planning to go to see my folks in Vermont on Sunday afternoon. Spend this time with me, Maggie. Let's get to know each other. I can't think of anything which I would like more," he added. "My sisters are supposed to be home for Christmas, with their families. You can meet the whole clan." "I don't think that is a very good idea, Hunt." "Why not?" he demanded. Maggie blushed brightly.

Hunt smiled at her. "That wasn't an indecent proposition, Maggie mine. My mother is as straight laced as they come. You'd be in a guest room all by yourself, even if we wanted it otherwise. That much I would guarantee you." If possible, Maggie's blush became brighter. Hunt laughed. "Do you have any idea of how enchanting I find you?" "Enchanting or amusing?" she replied. Hunt sobered. "Fascinating. I've fallen in love with you, Margaret Mary O'Shay. I wouldn't have proposed otherwise." "Do you usually fall in love that quickly?" Maggie asked, and it was a question that needed an honest answer. "I've been in love twice in my entire life, Maggie mine," he told her. "You are only the second woman I have proposed marriage to." "Why aren't you still with your first choice?" Maggie questioned quietly. "The same reason that you didn't marry your former fiance. She died," Hunt said, old hurt in his voice. Maggie drew a deep, calming breath. "Let's just take this slow and easy, Hunt. We hardly know one another. Let's give this some time." "Come up to Vermont with me. Meet my parents, sisters, and brothers. Listen to all the embarrassing stories that they tell about me. Spend time with me on the slopes. Sit with me before the fireplace in the main lounge, sipping hot buttered rums. I guarantee that you will have a good time." "You paint an appealing picture, Hunt." "Will you come with me?" "I'll have to think about it," she hedged. Natalie scurried up. "I just saw Uncle Michael leave. Are you all right, Maggie?" Maggie smiled. "I'm fine. Now, I think that I'll go get myself a cup of tea. Excuse me, please." Hunt smiled at her. "We haven't finished our talk, Maggie." "We can talk later, Hunt."

"We will talk later, Maggie. Count on it." "Somehow, I never doubted it, Hunt. You are as stubborn as I am." "More stubborn," Hunt replied with a smile. Maggie rolled her eyes as though begging for mercy before she turned and walked away. **** "He's a college buddy of Chuck's. I don't know him that well. He's something of an enigma to me," Natalie replied to Maggie's question later that night, after most of the guests had gone, about how well she knew Hunt Thomas. There was something in Natalie's tone of voice that disturbed Maggie. Hunt walked up silently behind Maggie. He placed his arms about her waist and kissed her ear. "Speak of the devil...." Maggie said softly. Hunt laughed, "Is that how you think of me?" She turned around in his arms and looked at him. "I honestly don't know what to make of you." "Good. Because the feeling is very mutual," Hunt replied. Chuck walked over to the three of them. "Hey, Hunt, old buddy, you're taking your life in your own hands messing with Maggie," he teased. "I don't think so. Maggie and I have an understanding," Hunt said with more than a little warmth in his voice. "An understanding?" Chuck asked with a smile. Maggie looked over at Chuck as she gently broke out of Hunt's arms. "Okay, I want a straight answer. Which one of you turkeys invited Michael here this evening?" Natalie looked guilty. "Maggie, I just thought that the two of you should sit down and iron out your differences. Uncle Michael needs your help. This election will not be easy. He's going to need all of us to pull behind him." Maggie shook her head. "Remind me to do you that large of a favor one day," she retorted.

Natalie's face fell. "Was it that bad?" "No, we cleared the air. I don't think that we'll ever be close friends again, but we're not mortal enemies." "That's good," Natty replied softly. "I hated having to lie to Uncle Michael about knowing where you were." "You didn't have to lie about my whereabouts. I'm sure that he knew all along where I was. Otherwise, the FBI would have been looking for me, as a kidnap victim." Natty smiled. "You are probably right. Uncle Michael always was very protective of you. Too much so, at times." Hunt smiled. "Chuck, do you happen to have an open bottle of champagne around here somewhere?" "Why?" "I just thought that we ought to drink a toast to marriage," Hunt said mischievously. "Marriage?" Natalie and Chuck said nearly in unison. Maggie looked at Hunt and shook her head in dismay. "I just thought that since Natalie's Uncle Michael knew about it, that we'd let her in on it, too," Hunt said softly. Maggie laughed. "Of course, Hunt. But, I've had too much to drink as it is. I'm tired and I think that I'll go to bed, now." "Not so fast," Hunt replied easily as he took her hand. "Stick around a little while longer." Maggie looked at Hunt's strong hand encasing hers. Then she looked into his eyes. There was both humor and confidence there. Too much confidence. "Which dan?" she asked Hunt quietly. He smiled at her. "Somehow, I thought that you would guess." "Is it a secret?" Maggie asked quietly. "It's always better for people in the public eye to have a secret or two. There is a certain advantage for the public not to know that someone like myself can take care of himself," Hunt replied quietly.

"In case of kidnapping, you mean?" Maggie asked, her voice flat. "Or something worse," Hunt responded honestly. "Which dan?" "Godan." Maggie nodded her head in acknowledgment. Fifth degree black belt. She had worked for years on achieving hers. "Same rank that I hold." "Randori in the morning after breakfast?" Hunt asked. That might prove interesting, Hunt. Yes." Natalie laughed. "Oh, this I have got to see." "It's your house," Maggie replied lightly. "Now, it has been a long day filled with surprises of all sorts. I really need to go to bed." Hunt smiled gently at her. "Of course. Sleep well, Maggie mine." "Goodnight, all." **** The lone man stood some distance off from the house. He watched the light go on in one of the third floor bedrooms, the bedroom usually occupied by Margaret Mary O'Shay when she visited with her friends. The boss, whom he knew only through the bulletin board and one brief, electronically disguised, telephone call, had already transferred $5,000 earnest money for the job into his Grand Cayman bank account. There would be another $45,000 when the job was successfully completed. Sunday morning should be just about right, the man thought. A single shot from his suppressed .44 auto mag or from the .308 rifle which was similarly suppressed, as she was coming out of Church should just about do it. The man took one last look at the window, before he walked away into the night. -------*Chapter 4*

It was early Saturday morning when Maggie awoke after only three hours of sleep. She hurriedly showered in the en suite bathroom and dressed in her white cotton judogi. Chuck was always up early. She could almost always count on finding him in his private dojo. Randori, free style judo play, with Chuck was always a challenging experience. Today, it would be more so, because she had to pump Chuck for information about his college roommate. Getting information out of Chuck, if he didn't want to tell, was next to impossible. She brushed out her long hair and pulled it back in a single braid, before making her way downstairs. As she expected, Chuck was in his dojo. What she hadn't expected, but should have, was that Hunt would be with him. She stood for a minute at the doorway watching the two of them engaged in free style martial arts play which was a mixture of several different fighting styles. She did have to admit that the two tall men were exceptionally well-matched. "Time out," Hunt called as he nodded towards the door. Chuck smiled as he saw Maggie. "Come on in, Maggie. You can rescue me from your fiance." "Too much competitor for you?" Maggie asked with a laugh. "He's wiping the floor with me. Maybe he'll be a bit more gentle with you," Chuck replied, sounding amused. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, Hunt?" Maggie asked quietly. "More like having woken in the wrong bed," Hunt told her with a smile. Maggie blushed hotly. "Hunt...." "Want to move up our date for randori to before breakfast?" he offered. "I love watching you blush...." "You would," she charged. "Randori?" "Sure. Why not?" After little more than an hour, they called a halt to the match by mutual consent. Maggie smiled at Hunt. "You're good," Hunt said with respect.

Maggie nodded as she picked up two towels. "You took the words right out of my mouth." She tossed him one. "I decided to go up to my folk's place in Vermont today, instead of tomorrow. Want to come along?" "Now that was a gracious offer," Maggie replied, wiping her face with the towel. Hunt smiled at her. "Well?" "I think that I would like that," Maggie responded quietly. "After breakfast." "Are you sure that they won't mind having someone drop in on them unexpectedly?" "Mom enjoys having people around. Besides, she'll be so glad to welcome home the prodigal son, that I could bring home an army, and she'd welcome them, just because they brought me." "Are you really a 'prodigal', a recklessly wasteful, extravagant, lavish, person?" Hunt smiled at her. He shook his head negatively. "I keep forgetting how much you like words. My sister Marie is the same way. She is almost impossible to beat at Scrabble. You'll like Marie." "Will she be there?" "Eventually. After the term at her school ends, she and her kids will be at the Inn. Right now, though, the group will be limited to Mom, Dad, and the twins. So, will you come with me?" "I think that I would like that," Maggie said. "Good. We'll drive up after breakfast." "My car?" "I doubt that your convertible could make it through the snows. I have a four-wheel-drive Jeep." Maggie smiled slightly. "Look, Maggie, I know that I'm moving this along at a faster pace than you are

comfortable with. But, at the moment, we are both free of commitments. Isn't whatever exists between us worth exploring?" Maggie nodded. "I think that it might just be." **** Susan McLaughlin sat across the breakfast table from her husband in the Georgetown townhouse. "Well, Mike," she said as she read the draft announcement of his candidacy which would appear in the papers. "There will be no backing out after this announcement is made." Michael smiled at his wife. "No, Sue," Michael replied easily, "There is no backing out now. Does this frighten you?" "Not in the least," Susan responded quietly. "I think that I am going to like living in the White House. All we have to do is to convince the voters you are the best man for the office." Michael smiled. "That isn't going to be easy, darling. It's going to take a lot of hard work." "I've never been afraid of hard work, Mike." "No," he replied with a laugh, "You never have been afraid of much, have you, darling?" "Very little," Susan admitted. "I didn't know that Margaret was working for Guy." "For several years." "Obviously, she has been quite successful," Susan replied thoughtfully. "Yes." "Then, she won't be back to hit the campaign trail with us?" "Probably not." "That's too bad," Susan replied. "For all of her faults, Margaret is a well spoken, attractive, young woman who makes a good impression." Mike smiled at his wife. "She assures me that she is fully in support of the candidacy."

"That's good. Do you suppose that I should write her a note thanking her for her support?" "That would be a nice gesture. It's well past time that the two of you buried the hatchet." "I wasn't aware that there was any hatchet to be buried. Margaret was simply reacting as any young girl her age would have reacted to having the rug pulled out from under her. You were one of the only links that she had left to her parents. She had to feel that I was trying to take her mother's place. I don't blame her for the unfriendly way that she acted towards me. I probably should have tried to be kinder to her. Looking back on it, I didn't help the situation any." Michael smiled at his wife. He took Susan's hand. "You did the best that you knew how. I can't blame you for the situation." "I know how much Margaret means to you. I should have been more sensitive to the situation," Susan replied. Michael reached over to her. He placed two fingers gently under her chin and urged her head up so that she was looking into his eyes. "Do you ever regret marrying me? Your life could have been much more peaceful if you had married some younger man." "How could I regret the best decision that I ever made?" Susan demanded. "I love you, Michael. With all my heart." Michael smiled. "I do love you, Susan." Susan smiled as she rose from the table and walked the three steps to her husband. Standing beside his chair, she asked, "What is on your schedule for today?" Michael smiled at his wife. "Nothing at all until late afternoon. I was going to read some reports this morning after I swim." "Can it wait?" Susan queried as she lightly ran her fingers through his hair. Michael caught her hand, pushed his chair back from the table, and pulled her into his lap. He smiled at his wife. "You are insatiable, woman," he said, trying to sound irritated. "Oh, no, darling," she very nearly purred. "I am very capable of being satiated; and of satiating you. Let's go back to bed, Mike." ****

Maggie was puttering around in the kitchen, making coffee and mixing up the batter for the waffles Natty loved, when Natalie came into the kitchen. Chuck was in his study. Hunt had gone upstairs to shower and change before breakfast. "That coffee smells rank," Natalie groused. Maggie smiled at her friend. "Now, I believe that you are pregnant," she said in amusement. "They tell me that coffee is one of the first things that pregnant women lose tolerance for." Natalie grimaced. "I'm surprised to see you up this early. I thought that you would surely be sleeping in, pampering yourself." "Speaking of sleep, how did you sleep?" Natty asked. "Like a log in a flooding river," Maggie answered as she walked over to the breakfast nook and took a seat at the table there. "That turbulent, eh?" "Something like that." "You and Hunt. That surprised me. I know that you can be impetuous. But, I never thought of him in that way," Natalie said quietly. "Impetuous, moi?" Maggie responded with mock incredulity. "Who was the one who decided that Dani and I should accompany you as you took a walking tour of the Left Bank after dark when we were in Paris at the cooking school?" Maggie laughed. "Well, at least, I wasn't the one who went bar hopping with Rusty. Speaking of Rusty, I heard from her the other day." Natalie smiled. "I heard from her the other day, myself. She filed for another patent. I've lost count now on how many she holds. I always knew that she would be successful." "Some people have all the talent," Maggie said. "She asked me to test a new type of body armor that she is developing." "She expects you to be shot at?" Natalie asked with a laugh.

"No, silly, she wants me to wear the vest and pants to test them for comfort and mobility levels. Both pieces are sitting up in my suitcase right now. Rusty says that she has already tested them for effectiveness. She thinks that they will be comfortable to wear, but she wants another opinion." Natalie smiled. "Is there anything that Rusty isn't interested in?" "Not much." Natalie shook her head. "You may be right. Now, change of subject. What did you tell Hunt about Uncle Michael?" Natalie asked. "Nothing. I'm sure that he overheard the conversation between Michael and me. He knows more than I am really comfortable with his knowing," Maggie replied. "Why are you asking?" "He was asking all sort of questions about him." "What kind of questions?" Maggie demanded softly. "Questions. You know. General stuff. About you and Uncle Michael. Your relationship. Michael and Susan. Michael and Guy. Michael and me. Susan and you. That sort of thing." "I see...." "Are you really going to marry him?" "I don't know," Maggie admitted. "Why don't you like him?" Natalie shrugged. "He's just too smooth, too hard...." "Twisted steel and sex appeal," Maggie said softly. Natalie laughed. "Something like that. I know that he has a reputation as a hot shot businessman. He's made fortunes for himself and others. Still, there's an edge about him that didn't come out of working in banking. Even on the level he works. I can't shake the feeling that he has been involved in something dangerous. I know that sounds strange." Maggie looked at her friend for a moment. "Not so strange, really." Natalie smiled softly. "Are you making waffles?" "I thought I would."

"Good. Chuck gave me a new waffle iron for my birthday. It makes waffles which look like Mickey Mouse." "You've got to be kidding," Maggie replied, starting to laugh. Natalie laughed also. "Swear to God. I'm serious." "This, I have got to see." **** The four of them sat around the breakfast table eating their "Mouse" waffles which were smothered in out-of-season, fresh, sliced strawberries from Natalie's greenhouse. The conversation was general. "How long will it take you to pack?" Hunt asked Maggie. "Are you leaving us?" Natalie questioned. "Hunt invited me to go with him to meet his parents," Maggie replied. Chuck smiled. "Oh, yes?" Natalie lifted an eyebrow in query. "Have fun." "You don't mind my leaving my car here, do you?" Maggie asked. Chuck laughed. "It will be safe, Maggie. Don't worry about it. You just have a good time with Hank, Helen and the horrible hordes." "Horrible hordes?" Maggie questioned. Hunt laughed. "Easy, Chuck. They've grown up now. Chuck remembers the twins from our undergraduate days. They were nine or ten. They ran away from home and appeared at the dorm. We had to keep them for two days before Mom could get there to retrieve them." "Your poor mother must have been frantic," Maggie said. "Oh, Helen took it in stride. But, those were the longest two days of my life," Chuck said with feeling. Natalie smiled. "You've got some long days ahead of you, Chuck."

The big blond man put one hand on his wife's, still flat, stomach. "Sprout will behave." Natalie turned pale. "I wouldn't bet on it. He's already making his mother sick." The three of them watched Natty flee the room. "Should you go to her?" Maggie asked in concern. Chuck shook his head. "She doesn't like me hovering over her. If she needs me, she'll ask for help." Maggie nodded. Hunt took her hand. "Since you cooked breakfast, Chuck and I will load the dishwasher and clean up. Why don't you go get showered, and pack. I want to be on the road in an hour or so." "Sounds good to me." **** Maggie had packed her bags, stripped and remade her bed, and dressed in jeans, a green angora sweater, and her boots, before Natalie knocked on the door. "Magpie?" Natalie asked softly as she popped her head into the room. "Come in." Natalie walked into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind herself. "I want to talk with you." "Are you okay, Natty?" "It's just morning sickness. The doctor says that it will pass." "That's precious little comfort when you are losing meals," Maggie remarked dryly. "The baby is worth the effort," Natalie assured her. "What did you want to talk about?" "You and Hunt." "What about Hunt and me?"

"Don't rush into anything, Magpie." "I have no intention of doing that." "Now, don't go getting offended. I'm sure that Hunt is a good man, basically. He and Chuck have been friends for a very long time. But, just be careful will you?" "I am always careful." "Good. Stay that way." "What do you know that you aren't telling me?" Maggie demanded. "I'm not sure that I know anything." Natalie looked over to make certain that the door was still firmly closed. "This is going to sound paranoid, or worse...." "Just tell me what's on your mind," Maggie said. "I think, I can't prove, but I think, that Hunt might have been in Intelligence." "Why do you think that?" "I told you that this was going to sound paranoid," Natalie replied. "All I want to know is why you think that Hunt was a spook." "Haven't you noticed? He doesn't miss anything. He always knows what is going on around him. Even when he is relaxing, there is that edge of watchfulness surrounding him. Watch him some time. He moves almost too precisely." "That could be his martial arts training. If you look closely at me, you'll see many of those same traits." "He knows John." "He told me that." Natalie bit her lip. "It's more than a suspicion, Magpie. I overheard Chuck and Hunt talking two days ago. Neither of them knew that I was still awake. I'd come down to get something hot to drink. They were in the kitchen. Chuck made some comment to the effect that he was glad to see that Hunt's quote super spy unquote days were firmly behind him. Hunt's reply was that he had 'done my duty, given Uncle Sam thirteen years of my life and now it is time for me to move on, while I am still young enough to make something good out of my life.'" "I see...." Maggie said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.

"Magpie, who knows what he's had to do in those years he worked for the government? He might be a killer," Natty said. "So, most of the people whom I knew as a child had been responsible for at least one death, during the course of duty," Maggie replied quietly. "I'm sure my father had killed more than once. I know that Michael had done so during his younger years. Hunt, from what I've gathered is a businessman. If he had been involved in Intelligence, it would have probably been as a courier. Or if he was a covert operative, he must have been a good one." "This doesn't bother you?" Natalie asked curiously. "Why should it? I have a past. So does he. I haven't told him everything about me. Why should I expect him to have told me all about his past?" Natalie looked at her friend. "Thank you for your concern, Natty." "But," Natalie said, "You have to make up your own mind about him. Nothing I say is going to change your mind, is it?" "Thanks for your concern. I don't think that you have anything to worry about, Natty. But thanks for telling me this. It gives me a little more insight into the man." "You've fallen for him, haven't you?" "Let's just say that he intrigues me," Maggie offered in reply. "Be careful, Magpie. You don't know how many enemies that the man might have accumulated over the years." "Who hasn't accumulated enemies?" Maggie asked wryly. Then she smiled at her friend. "He's probably waiting for me." "Have a good time in Vermont. I wish that we were going with you. Chuck and I went up to the Inn two years ago. It's beautiful up there this time of the year." "Why don't you? Is there any reason that you can't come along?" Natty smiled. "I suppose that I could call Helen and see if she has a room available for Chuck and I. I know that Chuck would like to spend some time on the slopes. Now seems like as good of a time as any." A brief knock came at the door.

"Come," Maggie invited. Chuck opened the door. "I had the feeling that you would be in here, talking Maggie's ear off, sweetheart." Natalie smiled as her husband came into the bedroom, followed by Hunt. "Are you ready to head out?" Hunt asked. "I suppose that I am as ready as I'll ever be," Maggie replied. Chuck laughed. "Relax, will you? Helen and Hank don't bite." "I don't recall saying that they did." Chuck smiled at her. "I'll take your bags down." "Thanks." "Come on, Natty," Chuck urged. Natalie and Chuck left the room, closing the door behind them. Hunt crossed the room to stand just a few inches from her. "What's wrong?" "Nothing. What's the weather like between here and Vermont?" "Cold and snowy." "Then we had better get going. Did you call your parents to tell them that we were coming?" "I thought that I would surprise them." "Are you planning on telling them about the quote engagement unquote?" Maggie asked quietly. "I hadn't planned on it," Hunt said. "Good. The less said about that, the better." Hunt shook his head and smiled. "I intend to marry you, Margaret Mary O'Shay. Try to get used to that idea."

Maggie laughed. "Do you get everything that you want, Hunt?" "Most of the time," he answered. "I'll keep that in mind." "Why are you coming with me?" "Maybe I just like skiing?" she offered lightly. Hunt touched her face, cupping her cheek in his hand. "It wouldn't have anything to do with this, would it?" Then his lips claimed hers. Maggie laced her fingers through his hair, bringing him closer to her, while deepening the kiss. "No," she quietly lied, when she finally stepped back from him. "Nothing at all." Hunt smiled at her. "You know what I like about you, woman?" "No, what do you like about me?" Maggie asked. "You couldn't lie your way out of a wet paper bag. Your face gives you away every time." Maggie laughed. "But, then, you haven't seen me play poker." Hunt laughed boldly. "Come on, Maggie mine, we've got to get moving if we expect to be there by nightfall." **** The tall man cursed as he watched Hunt and Maggie drive off. He had watched Chuck load baggage into the back of the Jeep earlier. This would probably mean a change in plans, he thought as he put his car into gear and followed them. **** Hunt hadn't missed the small tan BMW that followed them from almost the moment they had left the Ferra's. But, he didn't remark on being followed to Maggie. There was no need to worry her. There was no telling who the driver of the car was. As long as there wasn't any sort of threatening action taken by the man following them, Hunt wasn't going to worry about it too much. But, neither was he going to ignore it. The more that he found out about Maggie O'Shay, the more that he stood convinced that her brother was correct in that Maggie needed a bodyguard.

**** "Absolutely not," Chuck said strongly. "Maggie and Hunt deserve some time to get to know each other better without a lot of other people around to hide behind." Natalie looked at her husband with anger in her eyes. "I promised Maggie." "Tough. We aren't going. First off, you have no business on the slopes in your condition. You might be willing to take a chance with your health, but I am not going to risk the baby." Natalie paled. "That's not fair." Chuck took his wife into his arms. "Easy, Natty, I just don't want to see you hurt." "I haven't been hurt skiing since I was eleven. It's good exercise." "You know what we've read about pregnancy and how it loosens the joints on a woman. The last thing that you need is to be laid up in a cast for part of the pregnancy." "Suppose that I promise just to sit around and look decorative?" "You couldn't do that. You know that you are far too active to enjoy sitting around watching other people have fun. Besides, Hunt doesn't need a chaperone." "Maybe Magpie does." "We aren't going, Natty." "But, Chuck...." "No, Natalie Marie. Absolutely not." "That's your final word?" "Yes," Chuck said firmly. Natalie gave her husband one last bitter look, then without a further word, turned and left the room. **** Maggie was surprised at how quickly the drive seemed to go. She and Hunt talked almost non-stop about a variety of subjects. Maggie wasn't at all surprised to find Hunt to be a literate, thoughtful, man.

"Relationships can work without long courtships, Maggie mine. My grandmother met my grandfather for the first time when he picked her up at the dock. The marriage had been arranged. They had exchanged two letters. And then, she had boarded a ship from Ireland and had come over. They were married two days after she arrived in this country. They had sixty-two happy years together, before they died in a car accident." Maggie looked at Hunt. "That's some story." "All I am saying is that I know that we haven't known each other very long. But, I am convinced, that if you would give us a chance, we could work along well together." Maggie smiled at him. "To butcher a WC Fields quote, 'Marriage is a fine institution...' I can see that you are ready to be institutionalized." Hunt laughed. "But, you're not, are you?" "Hunt," Maggie replied lowly, painfully. It was bad enough being an emotional cripple without having to tell someone about her character fault. "I'm not going to rush you. You take all the time that you need." Maggie sighed. "I am fond of you, Hunt." "Like you would be fond of a puppy?" he asked tightly. "No. You know that is not right." Hunt smiled as he looked at her. "I know. We're almost there." **** The Inn was really a complex of buildings. There was a main lodge that Hunt informed her was the original house built circa 1700 as the home of a very wealthy landowner. His maternal grandparents had restored the building to substantially the way it had looked at the time that the building had been constructed. The building was on the National Register of Historic Places. Then there were several small cabins for people who wanted more privacy than was allowable at the main lodge. And there were outbuildings for riding stables, garages, equipment storage, etc. Maggie and Hunt walked into the lobby of the main lodge. A beautifully maintained slate stairway and two large brass chandeliers graced the entry hall. A rectangular, oak, trestle table near the back wall of the entryway served as a reception desk.

An elegant looking gray-haired woman sat behind the table. The woman's total attention was on the latest Dean Koontz novel. "Mom," Hunt said. The woman looked up from her novel. "Hunter!" Helen Thomas said softly almost as though she were in shock. Then she picked up the small fm transmitter handset that lay on the table. "Hank," she said into the handset. "Hank." Helen smiled. Maggie noted that the woman's eyes were just slightly lighter than Hunt's eyes. "Sweetheart," Helen said quietly into the handset. "Hunter just walked through the door with a gorgeous redhead." Helen laughed after a moment of listening to her husband. The laugh was full of joy. "All right, dear." Hunt's mother broke the connection, then placed the handset down on the table. She quickly walked around the oak table and crossed the distance to her son. Maggie smiled as Helen threw herself into Hunt's arms. Helen was a good foot shorter than Hunt. She was a trim, active woman in her mid to late sixties. Her hair was cut into a practical short pageboy. Maggie noted how gently, but firmly, Hunt was holding his mother. He kissed the top of Helen's head. "You're looking good, Mom." Helen stepped back from her son. "And you are a sight for sore eyes. Why didn't you tell me that you were coming?" "And ruin the surprise?" Hunt asked teasingly, with mischief in his eyes. "I talked with Dad earlier today, to say that we were coming." Helen wiped a tear from her eye. "Hunter, you are staying a while?" "Of course, if you'll have me." "No," a younger male voice said from the doorway near the reception desk. Maggie looked toward the sound of the voice. Standing in the doorway were a pair of younger versions of Hunt. Neither of the young men exuded the aura of confidence that characterized Hunt. But there was definitely intellect behind the eyes of both men. Both men seemed so young. And

that struck Maggie as odd since, according to what Hunt had told her, the twins were in their mid-twenties, not particularly younger than she was. "No," one of the twins continued, with an expression Maggie was coming to call the Thomas mischief glint. "You have to go back to Europe." "Good to see you, too, Daniel," Hunt replied with a smile. The other twin, Jason, laughed boldly. "I see that your taste in women has improved." Hunt placed his arm around Maggie's shoulder. "You have to forgive my brother, Maggie." Maggie smiled. "Must I?" she teased. Hunt laughed and lightly kissed her forehead. "Where's Dad?" Hank Thomas walked up behind the twins. Maggie thought that this was what Hunt would look like in thirty plus years. The adjectives which came readily to mind were tough, craggy, authoritative, tender, self assured, and strong. This was a man whom a person could count on when the times became uncertain. He was the solid rock on whom this family was built. And she suddenly knew, without a doubt, that Hunt would be the same way with his own family. "You talking about me, again, boy?" Hank asked with obviously mock gruffness. Maggie laughed. "Yes, sir." "You going to stick around for a while, son?" "I had thought so, sir." "I thought that we raised you with better manners, Hunt," Helen stated. "We still don't have a name to go with your friend." "Maggie, as you have probably figured out, this is my mother, Helen, my brothers Daniel and Jason -- don't worry if you can't keep them straight, few people can." "What's not to keep straight?" Maggie interjected. "Daniel has an old scar, looks like he had half a dozen stitches, just above his left brow. Jason has a dark mole on his right hand about 2 centimeters from the base of his thumb. What's not to keep straight?"

Jason and Daniel laughed. Hunt tightened his arm around her. "And the crusty curmudgeon is my father, Henry -- Hank to his friends. Everyone, meet Margaret Mary O'Shay. But her friends call her Maggie." "Are you Irish, Maggie?" Hank asked. "No, sir. American, sir," Maggie answered back smartly. "Military, O'Shay?" Hank questioned. "Army brat. But, my stepfather was Navy. He sends his regards. Michael McLaughlin." Hank smiled broadly. "How is the Senator?" "Much as he's always been, sir." "Sorry to hear that. Heard he was going to run for President," Hank remarked. "I am not at liberty to discuss that, sir," Maggie replied firmly. "You're Jack O'Shay's daughter all right. No one could ever get an answer out of him, either," Hank responded with a smile. "I'll take that as a compliment, sir." "At ease, O'Shay. The name is Hank. I'll call you Maggie." Maggie smiled broadly. "Thanks, Hank." "So, when's the wedding?" Hank replied sharply. "As soon as I talk her into marrying me, I suppose," Hunt replied in an indulgent tone. "She's not quite convinced that I am the best thing that has ever happened to her." "Hunt...." Maggie blustered. Helen laughed. "Don't mind them. The men in this family are notable for their bluntness." "One of these days someone is going to have to teach them a lesson about how lethal a blunt object can be in the hands of a skilled opponent," Maggie said dryly.

Everyone laughed. Hank nodded. He looked at his wife. "Give her the Rose room." Then he looked at his son. "You'll be in your old room, son. Show her around. There isn't time for you to take a ski run before dark. But, you can show her the facilities. I've been trying to get an engine overhauled on one of the snowplows. Family dinner will be as usual, nine, after the guests have eaten." **** Helen looked up at the man who walked into the lodge. "Can I help you?" "Do you have a room available?" the tall, average-looking, dark-haired, man inquired. "All we have left for tonight is a cabin, and it was a late cancellation. $200." "I'll take it." Helen gave the man a registration card. "Thank you, Mr." She looked at the card. "Edwards. How will you be paying for the room?" "Cash." He placed two new hundred dollar bills on the table. "You'll just be staying the one night?" "I had thought that I would make that decision day to day, if that doesn't inconvenience you." "That particular cabin is only available for three days." "I doubt that I will stay longer than that," Edwards said. "Planning on skiing?" "Do you have skis for rent?" "For rental or purchase. We have a fully stocked ski shop with everything from skis to clothing. You'll find it in the first metal building to your left as you leave the front door of this building." "Then I may do some skiing." Helen looked at him. "Breakfast is served from five until nine. Lunch is served

between eleven and one. Dinner is served from six until eight-thirty each evening. All meals are served in the main dining room, just beyond those double doors. No room service is available. There is a kitchen in the cabin, if you would prefer to cook for yourself." "Thank you. I'll be here for meals. May I have my key? There is parking near the cabin?" "Directly in front. It's number seven. Just follow the road around about a quarter mile. It's the last cabin on your left. You should have plenty of privacy. There is a good cross-country ski run between the lodge and the cabins, if you would prefer to leave your car parked." "Thank you." **** Edwards had switched cars in town, dumping his rented BMW and renting a four-wheel-drive Eagle. The fake credit cards would be useless after this job, but that was why he kept the counterfeit plastic. There were times that he knew that he wasn't paid enough for the work. But, then again, he knew that he would have taken this job, even if it hadn't paid a cent, just for the sake of paying back General O'Shay. Now, all he had to do was to set up the situation where he could get off a clean shot at Margaret Mary O'Shay. -------*Chapter 5* Maggie smiled at Hunt as he came to a halt at the base of the slope. She had beaten him down by less than ten seconds. Hunt was a good skier. She would never have won, except that she had the feeling that he was holding back, just a bit. Hunt pushed up his goggles. "You cheated." "Cheat? _Moi_?" "Cheat. _Vous_." "Never," she replied with a mischievous laugh. "Yeah, and I'm the Pope." "Forgive me, Your Holiness. I failed to recognize you."

"Another run, before breakfast?" "Why not?" **** The man who had registered under the name of Edwards watched from his seated position behind a tree at the top of the ridge. It would be so easy to shoot both of them, he thought as he reached for the large .44 pistol he wore in the small of his back. He sighted in on Maggie. He fired the suppressed .44 auto mag, twice. **** A dull thud, quickly followed by another, echoed down the hills. Hunt watched Maggie grasp her chest and fall backwards. "Maggie!" Hunt cried in concern as he threw himself onto the snow beside her. "I'm okay. Don't say anything," Maggie whispered without moving her lips. "Look concerned, grieved. He could still be there, watching us, to make certain that he killed me." "You're hit?" Hunt demanded. "I'm not injured. But, we can't let the shooter know that. Not yet, at any rate." Hunt winked at her. "Lady, you are something else," he said with approval in his voice as he rose slightly, blocking her from view of the hill. "Let's just hope that we stay alive long enough for us to find out what," she whispered. "Do you suppose that he's still there?" "You're hit," Hunt said softly as he looked at the two holes in her new ski jacket. "Thank God for Rusty's body armor," Maggie replied in a whisper. Hunt freed his boots from the skis. Then he loosened her boots from the skis and gently scooped her up into his arms. Maggie moaned. "Lie motionless. If we are being watched, he might be fooled."

"I'll try. But I think that I probably have a cracked rib or two," she said tightly. "It hurts, badly." "Hang in there, Maggie. We'll be back to the lodge in fifteen minutes. It's faster skiing, but I can't ski and carry you." "I can walk, Hunt." "Can't take the chance if he's still watching." **** Edwards returned his key to Helen at the reception desk. "Leaving us so soon?" Helen asked. "Yeah. I've stolen about all the time for myself that I can arrange," he said regretfully. "But, I'll be back when I can be sure that I have more time." "We'll be happy to have to return," Helen said warmly. "Drive safely." "Always do." **** "Hunt!" Helen called a few minutes later as she saw her son enter the foyer carrying Maggie. "Call Doc Greer, now," Hunt called to his mother. "Tell her that we are on our way to the clinic. Give me the keys for the van." "What's wrong?" "Someone shot at Maggie. Just call Doc," Hunt snapped as he took the keys. **** The clinic was about a mile away. "Hunt," Maggie said from her position lying on the second bench in the van. "Is there any need to identify this as a gunshot?" Hunt was silent for a long moment. "Why wouldn't you want to?" "I promised Michael that I wouldn't harm his election campaign."

Hunt uttered a stream of curses that would have made a Marine blush. "Listen to me, Margaret Mary O'Shay! Listen well. Michael McLaughlin can go to the devil for all I care. But, I want to find the shooter. The police are best equipped for that." "The publicity...." "Damn the publicity. Someone tried to kill you." "It isn't the first time," Maggie replied dryly. "The shooter could have killed me, as well." Maggie gave a ragged sigh. "Maybe it isn't such a good idea for us to explore this relationship any further. I don't want to cause you to be harmed. I don't think that I could live with that." "Just do me a favor Maggie mine. Shut up," Hunt said with feeling as he parked the van. "Now, we are going into Doc's office and get an x-ray of that chest to check for broken ribs. I'm not going to let you run from this, Maggie." **** 'Doc' Gwen Greer was a sturdily built woman in her late sixties who ran a one woman clinic out of an extensively remodeled store front in a small town about a mile from Hunt's parent's lodge. Part of the building was dedicated to Gwen Greer's practice. The other part of the building was her living quarters. Hunt rang the bell. One of his arms was around Maggie. "Bring her in, Hunter. Gunshot, your mother said?" Maggie cleared her throat. "Possible broken ribs," Maggie corrected. Gwen looked at her. "Come in. Let's take a look at you." Hunt walked along side the women as far as the examination room. When he started to go in with her, Maggie looked at him and smiled. "Unless you are planning on practicing medicine without a license, I would suggest that you stay out here." Hunt laughed. "Now, I know that you will be fine." "Don't make me laugh. I suspect that laughter would hurt just now." Hunt kissed her forehead. "Go with Doc. I'll be right here." ****

"You are one lucky young woman," Gwen Greer said finally after the examination and looking at the x-ray which she had taken. "The damage could have been much worse than two cracked ribs and some bruises. That flak jacket saved your life." "I know. I shake every time that I think I almost didn't wear the body armor today. I'm sure that the shooter intended for any medical examination to have been a formality," Maggie said quietly. "And it would have been without the body armor." "As soon as we are done here, the police will be waiting to take your statement," Gwen said. "I called them as soon as Helen called me." Maggie nodded. "I understand." **** Officer Ned White was a middle-aged, balding, slightly overweight, cop who had spent far more of his career sitting in a patrol car catching speeding motorists than investigating violence. Unfortunately, it showed. Coupled with that obvious discomfort at this investigation was the fact that the officer had been listening to the radio before he had answered the call. Michael's announcement that he would be seeking the Republican nomination had apparently been featured prominently on the news. Gwen Greer had made her kitchen available to them for the questioning. Maggie, Hunt, and Ned White sat around the table and drank coffee. "You want to tell me," Officer White asked quietly, "Why you were wearing a bulletproof vest?" So she told him. "Do you think that your friend could have arranged for a dramatic demonstration of the effectiveness of her new body armor design?" Officer White asked pointedly. "Absolutely not. Rusty wouldn't do that to me." "You sound sure about that." "I trust Rusty. Implicitly. There are only a handful of people whom I trust that thoroughly. Rusty would never do anything to harm me." "Then could this have been related to your stepfather?"

"What do you mean?" "Could someone have used you for target practice as a way of getting at your stepfather?" Maggie sighed. "I don't know. The only way that we are going to find that out is to catch the shooter. What are you doing in that regard? Besides, hassling me, I mean?" Officer White stiffened visibly. Hunt finished his coffee. "Are we about ready to go here?" **** Maggie changed clothes when she got back at the lodge. She was sitting on the bed in her room, speaking on the telephone, when Helen walked in. "Senator McLaughlin, please. This is his stepdaughter, Margaret. Michael? Yes, it's me. I thought that you should know that someone tried to kill me this morning, early. No, I am not kidding. Do you really think that I would joke about something like this? Two shots. Yes. I was hit. No, I'm fine. I was wearing body armor. Pure luck Michael. Pure luck. But without it, you would have been talking with an undertaker just now." Helen watched Maggie's face. That was one young woman in pain. Hunt's mother did not miss the gaping bullet holes in Maggie's jacket as that garment lay on the table. Nor did she miss the strange-looking set of long johns that lay folded next to the jacket. "No, Michael. I don't think so. I don't think that going back to the estate would be a good idea. I've never been one to be able to hide from trouble, and I'm not going to start now. I don't know what my plans are. Don't worry about me," she said flatly. Maggie rolled her eyes as she listened to her stepfather. "Forget it, Michael," she cut him off sharply. "There is no way that I'm going to stand still for that. I've never handled bodyguards very well, you know that. Sooner or later, Michael, I'd get so tired of them that I would shake them. Probably, with disastrous results. I wouldn't be responsible for that, Michael. Not a chance. I just thought that I should tell you this before the press did. I owe you that much. Goodbye, Michael." **** Susan walked into Michael's study. "What's wrong?" she demanded as she saw her

pale husband staring off into the distance. "Someone just tried to kill Daisy." "Tried? She's all right, isn't she?" Susan asked hesitantly. "For now, at least." "Who would want to kill her?" "I don't know. But, when I find out," Michael said fiercely, "Whoever it is will regret the day that he was born." **** Helen looked at Maggie. "Are you all right?" "Stiff, sore, and generally ill used," Maggie replied. "But, I am very thankful to be alive." Helen looked at the young woman on the bed. "I'd say that your guardian angel was looking out for you." Maggie nodded. "It seems that way, doesn't it." "There are reporters downstairs wanting a statement from you." "Somehow, I don't doubt it." **** "Why were you wearing body armor?" Maggie smiled slightly at the reporters. "That is about the dozenth time that I've been asked that question. The answer is that a friend of mine designed a line of lightweight, threat level three, body armor. I was reviewing the equipment at her request with an eye towards evaluating its long term comfort and range of motion. It seemed like a good way of evaluating mobility to try it out on the slope." "Who developed the body armor?" another reporter asked. "If I gave you her name, this would seem like a publicity stunt. When she is ready to unveil the line, she'll do so. Until then, I have nothing more to say about the body armor." "Who shot at you?"

"If I knew, do you honestly think that I would be standing here talking with you?" Maggie asked. There was a trickle of laughter around the handful of reporters, print and television, who had gathered in the foyer of the Inn. "What kind of chances do you think that your stepfather has in his run for the presidency?" "Frankly, I believe that Michael could easily be the best president that this country has ever had," Maggie stated firmly. "He's a good man, a strong man, an honest man. He has my full and unequivocal support in his run for the Oval Office." "Did you falsify this alleged attempt on your life in order to get publicity for Michael McLaughlin?" another reporter asked. Maggie's eyes flashed out her anger. "I happen to like living far too much to purposefully let someone to try to put two large caliber slugs into me, whether I'm wearing body armor or not. Further, I resent that question since it impugns both my character and Michael's. I ended up with two broken ribs out of the attack on me. I really don't have the patience to endure both my discomfort and those sort of grossly impertinent, nearly slanderous, questions. Good day to you all." "Ladies, gentlemen, Miss O'Shay has been through enough today," Hunt said. "Is it true that you and Miss O'Shay are engaged, Mr. Thomas?" a reporter asked. Hunt merely smiled at them, then looked tenderly at Maggie. "Good day, ladies and gentlemen," Maggie stated gently, but firmly, bringing an end to the questioning. Maggie could have hidden in her room for the remainder of the day. But, she stayed downstairs. Maggie had practically had to beg Helen to give her something to do. But, then, Helen had relented, putting Maggie to making desserts for dinner. **** The man who called himself Edwards listened to the televised evening news. He cursed violently when he heard that Margaret O'Shay escaped an attempt on her life. His curses became more vehement when the question and answer session with Maggie appeared on the television. ****

From a darkened room, illumined only by the light of a computer monitor, skilled hands quickly left a message on the computer bulletin board for another former U.S. soldier, now soldier of fortune. Maybe this one would have better luck in eliminating Mary Margaret O'Shay. **** The Thomas family and Maggie sat around the dinner table after a late dinner. No one had spoken of the morning's incident. Maggie spoke softly. "I'm sorry for bringing this trouble on you. And thank you all for running interference for me with the press." Helen shook her head negatively. "Don't worry about it. We just feel sorry that we weren't better able to provide for your security." Maggie shook her head. "Don't you worry about that. If someone really wants me dead, there's very little that any of us could do to stop the attempt." Each of the Thomas' family members looked at her. Maggie sipped her coffee while avoiding looking any of them in the eye. "Maggie," Jason asked quietly. "Do you think that you are still in danger?" "I'd say that was a strong possibility," Maggie replied. "I don't want to see any of you become an accidental victim of any attempt on my life." Hank said, fiercely, "We stand by our own, Maggie. You are one of our own." She looked at Hunt's father. "I really don't want to see any of you hurt." Hank nodded. "You are your father's daughter, all right. I can't think of any other female who would take this so calmly," he said, smiling approvingly. "Calm? Oh, I'm not calm. But what good would hysterics do?" Maggie questioned. Hank nodded approvingly. "I like you, Maggie O'Shay. When are you going to formally join the Thomas family?" Hunt looked at his father. "I'm glad that you approve of Maggie, Dad. But that decision is strictly between Maggie and me." Daniel and Jason both laughed. Then Daniel said softly, only half-teasingly, "Hunter, if you don't want to marry her, I'll take her." Hunt glared at his brother. "Back off, Danny."

Maggie took Hunt's hand. "Easy." "How are you feeling, Maggie mine?" "Angry. If I could get my hands on the shooter. Well, I don't want to even think about what I would like to do to that man." "I know that feeling," Helen replied tightly. "And to think, the police believe that it may have been that nice Mr. Edwards." Hunt smiled. "Mom, you would find something nice to say about Jack the Ripper." "There was nothing nice about anyone who tried to kill Maggie," Helen said sharply. A general silence followed. "Maggie mine," Hunt said, breaking the silence. "That chocolate cake was wonderful." "Another reason to marry the girl, Hunter," Hank said teasingly. "A beautiful, intelligent, woman who can cook. What a treasure." "Henry...." Helen warned. Hank tried to look angelic. Maggie laughed then she grimaced. "Don't make me laugh, please." "Sorry, Maggie," Hank said in concern. "Are you all right?" "I'm not going to complain about a few bruises and two cracked ribs," Maggie stated tightly. "I'm not going to complain at all." "Anyone want to play 'Scrabble'?" Daniel asked. "That's pretty tame for you, little brother," Hunt observed. "True, but Mary Alice is out of town," Daniel replied mischievously. "If you all will excuse me, I think that I would like to go to bed," Maggie said. "Of course, Maggie mine," Hunt said, his voice gentle. "Shall I walk you to your room?" Maggie nodded.

**** His family watched Hunt and Maggie leave the dining room. Hunt's arm was around her waist, as though to steady her. "Hank," Helen said softly. "I know, sweetheart. I know." **** "You want to talk?" Hunt asked quietly. "We haven't had much of a chance all day to talk, have we? Come on in for a while." A pair of chairs and a small table sat on one side of the fireplace that had been retrofitted for a gas log. "Would you like a fire?" Hunt asked. "That would be nice. Thank you." "This is one of the few bedrooms in the main building with a fireplace. Mom and Dad usually keep this room in reserve for visiting VIPs," Hunt said as he sat on his heels while lighting the fire. "I'm honored." "You feel like sitting on the floor in front of the fire for a while?" "I'm too stiff to get down and up without pain," she answered. "I hate this. Every time that I move, I hurt." Hunt smiled at her. "Of course you do. I'm sorry. I didn't think. And I know how you feel. I broke two ribs once in a motorcycle accident." "I didn't know that you rode motorcycles," Maggie said, smiling at him. "A remnant of my young and foolish days," he replied. A trace of wistfulness was in his voice as he watched to make certain that the fire was all right. "We all have those sort of things in our pasts," Maggie replied gently. "You look tired. I'll just get out of here and let you rest."

"Stay for a while, please. I really don't want to be alone." Hunt took the few steps to where she stood. He kissed her forehead. "I know, Maggie," he said tenderly. "Oh, Hunt...." she replied on a ragged sigh. He touched her face. "Maggie!" Stepping closer to him, she buried her face in his shoulder. "You know, I could get used to having you around," she said lightly. Hunt stroked her hair that was still bound in a braided chignon. "That's the best thing I've heard all day. Maggie, do you know how much I want you?" "Let's give this some time, Hunt. Please?" she asked in a much less resolved voice than she would have liked to use. Hunt smiled at her. "Do you know how much I love you, woman?" Maggie only sighed in reply. "I remember how it hurt to lift my arms. Would you like for me to unbraid your hair and brush it for you?" Hunt offered. Maggie pulled away from him slightly. She looked at him and smiled. "That seems awfully intimate," she whispered. Hunt smiled broadly. "Don't stand on pride, Maggie. Let me help you." "My brush should be in the cosmetic case." **** It had been years since anyone had brushed her hair for her. Hunt's hands in her hair, however, created a measurably different set of emotions than her mother's had. Maggie watched Hunt's mirrored reflection as he worked through her hair with the brush. His strokes were gentle, firm, gentle, almost hypnotic in their regular rhythm. "You've never cut your hair?" Hunt asked quietly. "No. Never."

"Don't ever cut it, Maggie mine. It's beautiful." "Short hair does tend to be more practical," Maggie replied quietly, with a short moan, as she felt Hunt lift her hair and lightly kiss the nape of her neck. Hunt straightened. He began brushing her hair once more. "What do you want me to do with it?" "Do with what?" Maggie asked hoarsely. Hunt laughed. "With your hair. Surely, you don't sleep with it loose. You'd never get the rats out of it. What did you think that I meant?" "How my mind functions when you are around scarcely qualifies as thinking," she replied quietly, with an edge of self-deprecation in her tone. "Baby, don't say things like that to me. I'm on the edge of my control now." "I think that you had better go now, Hunt. Thanks for everything." Hunt smiled at her. "Spoken quite properly. Tell me, Maggie, who put you in that straitjacket of propriety?" he asked gently. Maggie's face lost all it's color, just before she turned around on the vanity bench to face him. "I can only be who I am, Hunt," she replied. "Either you can accept me as I am, or you and I can forget about any future we might have." Hunt sank down on his heels, so that he could look at her face. "Maggie," he said gently, "I'm not trying to change you. I like you just the way that you are." "But, do you know who I am, Hunt? Or are you seeing the woman who you think that I am? The woman whom you want me to be?" Before Hunt could answer, the telephone rang. Maggie crossed the room to answer it. "Hello?" "Maggie," Helen's voice came over the receiver. "There is a call for you. The man says that he is your brother, John, calling from London. Should I put this call through to you?" "Yes, please, Helen. I'll talk with John. Thank you." "Connecting you now," Helen said.

"Magpie?" John asked in a connection that was surprisingly clear. "Hi, Johnny," Maggie replied with a smile. "Don't 'Hi, Johnny' me, Margaret Mary. What's this about someone taking a couple of shots at you?" "Bad news travels fast, even internationally." "Are you all right?" "A couple of cracked ribs and some bruises. Nothing critical." "Then why didn't you call me to put my mind at ease?" John demanded. "Sorry, Johnny. I should have called. I just didn't think that you would have heard about something this minor." "Minor? Minor! Are you out of your gourd? There is nothing minor about someone trying to kill my baby sister!" John his voice getting louder and louder. Maggie held the phone away from her ear as John began to shout. Hunt took the few steps to close the distance between himself and Maggie. "Don't you dare shout at me, John Jacob O'Shay, III," Maggie replied calmly. "I have had a hellish day. Your shouting at me doesn't help my tension headache." John was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, Magpie." "It's all right. Today's just been tough for me." "I'll bet that it has. To change the subject slightly, what is this that I hear about you and Hunt Thomas?" "I don't know. What have you heard?" Maggie replied teasingly. "Michael says that you are getting married," John answered quietly, with a reservation in his voice only someone who knew him well would have discerned. "I thought that you knew Hunt," Maggie stated quietly. "I do. He's a good man. One of the best whom I know." "But?" "You're my sister," John replied gently.

Maggie laughed slightly. Then she grimaced at the discomfort in her chest. "I see...." "Look, Magpie," John said firmly. "I want you to consider coming to London. I can arrange for adequate security for you, here." "No thanks, John." "Stubborn woman!" "That's right. But, it's a genetic trait in the O'Shay family," Maggie replied easily. "So, what are you going to do with yourself since you don't have the job at Faulks anymore?" John asked quietly. "I really don't know. Somehow, it doesn't seem as important right now." "I can understand that." "How's Emily?" "Fighting the flu at the moment." "Give her my love," Maggie requested. "Of course. You wouldn't be able to transfer this call to Hunt would you?" "He's here, I'll let you talk with him." "He's in your room? At this hour of the night? Margaret Mary!" "I'm twenty-six-years old, not sixteen. I don't need the heavy handed big brother routine," Maggie said tightly. "Let me speak with Thomas," John ordered. "Yes, sir! Colonel, sir!" Maggie replied sarcastically. She looked at Hunt. "My thoroughly charming big brother wants to speak with you." "O'Shay?" Hunt asked as he took the receiver from Maggie. "I asked you to protect her. Not to let her get shot, then bed her." "You're out of line, O'Shay," Hunt said coldly.

"Did someone fire two .44 slugs at her today?" "The police found the brass from two .44 auto mag shells." John sighed. "Any line on the shooter?" "Not really. The police are looking for a man who was registered here, called himself Edwards. I doubt that is a real name. The man paid cash." "I see," John replied quietly. "I know that I suggested that you might use the cover of a romantic relationship with Magpie in order for her to let you protect her. But, marriage?" "Again, you are out of line, Colonel. Maggie and I are both adults. How we choose to conduct ourselves is none of your business." John was silent for a moment. "Are you going to marry her?" "That is the lady's decision," Hunt said firmly. "She hasn't given me a firm 'yes', yet." "You treat her right," John said firmly. "I have no intention of doing otherwise," Hunt replied equally firmly. "I happen to love her." "Let me talk with my sister." "He wants to talk with you," Hunt said quietly as he handed the phone to her. "Johnny?" Maggie asked reluctantly as she took the phone receiver from Hunt. "Magpie, take care of yourself." "I'm trying, Johnny." "Honey, we knew that. You are very trying." "Very funny, John," Maggie answered dryly. "Are you going to marry Thomas?" John demanded. "I'm thinking about it. Any reason why I shouldn't?" John sighed. "He's a good man, Magpie."

"That's my impression." "I've got to go, now, Magpie. How long are you going to be at the Inn?" "I don't know, John. I'll be in touch, okay?" "I guess that it will have to be. Love you, Magpie. Take care of yourself." Maggie blinked back tears. She could count on one hand the number of times that John had told her that he loved her. "Yeah, Johnny. I love you, too." **** Helen hung up, downstairs, after she had heard the connection break. The mute button on her handset had allowed her to stay on the line after the connection between John and Maggie had been made. All Helen had wanted was to make sure Maggie wasn't being bothered by a crank caller. But, she couldn't resist the temptation of listening in to see what sort of relationship that Maggie had with her brother. Unfortunately, Helen found out far more than she wanted to know. -------*Chapter 6* Maggie woke up terrified, in a cold sweat. It took her a long minute to realize that she had simply had a nightmare. When she was able to stop shaking, she went into the bathroom. She gingerly piled her usual nighttime braid onto her head and pulled on her shower cap. Then she unbuttoned the oversized silk pajama top she normally wore for sleeping, and unwrapped her ribs. The warm spray of the shower finished driving off the demons. Unfortunately, it also rendered Maggie wide awake. She dried off, then rebound her ribs before she slipped on a pair of black sweat pants and matching zippered jacket. She slid her feet into her house slippers before she headed downstairs to raid the kitchen. The grandfather's clock in the main foyer chimed off one fifteen. Standing just outside the kitchen, she heard Hunt and his mother arguing. "I can't believe you, son," Helen said. "How could you do that to that sweet girl?" "I haven't done anything to Maggie." "Were you or were you not involved in a conversation with her brother in which the pair of you discussed your pretending to be in love with Maggie so that you could

get close enough to be her bodyguard during Michael McLaughlin's presidential campaign?" Maggie froze. Helen continued, "I am thoroughly ashamed of you, son. You weren't raised to be a cruel man. Any fool can see that Maggie is falling in love with you." Maggie felt her cheeks flush. She couldn't bear to hear any more of this conversation. So, she turned and ran back up the stairs. Every footfall was painful, but Maggie didn't even notice the physical discomfort. Sleep didn't come to her for the remainder of the night. **** "I take it you haven't seen the papers yet," Hunt said as Maggie walked into the dining room for breakfast. Maggie looked at him as though he were crazy. "I have not yet had my first cup of coffee, Hunt." Hunt poured her a cup of coffee along with another cup for himself, and brought both cups and a stack of newspapers over to her. While she sipped her coffee, he opened the papers. "Read these, Maggie mine," Hunt said gently. Her eyes became wide with shock as she read the coverage of the shooting in the major newspapers. She sat back and finished her coffee. The coverage itself wasn't unexpected. What was unexpected was that there had been a statement called into each of several major papers immediately after the shooting in which responsibility for the shooting had been firmly claimed by a group who refused to name themselves. The calls allegedly stated that Maggie's death was a strike against Michael for his harsh position on terrorism. The one quote in the call that struck Maggie was, "We will force the governments of the world to deal with all of the freedom fighters of the world. Freedom cannot be given. It must be taken for a people to value it. Some people will have to be martyred to the cause of freedom. Margaret Mary O'Shay is only the first of many. The streets of the world will run red with blood if Michael McLaughlin becomes President of the United States." Maggie felt a cold shiver of fear as she read that quote. Surprising to her, also, was the line in each article about Maggie's engagement to billionaire "Boy wonder" businessman, Hunter Alexander Thomas. The articles stated that both she and Hunt were active in international business: he as an investment banker, she as the senior VP of Faulks Pharmaceuticals European

division. Hunt looked at her. "I thought that you said that you were a saleswoman?" "I was," Maggie replied quietly. "This last announcement says that you are the senior VP in charge of European Operations for Faulks Pharmaceuticals," Hunt said. "I know. I don't understand it." Helen cleared her throat. "That reminds me, Maggie. A man named Guy Faulks called. He'll be here soon to talk with you." Hunt merely smiled at her. Hank laughed. "You know, my grandfather would have said that you are the type of person who could fall in manure and come up smelling like roses, Maggie. So, are you going to take the job?" Maggie smiled broadly. "I may," she said thoughtfully. Hunt looked at her. "Why would you hesitate?" "The European division is quite new. In fact, we are just launching it in partnership with several European drug companies. It may be more of a challenge than I am equipped to handle." "Nonsense!" Guy Faulks said from the doorway. "Hello, Guy," Maggie said reluctantly. "Coffee?" "Coffee would be nice," Guy replied easily as he took a seat at the table. Guy looked at Maggie. "If you hadn't hung up on me the other day, I would have explained our decision to you." Maggie smiled tightly. "I thought Charlie Harrison was supposed to have been appointed to the top European spot." Guy nodded sadly. "Charlie had a massive coronary. He's dead. They cremated him on Saturday. The memorial service will be in a week, as soon as his kids can get home from overseas." Maggie blew a thin stream of air through her teeth. "How is Imogene holding up?"

"Better than I expected. I dropped by yesterday evening to see what I could do for her. She's well, all things considered." "When was the decision made to offer me the post?" Maggie asked quietly. Guy smiled, but it was a rueful smile. "I see...." Maggie replied thoughtfully. "Hmm. Well, that tells me where I stand." Guy nodded. "The appointment would never have been made if you weren't qualified, Margaret." "But the fact that I had threatened going to the EEOC didn't hurt the decision to offer the position to me," she offered flatly. "Naturally, that was a consideration," Guy replied easily. "And if I refuse the position, you will have rather smartly thwarted any action that I could have taken against you. Yet, if I take the job, I will have to turn over all of my previously booked sales appointments over to the sales staff. So, the company will not lose out on those sales," Maggie stated carefully. "You can't lose, Guy. All I have to do is take the job, that will give you the opportunity to fire me for alleged incompetence." There was silence in the room for the longest of moments. Guy cleared his throat. "That is one possible outcome, Margaret," he affirmed. Guy looked around the table and smiled. "Now you know why I don't play chess with her. She always sees at least four moves ahead." Then Guy looked at Maggie. "That ability to forecast potential actions is one of the reasons that I want you in this job, Margaret. There are other reasons. Primarily, your fluency in Spanish, French, Italian, and German. You won't need an interpreter to deal with our partners. That will be an asset." Maggie smiled as she sipped her coffee. "Naturally." Guy continued to look at her. "Well, Margaret?" Maggie closed her eyes and sighed. Then she looked at Guy. "All right. I'll take the job. When do you want me to take over the operations?" "I've got you booked on a flight for London late this afternoon. You have a meeting tomorrow afternoon with the British. There is a glitch with their end. You will need to work it out. By the time that you leave today, you'll have all the documentation on the situation."

"That's short notice," Maggie replied quietly. "You don't even know that I have a current passport." "Of course you do," Guy responded. "You wouldn't let your passport expire." "No, I wouldn't. But, you shouldn't have made that assumption, Guy." "Margaret, I met you the first time when you were in diapers. I believe that I know how you think, by now," Guy replied quietly. "Tell me more," Maggie demanded. "Thursday you have meetings with the Italians, Friday with the Swiss, the following Monday with the Germans, Wednesday with the French, and Friday with the Spanish." "All right. When do I get a chance to breathe?" Maggie demanded wryly. "Sometime between Paris and Madrid, I should think. By the way, I intercepted all of the copies of your letter of resignation, besides the one that came to my attention. This matter will simply stay between us. No one else needs to know about it." "I want a written contract, Guy," Maggie replied quietly. Guy smiled. "Somehow, I thought that you would." He removed the papers from his suit coat. "Read it over." Maggie unfolded the several page document. She read it quickly. Then she asked for a pen. "I'm making some changes here. I want you top initial them. Then I will want the other people present to sign as witnesses." "Don't ever change, Margaret," Guy said in amusement. "I don't know what we would do if you suddenly stopped being so cynical." Maggie looked at Guy for a brief moment, then began crossing out lines on the contract and writing in the new language on the back of the page. It was a period of only minutes when she handed the contract over to Guy. "Read that, then we'll talk." Guy read the changes, and initialed them without comment. Then he handed the document back to her. "That's fine, Margaret. I have absolutely no problem with any of the modifications. Sign it, please." She read through the document again, then signed it. "I want two photocopies of the agreement: one for my files, and one for my attorney." Guy nodded.

Maggie looked at Hank. "May I use the copy machine?" Hank smiled. "Of course. Help yourself." Hunt had read the contract as she was reading it. It seemed like a good agreement. A better one for Maggie with the changes that she had made. But, it had been workable before the modifications. But, now, the contract including provisions for a pair of highly qualified, armed, bodyguards at all times to be protecting Maggie. Faulks would have to provide the guards as part of Maggie's remuneration. The guards would answer only to Maggie. But Faulks would pay their salaries. She had lowered her salary in a partial offsetting of the expenditure. "You do know that Matt Stern is not going to be equipped to handle the job that you placed him into," Maggie replied tightly. "I really don't understand your logic there." "If he can't handle the responsibilities, he'll go out the door, very quickly," Guy replied with a large amount of satisfaction in his voice. Maggie laughed, a bit tightly. "You rat! You promoted him to his level of incompetence just to be able to get rid of him." Guy, looking far younger than his seventy plus years, smiled at her with mischief in his eyes. "No comment." Maggie nodded. "I always knew that you were a rat of the first order." Guy smiled broadly. "I'm glad that it is of the first order. I do so hate to go second class on anything." Then Maggie looked at Hunt. "I'm afraid that this puts a big crimp into this visit. I won't get to meet your sisters." "I understand. Work is very important to you. Eventually, you'll get a break long enough to come back to meet them," Hunt said quietly. "If nothing else, you'll meet them at the wedding," he added. "So, you are really going to marry? I was beginning to doubt that you would ever get over Jarod," Guy said. Maggie bit her lip as she looked at the table. "An engagement is not a marriage. It is a time to get to know one another a little better. I think that is definitely in order." "No one is pushing you," Hunt said. "Time is not a pressing concern."

Maggie smiled softly. Of course time wasn't a pressing concern. Hunt intended to dump her after Michael's election. "If you will excuse me, I really should change and repack." Helen smiled at Maggie. "No. You are going to sit still and eat." Hunt looked at her and smiled. "You have to forgive Mother. She would mother love the world, if she could get by with it." "Someone needs to mother her," Helen asserted. "She's always running. She needs someone to slow her down." Hunt laughed quietly. "No," he disagreed. "What she needs is someone who can keep up with her." "I am really getting tired of being spoken about as though I am not present," Maggie said strongly. Hunt patted her hand. "Your plane leaves at six this evening. There's another that leaves at ten tonight. You could catch that, if you miss the six o'clock flight. I know this has thrown a monkey wrench into your plans," Guy said quietly. "A spanner in the works, as the British would say," Maggie agreed with a smile. **** When Maggie had left the dining room, Guy looked at Hunt, said fiercely, "You treat her right, you hear, young man. That girl isn't as strong as she thinks that she is. She is nowhere near as invulnerable as she believes herself to be. And she's been hurt once. I don't want to see her hurt again." Hunt smiled at the old man. "I won't hurt her." "See that you don't." The old man's words were a clear threat. And even given the man's age, Hunt had no doubt that Guy Faulks welded enough power to put forward a good effort at making Hunt's life miserable. Or, he mentally amended, of trying to make Hunt's life miserable. **** Hunt knocked on the door to Maggie's room. "Just a minute," was her reply.

She opened the door. "Hunt." "May I come in, Maggie? We should talk." "Come in. Have a seat," Maggie said uneasily. Hunt sank into one of the pair of overstuffed armchairs that flanked the fireplace in her room. There was nothing out of place. Her bags were packed and sitting beside her chair. When they were gone, there would be nothing of her in the room. "What do you want, Hunt?" she asked as she sat down. "I'm going to be spending some time with my parents. Then I have to go back to work. Attitudes towards women are different in Europe, Maggie." Maggie smiled. "Dad was posted to Europe for some time when I was very young. And then Michael sent me to school in Switzerland when I was a teenager. I think that I can handle the cultural differences." "Having a rich fiance will protect you from most of the passes which might otherwise come your way. And the relationship between us will allow you to gracefully turn down the ones which aren't deterred, without offending the men." "You might be right," she allowed. Then she looked at Hunt. "Of course, it will put a crimp in your social life. Are you sure about this?" Hunt smiled at her. "I'm sure." Maggie just looked at him. "I'm not certain that I will ever be ready to marry," she warned. Hunt sighed. "I can understand that." He reached into the pocket of his pants. "This ring was my grandmother's. I've carried it with me for years without finding anyone whom I could want to give it to." "I couldn't possibly...." Hunt cut her off. "No one who knows me is going to believe that you and I are engaged if you don't wear this ring." "Why is this important to you?" she asked suspiciously. "I care about you, Maggie mine." She looked at him.

"Wear the ring, Maggie. Who knows, maybe you'll come to care about me as well." "I am fond of you," she admitted quietly. "God help me, maybe too fond. That's why it hurts so much to find out that this is all a lie on your part," she thought, but did not say. Hunt flipped open the old velvet ring box. The marquis cut diamond sparkled in the light. "That's enough for now, Maggie. Will you wear this ring?" "What do you get out of this? Is there a woman whom you want to discourage?" Hunt sighed. "What a suspicious mind you have, woman! While I can understand how you came to be that way, given what I've seen of your very colorful family, I find that suspiciousness highly offensive when it is applied to me." "I didn't even know you until recently. Why shouldn't I be a bit suspicious of your motives? You've come storming into my life, knocking me off balance. I don't know you well enough not to have to wonder about your motives, do I?" "Good point," he allowed tightly as he removed the ring from the box. "But, like I've told you, relationships can work without long courtships. My grandmother met my grandfather for the first time when he picked her up at the dock. They had sixty-two happy years together, before they died in a car accident. My grandfather gave her this ring on their fiftieth anniversary." "Now, I know that I can't take the ring. It just has too many emotional connotations for you." "Trust comes hard to you, doesn't it?" he replied tightly. She expelled a long breath. There was nothing that she could say. He was right. But, she didn't want to tell him that. And she definitely didn't want to tell him what she had overheard the previous night. Hunt rose from the chair and walked the two steps over to her. He took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger. "Wear it. If there ever comes a time that you find someone else, you can give the ring back to me. If I ever find someone else whom I want to give it to, I'll ask for it to be returned. Until then, someone might as well derive some use from it as opposed to the ring sitting in my pocket." Maggie laughed, then she grimaced. "All right. On those conditions, I'll wear the ring. It is insured, isn't it?" "Getting to know you, Margaret Mary O'Shay, is going to be interesting to say the least."

She stood. Hunt's arms went around her, pulling her gently against him. His lips met hers. This was a kiss she was ready for, a kiss she needed, a kiss she wanted, a kiss she returned. "If you didn't have to go catch a plane, woman...." Hunt growled thickly as he pulled back from her. Her hand went up to the back of his head and pulled him back to her. "Hunt...." They didn't even hear the door open, or Helen come in. Helen cleared her throat. Maggie nearly jumped as she pulled away from Hunt. "Sorry," Helen said quietly. "It's all right," Hunt assured her. Maggie was glad that Hunt had spoken, for she wasn't at all sure that she had a voice. "That nice Mr. Faulks asked me to find you and send you down," Helen explained before she left the room. Maggie nodded and picked up her bags. Hunt took her luggage from her. "Shh, Maggie. This isn't goodbye. I'll be around. Most of my business is in Europe. You are going to be busy, so am I. But, we'll be seeing each other quite a bit." "Take care of yourself." Hunt nodded. "You too." She pulled her eyes away from his mouth, but not before he understood what she wanted from him. Hunt smiled at her. "Come on, Maggie mine. You don't want to miss your plane," he said regretfully with a negative shake of his head. "I think that I am going to miss you, Hunt," she said softly. Now, that, she thought painfully, is the understatement of the year. He smiled at her. "You'll probably be too busy to even think about me," Hunt said.

"Don't fish for compliments," she warned quietly. "You touch something in me that I thought was long dead, Hunt. I don't know what I'm going to do about that. But, don't think I can ignore it, or forget about it, because I can't do that any more than I can stop breathing. I just haven't decided what I am going to do about it." "When you choose to be honest, you are devastating," Hunt said quietly. She sighed. "That's who I am. You have to decide whether you can tolerate my bluntness or not." Hunt wrapped his arm around her waist. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car." **** Maggie and Hunt stood beside Guy's limousine. "I'll see you soon," Hunt said. "Have a good time with your parents and your brothers and sisters," Maggie replied. "I will. You don't work too hard, now. Give yourself some slack. You still have cracked ribs to consider." "Somehow, I don't think that I am likely to forget that. But, I don't think that I'll have any choice in the matter of working hard." Hunt laughed dryly. "Probably not. Good luck, safe flying, happy landing, and all that." "Goodbye," she said. "Just _au revoir_, Maggie mine. Just _au revoir._" "A_u revoir_, Hunt." -------*Chapter 7* It was the end of a very long three weeks. Maggie had made the rounds of the various countries in which Faulks Pharmaceuticals would be operating. Her ribs had mostly healed. The bruises had long since disappeared. The only reminders that she had of the whole instance were: the large diamond she wore on her hand; the daily rose Hunt sent her regardless of where she was; the long letters

she had received from Hunt, Hunt's mother and sisters; and the bodyguards who flanked her wherever she went. Now, she was working out of the British headquarters in London. There would be more work in getting this venture through than she had anticipated. But, even though she was extremely tired, she was enjoying the work more than she had ever enjoyed anything, except music, in her whole life. The only real cloud on the horizon was in the fact that Maggie had two armed bodyguards with her at all times. That had taken some doing as she had moved from country to country. But, somehow, the Faulks people had managed to soothe local feathers enough to get permission for armed foreign nationals on to be on their soil. Maggie was certain that the speedy cooperation was due to the joint facts that Michael was a respected Senator running for the Presidency and that one terrorist linked attempt had already been made on her life. She had become very aware of industrial espionage during the last few weeks, since she had discovered microphones in her telephones in London and Paris. In reaction to that, she had acquired a portable CD player that also contained circuitry to damp remote microphones. It wasn't a perfect solution. There were many other ways of doing industrial espionage, too many other ways. But it was a simple enough step. She had gotten into the habit of playing this machine whenever she was engaged in conversation in areas which she wasn't absolutely certain were secure. It wouldn't stop someone from picking up vibrations from the window panes. So, she had gotten into the habit of tightly drawing drapes of whatever room she was in. That wouldn't be enough to completely eliminate any vibrations from the glass. But, it would diminish the strength of the signals. And it did help keep her from being quite so much of a target for a sharpshooter. She wasn't at all comfortable with the thought that she was being followed. But, she knew that she was. The only somewhat encouraging note was that whoever was watching her was not a highly skilled professional. If they had been, she would have never spotted them. Yet, that was a double-edged sword. If the people following her weren't professionals, it would be difficult to predict their behavior. That knowledge frightened her just enough to keep her on her guard. And it was enough to keep the bodyguards vigilant. Of course, she had other things frightening her as well, for other more subtle, far more internal, reasons. During the past weeks, she had received three long letters from Hunt, one from each of Hunt's sisters, Marie, Martie, and Melody, and one from Hunt's mother, Helen. All of the letters had been warm and welcoming. Each of his sisters told her of different embarrassing episodes from Hunt's childhood. She couldn't help but smile as she drew an enchanting mental picture of a young scamp called Hunt. The fact that his sisters were all so obviously fond of him reinforced her own original opinion of his character.

Then, there was the fact that no matter which city she was in, Hunt managed to have a single perfect long stemmed white rose delivered to her, each day. Each rose had been accompanied by a card which had read simply, 'Thinking of you. Hunt.' Maggie was uncomfortable with the pressure that he was applying. Yet, she wasn't certain if the discomfort came because she wanted, or didn't want, the attention from him. He had promised no pressure, but if this wasn't pressure -- albeit very low key -- she didn't know the meaning of the word. Christmas Day had come and gone, three days before, without much fanfare. She had gone to Mass on Christmas morning, then come back to her London hotel suite only to hunker down with a mountain of paperwork. Natalie had telephoned her briefly to wish her a Merry Christmas. As had Hunt. During that conversation, she had exchanged greetings with each of Hunt's parents and siblings. Maggie had even called her brother John to wish him a Happy Christmas, as they said in London, only to have her call answered by his machine. The message was one of those generic, 'We are not available at the moment. But, if you'll leave your name and a short message, we'll get back to you when we are able to do so.' She suspected that John and Emily had taken off on a short Christmas vacation. John and she had fallen back into their long established pattern of basically ignoring each other while going on with their own lives. Maggie walked into the lobby of the Meridien Picadilly hotel. Her suite at this hotel cost more money than she wanted to think about. The expenditure of those funds were an exercise in public relations. Staying here said that Faulks was not an easily dismissed organization, that they would be a powerful force to reckon with. Still, in spite of the blatant ostentatiousness of the lodging arrangements, it was a pure pleasure for Maggie to be able to use the sauna. She had started to use the pool occasionally, now that her ribs were almost back to normal. The three restaurants at the hotel certainly were more than merely acceptable. But, for all this luxury, her stay here was only a temporary measure. She would have to stay in hotels during the time that she was in other cities. There was no escaping that fact. Yet, she knew that she needed to have someplace of her own, if for no other reason than to maintain her sanity. She had looked at a number of 'flats' as the British called their apartments. But, nothing had appealed to her. Her expense account would continue to pay for lodging here as long as that proved necessary, but she wanted to have her own place. It would have to be a place that spoke of success, elegance, and power, without being intimidating, since the apartment would be a statement of her position, a place to entertain, as well as a place in which she could crash. Houses or apartments like that simply were not readily available. "Good evening, Miss O'Shay," the desk clerk greeted her. "Good evening. Any messages for me?"

A hand came down on her shoulder. Maggie removed the hand from her shoulder, then turned rapidly. "I couldn't leave the message that I wanted to leave for you. It would have embarrassed the clerk," Hunt stated softly. Maggie smiled. "Bad pennies certainly turn up, don't they?" Hunt laughed. "Really, Margaret...." he chided. "Is that any way to greet your betrothed after a prolonged absence?" Maggie shook her head. "It's good to see you, Hunt. When did you arrive?" "I walked in about fifteen minutes ago. Do you have plans for the evening?" Maggie laughed. "It's the first night that I've been in England in which I haven't had a business commitment. I was planning to have a swim, take a sauna, and then order dinner in my room and turn in early. But, those plans are hardly carved in stone. What do you have in mind?" "Dinner and a quiet evening at my flat." "I'd love to have dinner with you, Hunt, provided that you don't expect me to cook." "What? You won't make me one of those luscious chocolate cakes?" "Not tonight, Hunt. I'm too tired." "Can you make anything other than cakes and breakfasts?" Hunt asked lightly. "Don't you think that you should have found that out before you proposed?" Hunt smiled. "I had planned on cooking anyway. Shall we go?" "Let me stow my briefcase in my room, and freshen up first." Hunt smiled. "Vanity, thy name is woman," he teased. "Oh, hush," Maggie replied lowly. "Come on up to my suite while I change." Hunt smiled broadly. "Ah, geez, Maggie, I like you just the way you are." "Hunter Alexander!"

"Come on, Maggie mine," Hunt urged as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "How are you feeling?" "Good as new. Well almost," she qualified. Maggie's bodyguards followed at a suitable distance, then joined them in the elevator. **** "Make yourself at home, Hunt. Help yourself to a drink," Maggie said as she dropped her briefcase on a table. "I'll only be a few minutes." "How are things going?" "Hectic." "Did you get the crisis resolved?" "It wasn't easy. But, the feathers are smoothed. And everyone is reasonably satisfied." "You are a born diplomat, Maggie mine." "I actually enjoy the work. I didn't know that I would, but I'm finding it exhilarating." "I can believe that, you thrive on challenge," he countered. Maggie smiled broadly. "Yes, I do." Hunt smiled at her. "Did I tell you how incredibly gorgeous you are?" Maggie laughed. "Oh, please...." "Ah, Maggie. When will you learn that I seldom say anything which I don't mean?" "I'm going to go change now. I'm assuming that I could easily get by with slacks for the evening. You aren't planning on anything formal, are you? Just a quiet evening at home?" Hunt nodded. "Wear jeans if you want to. I'm easy to get along with." "I'll be out in a few minutes. Have a seat."

Maggie locked her bedroom door behind her as she went in to change. **** Hunt smiled as he looked around the apartment. There weren't many personal items here. He wanted to get a handle on the woman. During the past few weeks, he had gotten a fairly comprehensive report on her background from the private investigator he had hired. He hadn't expected any major surprises. There hadn't been any. Well, maybe one, he corrected. There hadn't been any serious male/female relationships in her life since Jarod had died. Hunt had to ask himself why she had lived like a nun for so many years. Was she still grieving for Jarod? That was a question he didn't want to ask. Yet, it was highly preferable to the other question: Had her relationship to Jarod been so destructive that she had lost all confidence in her ability to maintain a man/woman relationship? But, that was a question he had to ask himself based on what he had learned about J. Roger Clark. **** Hunt whistled as she returned to the living room. "You get prettier every time that I see you. Some redheads can't wear black without looking pale and wan. You look elegant, almost ethereal." Maggie checked her purse for her key. Then she took a long look in the mirror above the table. Her black wool slacks and gray cotton cowl necked sweater were nothing exceptional. Her only pretension to elegance lay in the two strands of pearls around her throat and matching ear studs. "Shall we go?" **** Hunt drove through the London streets like a native. Maggie's bodyguards followed them, after Hunt gave them directions. "I don't know how you do it. I have an excellent sense of direction, normally. Yet, London confuses me. I never know where I am or how I got there," Maggie admitted quietly. "The streets are laid out without any semblance of logic. That coupled with driving on the opposite side of the street, leaves me totally at a loss." Hunt laughed. "I can understand that. I didn't dare drive until I had spent almost a year working in the City." "Why here and not Wall Street?" "Um. A relative offered me a job when I left college. Being raised as a Marine Corps brat meant that I was used to traveling. Taking that job meant that I could see a part

of the world that I had never seen," Hunt explained honestly. "A plus of the job was that it was as a traveling consultant. I had itchy feet at the time, and couldn't imagine settling down in one place." Maggie laughed. "A relative, huh? Like maybe your Uncle Sam?" she offered. Hunt was silent for a moment. "That was quite a deduction." "Not really. It was pretty simple to put the pieces together. Do you still have itchy feet?" she asked, suddenly serious. Hunt glanced over at her. "No, Maggie," he told her quietly, firmly. "I'm ready to settle down and raise a family. I don't have to travel any more." "Oh?" "I'm not going to push you, Maggie mine." "Hunt...." "Maggie?" "Never mind." "Just relax, Maggie mine. Dinner and a quiet evening. You look like you could stand to unwind a little. No pressure. Just a relaxing time with a friend." Maggie smiled at him. "You are a nice man, Hunt." "Many people would call me by different descriptors, Maggie. I'm not particularly known as a nice man," he warned. "In fact, many people would tell you that I am anything except nice. I have a reputation as a...." "Shark," she completed. "I know. But, that's business." "You've been checking on me?" "Does that surprise you?" "Flatters me, I think," he admitted. "Didn't you think that I would be curious about any man who proposed marriage that soon after we met? Or a man who insisted on me wearing his ring? Or, more importantly, any man whose ring I would consider wearing on such a short acquaintance? I'm not a fool, Hunt."

He laughed. "I didn't think that you were." "I don't think that either of us will ever underestimate the other." Hunt glanced over at her. "So, what do you think of my reputation?" "I suspect that it was well earned. You are thought of as a shrewd, tough, businessman who does not suffer fools gladly. I can see that in you." Hunt smiled broadly. "We're almost there." He looked in the rearview mirror once more. "Are we still being followed?" "Looks that way. Someone is following your security people. Do you know who?" "No. I don't know who they are. I've never gotten a good look at the followers. They are being terribly obvious about it. It is almost as if they are hoping to provoke me into seeking them out." "That could prove dangerous." "Why do you think that I've continued to give them a wide berth?" Hunt laughed lightly. "You can handle yourself." "The only thing that continues to bother me is the bugs I keep finding in the phones." Hunt appeared deceptively calm. "Keep finding? Like removing them only to find the devices replaced?" "I've left them in place. I've been more than slightly afraid to let these people know that clearly that I'm on to them. The last thing that I want is to provoke a direct encounter with them. If I have spotted the tails and found the microphones, there is a good chance that they are rank amateurs which means that they are unpredictable, at best." "What do you mean, then that you keep finding the devices?" "Paris, Madrid, Vienna. I've found bugs in my telephone in all those cities. And I've not stayed in the same room on any two visits to the cities." "Business or your personal lines?"

"Just the personal lines. There is a security company in each country which comes through the offices on a twice weekly basis to sweep for bugs." "Are you frightened?" "I'd be lying if I said that I was totally unconcerned. But, 'frightened' is a bit strong of a word to use. 'Annoyed' would be about right." "You know that your stepfather is right. You are a target because of your connection to him," Hunt replied tightly. "Would you like me to arrange for more bodyguards for you?" "I hate bodyguards. No, thank you. I can manage with the ones that I have." "Can you? Suppose that you were to be outnumbered and outgunned." "In that case, the presence of more bodyguards would just add to the body count," she said as Hunt parked the car. "I don't need the blood on my hands. I don't know how I will live with myself if there is another attempt made on my life and one or more people die as a result." "Maggie, it wouldn't be your responsibility." "Wouldn't it? I am the one who insisted on having bodyguards. Isn't that funny? I hate bodyguards. Everyone who knows me knows how much I hate bodyguards. Yet, I'm saddled with them, now, because I made it a condition of accepting the job." "You are enough of a pragmatist to be able to do whatever you need to do in order to survive," Hunt said approvingly. "That is a good trait." "Is it?" Maggie asked, rhetorically. The building Hunt parked before was a modern block of apartments set in well landscaped gardens. Or, at least, she thought that they would be spectacular in the daylight. "Let me guess, you have the penthouse." Hunt laughed. "I can afford it." "I never doubted it in the least." "You're beginning to trust me, a little, at least," he replied with satisfaction in his voice.

"Are you going to feed me, or was that an unfounded rumor?" she responded. "Is the way to your heart through your stomach?" "Haven't you heard? I have no heart." "Ah, yes. The ice maiden of Faulks sales department. Ice except where the elderly Mr. Faulks is concerned, at least." "That's a lie," Maggie said hotly. Hunt smiled. "I wondered if you would lose that infamous temper of yours over that." "Why are you playing with me, Hunt?" "I'm not the one who is playing, Maggie mine. Now, come on, let's go feed you. You look like you've dropped ten pounds in the last three weeks. And lady you don't have the weight to spare." "Seven. I've lost seven pounds." Maggie protested as she got out of the car. "Come on, I'll feed you. After all, I can't have you wasting away to skin and bones," Hunt said, a teasing note in his voice. **** Hunt looked perfectly at home in his kitchen. "Make yourself useful. Chop the onions and the broccoli for the stir fry while I slice the meat." "You certainly have all the tact of a Marine." "I learned from the best." "You certainly did. How is Hank?" "The same as he always is. There wasn't a day go by when I was home he didn't tell me what a fool I was not to have gone with you, what a fool I was to let you out of my sight, what a fool I was not to have bundled you off to Nevada for a quick marriage." "Hank certainly speaks his mind, doesn't he?" Maggie replied easily. "That, he does." They worked companionably turning out a simple meal of stir-fried beef and

broccoli with oyster sauce, and steamed rice. Dinner was eaten in a companionable silence. Then Maggie and Hunt adjourned to the living room after they cleared away the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. Hunt put several CDs in the changer, and set the selector to continuous play. _Eine Kleine Nacht Musick_ floated through the air. "Hmmm," Maggie murmured quietly as she sank into the sofa. "Mozart." Hunt sat beside her. Her head rested on his shoulder. Before the end of the first part of the piece, she was sound asleep. He smiled softly as he looked down at her. Before the end of the first CD, Hunt had joined her in the land of dreams. **** It was broad daylight on Saturday morning before either of them awoke. When Maggie shifted her head from his shoulder, he came instantly awake. "I didn't mean to let you sleep like that," he apologized. "I didn't mean to sleep like that," Maggie replied. "You make me feel safe, Hunt. That's something that I haven't felt in a long time. Thank you." Hunt listened to the gratitude in her voice and wished he heard love. "I'm glad that you feel safe with me. You know that I would never hurt you." "But, it's more than just not hurting me. You were telling the truth about loving me. I had my doubts about that. But, Hunt, I am not sure that I am ready to go further than friendship," she admitted quietly. "How about some breakfast? You think that you are ready for that?" he asked gently, affectionately. "Why don't you go shower and shave? I'll cook breakfast." Hunt smiled at her. "All right." **** When Hunt entered the kitchen twenty minutes later, the smell of baking muffins, frying sausage patties, and coffee assaulted his nose. He walked over to Maggie and lightly touched her shoulder. "Smells good." "Why don't you set the table? This should be ready in about four minutes."

"You can cook more than cakes and waffles," Hunt stated as he dug into the breakfast she had set before him. "No, this is an illusion," Maggie said, grinning at him. "I'll take you back to your hotel in a little while. Unless you'd like to see something of London?" "That would be nice. Could we return to my hotel, first though. I need to check for messages, and I would like to shower and change clothes. I feel completely rumpled. Work out an itinerary, please. I need to give the minders some idea of where I will be so that they can keep a better eye on me." Hunt smiled at her. "No problem. What do you want to see first?" **** They walked into her hotel lobby arm in arm. Maggie knew that she wasn't imagining the car that had followed them from Hunt's apartment complex. She didn't at all like this feeling. Who was following her? And why? The one thing that she didn't like was the realization that she had mostly accepted the presence of those who were following her. The fear that she had initially felt was fading away, only to be replaced by wariness. Yet, she knew, in time even the wariness would fade. Fear gave a person an edge, but it was difficult, if not impossible to maintain over long periods of time. She only hoped that the men guarding her were more vigilant than she herself felt. **** She and Hunt were standing at the elevator talking quietly when a deep voice spoke from behind her. "It is about time that you decided to show your face, woman." Maggie swung around on her heels. "John!" "I've been trying to call you since eight last evening," her brother said strongly as he stood there looking at her, disapproval blazing in his green eyes. "I think that I now understand where you have been." Maggie blushed. Looking at John was like looking into her own father's face. Her father was long since dead by the time that she reached dating age. But, she imagined that her father would have worn that same expression had he caught her in such an apparently compromising situation. "Good morning, O'Shay," Hunt said.

"Thomas," Maggie's brother answered shortly before returning his attention to his sister. Maggie looked at John. "Well, are you going to just stand there scowling at me?" "We need to talk," John stated in a tone that was little shy of harsh. "Fine," Maggie replied in a tight tone. "Come up to my suite, I'll call for coffee. But, I have no intention of holding this discussion in the lobby." John smiled slightly. "That might be for the best." **** "Sit down," Maggie invited tightly after she had called for room service and had turned on her portable CD player. "Now we can talk." John looked uncomfortable as he settled down into the armchair across from the sofa where Maggie and Hunt had taken seats. "Okay," Maggie stated firmly. "I don't want to hear any of that overly protective big brother nonsense. As a rule, I've heard from you exactly four times a year for the last six years: a card on my birthday and maybe a short letter at Christmas, and a couple of telephone calls. We aren't close enough for you to have any right to interfere in my life. I'm a big girl, John. What I do, and with whom I do it, is none of your business," Maggie said. John looked at Hunt. "So help me, Thomas, if you hurt my baby sister, you'll regret it." "In case, you haven't noticed, the lady in question is wearing my ring," Hunt replied. John did a double take. Then he smiled broadly, only to have the smile diminish drastically to become a look of utter concern. "Oh, Magpie," he asked, "Are you certain about this?" Hunt looked at Maggie's brother. "Listen, Colonel, your sister is a remarkable woman. Don't underestimate her." "Margaret," John said, "Please be careful." Hunt took Maggie's hand. "Your brother is concerned about your safety, Maggie mine. I don't have a savory reputation. In fact, I'm considered something of a dangerous character. If one of my sisters had decided to marry someone like me, I would have been concerned also."

Maggie looked at Hunt, then transferred her gaze to her brother. She sighed and nodded slightly. "I'm angry with you, Johnny. How dare you put Hunt in the position that you did? Asking him to worm his way into my heart so that I would let him be my bodyguard? And now this production. Don't play games with me, Johnny." "Maggie," Hunt pleaded. "I...." A knock came at the door. Maggie rose to answer it with a terse "Excuse me". She didn't see the expressions that passed between Hunt and John. Room service had brought the coffee. John cleared his throat as Maggie poured them each a cup of the steaming liquid. "Magpie, you really can't blame me for being concerned about you." Maggie shook her head negatively. "No, Johnny. I can't. I understand your brotherly instincts coming out, albeit a little late in my life. But, it isn't your concern that angers me. Instead, it is the way that you have demonstrated that concern." Hunt looked at Maggie questioningly. "Where does this leave us?" "At about the same place we were before, I suppose," Maggie said. John smiled at her. "Emily will want to give you and Hunt a party. Although, she really shouldn't work herself that hard in her condition. So, don't give her a very large guest list, okay?" Maggie smiled broadly. "Is Emily pregnant?" John shook his head in amusement. "We've been married over fifteen years. We had both almost given up on the thought of parenthood." "When is the baby due?" Maggie asked quietly. "June 1," her brother told her. Maggie's smile became very broad. "I am so happy for you. You'll be a very good father, John." John cleared his throat. "Magpie, I'm sorry that we've grown apart during the past few years. Do you think that we could be family again?" "I'd like that, John. I fully intend to spoil that niece or nephew of mine thoroughly." "That's a privilege which should be reciprocal," John stated with a smile. "Have the two of you set a date?"

"Not yet," Maggie replied tightly. "We aren't in any tearing hurry." John looked at his sister. "Why didn't you tell me that you were coming to London?" "I called," Maggie replied. "You were out of the country." "Yeah, you called after you had been here almost three weeks," John countered. "I've been busy. And I haven't been here for three weeks. I've been hopping fairly regularly between the continent and England. I did call you a couple of times and always got your machine. I hate those things, so I hung up. Finally, I decided that the only way I was going to get to talk with you was to leave a message." Hunt laughed. "You and Emily have plans for tomorrow night?" "Not that I know of." "Good. You can come to dinner at my place. It's past time for you and Maggie to get reacquainted during more than a time of crisis." **** When John had left, Maggie turned to Hunt. "You really are a nice man, Hunt Thomas." "I'm glad that you think so, Maggie mine," he said gently. She took his hand. "I do. I'm very fond of you, Hunt." He brought her hand to his mouth and lightly kissed it. "That's a start. Go get cleaned up and change. Let me show you London." **** Maggie and Hunt were at work in his kitchen. John and Emily would be arriving soon. Dinner was well underway. A beautiful standing rib roast was in the oven. It would be served with crisp, buttery potatoes, glazed baby carrots, and sauteed mushrooms. The cream of brie soup which would begin the meal only needed the last minute blending and addition of heavy cream. A spinach salad was in the refrigerator. A wedge of Stilton would be arranged on a board with ripe pears. A chocolate torte was in the refrigerator. Lovely homemade crescent rolls were in the oven finishing baking. This Sunday had been a relaxing time. Hunt had picked her up at her hotel, taken her

to Mass, then they had come to his apartment to begin planning and preparing dinner. **** Maggie often had found working with other people in a kitchen to be a trying exercise. But, she was comfortable working with Hunt. He made her laugh. Since she had seen him cook on Friday evening, his skill in the kitchen was no surprise. The only surprise was how much she enjoyed his company. Marriage to him was becoming a more and more attractive option. Conversely, that growing realization frightened her. Marriage was a big step. Did she really know Hunt well enough to contemplate that? The more time that she spent with him, the more fascinating that she found him. But, would the fascination pale, or grow, over the years? She was standing at the range, stirring the soup, when Hunt walked up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist. "You look deep in thought. What are you thinking about?" Maggie laughed. "Guess." "You haven't asked any questions about my connection to your brother," he said as he pulled away from her. Maggie turned around. "Look, Hunt, I really don't want to know. My brother is in military intelligence. I've known that for years. All I want is for you to be careful. I'd hate for anything to happen to you." "You do care about me." "More than it is safe, Hunt. It would be too easy for me to build my world around you." He smiled broadly. "And you are afraid of anything that is that easy, aren't you?" "You see entirely too much at times, my friend," she said dryly. Hunt drew her to him, gently, tenderly. "Maggie mine," he said, almost reverently. "I'm not a patient man. I want you as a permanent part of my life. You know that. But, I'm not going to push you. Or, at least, I'm going to try not to push you." "You can't push me around, Hunt. I'm the original immovable object. We need to give ourselves some time to get to know one another, before we even think about being more than platonic friends."

"I know that you have some old ghosts to work around. You want to tell me about Jarod?" Maggie sighed. "There isn't much to tell. Really. It's a familiar story, I suppose. Young woman from a very protected environment falls in love with the first handsome man who comes her way. Jarod was a musician, one of the finest whom I had ever known. We played in the same orchestra. He was the concertmaster, the violinist in the first chair. He was something of a prodigy, having played with one symphony orchestra or another as a featured soloist from the time that he had been eight years-old. He was almost ten years older than I was. He saw how nervous I was, and he took me under his wing. I. um.. don't know what else to say." "He hurt you pretty badly," Hunt offered. "He did," Maggie replied. "And you've been gun shy about relationships ever since," Hunt replied. Maggie looked at Hunt. The old pain was in her eyes. "What did he do to you, Maggie?" "Nothing earthshaking." "Did he-did he hurt you in bed?" Hunt asked, hesitatingly. "We never...." Maggie broke off her reply and blushed brightly. She looked away from Hunt. "Maggie?" Hunt asked, his voice tender as he placed his hand under her chin. Gently, he moved her head slightly so that she was looking at him. "Maggie mine, are you a virgin?" Maggie smiled tightly. "That's a blunt question," she answered. "It is," Hunt replied gently. "It requires an equally blunt answer." "I was raised to believe that sex was a wonderful gift. Something special enough to reserve for one important partner," she replied quietly. "That conviction makes me incredibly old fashioned. But, it is the way that I feel." Hunt smiled at her, broadly. "I love you, Margaret Mary O'Shay." "I know that you do, Hunt. Let's give ourselves some time to see what develops between us. This could be something lasting. But, truthfully, I need time to learn to trust you. When I discovered you had sought me out because John had asked you

to look out for me, it hurt. It still hurts. I'm willing to give us a chance, Hunt. Mostly, that's because I have never felt for anyone the emotions that I feel for you. I'm vulnerable to you, Hunt, in a way that I've never been vulnerable before," Maggie said, her eyes moist. "Don't cry, Maggie," Hunt whispered. "Let's change the subject. Tell me about your first real love," she said. "The woman whom you proposed to." Hunt sighed. "That would be Regina Greer. Dad had just retired. We were settling in to the Inn in Vermont. Regina lived a mile or so down the road from us. She was one of the first to drop in and wish us well." "There is still affection in your voice for her," Maggie said, before she asked, "She was Doctor Greer's daughter?" "Yes, she was. Regina died when we were both seniors in college. We were to have been married after graduation. She worked in a convenience store at night. A thief with a sawed off shotgun killed her when she handed over all the receipts from a very quiet night," he said. "I was called to identify the body." "How horrible." "It wasn't fun." Maggie closed the distance between them. She wrapped her arms around him and held him for the longest moment. "Ah, Maggie mine, under that fierce exterior beats a very tender heart," he whispered just before he kissed her. The doorbell rang. "I'm going to have that thing disconnected," Hunt growled. Maggie laughed as she picked up a towel and wiped the lipstick off of Hunt's mouth. "That shade does nothing for you." Hunt laughter joined hers. "Your brother is waiting." "John always was punctual. But, then again, the General would not have had it any other way." ****

The meal went well. John and Emily seemed to be having a good time. After dinner, they adjourned to Hunt's living room. The conversation had stayed on general subjects. No one had gotten too personal. They all could have been strangers having a simple meal with one another. Yet, they weren't strangers. Maggie put down her after dinner liqueur. "All right, John. This has all been so pleasant. But, this sophisticated front of yours isn't how you act with family. So, cut it out. Don't treat me like a stranger. You want to be family, so be family." John and Emily exchanged glances then laughed nervously. Emily's blue eyes sparkled with mischief as she threw back her head, shaking her mop of blond, almost white, curls. "I guess that you haven't lost any of your outspokenness over the years, have you, Magpie?" she asked affectionately. Maggie laughed. "I used to be rather a pain to you, didn't I?" she asked in a tone which was apology laced with remembrance. "I don't blame you. Your Dad had died, your Mom had remarried, and then John and I married. It must have seemed as though your whole life had become unmoored," Emily said quietly. "That wasn't particularly my favorite year," Maggie admitted. Hunt took her hand. Maggie smiled at Hunt. Emily sighed. "So, have you two set a date yet?" Hunt cleared his throat. "Not yet," Maggie answered lowly. "I really need to get these joint ventures with Faulks a bit more organized before I will have the time to be able to concentrate on marriage. I should have been pouring over paperwork all weekend instead of goofing off." Hunt nodded negatively. "Nonsense. You were so tired on Friday night that you fell asleep right after dinner. Here we were sitting enjoying the music from the CD, and suddenly I realized that you were asleep with your head on my shoulder. You're working too hard." "She's almost impossible to wake when she is asleep," John remarked quietly. "She used to wear all of us out when we were on vacation. We always looked forward to

the time when she would conk out. She has a lot of energy. But, when it wears out, watch out. She would probably sleep through an earthquake." "Tell me about it," Hunt replied with a small smile. "I had to leave her asleep on the sofa." John laughed. "And then I came on like the heavy on Saturday morning. I'm surprised that you didn't throw me out of your suite on my ear. Why didn't you?" "Probably for the same reason that I didn't throw Michael out when he cornered me at Chuck and Natty's a few weeks ago," Maggie said honestly. "You and he are the only real contact that I have left with my parents." John shook his head sadly. "I know that it hurt you when Patty died. I wish that we could have taken you, then. But, I really thought that you were better off with Michael." Maggie shrugged. "That's all in the past. You made the decisions that you thought were best. And I did actually have a good time in Switzerland. It wasn't always pleasant, but I did learn to stand on my own feet." "So," Emily asked curiously, "You and Michael did finally kiss and make up?" "I don't know that I would go that far," Maggie replied. "Let's just say that things are on a more amicable footing between us." Emily laughed. "I never did understand why you moved out on him so quickly. Michael called us in a panic. He was worried about you." "That's another thing that should be left in the past," Maggie said firmly. "For all of our sakes." John looked at her. She met his eyes. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them needed to. "Well," Emily said strongly, changing the subject, "You've certainly made it. A vice president of your company before you are thirty. John always said that you would make something of yourself. Although, we both thought that the name would be in music instead of drugs. Do you still play?" "Not playing would be like cutting off my arms," Maggie said quietly. "But, after Jarod died, I simply couldn't face performing. That was all too tightly tied up with him." Emily nodded. "I can understand that."

Much later in the evening, they were gathered around a Scrabble board. Maggie had kicked off her shoes and had sat with her feet tucked under her. John happened to look at her feet. "You've taken to working out barefoot, Magpie?" he asked, as he saw the thick calluses on the edges of her feet. "Some time ago." "Why?" "One more way to protect myself," Maggie said quietly. "You've been that afraid for a long time?" John asked. "Let's just say I've learned to be careful," she replied thoughtfully. "Very careful." "Even the best martial arts skills are no good against an automatic weapon," John warned. "I know that, big brother. Ease off, will you. Rusty ran up several other sets of the body armor for me. I wear it most of the time," she said as she placed 'sub' before 'script'. Then she smiled at Hunt. "Your turn." Hunt laughed. "You rat. I was going to put 'post' there." Maggie took his hand. "I'm sure that you will get over your deep disappointment." "Vixen." "Do you still go to a dojo?" she asked her brother. "I have a group with whom I practice," he answered. "I was looking for a good dojo." Hunt offered. "I have a small practice room here. I'll be glad to partner with you whenever you want." "You aren't always around. You still have a business to run. I have my obligations. How often are we going to be in the same city at the same time?" Hunt sighed. "Too true." "So, let's just relax and enjoy the time that we are able to steal from our various tasks. Tomorrow will come all too soon," Maggie urged.

Hunt dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "One of these days, Maggie mine, you are going to have to start counting on other people," he said, his tone serious. Maggie shook her head. "In the final analysis, Hunt, the only person who I can absolutely depend upon is myself," she said. "Maggie mine, I'm going to change your mind, if it is the last thing that I do," Hunt said. Maggie smiled sadly. "It just may be, Hunt." **** December gave way to January, January to February, February to March. She and Hunt spent time together whenever they were both in London. Sometimes, they even managed to touch base with each other in other cities. In Paris, they had a late dinner in the Relais-Plaza restaurant in the Plaza Athene after seeing a play. The dinner had been far better than the dark, modernistic, play. In Munich they had dined and danced in the elegant Vier Jahreszeiten hotel's bar. A thirty-minute drive outside of Zurich, took them for a memorable grand cuisine meal at Eichmuhle. Of all their arranged meetings, this one lived in her mind. Eichmuhle was a restaurant practically hidden out in the country, but well worth the effort to have found. It had been a perfect evening. Or rather it would have been a perfect evening if they hadn't been followed. Both Maggie and Hunt were a bit on edge by the surveillance. And neither of them had liked the fact that Hunt had earlier found freshly placed listening devices in the telephone as well as hidden in the lamps in her hotel suite. Maggie found herself depending more and more on Hunt. That fact alone made her uneasy. For all that she was coming to care more deeply about him, the prospect of being dependent on anyone, especially Hunt, made her cringe. The prospect of not having him in her life made her cringe. She wasn't certain which of the prospects was worse. She had been alone before. Maggie knew that she could survive being alone again. She wasn't at all sure that she would survive if ten years down the road, Hunt were to decide that he no longer wanted to be married to her. She knew that the pain of no longer having him in her life, after she had made him the center of her life, would be more than she could bear. Carrying on with the engagement would mean that she would eventually marry Hunt. Was that something that she was willing to risk? She had no answer to that question. Hunt had never been anything except kind to her. There was no denying the existence of the chemistry between them, but it was something they had neither one permitted to go out of control.

Part of her, rather perversely, hoped that he would let himself lose control of himself so that she would have an excuse to loosen the reins herself. Yet, Hunt had remained fiercely in control of his desires, which had left her in the position of controlling where the relationship was going. Rationally, she had to admit that she knew that Hunt was taking this seriously. She knew, without a doubt, that marriage to Hunt would be a lifetime commitment. It was a commitment that would always come first to him. Nothing, nothing, would come before his wife and children. Now, where, she wondered, had the thought of children come from? But, she didn't have to think too long or too hard about that. Children, in her mind, were irrevocably linked with marriage. Hunt was convinced they could, would, make a good marriage. He was simply waiting for her to make up her mind. It was unlike her to dither on anything. Yet, she couldn't seem to bring herself to make up her mind about him. She wanted to believe in him. The stress of her job, juggling the myriad of managerial details involved in the creation and running of Faulks European operations, wore on her. Hunt had been right about how wearying that she found the job. Being with Hunt, just talking to him, laughing with him, walking with him, fixing or eating meals with him, relieved the tension of daily life. Maggie wondered if even considering marrying him was a sign that she had totally lost her mind. And conversely, she wondered if not having already accepted his proposal meant that she had totally lost her mind. **** Maggie called Hunt's office. Over the last two months, especially, she had become friends with his secretary, Agnes McIntyre. "Hi, Aggie. This is Maggie. Is the man in?" she asked on one Tuesday afternoon in mid-March. "Sorry. He had to hop over to Brussels. He left me here to hold down the fort. He won't be back until tomorrow evening." "Figures. I'm supposed to be in Madrid tomorrow afternoon," she said. "Aren't two career romances fun?" Agnes replied with a laugh in her voice. "Something like that. Tell the man hello from me. I'll be back in London on Thursday. What are his plans for Friday?"

There was the sound of pages turning. "You and he have tickets for the opera." "Oh, I forgot." "More like he forgot to tell you. The tickets cost the earth. I hope that you have a dress to knock his eyes out." "I think that something can be arranged," Maggie said with a large smile. "Any other message for the man?" She laughed quietly. "Ah. None which won't suffer in the translation. I'll call him on Thursday evening when I return from Madrid." "Have you two set a wedding date, yet?" Aggie asked in amusement. "Right now, we are having a difficult time enough just playing telephone tag," she only half teased in reply. "Can you imagine the trouble that we would have trying to make a marriage work, just now?" Agnes laughed slightly. "Oh, Maggie, Hunt would easily leave the business in the hands of his employees, if you would only set a date." "I've got a meeting in a few minutes, so I have to go. Give Hunt the message for me, okay?" "Sure thing." Maggie sat back in her chair as she heard the disconnecting click at the other end of the wire. She smiled to herself as she realized that she had come to a decision. She would marry Hunt just as soon as they could arrange it. Now, all she had to do was to tell him. That was, if she could ever reach him. She couldn't possibly miss him more than she did now. After they married, she would, at least, have more of his time than she did now. They might even have a baby. A large smile crossed her face as she thought about a baby who looked like Hunt. She was still smiling when the knock came at her office door. Her scheduled meeting had arrived. **** Hunt read the final report his people had compiled about the Brussels deal. The computer software firm Hunt had initially funded and supported was now capable of standing by itself. All of the debt to Hunt's firm would be paid off in less than three months. There were only three other deals he hadn't been able to bring to a close. But, each of those would be coming to a conclusion soon. Hunt wasn't accepting

any new contracts. Most of Hunt's people had quietly found other jobs. Except, of course, for his security people. In spite of Maggie's turning down his offer of additional security people, he had dispatched a crew of them to keep a watch on her. Hunt dug the report from his brief case. As soon as Hunt's men had identified one of the men following Maggie, that man had disappeared, only to be replaced with another. The only thing that the men had in common were that they all had been dishonorably discharged from the US military. After the third man had been replaced, the ex-GI's had stopped following her so obviously. Instead, their surveillance techniques had become much more sophisticated. Hunt didn't like this, at all. Maggie would be in Madrid on the following day. He decided that he would pop in and surprise her. -------*Chapter 8* The British Airways jet left Heathrow airport exactly on time. The flight, as usual, was without incident. Maggie, however, had a feeling of something being terribly wrong. Try as she might, there was no shaking the physical and emotional feeling of unease, even after the plane descended safely in Madrid. As usual, the driver from Faulks, Luis Machado, was there to meet her, after she cleared customs. Since Luis was the same driver who had met her on her first visit here, and each subsequent one, she relaxed marginally, telling herself that she was over reacting to some indefinable stimulus. Catching a glance of herself in the glass as she walked into the lobby of Faulks Spanish headquarters that Wednesday afternoon, she knew that she still looked good. Her deep navy dress with the navy and green tweed blazer made a very professional, yet feminine in an understated way, appearance. Being aware of her very polished appearance gave her a little more confidence. Yet, not even this added confidence was able to banish the feeling of impending doom. Not even the familiarity of the places and people was able to calm the nagging feeling of something being terribly wrong. She was met by the same security guard who had greeted her on her previous visits. The staff in the offices were all the same. As was her habit, she made the rounds of the various offices, speaking to all of the senior people, and many of the junior people as well. She listened to everyone's opinions and inputs, not promising anything except to listen and to consider. Everything was seemingly all right here. All plans were proceeding smoothly. There

were no major hitches. So, why did she continue to feel uneasy? Going into her office, she saw that her Spanish secretary had placed Hunt's, almost ritual, white rose in a bud vase at the corner of her desk. She read the card. As usual, it read, 'Thinking of you. Hunt." Consuelo de San Luiz, her slender, middle aged, quite elegant, Spanish secretary, escorted the people in for her scheduled meeting. Three hours later, all the business discussed, debated, dissected, and decided, the meeting broke up. Maggie stood, stretched slightly, and rubbed her neck. She hated long meetings. There were two more scheduled for the next day. There were times that she wondered how she got through them. "Headache?" Consuelo asked quietly in perfect English. Consuelo was the perfect bilingual secretary, fluent in both English and Spanish. Maggie felt very lucky to have her. Many of her other secretaries could not speak anything except their native languages. "Tension." "Shall I arrange for a masseur to come to your hotel?" "A hot bath will do wonders, thank you, Consuelo." "You should spoil yourself more, Margarita," Consuelo replied with a concerned smile. "You work far too hard." Maggie smiled and laughed quietly. "Hard work never hurt anyone." "Not true," Consuelo replied firmly, but with a smile. "The Japanese have a word which translates 'worked to death'. It is a major concept in their culture." Maggie rubbed her neck wearily. "I'm not Japanese," she replied. "Thank God." The older Spanish woman smiled at her boss. "Are you ready to handle the stack of correspondence that you have to deal with?" Maggie pulled a face and sighed. "Sure. Let's get it over with." The time had just gone past five. She was nearly finished dealing with dictating replies to the correspondence when the telephone rang. Consuelo answered it. She smiled at her boss as she covered the receiver with her hand. "It's your fiance." Maggie took the receiver from Consuelo with a large smile. "Hunt?"

"Maggie mine, I thought that I would catch you hard at work. Do you have a minute?" "For you, always." "Good. I'm in Madrid. What would you say to an invitation to go _tasca_ crawling around the Puerta del Sol and around the Plaza Santa Ana tonight like real Madrilenos? I'll even take you into Cerveceria Alemana, where Hemingway used to hang out." "Yeah, right, Hunt. Like real Madrilenos, you want to spend part of the evening at a bar that has probably become a tourist trap. Get real, Hunt." Hunt laughed at the dryness of her tone. "After ten, there is usually good jazz at Cafe Central," Hunt offered. "You like jazz, don't you?" "Sounds good to me. I could use some down time." "You sound like you could use an early night. Are you tired?" "Very." "Then we'll hit the Puerta del Sol and Plaza Santa Ana, then I'll take you back to your hotel." Maggie laughed. "Getting cheap in your old age, are you? Decided that feeding me is too expensive, so you are taking me bar hopping for inexpensive food." "Have some respect for your elders, child," he teased mercilessly. "Yeah, right." "If you would rather, we could go anywhere else," he offered. "Anything that you have in mind would be fine, Hunt. I'm surprised to find you here. I thought that you were in Brussels or London." "An unpleasant surprise?" he asked. "Don't fish for compliments, Hunt," she warned mischievously. She could almost see his smile. "I practically have to. You aren't exactly known for giving them freely," he complained lightly.

Maggie colored slightly. Then she spoke to him in fluid German, "I didn't think that I had to drown you in compliments. You surely must know how I feel about you." Hunt was silent for a long moment. "I hope that I do," he replied in English. "Why don't you tell me?" "We'll talk tonight. I'm dictating replies to a stack of the most inane correspondence ever to grace the face of the earth. I think that poor Consuelo handles all the interesting stuff, and leaves the dross for me," she replied in English. Consuelo laughed as Maggie winked at her. Hunt laughed boldly. "Are you going to be at Villa Magna tonight?" "As long as my expense account holds up," she replied, "I will stay at only the best." "A woman after my own heart." "Too true. All too true. Do you have one?" Hunt was silent for a moment. "No. I lost it the first moment that I saw you. I love you, Maggie mine." Maggie smiled broadly, savoring the words. She had heard them before, but now, having finally decided, the words sounded so much sweeter. "Umm...." she said lowly, reverting to the German, for privacy, "I like the sound of that, Hunter Alexander. We need to talk, Hunt." "Margaret Mary, my love...." he said. "We'll talk more later," she said gently in German. "Until tonight." "I'll pick you up in an hour and a half at your office. Finish up quickly." Maggie laughed, then said quietly, in English, "I can't possibly be ready in an hour and a half. There's just too much work for that. Try two hours." "I'll be there. I've got some plans of my own to make. You've got two hours." "How gracious," she teased just before Hunt rang off. Consuelo looked at her young boss after she hung up the telephone. Maggie's smile was bright enough to light the darkest of nights.

"We had better put a move on, if we are going to finish this work before Hunt gets here." "You should marry that man," Consuelo stated gently. "That is the general idea." **** Maggie was signing the last letter when Hunt walked into her office unannounced. "Are you ready to go?" "Just about," she remarked as she signed the last letter. Then she looked up at him. He looked magnificent, as usual. Hunt walked over to her desk. Maggie handed the stack of letters to Consuelo. "This should be all for now. Thank you," she said in rapid Spanish. When the secretary had left the room, Hunt gently pulled her Maggie out of her chair so that she came to stand before him. "Hello," she said. "Hello, yourself," he told her quietly. "It feels like forever since I've seen you." "I know that feeling," she replied easily. "What are your plans for the next two days?" "I have two meetings tomorrow, then I was planning to fly back to London tomorrow afternoon." "Can you fly back with me on Friday morning, instead?" Maggie nodded positively. "That could be arranged." "Good. Because I happen to find Madrid one of the most interesting cities in Europe. I know that you probably haven't seen much of it. There's far too much to see to cram it all into an evening, or even two. But, I'd like to show you some of my favorite places." Maggie smiled. "I'd like that."

"Let's go." "Do you want to go back to your hotel to change?" "No. I have a hard time getting used to Madrid hours. My stomach is already protesting that it is almost dinner time." She looked at her watch. "It's already past seven o'clock. Many Madrilenos won't even eat dinner until nine thirty, ten, or ten thirty." Hunt smiled at her. "You poor provincial," he teased. "I know. I'm terribly gauche and naive," she agreed dryly. Hunt laughed. "Right. And I am going to be the next President of the United States." "Michael might contest that assertion," Maggie said quietly, with laughter in her voice. "Come on, Maggie mine, let's get out of here." **** Hunt and Maggie walked through the narrow streets between Puerta del Sol and Plaza Santa Ann, dropping in on one _tapa_ bar, then another as the mood struck them. Maggie's normal bodyguards and the extra men whom Hunt had assigned to her followed them at a workable distance. The _tapa_ bars were a surprise to Maggie. Small portions of delicious food were washed down with equally small glasses of sherry, as they worked their way from bar to bar. In one bar, Maggie had to laugh at the large hams that hung with braids of garlic from the ceiling. In another, they were greeted with piano music. Still another met them with soft, mellow jazz. Periodically, she caught sight of the same man throughout the evening. He was of medium height, dark, and slightly menacing. She told herself that she was being unduly paranoid in thinking that he was following her. After all, there was no reason why this man couldn't have been out on the town the same way that they were. "What's wrong?" Hunt asked quietly. "Probably nothing. I just can't really shake this feeling that something is very wrong, or about to go very wrong." Hunt looked at her questioningly. "You've had those feelings before?"

"Once or twice. Usually just before something very bad happens." "Tell me about it," he said gently. "I'm not saying that the feelings have any meaning, Hunt. As my statistics professors used to say, correlation does not equal causation. But, I haven't had this incredibly nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach since just before Jarod died." Hunt nodded. "Go on," he urged quietly. "I felt this same way before Daddy's plane went down, before Mother died, and before Jarod died. I know that it isn't rational. But, I am frightened." "You are telling me that anytime that someone whom you love is about to be killed that you get a nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach?" he asked, completely seriously. Maggie was glad that he was taking her seriously. She felt ridiculous enough making statements like that in the first place. The fact that they were true had no bearing on the way that the statement sounded. She nodded. "Please be very careful, Hunt." He smiled at her and took her hand. "I love you, Margaret," he said quietly. "When we get back to London, I think that we should both sit down with our respective date books and find a good day for a wedding," Maggie told him softly, a slight blush staining her cheeks. "Don't tease me, Margaret," Hunt said. "I want to hear those words from you, too much." "I'm serious, Hunt. I am completely serious. I think that it is time that we get married." He searched her face, as though he was trying to determine the truth in what she said. Then he smiled at her, broadly, genuinely, as though she had just made him the happiest that he had ever been in his whole life. Maggie returned the smile. "Then tell me that again," he urged. "I think that it is time that we make wedding plans." "Why?" he demanded.

"Because I want to be your wife." "Why?" he demanded again, softly. "Because you are so ugly and undemanding," she teased. "Maggie," he warned. "I'm serious. Why have you suddenly decided to make this engagement real?" "The usual reasons I suppose." "Do the words really come that hard to you?" he asked. Maggie shrugged. "I guess that they do. I don't mean to be difficult, Hunt. I do love you." "Woman, it is high time that you told me that," he said. Maggie drew a deep breath. "I know. I'm sorry to have been so obstinate." "You and I could team teach stubbornness to mules, you know that?" he asked quietly, with humor in his voice. "Talk about the meeting of an irresistible force and an immovable object." Maggie laughed gently. "Oh, Hunt...." "Come on, Margaret. It's late. You have to, at least try, to get some sleep tonight, if you are going to be functional at your meetings tomorrow. I'll take you back to your hotel and let you rest. But, tomorrow night, we are going out and doing the town." "You spoil me drastically, Hunt." He smiled at her. "That's the idea, woman. If I spoil you long enough, you'll never be satisfied with anyone else," he told her quietly, but in a tone which wasn't all teasing. "Hunt...." "What?" "Just 'Hunt'." He smiled at her. "Come on, let's get out of here." ****

"You think that you know me so well," she mused as they reached his car. "Not as well as I'll know you in fifty years, Maggie mine," he replied easily as he handed her into the back seat of the luxury car. "Villa Magna, Carlos," Hunt instructed the driver after he joined Maggie in the back seat. **** Maggie walked out of the office on Thursday feeling as though she had crammed a week's worth of work into a day. She looked at her watch. The time had just barely gone five. She had enough time to get back to her hotel, to pamper herself with a long hot bath, a shampoo, a manicure, and a pedicure before she had to do both her hair and make-up, before dressing for dinner. **** She had hung her dress for tonight up in the bathroom last night before she had showered. Most of the wrinkles had come out with the steam. She could have asked to have the dress pressed, but she was always cautious about entrusting silk garments to hotel staff members since the time when her mother had a very expensive dress scorched by the staff at a Paris hotel. She looked at the black silk dress she had last worn at Natty's party. Would Hunt remember it? she wondered. **** The temperature outside today had been barely sixty degrees. She suspected that it would be much chillier tonight. So, she put on the lined cloak which matched her dress before she quickly transferred to her evening bag the following items: her wallet and passport, keys, two Swiss army knives of her father's -- one fairly big, the other tiny but lethally sharp -- which she always carried and had often found useful, a comb, a tube of lipstick, and a small pack of tissues. She took one last look at herself in the mirror before she left her room. Maggie knew that she looked elegant. Her hair was wound into a soft Victorian topknot, with little tendrils down her neck. She would have liked more elegant jewelry, but the two strands of pearls and matching earrings were all that she had packed. A look at the clock told her Hunt was waiting for her in the bar downstairs. **** Hunt was sitting in the bar, just as they had arranged. But, he wasn't alone. Two other gentlemen had joined Hunt. She recognized one as a British politician. The

other man was an American, by the sound of his voice, a Texan. Both men stood as she approached the table. Hunt rose as well. Maggie smiled broadly at her fiance. Hunt made the introductions, and Maggie took a seat at the table. After a few minutes of light conversation, the men excused themselves. "What was that about?" Maggie asked. "Just three old friends happening to run into one another in a foreign country, Maggie mine. What did you think that it was?" he asked as he escorted her out of the bar. "Perhaps business having to do with a certain Uncle of yours?" she replied, seemingly easily. Hunt laughed. "I've told that relative that I will no longer be handling business affairs for him. I'm going to be a married man. It is time for me to settle down." Maggie smiled broadly. Then the expression became concerned. "What's troubling you, Maggie mine?" "Give me some time to work it out, Hunt. I'm not even sure that I can put it into words yet." He smiled gently and nodded. "All right. When you are ready to talk, you'll know where to find me." "Speaking of finding," she replied easily. "When are you going to find me some dinner? And where are we going?" "I thought that you might enjoy the casino. I know that I feel lucky tonight," Hunt said. Maggie laughed. **** Maggie really didn't have much of an appetite by the time that they got around to eating dinner at one of the three restaurants in the Casino. Her mind was too full of the implications of her decision to marry Hunt. Frankly, she had been surprised that she had been able to keep her mind on her work, today.

"Second thoughts?" Hunt asked quietly. "No. Fourth, fifth, twentieth, but not second," she answered. Hunt smiled at her. "There will be no going back, after we take those vows, Maggie mine. Be sure that this is what you want." "I do. But, I would be less than sane if I weren't concerned about marriage. It's a big step, Hunt. A permanent step." "We are both throw backs to a simpler time, Maggie mine," he said. Maggie smiled and laughed. "Personally, I like the times that we are living in, Hunt." "If you are done with the food, shall we go into the casino for a while, before we drop into the nightclub for the cabaret and dancing later?" "I wonder if I'll be able to concentrate on the games any better than I have been able to on this meal?" Maggie speculated. "What's on your mind?" "You, as if you didn't know," Maggie replied easily. "I can't tell you how much that means to me." "Hunt...." she said hesitantly. "Maggie?" "We'll talk later...." she replied, with an involuntarily blush. "You aren't going to just drop me off at the hotel, are you? You will come up to my room, won't you?" "Do you want me to?" "Yes. Please. We need to talk." Hunt nodded. **** Maggie felt Hunt grow progressively more tense as the evening went on. "What is it?" she asked quietly as they started from the casino into the nightclub. "Do me a favor," Hunt replied tightly. "Never wear that dress in public again."

"What?" "I don't like the way that men look at you when you are dressed that way," he said. "Don't you think that you are being more than a little unreasonable?" "Unreasonable?" Hunt asked tightly, keeping his voice low. "Unreasonable? No, I don't think that I'm being unreasonable. A man likes his wife to be admired, but not too much, by too many." "Let's not make a scene, Hunt, please? This was supposed to be a fun evening. Instead, you have practically snarled at everyone who has even smiled at me." "Only the men. Margaret, the back of, or rather the lack of a back on, that dress is a walking invitation to assault. There isn't a man worth the name who sees you in that dress who will not create a fantasy about taking it off of you," he said harshly. Maggie froze in her tracks. She glared at Hunt, her green eyes blazing. "I like this dress. I feel very feminine when I wear it. And I intend to continue to wear it, whenever, and wherever, I want to," she said quietly, with far too much control in her voice. Hunt took her by the arm and steered her back towards the entryway to the casino. "We can't fight here. Let's go." Retrieving his coat and her cloak from the checkroom, they awaited in silence for Carlos to bring the car around. In part of Maggie's mind, it registered that they were about to have their first real fight. The rational part of her warned her that if she wasn't careful, this could also be their last fight. Once in the car, and traveling back towards Madrid, Maggie asked tightly, "Just what gives you the right to tell me how to dress?" "The fact that you have agreed to be my wife, for starters," Hunt replied sharply. "Wife, not property," Maggie replied equally sharply. "Margaret." "Don't 'Margaret' me, Hunter. There is absolutely nothing indecent about this dress. I am showing much less skin than most of the other women in the casino were." Hunt glared at her. "I don't care about the other women in the casino. I just don't want other men to be looking at you with lust and speculation in their eyes."

"You're imagining things, Hunt," she said quietly. "No, I'm not." "So, what do you want, Hunt? That I should adopt the Arabic _chaddor_ and cover myself from head to toe whenever I go out in public?" she demanded. "That would be a start," he replied quietly, with a laugh. Maggie joined in the laughter. "I do love you, Hunt." He kissed her lightly, tenderly, then retreated before the passion could flare completely out of control. "That was a down payment on the rest of the evening," he whispered into her ear. "The first time that I saw you in that dress, I wanted to take it off of you, slowly." Hunt stroked her face. She turned her face into his hand and nuzzled his palm. Slowly, he raised her chin. Then his lips covered hers. He kissed her lightly several times, whispering endearments to her between kisses. "I love you, Hunt," Maggie said. A rear tire blew out on the car before he could reply. 'Carlos' expertly maneuvered the vehicle over to the side of the road before getting out of the car. Hunt and Maggie also removed themselves from the car. That was when they realized that 'Carlos' was not Carlos. The driver held a 9mm, Luger, automatic pistol on them as an old panel van pulled up. In rapid Spanish, they were ordered to get into the van. Another car pulled up behind the van. Two big men whom Maggie identified as her bodyguards got out, guns drawn. The rear doors of the van were flung open. Hunt pulled Maggie down to the ground. "Stay down, Maggie." There was a burst of suppressed fire. There was the sound of breaking glass blending with pain-filled screams. A car ran off the highway after a burst of automatic weapons fire. Then, as suddenly as they were opened, the rear doors to the van were pulled closed with a thud. "On your feet, both of you," the fake Carlos ordered in English.

Hunt and Maggie were pulled into the van. The side door was pulled shut and the van sped away with the squeal of tires. The four armed men in the cargo compartment of the vehicle all wore ski masks. Two were armed with Uzis equipped with the noise suppressors that were commonly called silencers. The other two were armed with AK-47s with similar retrofit to lower the volume of the report. There was a curtain separating the cargo compartment from the driver's compartment of the van. There was no doubt in Maggie's mind that these men meant business. There was also no doubt in her mind, that even with Hunt's and her own proficiency in judo, that they could not disarm the men without one or the other of them, probably both of them, being hurt or killed. While each of them were willing to take that risk for themselves, neither of them were willing to risk the other. "What do you want?" Hunt demanded in fluid Spanish. "Justice. Freedom," the biggest of the men stated in heavily accented English. "Life for my people." "And how is kidnapping us going to advance your cause?" Hunt asked in Spanish. The man smiled. Or at least, Maggie thought that he had smiled from the way the knitted fabric of the ski mask shifted. "Ah, Mr. Thomas, we don't want you. We only want the woman. You are a bonus." "I'm no one special," Maggie told them in rapid Spanish. The leader of the group laughed. "No one special," he denied mendaciously, sliding back into heavily, too heavily, accented English. "Just the woman in charge of a multibillion dollar a year American drug company operating in Europe, the fiancee of a wealthy American businessman, the daughter of an American General, the sister of a high ranking American military intelligence officer, and the stepdaughter of the next President of the United States. No, I can see that you are no one special." Maggie and Hunt exchanged glances. "Don't even think about it," the leader of the group stated firmly, his accent slipping slightly. One of the other men tossed a roll of three-inch wide, heavy duty, fiber reinforced, strapping tape at Maggie. In rapid Spanish, he instructed her to use the tape to bind Hunt's feet and hands. Hunt nodded when Maggie looked at him questioningly. His look told her not to

argue with them, that there would come a time for fighting but that now was not it. Reluctantly, Maggie complied with her captors' request. She fished her knives out of her purse, allowing the men to see only the big knife. She used the larger knife to cut the tape after binding Hunt's wrists behind his back. Then she tucked the small knife up Hunt's sleeve. Once she had bound Hunt, one of the men came over and took the tape from her. "It is your turn, _Senorita_," he told her. But, they only bound her hands behind her. "If our demands are not met," the leader said, "Miss O'Shay will not live to see her stepfather's election this November." The leader took a 10 by 13 envelope and shoved it between Hunt's shirt and his trousers. "These are our demands. If you don't survive, they will still be made known when they are found on your body. Remember that," the man said in Spanish. Hunt nodded tightly, all the while giving the leader a fierce look. "I'll remember." His words were more of a threat than a promise. The van screeched to a halt. The side door was opened and Hunt was turned around and struck on the back of the head with the butt of one of the men's rifles. He fell, landing partially out of the vehicle. Two of the men picked up his legs and pushed him the rest of the way out of the door and onto the pavement. The muffled thud of one of the guns firing added to the horror. Before Maggie could stop screaming, the van's door had been closed and the vehicle sped on through the night. -------*Chapter 9* When Hunt awoke, his first sensation was that of pain. The second was that he was in a place that smelled of disinfectants. The third was that he was not alone. "Maggie?" he asked quietly not opening his eyes. "No, Hunt," Michael's voice said. "Can you tell us what happened?" ****

"They took Maggie," Hunt said tightly as he opened his eyes. The light in the room was almost blinding. Hunt closed his eyes against the light. His head hurt to the point of making him ill. "Who are 'they'?" Michael demanded. "I wish that I knew," Hunt stated coldly. "I wish that I really knew. I've a score or two to settle with them." "_Senor_ Tomas," another voice said in accented English, "I am Ramon de Santiago. This is a very grave situation, _Senor_. We need your assistance." "We've got to get Maggie back safely," Hunt said as strongly as he could as he tried to sit up, only to relapse into the pillows. "Take it easy, Hunter. You've got a concussion, and some bruises. You were very lucky," John said lowly. "What did they hit you with, anyway, a four by four?" "The butt of an Uzi, I think," Hunt said wearily. "But it might have been an AK-47. The men were armed with both. And they were only too willing to use both of them." There was silence in the room for a moment. Hunt opened his eyes. He saw the button on the bed that would make the head of the bed raise. He pressed it. Pain shot through his head but he continued until he was sitting up. A wave of nausea passed over him. He looked around the room. There were several people in the room: Maggie's stepfather and brother, a nurse, and the man who identified himself as Santiago. "Easy, _Senor_," a white uniformed nurse said quietly in Spanish as she reached for an emesis basin. "Nausea is expected. Head wounds can have many side effects. It is not something that you should fight." Hunt looked over at the nurse. "Get out," he ordered in Spanish. "But _Senor_," the nurse replied quietly, soothingly, in Spanish, "You are not well. Someone must look out for you." Hunt looked fiercely at the young woman. "Leave," he ordered in Spanish. "I can not do that, _Senor_. It is my job to care for you," the young woman replied.

"John, please get rid of her. I won't talk with her here," Hunt said wearily. "The fewer ears, the less that can leak to the press, and the less danger that Maggie will be in from loose lips." "_Senor_," the nurse said in English, "You have nothing to fear from me. I can keep a confidence." "Just get out of the room. I'll ring if I need you," Hunt replied sharply. "It is not good for you to get so upset, _Senor_," the nurse responded. "Honey, you haven't begun to see upset," he warned, fixing the woman with a quelling glare. "I guarantee you that you would not like to see me upset. Now, remove yourself from the room. Or, by God, I'll remove you, myself." "Okay, fill me in," Hunt demanded after the woman had left. "You fill us in," John requested. "What do you want to know?" Hunt replied quietly. "Tell us exactly what happened," the man called Santiago said. So Hunt recounted the evening in detail to them. "Was Carlos, the driver, found?" "Dead. His body was stuffed in the trunk of your car," John replied. "Any of the bodyguards, mine or Maggie's, still alive?" Michael sighed. "No." "Any word on Maggie?" "Nothing good," John replied painfully. "_Senor_ de Santiago," Hunt said in rapid Spanish, after he finished his account of the kidnapping, "There were at least six men involved. They were all armed heavily. The vehicle that took us was an old Ford panel van of a dark color. I didn't get the number from the license plate. Umm...." Hunt drew a deep breath as another wave of nausea spread over him. "What were the demands of the kidnappers?" Hunt asked as he regained a shaky control of himself. John cleared his throat. "Look, Hunt, you should know that Maggie's kidnappers claim that they are Basque separatists. This is allegedly a political kidnapping. Can

you shed any light on this?" "Please, Colonel O'Shay," _Senor_ de Santiago stated firmly, "This is a matter for Spanish authorities." "This is my sister who is missing. I am not going to sit around without doing something," John stated firmly. "The men who took her have already shown a willingness and an ability to kill. Naturally, I am concerned." "I would not like to have to have you declared _persona non gratia_, Colonel," Santiago replied in rapid, slight accented, English. "It would grieve me greatly to have to have you expelled from the country." "None of us, _Senor_ de Santiago," Michael said diplomatically, "Would enjoy that. If this was your stepdaughter, sister, or fiancee, how would you feel?" Ramon de Santiago smiled slightly as he nodded. "Like killing the men who would dare lay hands on the woman. Killing them very slowly." John nodded tightly. "How long have I been here?" Hunt demanded. John smiled tightly at his sister's fiance. "This is Friday afternoon. You've been out for quite a while. We've been worried about you." "Umm, humm." Hunt replied, holding his head stiffly. "I can see that. Worried enough to come to Spain," he answered dryly. "You got here awfully quickly, Michael." "Concorde from New York to London. A chartered flight from London to Madrid," Michael said strongly. "What is being done to find Maggie?" Hunt demanded. "There are all points bulletins out. And every border crossing has her description. The terrorists released the story to the newspapers, claiming that this was a strike for Basque independence. Maggie's picture is all over the media, both in Spain and worldwide," John said. "That's not all of it," Hunt said strongly. "What are you keeping from me?" "No, _Senor_, it is not all," Ramon de Santiago stated disdainfully. "The Basque separatists organizations are loudly denying all knowledge and responsibility for the kidnapping. They are claiming that this is a plot to discredit them in the eyes of the world."

Hunt uttered a long string of epithets that alternately condemned and questioned the parentage of the abductors. Then he looked around the room, meeting every eye. "I don't think that the kidnappers are Basque. I don't even think that they are Spanish. They all spoke Spanish, or at least those who spoke to us spoke Spanish, but it was the Mexican dialect, not Castillian. Maggie had complained of being followed. I couldn't discount the complaints, since I was with her when she found a bug in her telephone in Zurich. I know that Maggie's been followed since she arrived in Europe. I've spotted the surveillance from time to time, myself. I've had a team of people following her, as well, for her own protection. One group of those men was the ones who were killed last night on the road. My security team had identified three of the men who were following her as dishonorably discharged US military personnel. I am not so sure that it all wasn't involved with this." "_Senor_," Ramon de Santiago asked in rapid Spanish, "Could this all be a hoax?" "I don't know what it is, but I know that it isn't a hoax. Margaret would not put either herself or me in this position," Hunt replied in equally rapid Spanish. "All I know for certain is that they have my fiancee and they have stated that the next time that I see her she may be dead. I intend to find them and stop them before they can harm her. I want those men." "You may already be too late to prevent her being harmed," Santiago warned in Spanish. "It is already many hours since she was taken. You have to face the fact that she may well be dead. If not dead, she may well wish that she were." Hunt swallowed hard. He hated the thought of Maggie in the clutches of those men. And yet, he knew that if they gave her an opportunity to get away that she would take it. He had to trust her, and hope that the men were foolish enough to give her an opportunity to get away from them. "Maggie's a strong woman," Hunt said in English. "If there is any way possible, she'll come out of this alive. And if there isn't a way, she'll take as many of them with her as she can. It's up to us to give her kidnappers as much incentive to release her as we can, or to find them and take care of them. Now, someone get me my pants, and a doctor to sign me out of here. I've got things to do." "Thomas," John said firmly, "You just stay in that bed. There is nothing that you can do which is more important than getting well yourself. Magpie is going to need you when this is all over. She'll never forgive me if I let any further harm come to you." "And I'll never forgive myself if I don't do everything that I can to get her back from those men," Hunt said strongly. "I feel like this is all my fault. If Maggie and I hadn't been arguing, I would have noticed that the driver wasn't Carlos, and we never would have gotten into the car."

"Don't be too harsh on yourself, _Senor_," Ramon de Santiago advised. "The driver did have a gun. I have no doubt that he was prepared to use it to force you into the car." "One man with a gun at short range, I could have taken care of," Hunt said in Spanish. "And if I couldn't have, Maggie certainly could have. It was the four men with Uzis and AK-47s that stopped me from taking her out of the van." John smiled at Hunt. "_Senor_ de Santiago does not believe you, old friend," he said in English. "At the moment, I don't particularly care what he believes," Hunt replied, also in English. "Are you going to get me my pants, or not?" "Not," Michael said. "Fine. I'll do it myself," Hunt said firmly as he swung his legs out of bed. Michael laughed. "Well, I'll be keelhauled! Daisy did it this time. She found herself a man as mule headed as she is." "She'd run over a man less strong willed than she," John replied just before Hunt rose from the bed. Hunt, wobbling slightly, took the few steps over to the closet and opened the door only to find it empty. "All right, where are my clothes?" Hunt asked sharply. "I believe that the police have impounded them for evidence, _Senor_," Santiago replied. Hunt returned, on shaking legs, to sit on the bed. He picked up the telephone. Swiftly, he punched in the numbers. He spoke in rapid Spanish, "This is _Senor_ Thomas. I am registered in room 243." Hunt looked at _Senor_ de Santiago. "Which hospital is this?" When Ramon de Santiago told him, Hunt continued, giving the desk clerk at his hotel the name of the hospital. "Have someone," he ordered, "Go into my room and get a suit, shirt, underclothes, socks, and a pair of shoes. I need those garments delivered to the hospital today, as quickly as possible." The clerk, having heard more unreasonable requests from foreigners, agreed to have the clothes brought over shortly.

Hunt sank back into the bed after having hung up the telephone. "I'm going to rest for a little while longer, then I will be leaving the hospital in order to search for Maggie," he said wearily. John smiled at him slightly. "I suppose that I would feel the same way, if this was Emily at question." Hunt looked at Maggie's half-brother. "Thank you. Are there any leads, at all?" "No, _Senor_," _Senor_ de Santiago replied. "Are you telling me the truth?" Hunt demanded. Ramon de Santiago stiffened. "I am not in the habit of telling lies," he replied hotly. Hunt sighed. "My apologies, _Senor_. I am overwrought." "That, _Senor_, is only to be expected under the circumstances," the Spaniard said compassionately. Hunt picked up the telephone. He dialed the number for his London office. "Aggie?" "Hunt, are you all right? The news is all over here," Aggie said. "Catch the next plane to Madrid. I need your logistical skills here, Agnes." "I've already booked the flight. I'll be there before evening." "Thanks, Aggie. See you in a few hours. Call the Eurobuilding and book the suite next to mine for yourself." "Ahead of you. I booked several suites. If we are mounting a rescue, you are going to need the space." Hunt smiled. "Good thinking, Aggie." "I've already called several good men. They will be arriving within the hour." "Aggie, remind me to give you a raise." "I'll hold you to that." **** It took some fast talking, but Hunt convinced the physician to release him from the

hospital. He had been prepared to sign himself out against doctor's orders, so the release came as an unexpected surprise. Hunt, John, and Michael rode through town in the back of Michael's large, rented, limousine. Two of Michael's private security force members rode in front. Four security men rode in the car just prior to this one. And four security men rode in the car immediately behind Michael's limousine. Hunt knew only too well the strings Michael had to pull to be able to bring armed men onto Spanish soil. There was no doubt that Michael himself and, at least, the two men in the front seat were heavily armed. Michael had taken a suite at the huge Eurobuilding hotel where Hunt had a room. They went into the lobby of the plush hotel from the Padre Damien entrance. A medium-sized box had been left for Michael at the reception desk. One of Michael's security men had looked over the box before he had gently opened it. Hunt gasped as he looked inside. There was a long braid of Maggie's auburn hair, raggedly cut as though with a knife. The hair was tied off with Maggie's pearl necklaces and adorned with her pearl ear studs. The narrow end of the braid was shoved through Hunt's grandmother's diamond ring. Hunt felt ill. Then he became very angry. There was no message within the box. There didn't have to be one. It was clear that they wanted to prove that they had Maggie. Hunt checked for other messages at the desk. As did John O'Shay. There were several envelopes for Hunt, one of which was addressed to him in Maggie's hand. There was also a brown paper and string wrapped parcel for John. Hunt looked at Michael and John, both of them looked at the braid, then back at him. "My suite, now," Michael stated peremptorily. One of Michael's security men whispered something in Michael's ear. Michael nodded positively. "Do it." Two more members of Michael's staff, men whom Hunt recognized as Fred and Vinnie, were in the suite. Hunt gently opened the envelope that was in Maggie's handwriting. He held it by one

corner with handkerchief covered fingers. He removed the letter with the tweezers that came from his pocketknife. Then he carefully spread it out on the coffee table using the tweezers. He read her words, "_The Basque Liberation Front wishes the world to know that Western support for continuing Spanish suppression of their people will be met with further actions against Westerners._ They demand that the US government firmly rebuke the Spanish government for this unconscionable state of the suppression of the Basque people. The demands have been made in more detail in the packet of instructions left on the person of my fiance, American businessman Hunt Thomas. If the conditions are not met within one week of my capture, the freedom fighters state that I will be executed in retribution for my government's acquiescence to the suppression of the Basque people. They state that it is their intention to make Spain run with Western blood: the blood of citizens of the countries whose governments do not decry Spanish suppression of the Basque people. I have been taken as an example. They tell me that my kidnapping was to send a message that no Americans are safe in Spain. They say that if they can take me, then they can take anyone. No American can feel safe in Spain any longer. Signed, Friday 20 March, _Margaret Mary O'Shay: daughter of Gen. John Jacob O'Shay, Jr.; sister to Colonel John Jacob O'Shay III., US Army; stepdaughter to U.S. Senator Michael Edward McLaughlin, Admiral US Navy (retired) "_ **** Hunt found himself growing angry. This note was obviously dictated to Maggie. The handwriting showed stress. It wasn't Maggie's normally neat hand, although it was recognizable as her handwriting. Michael and John both read the letter as well without touching it. Hunt looked at them. "Well, do we turn it over to the police?" Michael nodded. "I don't think that we have any choice. The paper is common enough. There is nothing special about the ink. Maybe they can get finger prints off of it." Hunt shook his head negatively and slightly, but only slightly because of the pain.

"We all know that isn't likely." John spoke quietly. "Do we want to know what is in my parcel?" "We had better," Michael said quietly. Michael and John working as a team without directly touching the package, slit the twine which bound it, and allowed the paper to drop away. Inside was Maggie's cloak and dress, with the dress wadded up inside the cloak. Hunt looked at the garments. The dress had the side seams split, like with a knife. He forced himself to look at the garments. "I'm going to kill them. I'm going to hunt them down and kill them," Hunt said flatly, coldly. "And if they have harmed her, I will kill them very slowly." -------*Chapter 10* Maggie shivered as she sat on an old twin-sized mattress that rested on the cold, rough, stone floor in the corner of the dank, windowless, room. She suspected that it was still Friday. She knew that they weren't too far from where she had been taken. It had been less than a two hour drive from the point where they had struck Hunt and had thrown him from the van. Less than two hours, but with many turns, and a variety of both sounds and speeds. Her sense of direction and speed were good. She suspected that they were somewhere in the vicinity of Avila. She had spent the rest of the night, after they had arrived, sitting here with her hands bound behind her, in the dark. She had slept fitfully, awakening stiff. Maggie had debated about fighting them when they had cut her hands free of the tape early this morning. Then she had dismissed that thought. She had no idea of how many of them that they were. And she knew that there were at least four of them who were armed with automatic weapons. The fight would have been a slaughter, her slaughter. That wasn't her idea of a good way to start a morning. After the letter which they had dictated had been firmly in their hands, they had ordered her to take down her hair and to braid it. The leader, still wearing a ski mask, then had taken a hunting knife and had cut unevenly through her braid at the base of her neck. Very lightly, he had scratched the back of her neck with the edge of the blade, while threatening her with death if she resisted them in any way. The man had taken her jewelry from her. He had brought her a coarse woolen blanket and had ordered her out of her clothes.

Two armed men, as well as their leader, had stood there waiting for her to remove her garments. She had turned her back to them, taken off her dress, without removing the cloak, wrapped the blanket around her sarong fashion, then had given them the dress. Then they had demanded her hosiery, cloak, and shoes, as well. The men simply had taken her clothes, stockings, shoes, and purse, and had left her alone. She hadn't seen anyone since they had left her. A single bare, low wattage, light bulb hung high from a short single strand of electrical cabling to which was attached a cheap socket. The bulb hung a little better than seven foot from the floor. At about ten foot square with a little more than a seven-foot ceiling, the room was not overly big. Yet with the stone floor and the thick masonry walls, the room did a fair imitation of an echo chamber. Aside from the mattress on which she now sat, the only furnishings were a stained porcelain toilet whose tank lid was firmly glued down to the tank and a fiberglass shower stall with a single lever control which was riveted onto the faucet control. The pipes were not even exposed. The shower was without either a door or curtains. Even the steel door to the room did not have a knob on the inside. They had not left her anything with which to make a weapon. The only way out of the room was through the heavy steel door. The hinges for the door were on the outside of the room. The door latched with a large bar that slid into brackets on the opposing sides of the door on the outside. That much she had seen on the way in. There wasn't even any door trim she could have pried off of the door frame, if she had anything to use to pry trim from the frame. The mattress was made of stacked cotton batting covered in ticking. There were not even any springs in the lumpy mattress. The mattress was stitched with cotton thread that, like the old-fashioned striped cotton ticking, was so old that it was nearly rotten. All she could do was to sit and wait. To sit and wait and fight tears while she wondered about Hunt? Was he alive? Had he been found? Maggie wondered if they would really kill her. "Stupid question, Maggie," she muttered to herself as she touched her cropped hair. Basque separatists. No, she doubted seriously that the men were Basque. They had not once spoken Basque in her presence. In fact, their Spanish was more Mexican than anything else. And their English was strictly American Southwest.

So, what, Maggie wondered, was going on here? Several unpleasant scenarios sprang into her mind. In most of them, she and Hunt were nothing more than pawns in one elaborate game or other. The other possibilities that ran through her head were much more dreadful. Frankly, she didn't want to think about what might be motivating her kidnappers. Yet, she had to try to understand how they thought, if she stood the remotest chance of escaping from them. Maggie wondered if Michael and John had been informed of her disappearance. She wondered if Emily was all right. Maggie wondered if her niece or nephew, yet unborn, was safe. She wondered if Natalie and Chuck had been told. Maggie closed her eyes and envisioned all of those people who she loved. "I will see you again," Maggie vowed in a fierce whisper. "They will not win. They will not. I will not let them win." **** "S_opa de lentejas_," an unarmed guard said as he walked into the room in the company of two other armed men. All of the men continued to wear their ski masks. At the sound of the door opening, Maggie had risen to her feet. "G_racias_," Maggie replied tightly as she took the tray from him. It contained a thick plastic bowl of the lentil soup, a plastic spoon, two dinner rolls, warm, split, and spread with butter, and plastic tumbler containing beer. She lowered herself to the mattress, turning her back to the guards and ate her dinner. The soup was actually pretty good, the rolls acceptable, and the beer only average. This was the first meal that they had fed her. When she had finished her meal, she rose from the mattress and returned the tray to the waiting guard without a word. He looked at her for a long moment. "It is good," he said in rapid Spanish, "That you have accepted your fate. If you don't fight us, you will not be cruelly treated. I promise you that." Maggie inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment before she returned in silence to her mattress. **** She didn't see anyone else until noon the next day, when she was blindfolded and taken down a hallway into another windowless room. The leader of the group met her eyes as another man removed the blindfold.

"Your stepfather, _Senorita_, has proven most stubborn. You will talk with him on the telephone. You will tell him that you have been treated well. You will tell him that you have not been abused. You will tell him that if our demands are not met, then we will kill you. You will tell him all of this." "Aren't you afraid of having the telephone call traced?" Maggie inquired quietly. "No, _Senorita_," the man replied with a satisfied sound to his voice, "We have already run Senator McLaughlin around from public telephone booth to public telephone booth all over Madrid. It would be almost impossible to have set up a trace on this call." He looked at his watch. "He should be there. I will dial the number. And I will remain on this second phone listening to your conversation." "I see," Maggie replied tightly. "Besides," he volunteered obviously thinking that he would impress Maggie with his professionalism, "We have rerouted the call at the switching station. Even if they do manage to trace the call it will do them no good, since it will seem to come from several places, none of which are here, at once." Then he dialed. The telephone rang once before Michael picked up the public phone. "Senator McLaughlin?" the man inquired. Maggie picked up the phone. She heard Michael answer that it was he on the line. "Michael?" Maggie said thickly. The tears she had fought for so many hours threatened to fall. She choked them back, but knew that Michael had heard the sniffle. "Daisy, are you all right? Have they hurt you?" "They cut my hair, Michael," she replied tightly. "But that, and a small scratch with a knife just to drive their position home, are all that they've done physically to me. However, I'm beginning to feel like a Condor." "I can understand that, honey. But you are not an endangered species, trust me," Michael replied. "We will do what we can to retrieve you." "You know what you must do, Senator, to get her back," the leader of the men said in too heavily accented English. "Is Hunt okay?" Maggie asked tightly. "He's a little worse for wear, Daisy dear. But, he's out of the hospital. He's going to

be just fine." "That's good. Oh, Michael." "Don't give the animals the satisfaction of seeing you cry, Daisy," Michael urged. "Remember who you are and what you are." "They want you to know that if their demands aren't met, that they will kill me, Michael. I believe them. "Michael...." she questioned as she heard a sound on the line. "Michael?" "It's me," Hunt said quietly. Maggie felt the leader tense even across the few feet that the man was distant from her. "Ah, Hunt. Very sorry, sweetheart," Maggie said, quickly, praying that both she were correct that as to her location and that Hunt would catch the coded message that she was trying to give him. "I had to let them take your grandmother's ring. Like it or not, there was no choice. At least, by letting them take my things neither of the two men with Uzis had any excuse to shoot me." "Good. Don't do anything stupid. You've got nothing to feel sorry about. Don't worry about my grandmother's ring. They returned it to me, as proof that they have you." Maggie sniffled. "Good. That means so much to you." "In comparison to you, it means nothing. It's just a hunk of metal and stone. I love you, Maggie mine. I'd give anything that I own to get you back with me." The tears fell freely and were heard in her voice. "I love you, too, Hunt. Do me a favor?" "Anything," Hunt assured her. "If I don't get out of this, be happy. Go back to work for your Uncle. He always gave you tasks that kept your active mind busy. Life has a way of dealing us surprises, love. And some of them aren't all that surprising when we think about them, in retrospect. I feel like a fool, Hunt. Michael warned me that I was leaving myself open. This feels just like it did when Jarod died, Hunt. Just like it." Hunt was silent for a moment. Maggie continued, hoping that Hunt would get the message, "If you can't meet the

terms, bury me in the cemetery where Mom was buried. It is an hour or so outside of Madison. This time of year it should be a pretty drive. It's a quiet place. Very old. Secluded. Small. I want my requiem said at either St. Teresa, St. John, or St. Thomas the Apostle's. And see if Father Nathaniel Edwards, who baptized me, can officiate at the requiem. Oh, Hunt, I don't care what you have to do to get me out of here. Just do it." Hunt spoke softly, "Don't talk that way, sweetheart. We'll do what we can." "I know that you will," she replied, then she cleared her throat painfully. "Some helpmate I've proven for you, my love," she added tightly. "All I've caused you is trouble. First, with my stepfather, then with my brother, and now with this." "I've enjoyed most of the time that we've had together," he told her. "_Senor,_ if you want to continue to enjoy time with your fiancee," the leader told Hunt over the phone, "You will meet our terms." Then he hung up the phone, and took Maggie's receiver from her. Then he hit her with his open hand, across her face, knocking Maggie to her knees. "The next time that I tell you what to say on the telephone, you say just that. Do you understand me?" the leader asked in rapid Spanish. Maggie rose from the floor. She glared at the man. "I understand," she replied, hoping that between Hunt and Michael, they would be able to unravel the hints she had given them. "I don't think that you do, _Senorita_," the leader replied in rapid Spanish. "But, I know that you will by the time that I get through with you." Maggie blocked the second blow that was directed at her. She looked at the leader with narrowed eyes. There was rage in his eyes. Maggie forced herself to stay calm. "You will not beat me," she told him firmly. "I will not allow myself to be beaten." As suddenly as the leader's rage came, it was gone. "Remember, _Senorita_," he admonished her. "You are safe only as long as we want to keep you safe. Our patience with your people is quickly running out." Maggie nodded. "You are such a brave and lovely woman, _Senorita_ O'Shay, it will be a shame if your people make us kill you," the leader said quietly. "If they make us kill you, it will not be quick. It will not be merciful. It would be a shame to let you die without that death making a statement." "That prospect doesn't exactly rate high on my list of preferred actions," Maggie

replied dryly in English. He laughed. Then he blindfolded Maggie once more and had her taken back to her cell. It wasn't more than an hour after she had been returned to the room before they brought food to her. Only this time, only one, lightly armed, man came. Once more her meal was a bowl of a thick soup, bread, and beer, with everything in plastic containers. After she finished the meal, she asked the lone guard, "I get thirsty during the day. May I keep the tumbler?" She couldn't be sure, since the man wore the knit ski mask, but she thought that he smiled. "I don't see any harm in that," he said quietly. Maggie had to smile once the guards had left her. She wasn't likely to starve to death on one meal a day. The relative chill of the unheated room along with the one meal a day were calculated to keep her energy level low so that she would be less likely to make an attempt to break out. They certainly didn't know her very well, she thought with satisfaction. So far, it was more advantageous for them to keep her alive than it was to kill her. That was in her favor. They obviously weren't expecting her to take any action against them. That was also in her favor. Besides those factors and her own considerable skills, she didn't have much to work with. Maggie forced herself to once more take inventory of exactly what she did have. She had a mattress, a blanket, one thick plastic tumbler, one pair of silk undies, one bar of soap in the shower, and water. There was also the toilet, the shower, and the light bulb. But, she could not find anyway to turn those last few things into an element in her attack. She had a plan. It was risky. But almost anything was better than waiting around for them to use her death to make a statement. -------*Chapter 11* Hunt hung up the public telephone. He looked at Michael. Then he shut off the tape recorder on which they had recorded the conversation. Michael looked at Hunt. "I want to listen to that conversation, again." "Yeah. Let's go back to the hotel." ****

John had been on the telephone all morning, with his contacts, trying to find anything about this supposed terrorist group. He was coming up with a big blank nothing. **** The three men, along with several of Michael's security men, sat in the living room of the suite, listening to the tape. John shook his head negatively, at the end. "Patty wasn't buried in Madison. And I don't know of any St. Teresa, St. John, or St. Thomas the Apostle parishes. The only Nate Edwards whom I know is dead. Maggie and I were both at the funeral. And he was anything but a priest." "Did Maggie and this Edwards fellow spend lots of time together?" Hunt asked quietly, almost too quietly. "She liked him," Michael replied. "But, she was just a little girl when he died. They used to play a game where they would speak only in literary and religious allusions. Nate was into codes and ciphers. Daisy must have been all of nine when we spent those weeks on the schooner. Nate and she would sit around on deck and talk shorthand with one another like that." "I remember," John said. Hunt hit the rewind button. "Let's go through this once more." **** "They cut my hair, Michael," she replied tightly. "But that, and a small scratch, are all that they've done physically to me. However, I'm beginning to feel like a Condor." Hunt reached over and shut off the tape. "What did she mean that she was beginning to feel like a Condor?" Michael shook his head negatively. "Like an endangered species, maybe? That's what I thought that she meant." Tony, one of Michael's bodyguards, smiled briefly, then looked thoughtful. "What is it?" Hunt demanded. "Magpie went through this time when she was about twelve when she loved spy stories. She liked the Condor books, as in Three Days of the Condor," Tony offered.

Hunt said quietly. "Condor ... condor...." Then he sat up straight. "You don't suppose, in spite of the denials, official and otherwise, that this is all some sort of Company game that she has inadvertently stumbled into?" he demanded. Michael cleared his throat. "My contacts at Langley say no. They are just as frustrated at this as we are. I doubt that they would lie to me about something like this since I chair the Intelligence committee." "If this were a company operation, they would hardly admit it," Hunt replied sharply. "True," Michael agreed sadly. "But, I don't think that they would do anything to purposefully cross me. Not when I have so much control over the appropriations for their budget. They aren't that crazy." Hunt shook his head. "I wouldn't bet on it." "Assuming that we are on the right track," John responded tightly, "And I'm not certain that we are, the only scene that I can think of in Three Days of the Condor was where Robert Redford in the movie got into the telephone circuits and rerouted a call so that it could not possibly be traced." Hunt smiled broadly. "Bingo. That was why they let her stay on the line so long." Michael looked at Hunt, nodded. "It's a good possibility." "If it is," John interjected, "Then these people are more paranoid than we are. That may be something which we can use against them, under the right conditions." "Then we need to set up the right conditions, don't we," Hunt said. "What do you have in mind?" Michael asked quietly. "I'm not certain. At this point, it's just a thought. I need some time to work it out." "Okay, keep us informed. Now, let's go on," Hunt urged as he pressed the play button. "They want you to know that if their demands aren't met, that they will kill me, Michael. I believe them," Maggie's voice said quietly. "That's pretty clear," Hunt remarked. "It's me," Hunt's voice said from the recorder. "Ah, Hunt. Very sorry, sweetheart," Maggie said, quickly. "I had to let them take

your grandmother's ring. Like it or not, there was no choice. At least, by letting them take my things neither of the two men with Uzis had any excuse to shoot me." Hunt shut off the tape recorder. "The men who took us were armed with Uzis and AK-47s. She may be telling us that there are now fewer men guarding her than took her." "Or that may have been just a throwaway comment," John replied. "Then again, they have led her to that conclusion, just to maintain an element of surprise, if she did manage to escape from them," Michael offered thoughtfully. Hunt drew a deep breath. "That is a real possibility, given their demonstrated level of paranoia. Damn. I wish that we knew more about this. But that phrasing isn't like her. Not at all. There is something wrong there." "She's done a good job of giving us clues," Michael replied thoughtfully. Hunt nodded. "Now, all we do is have to figure out what they mean." He pressed the 'play' button once more. **** "Good. Don't do anything stupid. You've got nothing to feel sorry about. Don't worry about my Grandmother's ring. They returned it to me, as proof that they have you." Maggie sniffled. "Good. That ring means so much to you." "In comparison to you, it means nothing. It's just a hunk of metal and stone. I love you, Maggie mine. I'd give anything that I own to get you back with me." "I love you, too, Hunt. Do me a favor?" "Anything," Hunt's voice assured her. "If I don't get out of this, be happy. Go back to work for your Uncle. He always gave you tasks that kept your active mind busy. Life has a way of dealing us surprises, love. And some of them aren't all that surprising when we think about them, in retrospect. I feel like a fool, Hunt. Michael warned me that I was leaving myself open. This feels just like it did when Jarod died, Hunt. Just like it." Hunt stopped the player. He looked at Michael, pointedly. "What does she mean like when Jarod died?" John asked sharply. "That was an

accident." Michael shook his head negatively. "No. It was a hostile action aimed at her, designed to look like something else," Michael said reluctantly. "And she thinks that this is similar." John looked at Michael sharply. "You've verified that?" Hunt questioned. "Unfortunately," Michael replied. Vinnie, one of Michael's security men, elaborated, "One of the men, who shortly afterwards died from a hit and run, had a crush on Magpie. As near as we can tell, he sabotaged her car out of jealousy. If he couldn't have her, he didn't want anyone else to, either." John looked at his half-sister's stepfather, "Maggie figured that out. Didn't she? At least, partially. That is why she did the double time decamp from your house." Michael nodded tightly. "She knew that someone had tried to kill her." "When I agreed not to contest Patty's will which gave you guardianship of her, you promised me that you would keep her safe," John said. "Mike, damnit, I trusted you with her." "I didn't even know about this until just before last Christmas," Michael responded defensively. The effort that it took for John to bit back his reply was visible. "Remonstrations aren't going to change the past. If we are lucky, we will be able to keep this situation from becoming worse," Hunt said quietly. John nodded. "True," he agreed tersely. "Look," Hunt told them, strongly, "The important thing is that she knows that the people who are holding her are not Basque separatists. She knows that this whole thing was designed to get her. Knowing that, she is going to find a way out, if there is one." John nodded. "I have confidence in her ability. If Maggie doesn't panic, she'll do better than most people would have," her brother said quietly. "But, unarmed, against a group with automatic weapons. I wouldn't want to be in that position myself."

"Let's see if we can unravel this enough to give her some help, shall we?" Hunt asked just before he pressed 'play' once more. Maggie continued, "If you can't meet the terms, bury me in the cemetery where Mom was buried. It is an hour or so outside of Madison. This time of year it should be a pretty drive. It's a quiet place. Very old. Secluded. Small. I want my requiem said at either St. Teresa, St. John, or St. Thomas the Apostle's. And see if Father Nathaniel Edwards, who baptized me, can officiate at the requiem. Oh, Hunt, I don't care what you have to do to get me out of here. Just do it." He stopped the recording. "Saint Teresa? St. Therese of Lieux, the Little Flower. St. Teresa of Avila...." Hunt thought aloud. Michael nodded. "Avila. Got to be. St. John and St. Theresa were co-workers in the reforming of the Carmelite order. Avila. It's just outside of Madrid. Madison. Madrid. That has to be what she meant." Vinnie smiled. "Rewind the tape. I want to listen to that first exchange between Hunt and Maggie again." "It's me," Hunt's voice said from the recorder. "Ah, Hunt. Very sorry, sweetheart," Maggie said, quickly. "I had to let them take your grandmother's ring. Like it or not, there was no choice. At least, by letting them take my things neither of the two men with Uzis had any excuse to shoot me." "Catch it," Vinnie asked in excitement. "Ah, Very, I, Like, At. It spells Avila." Hunt nodded. "It fits." Michael fast-forwarded the tape, stopping it at the burial instructions exchange. He played the tape. Maggie continued, "If you can't meet the terms, bury me in the cemetery where Mom was buried. It is an hour or so outside of Madison. This time of year it should be a pretty drive. It's a quiet place. Very old. Secluded. Small. I want my requiem said at either St. Teresa, St. John, or St. Thomas the Apostle's. And see if Father Nathaniel Edwards, who baptized me, can officiate at the requiem. Oh, Hunt, I don't care what you have to do to get me out of here. Just do it." John spoke, "St. Thomas the Apostle. Thomas. doubting Thomas. Thomas is the patron of architects...." "Does she mean that she knows that she is in Avila in some architecturally

interesting building? Or does she mean that she thinks, but can't prove, that she is in Avila?" Hunt asked quietly. "Or is she telling us that she is in or near Avila and she doubts most everything else?" "Unknown," Michael replied, thoughtfully. "I'd wager that she has a good idea of the direction that she was taken. And I know that she has an ability to gauge distances. I suspect that she is in or around Avila." "It's a place to start," John agreed. "Rewind that. I want to hear those phrases again. We've missed something." They listened to the phrases again. Then Hunt shut off the player. John smiled. "She knows that she's not in Avila, proper. Wherever she is, it's in a secluded area. And in an old, small, building." "We need to get some aerial photographs of the area. We can narrow down the number of possibilities from there," Hunt said. Michael nodded. One of his security men left the room. Hunt pressed the play button again. "I know that you will," Maggie replied, then she cleared her throat painfully. "Some helpmate I've proven for you, my love," she added tightly. "All I've caused you is trouble. First, with my stepfather, then with my brother, and now with this." "A better help than your captors' know, Maggie mine," Hunt replied quietly as he shut off the tape. "This is all conjecture," John stated reluctantly. "There isn't a shred of this that would hold up in even a Spanish court." Hunt smiled slightly. "I know. But, it's all that we have. I say that we go with it." "Anything's better than sitting around here twiddling our thumbs, waiting for them to call with instructions," Michael replied. The security man returned to the room. "We'll have the photos in a couple of hours, sir." Hunt looked at Michael. "Are we going to handle this ourselves, or involve the police further?" "We should, at least, report the telephone call to the police. We don't have to tell them that we took a tape of the conversation. In fact, the less that we tell the police,

the better that I will like it," Michael said. "If we have to go in after her ourselves, it could have some serious international ramifications, in addition to Spanish charges being leveled against us," Hunt replied thoughtfully. "The scandal could ruin your political ambitions, Michael." Michael nodded his blonde head. "That is true. But, all I am really concerned about is Daisy. Her safety has to come first. The longer we leave her with those men, the less safe she is." John sighed. "You know, we'll be lucky if the Spanish don't declare us all PNG and expel us from the country when this is all over." "I'd be more concerned with the Spanish tossing us all in jail," Hunt said quietly. "I'd rather avoid Spanish jails, if at all possible." "We'll all have tight alibi's whatever happens," Michael replied firmly. "Don't worry about it." Hunt looked at Maggie's stepfather. "Look, I agree that letting people in on our plans could be dangerous for Maggie. But, we really don't want to step on Spanish toes. We ought to coordinate our efforts with theirs. Rescuing her will be easier if we can do it under the aegis of some arm of the Spanish government." Michael thought for a moment. "You may be right, Hunt." "But, before we contact the Spanish authorities, I'm going to hold a press conference," Hunt said. John nodded agreement. "It's time to put a little pressure on the kidnappers." Michael frowned. "Not too much pressure. Or they might take it out on Daisy." "How much cash can we scrape together between us, today?" Hunt asked. When they had a figure, Hunt sighed. "That's about ten million pesetas. That should be enough of a reward for information leading to the safe return of Maggie and the capture and conviction of her kidnappers. That much money should get local people out looking for Maggie. The locals are more likely to spot anything out of the ordinary than we are." "I am hesitant to do that," Michael said. "The kidnappers have already released the story to the papers. Maggie's picture has already been plastered all over the news media," Hunt replied quietly. "Now, it is time to use their tactics against them. They can't complain too strongly."

"They could kill her," Michael said. "If we don't do anything, they will kill her. We all know that," Hunt countered. "I don't believe that they have any intention of setting her free, in the first place. It's time for more drastic action." John nodded. "I have to agree with Hunt, Michael. It's time to do something. We know that Maggie was alive a couple of hours ago. At worst case, they may have already killed her, since she has now delivered their message." Hunt breathed raggedly. He had to acknowledge the truth in John's words. They had proven that Maggie was alive. Keeping her alive now might not be necessary. The only reason that they might now be keeping her alive would be if they planned on having her deliver more messages. Michael said, his voice almost shaking with pain, "We just don't know who we are dealing with. If these people are amateurs, then we just don't know what they might or might not do." "I wonder if they know, themselves," Hunt replied quietly. "But, we have to mobilize the population. So far, the press accounts haven't motivated them with sensationalism. Let's see if greed motivates them any better." John looked at Hunt. Maggie's half-brother said dryly, "That's certainly the bottom line, isn't it?" "Motivation?" Hunt asked. "Greed," John replied. "Unfortunately," Hunt agreed. -------*Chapter 12* Maggie was shaken awake the next morning. The timing hadn't been right for her to launch her plan. Barely awake, Maggie was yanked to her feet. She batted the hands from her as she came to awareness. "This is not necessary," she said strongly in English. "Just tell me what you want. There is no need to manhandle me." "You are going to make another telephone call, _Senorita_ O'Shay," the leader said. "Come with me." Maggie gathered her sarong blanket more tightly around.

No blindfold this time. And no guards except the leader who now had the muzzle of his gun planted firmly in her back. She didn't see why they had blindfolded her so the first time. The hall she walked down was empty. There were no windows. Neither was there anything in the hallway which she could use as a weapon. If it hadn't been for the Uzi whose muzzle rested firmly on her third thoracic vertebra, she would not have gone so meekly with him. When she was in the room with the telephones, the leader walked around the desk, put the weapon on safety, and let it hang down from the sling. He tossed a newspaper at her. "Sit down, have some breakfast, and read that," he ordered gruffly. The old wooden chair that sat before the desk was a new addition to the spartan furnishings of the room. Maggie took a seat and placed the newspaper down on the desk. She picked up a churro from the plate on the desk and munched on it. The leader poured her a cup of hot chocolate from a thermos. The churros were not terribly well prepared. They tasted as though the oil had been allowed to grow more than slightly old and rancid. The hot chocolate was not much better. Yet, the warmth was a welcome relief from the chill she felt. In the paper was the story of Hunt's press conference. A reward was being offered for information leading to Maggie's safe return. Ten million pesetas. Maggie did a quick calculation. The reward was nearly $80,000. She folded the newspaper and returned it to the leader. "So?" she asked casually as she rose from the chair. "You are going to get on the telephone in a few minutes and tell your loving fiance what an awful idea that reward was." "No," Maggie defied him. "Don't make us hurt you, _Senorita_," the leader urged as he approached her menacingly. He struck her with bruising force, as he had before. This time, Maggie didn't hesitate. One swift knife-edged blow to his throat, followed immediately by a blow to his temple, took the man to the floor. She took the Uzi from him, placing it on the desk. Then, Maggie checked the leader for a pulse. He was alive, but unconscious, as she had intended. Maggie pulled off the ski mask the leader wore. This was the man whom Maggie had seen following her through the _tapa_ bars. Somehow, that did not surprise her. She quickly searched the desk where one of the telephones sat for something with

which to bind the man. Wide, fiber reinforced tape. How perfectly ironic! A small pair of very sharp scissors lay beside the tape. Quickly, she took some of the tape to gag him. Then she unfastened his shirt, rolled him over, and pulled the shirt from him. With economical movements, quickly bound his wrists behind him. Then rolled him over onto his back and removed his shoes and jeans. He was wearing a Walther PPK in an ankle holster. She relieved him of the small weapon. She checked it for ammunition. It was loaded. Maggie placed the small gun within reach, before binding his ankles, knees and thighs with the tape. If he came around, he would have a very difficult time moving around. Working quickly, she got rid of the coarse blanket that had been her clothing for far too long. She put on his shirt and jeans. The pants were too big around, but his belt tightened them up enough to wear. The inseam was about right. She would have liked to have had shoes. But, this man's shoes were far too large. So, she took his socks and shoved them in the shirt pocket. She'd need something to protect her feet, if she had to run for it. In his jeans pockets, she found three extra loaded clips for the Walther, as well as car keys, an assortment of Spanish money, and a loaded hypodermic syringe with a plastic cover over the needle. She checked the necklace the man wore. On the chain was a Medic Alert emblem that stated, in English, that the man was a diabetic. She assumed, but couldn't prove that the syringe was full of insulin. She placed the syringe back in the jeans pocket. Maggie, then, telephoned the police. After giving them the barest of facts, she left the phone off the hook, in hopes that the circuit would stay open long enough to trace the call. She was about to leave the small room, when another of the men, this one a brown-eyed blonde, came in. Seeing her, he reached for the Uzi that he wore on a sling. The Walther was in her hand. "I wouldn't," she warned in English. "Drop it, gently, one hand, by the butt end. Then step away, over to the wall." The blonde complied. Maggie approached him. So swift that he couldn't block the blow, she kicked him in the abdomen. The blonde doubled over. A two fisted downward blow to the back of his neck took him to the floor, unconscious. Taking the tape and the scissors from her shirt pocket, she bound the blonde and taped his mouth shut, as she had the leader. Maggie rolled the man over and searched him. She found her passport on him. Pocketing the document, she continued her search. It was worth the time. He had a well balanced, extremely sharp, knife strapped to one ankle, and a loaded Ruger stainless steel Security Six .357 with a two inch barrel in a holster on the other. Maggie confiscated the cutlery, and the pistol.

Never having fired an Uzi, she left it behind, after pocketing the clip, ejecting the round from the chamber, and pocketing that round, as well. The situation was too dangerous for her not to be in full control of any firearms that she was carrying. But, she wasn't going to leave any loaded weapon behind. She made certain that the revolver had an empty chamber under the hammer before she shoved it into her jeans pocket. Then she pulled on the socks. Maggie left the room. Walking as quietly as she knew how, she made her way out of the building into the early morning sunshine. The building was obviously a farmhouse. Keeping the Walther in her hand, she made her way around the building, trying to get her bearings. There had been only four men that she had seen since she had gotten here. Two of those had been taken care of. If the leader had wanted her to make a telephone call, then one of the men had obviously gone somewhere to make those arrangements, probably in the same way that they had made them before by running Michael all over Madrid from pay phone to pay phone. That left one man unaccounted for. Had he gone with the other man to make the telephone calls? Without warning, Maggie was knocked to her knees by the impact of a bullet hitting the musculature of her left shoulder. Waves of nausea spread over her. The pain was almost too much for her to tolerate. She felt faint. Suddenly, she was face down on the ground. "I don't want to kill you, _Senorita_," the previously unaccounted for man, a wiry and dark man, said in rapid Spanish. "We don't get the rest of our money if you are killed by accident." "Only if I am killed on purpose, right?" Maggie asked cynically, in English. The dark haired man laughed. There was another loud thud of a suppressed weapon firing. Fire ripped through Maggie's left hip. "I guess that you aren't going anywhere, now," he said in English. "Put down the Walther. Then roll over." Maggie pretended to have passed out. The man walked over to her. He knelt down beside her and took the pistol from her purposefully limp right hand. He grabbed her by the right arm and swung her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The pain was fierce. Maggie found herself clinging onto her consciousness with all her might. All she knew was that she could not let him get her back into that

room. She would not go behind the locked door. She felt that if she ever went back behind that steel door that she would die. She could no longer fight the nausea she felt. The chocolate and churros were considerably less appetizing the second time around. The man unceremoniously dumped her on the ground while reviling her with curses. The jarring movement of landing on the ground was enough to make her head swim. The dark haired man began peeling off his soiled shirt with his back to her. Maggie went for the Ruger. She could hold it only with her right hand, her left being out of commission. Maggie cocked the pistol. She was trembling. "Put it down," she commanded in a weak tone, when the man turned around, his Uzi raised to fire. "Put it down, right now." "I should have killed you, while I had the chance," the dark man said in English, with a small smile. "Put down the Uzi, and step away from it. Move over there. Six foot from the gun. Sit down with your hands on the top of your head." Maggie's strong words were at odds with her weak voice. The dark man started to lower the weapon to the ground, then his finger moved too near the trigger for Maggie's peace of mind. She fired the Ruger. Her aim was less solid than she had anticipated. Instead of hitting his arm, the bullet went into the dark man's chest. With a shocked look on his face, he fell. There was no doubt in Maggie's mind that the man was dead. Maggie collapsed onto her right side, suddenly too weak to do anything except just lay there on the chilly Spanish soil. There was also no doubt in her mind that the man's death was justifiable. He would have killed her. Yet, even that knowledge did not make her feel any less sick at the thought that she had killed a person. Maggie knew that it would take her a very long time to come to terms with that. She knew that it would be a very long time before she could forget any of this. Maggie's eyes blurred. She was having a hard time staying focused. There was still, at least, one other man out there. She told herself that she had to stay sharp, that she had to maintain awareness, that to give in now would be to sign her death warrant. But, she was feeling progressively more disoriented as time went along. As the adrenaline began to wear off, Maggie was feeling more pain. She also knew that shock was beginning to set in. She was so cold. She needed to keep warm. Maggie looked over at the man whom she had shot. He had been wearing a

sheepskin-lined leather coat before she had thrown up on his shirt. Inch by painful inch, she pulled herself the several feet which distanced them. She checked him for a pulse, just to be on the safe side. Finding none, Maggie slowly pulled herself over to the where he had dropped the coat. She draped it over her left shoulder, then put her right arm into the sleeve. The sleeve was way too long. Maggie had the mental image of herself when she, at age five or six, had put on her father's overcoat. She had walked around the house, growling out orders in an imitation of her father. The General had been amused. He had picked her up and given her a ride on his broad shoulders. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh Daddy, I miss you," she said softly. "I've missed you too, baby girl," Maggie heard her father's voice. Startled, she looked up to see her father smiling down at her. He looked just as he had when she had been small. "Daddy?" Maggie croaked. "Baby girl." "Have you come for me?" Maggie asked. "Neither injury is a fatal wound. Trust me, baby girl. You will pull through this." "Hold me, Daddy." "I can't, baby. It isn't your time to join your mother and I. You fight now, baby girl. You have to fight for the things that you want. I know I taught you that." "Daddy." But, her father wasn't there any longer. The only sound in the early morning was the noise of a plane overhead. Maggie looked up. She looked again. There were several parachutes open, several men floating down. Maggie pulled her arm out of the sleeve. She grasped the gun again. She didn't know who the men were. But, she didn't like this one bit. She aimed the Ruger at the dark man who had landed less than ten feet from her. He had shrugged out of his chute. He wore civilian clothes as though they were an uniform. He was also armed.

"Don't take another step," Maggie ordered in Spanish. Ramon de Santiago looked down at her. "_Senorita_ O'Shay. We have come to rescue you," he said in English. Maggie began to laugh. She laughed until tears rolled down her face. "So, the cavalry has finally arrived. I hate to disillusion you, but, you are a bit late. There are two men inside the house. But, they are rather tied up at the moment, so there is no real hurry. They aren't going anywhere. Neither is he." She motioned over to the dead man. "I am Ramon de Santiago, _Senorita_ O'Shay," he said in English as he sat on the ground beside her. "Why don't you give me the gun?" Maggie kept the gun leveled on the man. Hunt knelt in front of her. "Maggie. Honey, give me the gun." Maggie shook her head. "I'm hallucinating." "No," Hunt told her. "You aren't hallucinating. I'm here, Maggie mine." The tears that had been under control began to flow again. "Isn't this just like a man?" she said. "Wait until all the work is done, then show up." "I'll try to do better, next time," Hunt pledged. "See that you do," she replied, pain lancing through her as she tried to move. "How badly are you hurt?" Hunt asked as he pulled the jacket away from her wounded arm. She looked up at him. "Please don't look at me. I'm a mess. I don't want you remembering me this way." Hunt blanched as he saw the extent of her injuries. She looked at him. "I love you, Hunter," she said. "I love you with all my soul." "We'll get you to a hospital, Maggie mine. They'll know how to help you there," he said reassuringly. "Don't look so worried, love. I'm not ready to die, yet," Maggie said gently. "The O'Shays are fighters, Hunter. We're especially fighters when we have something worth fighting for. I've got something worth fighting for."

Tears ran down Hunt's face. "Get that medic over here." Michael and John came over. Both of them sank down to the ground so that Maggie could see them. "How badly are you hit?" Michael demanded. "Daisy, how badly are you hit?" The image of the three men swam before her eyes just before everything went black. She slumped to the ground. "Maggie!" Hunt cried out in concern. He quickly checked her pulse. It was weak, shocky, but there. "Get that medic over here, now!" **** Part of the team remained behind to secure the area while Hunt, Michael, and John, along with the team's medic, flew Maggie to the hospital in a helicopter. -------*Chapter 13* Hunt, John, and Michael paced the waiting area at the hospital. It seemed as though Maggie had been in the operating theater for a very long time. In fact, she had been. There was a team of physicians in there with her. Whatever could be done for her would be done. They had been assured of that. Hunt had to hold onto that thought, he told himself in a vain effort to reassure himself. He was holding onto his composure only by the very thinnest of margins. She'd been shot twice. He didn't like the bruises on her face. The men had struck her. He didn't want to think about what else they might have done to her. Hunt was having a difficult enough time keeping his rage under control without thinking about that. The press had been alerted to the fact that Maggie had escaped. Yet, so far, thankfully, the press had not proven a problem. Michael's staff with Aggie's capable help was handling all the press queries. "I can't stand it," Hunt said quietly. "When are we going to hear something?" John looked at Hunt. "I'd like to get my hands on those men," Maggie's brother stated coldly. "Just ten minutes alone with them." "You're in line after me," Michael replied quietly. "What is taking the doctors so long?" Hunt asked, knowing it was a rhetorical

question. Ramon de Santiago walked into the room a few moments later. "Is there any news of _Senorita_ O'Shay?" "She's still in surgery," Hunt said, his voice flat. "What about the kidnappers?" Michael demanded. "The one who was their leader is dead. The medicos are examining him, now to determine the cause of death. It appears to have been natural causes. The one survivor says that the leader was the only one in contact with the people who hired them," Santiago told them. "He says that he was hired for two weeks. The pay for each of them was supposed to be $30,000 American dollars plus expenses." "Then, he has totally renounced the pretense of having been Basque?" John asked softly, too softly, in a voice Hunt recognized. It was the same voice that Maggie used when she was very angry. It was the voice that she had used when they had fought just before she had been taken. "He could hardly pretend to be Basque when all their passports, living or dead, say that they are Americans," Ramon said quietly. Hunt nodded "True. And he's not saying who hired them?" "He claims that he doesn't know." "What will happen to him?" John demanded. "He'll be tried. He's already confessed," Ramon stated. "He'll never be a problem to _Senorita_ O'Shay, again." Michael nodded. "That's good. If I ever see him near Daisy again, I'll kill him." "Maggie would probably beat you to it," Hunt replied quietly. Ramon de Santiago smiled slightly. "_Senorita_ O'Shay, of course, will not face charges in the death of the two men. This was clearly self-defense. The prosecutors see this the same way. I've already talked with them." Hunt smiled. "That is good news. Thank you." "I hope that you get more good news soon, _Senor_," Ramon said earnestly. "That is a woman of courage." Hunt nodded slightly and went over to stand beside the window, looking out of it,

unseeingly. Michael smiled at the official. "Thank you, _Senor_ de Santiago." But, it was several hours yet before they heard anything. A middle-aged doctor came to the waiting room. His English was heavily accented. "_Senor_ O'Shay?" "I am John O'Shay." "_Senor_, your sister is out of surgery. She had lost much blood. Fortunately, we had enough units of her type. We have reconstructed her hip. The recovery will be slow. She will have many physical therapy sessions after this has healed before she is able to walk again. She will always have a serious limp. The hip was not good, _Senor_. I do not want to be untruthful to you. We have had to pin it together. There will be another operation later to remove the pins once the bone has knitted together somewhat. She will be in traction for some time." "What about her shoulder?" Hunt asked. "_Senor_?" "I'm her fiance, _Senor_ Thomas," Hunt said in rapid Spanish. "What is the situation with her arm?" "We will have to keep a close watch on her arm. It does appear, however," the doctor spoke in his own language, "That the bullet missed most of the critical areas. There doesn't appear to have been any nerve damage, judging from involuntary reflexes. She will have a sizable scar. There's nothing to be done about that." "Scars are minor," Hunt dismissed in rapid Spanish. "As long as Maggie is going to recover, anything else is meaningless." The doctor smiled. "She will need all of the love and support that you can give her. This is not going to be an easy process for her. Her physical injuries are substantial. I suspect that her psychological scars will be just as painful. I understand that she was kidnapped." "Maggie will never lack support from me," Hunt pledged in Spanish. "_Senor_," the doctor said quietly, in Spanish, "It may be some measure of consolation to you, we examined your _novia_ thoroughly. She was not violated by the men who held her." Hunt breathed a sigh of relief.

"Will you please speak English?" Michael demanded irritably. "Sorry, Michael," Hunt apologized. "The doctor says that it looks like Maggie's arm is going to be all right. But, they will be keeping an eye on it, just to make sure. And she wasn't...." Hunt couldn't bring himself to use the word. "Used by those animals." "You are certain?" Michael asked the doctor firmly. The physician nodded positively. "I am certain. _Senorita_ O'Shay remains a virgin," the doctor said in stilted English. "I didn't think that an American women of her age would still be chaste." "Maggie is a strong Catholic," Hunt replied in Spanish, as if that comment would explain the situation. "Ah," the doctor commented. "_Senor_ Thomas, I will arrange for your fiancee to have round the clock, private, nursing care. There is an order of nuns who dedicate themselves to private duty nursing." "How long until I can take her home?" Michael asked. "_Senor_?" The doctor looked puzzled. "I'm her stepfather," Michael explained. "Maggie won't go back to your estate, Michael," Hunt said. "I can take better care of her than anyone else can," Michael replied. "My mother would contradict that," Hunt responded strongly. "Need I remind you that she almost died at your parent's Inn?" "No, you don't need to remind me of anything," Hunt said, angrily. "Not of anything, Michael." John smiled. "This doesn't have to be settled just now. The important thing is that Maggie is going to pull through this." Then John turned to the doctor, "When will we be able to see her?" "She's still under anesthesia at the moment. She will be fairly disoriented for some time. Tomorrow, she should be more aware of her surroundings."

"I'm staying with her, once she is taken to a room," Hunt said. No one even tried to talk him out of it. **** It was well into the evening when Maggie woke up. Hunt went to her bedside. "Hello, Sleeping Beauty," he said gently. "I thought that you were a dream," she said muzzily. "You are going to make it, Maggie." "Of course I am. Daddy told me that it wasn't my time, yet," she replied sleepily before she yawned and her eyes fluttered shut. Hunt looked at Maggie questioningly, but she was already back to sleep. **** Hunt was instantly awake when the door opened at three a.m. A male figure in a white coat came in. There was a stethoscope slung about his neck. Hunt sat watching him, from the chair in the dark corner of the room, without revealing his presence. When the man took a syringe from his pocket, Hunt sprang from the chair. Even in the low light of the room, Hunt could see that this "Doctor" was none other than the fake Carlos. The man, seeing Hunt, came after him wielding the syringe as a weapon. The fight, if you could call it that, was short. It consisted of the proverbial two blows: Hunt struck 'Carlos' and 'Carlos' hit the floor. Maggie did not stir. In fact, she didn't even awake when the police hauled 'Carlos' away, or when Michael's security guards began to keep a four-men-at-all-times, twenty-four hour watch on her. **** Sunlight streamed into the room by midmorning. Maggie came awake slowly as the pain medication waned. The first sight that she saw as she came awake was a nurse getting ready to inject pain medication into the IV line running into her right hand. "What are you giving me?" Maggie asked in rapid Spanish. "Morphine, for the pain," the young woman answered.

"No. I refuse morphine. If I need it, I'll ask," Maggie assured the nurse. "The doctor has ordered this medication to allow you relief from the pain so that you may rest, _Senorita_," the nurse countered. "You need to rest in order to recover. Medicated patients recover more rapidly." "I am refusing morphine. I do not want to be that groggy," she replied in rapid Spanish. "It is essential that I remain conscious." Hunt had come to stand beside her bed. Maggie looked at Hunt. There was a pleading look in her eye. "No morphine, Hunt. I'd rather be in pain than to be whacked out on narcotics for the duration. This pain is not so bad that I have to have that much help in handling it. Please, Hunt?" Maggie practically begged in English. Hunt smiled at Maggie. "Are you sure, sweetheart?" "Just do as I ask, please?" Maggie whispered, obviously in pain from the pinched look on her face. Hunt looked at the nurse. "She has refused the morphine. It is her right to refuse any medication." "The doctor will not like this," the young nurse warned. "Tough," Maggie muttered in English. The nurse smiled a puzzled smile, then she placed a plastic cover back on the needle. Putting the syringe back on the medications tray, she shook her head and said quietly, "_Senorita,_ you either have more courage than most, or you are extremely foolish." Maggie smiled at the nurse. "I am, probably, both." "The doctor will be in to see you shortly, _Senorita_." "Now, why did that sound more like a threat than a promise?" Maggie asked dryly. Hunt laughed in relief. "Glad to see you back, Maggie mine. We were worried about you." Maggie closed her eyes briefly. Then she looked at him, tenderly. "I love you, Hunt." He smiled at her. "Maggie...."

"How bad was the shoulder?" "Not horrible. You are going to have a scar." "Nerve damage?" "The doctor doesn't think so." "How is the hip?" Maggie asked tightly. "Not good. You are going to be bedridden and in traction for several weeks as the hip knits. There will be another operation to remove the steel pins that are holding your hip back together. They were able to reconstruct it. Then there will be a long period of physical therapy to regain the mobility." "But I will walk again?" Maggie questioned. "I'm not going to spend the rest of my life in a chair?" "You are going to have to work at regaining your ability, Maggie. It won't be fun. It's going to be a lot of hard, painful, work. If you won't do it, you will never walk again. And there is the possibility that you will always have a limp, even if you do regain your mobility." Maggie closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. "Okay. I can live with that. Thanks for being straight with me." "I don't ever want to be less than straight with you," Hunt said quietly. "You've been here all night?" Hunt nodded tightly as he wondered if he should tell her about the attempt on her life. "Go back to your hotel, Hunt. Get some sleep," she said gently. "Maggie...." he began hesitantly. "Michael has arranged security for you until the rest of the members of the group who abducted you are taken." "Is that really necessary? Surely, it is over?" "No. There was another attempt on your life last night, or early this morning, rather." Maggie drew a steadying breath. "Tell me about it?"

And he did. "The syringe," Hunt continued, "Contained a lethal dose of heroin." Maggie shuddered. "I wonder why they just didn't kill me straight out and get it over with. The man whom I shot said something about their not getting paid if I died accidentally." Hunt touched her face gingerly. When he spoke, it was hesitantly, "You've got quite a shiner there. I could kill them for hurting you." "You're a little late, there." "Maggie...." Hunt said. "They didn't rape me, Hunt," she assured him. "I know," he told her gently. "The doctor told me that." "Oh," she said. "You want to talk about it, Maggie?" "I was alone. I saw them only when they wanted me to write that letter, make the phone call, and when they brought my meals." "The police will want to talk with you. Are you up to talking with them?" "I think that I want to rest a while. I'm very tired," Maggie replied. Hunt leaned over her and kissed her lightly. "Then, rest, Maggie mine, I'll be here when you wake up." **** It was noon before Maggie awoke. A nurse brought in a tray for her. While she had been asleep, they had disconnected her from the IV that had been hydrating her. Maggie looked at the beef broth, fruit flavored gelatin, sherbet, and coffee. Even that meager food looked good to her. **** The police came, took her statement, and went. Maggie napped again. But, like always, when she awoke, Hunt was there. He had changed clothes and had shaven. "You could spoil a girl," Maggie said.

"Nah, you're already rotten," Hunt replied teasingly. Maggie laughed softly. "Gee, with friends like you, who needs enemies?" Hunt smiled at her. He sighed. "I've got a registered letter for you, Maggie. It's from Guy Faulks." Maggie nodded slightly. "Probably putting me on extended leave. It's company policy." He handed her the letter. "You want me to open it for you?" "Please." Maggie watched as Hunt took the little pocketknife she had tucked up his sleeve in the van and opened the letter. He removed the letter from the envelope and unfolded the two-page document. He quickly scanned it, frowning. "Well?" Hunt grimaced. "You've been removed from your position and put on extended medical leave without pay. But, the company insurance policy will continue to pay your medical bills. Someone named William McNaught has been named to fill your job." "Bill McNaught is a good man. He'll do a fine job. He was my deputy in London. The job probably should have been his to begin with," Maggie said. "This doesn't bother you?" "It's business, Hunt. Faulks can hardly sit dead in the water while I am recuperating, can it? I wish that they hadn't put the leave on a 'without pay' basis. But, I understand that. I'm going to have to look for another job when I am back on my feet." "There won't be a position for you at Faulks?" "Possibly not. Probably not. With this not having been a political kidnapping, but an action against me, personally, I've become a liability to the company." "The fact that it was not a political action has not been released to the media. The police are keeping that quiet while they are trying to track down the rest of the people involved in your kidnapping."

"Oh," Maggie said, surprised. "I guess that I can understand that." Hunt cleared his throat. "Do you have any idea what you want to do now that you aren't in pharmaceuticals?" "I really don't know." "Marry me, Maggie, I can arrange it with the Spanish authorities. I'm sure that we can get a priest in." Maggie shook her head. Even that movement worsened the pain in her shoulder. "No, Hunt. It wouldn't be fair to you. I think it would be better if you and I parted ways now." Hunt looked at her in disbelief. "You told me that you love me." "I do love you, Hunt," she told him, fighting the tears which threatened, refusing to give in to them. "I love you too much to see you hurt. When they pushed you out of the van, I thought that I would die from the pain. Then when they fired that Uzi in your direction, I knew that I would die from the pain of having been the cause of your death. Hunt, I can't be responsible for your safety. If whoever is after me were to really hurt you, I would never forgive myself. Please understand that." He took his white linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears from her face. "Maggie, sweetheart. Please don't overreact to this. We are not in a normal situation." "I don't know why I thought that I could stand a chance of living a normal life, of having a marriage and a family. Someone out there wants me dead. He, she, or they, just tried to publicly ruin Michael by putting me in a situation where he would either have to be painted as a heartless man who would let his stepdaughter die or, just as politically damaging, as a hypocrite who speaks out of both sides of his mouth where terrorism is concerned. They've killed Jarod, killed how many of the men who were hired to protect me, and given you injuries that could have been much worse. I am not giving them another chance to get you," Maggie said. Hunt smiled at her. "No one is going to get me. I've increased my personal and business security several fold during the last week. Besides, you have no proof that this is the same person behind the kidnapping was responsible for the tampering of your brakes." "Don't patronize me, Hunt. They could have killed you. I know that I saw them shoot at you after they kicked you out of the van." "If they had wanted me dead, I would have been dead by now."

He wasn't going to tell her about the 9mm hole in the shoulder of his dinner jacket. That wasn't anything that she needed to know, just now. **** Maggie fought a shudder as the image of Hunt lying dead along the side of a Spanish motorway became sharp within her mind. As she shuddered, a shaft of pain hit her. "I'm safe, Maggie mine. You are a little worse for wear, but you are going to be all right." Maggie looked at Hunt with pain in her eyes. "That man early this morning, the one with the heroin, he could have killed you when you stopped him." "He would have killed you, if I hadn't." Maggie nodded slightly. "I know," she said on a sigh. "What makes you think that it is the same person responsible for all this?" Hunt asked. "Well, I would really hate to think that I've angered two different people to the point of murder," Maggie answered. "I know that I can be abrasive at times, but this is ridiculous." "I see your point, Maggie mine. But, Michael and his security people are reasonably certain that the man behind Jarod's death was acting out of an obsession with you, an Eros mania, if you will." Maggie sighed. "Having looked in the mirror practically every day of my life, I have a difficult time understanding that." "I don't," Hunt told her quietly, intensely. "Really, Hunt...." she dismissed. "Really, Maggie." "Back to the reason that I think that it is the same person responsible. I've just got a 'gut feeling' about this," Maggie said. "I really can't explain it any more than that." "I'm not going to discount your 'gut feeling', Maggie. Let's assume the worst: that we are looking at one or more conspirators who are plotting harm to you. We can beat him/her/them at their own game, Maggie mine."

Maggie looked at him with questions in her eyes. "If you, out of concern or fear for me, break the engagement, you will be giving him/her/them exactly what he wants: to separate you from others, to make you more vulnerable to his next attack," Hunt said, reasonably. Maggie closed her eyes. She sighed. "I see your point," she said. "Am I being unreasonable for worrying about your safety?" "Oh, Maggie. It does my heart good to think that you care about me that much. I'm not going to push you. But, I wish that you would reconsider marrying me soon." Maggie smiled at him. "Michael used to loudly wish that I would someday find a man just as stubborn as I am." Hunt smiled broadly. "We are quite a pair, you know." Maggie laughed. "I know. All right, Hunt. Make the arrangements." **** From her hospital bed -- with her brother, John, sister-in-law, Emily, stepfather, Michael, stepfather's wife, Susan, Natalie and Chuck Ferra, Danielle Faulks and her grandfather, Guy, and Hunt's parents, Hank and Helen Thomas, as witnesses -Maggie took the solemn vows by which she became Mrs. Hunter Thomas. Michael popped the cork from an excellent bottle of Spanish sparkling wine after the priest pronounced the nuptial blessing. Maggie allowed herself one glass of the bubbly. That indulgence meant that she would not be able to allow herself the option of taking a pain pill for several hours, until the alcohol was all gone from her system. Not, that Maggie frequently gave into the pain, but she found from time to time that her tolerance for the pain was considerably less than it was at other times. She only hoped that her wedding day would not be one of those times. Natalie had brought her a beautiful white satin and lace nightgown and coordinating bed jacket which Maggie worn for the ceremony along with a mantilla of the same lace that was on the gown and jacket. Guy stood beside her bed. "Maggie, thank you for inviting me." "How could I exclude you? You are almost like an uncle to me. Dani, Natty, and I were so close as teenagers. I wanted both Dani and Natty here. They would have both been upset if I had not invited you, as well." Guy nodded tightly. "I understand. By the way, you were right about young Matt

Stern. He's been discharged. We caught him with his hand in the till." "I would be so good in that position," Maggie said ruefully. Guy nodded agreeably. "You would have been. But, we can't hold it open for you. Sorry." Maggie smiled sadly. "I'm going to miss Faulks." "The business won't be the same without you, either," Guy said. "I understand your position, Guy. I want you to know that." "Thank you," Guy said. "But, I definitely want my pay for the vacation, sick leave, and personal leave that I have coming. And I do expect the company's insurance policy to pick up my medical expenses." Guy laughed. "That's the old Margaret. Now I know that you are going to recover." Michael's beautiful, raven-haired, wife, Susan, walked over to the bed. "Talking business on your wedding day," she chided. "For pity's sake, Guy, don't you have more sense than to wear the poor girl out." Guy smiled tightly at his half-brother's wife. "Just as beautiful and charming as ever, Susan," he replied with a trace of sarcasm in his voice. Susan smiled at Guy. "Now, Guy ... Why don't we try to be nice to one another, for a change?" Guy looked at Susan, with distaste written clearly on his face. "Probably because we neither one can stand one another," he replied quietly, coldly. "Gracious," Susan said, disdainfully. "Just as diplomatic as ever, aren't you?" "How is the election looking?" Guy asked, sidestepping Susan's disdain. "Looks good," Susan answered with a smile. "Michael and I will have to get back to the States soon. The nomination has been secured. Barring any more public relations disasters, Michael should easily become the next President of the United States." Natalie bristled at her aunt's tone as she walked up to the bed. "The kidnapping wasn't Maggie's fault. Besides, you can't buy the level of publicity Michael got out of the coverage. He came out of this looking pretty good."

"Well, at least some good came out of it," Maggie said dryly. Natalie turned red. "You know that I didn't mean it that way." Maggie reached up with her right hand to take Natty's right hand. "I know, Natty. How is that precious baby?" "Just fine." "Remember, I want to be the godmother," Maggie reminded her. "Of course," Natty assured her as Guy and Susan walked off in separate directions. "I wouldn't dream of asking anyone else." "Good." "Leave it to you, Magpie, to have one of the most unique weddings in the history of the world," Natalie said quietly. "You know me," Maggie replied. "Don't mind Susan. She's always been a cat," Danielle said as she came to stand beside her shorter, and just as blond, cousin. "I learned a long time ago to disregard Susan. I think that it is amazing that people don't see through her," Maggie said quietly. "I do know what you mean," Natty replied. Maggie sighed. "You're getting awfully tired, aren't you?" Natty asked. "Yes." "All right, people. Magpie won't ask you to leave. But, she is still recovering. Let's all make our good-byes so that she can rest," Danielle said, pitching her voice loud enough to be heard by all the guests. Maggie looked at her long-time friend. With the exception of the fact that Dani was about thirty years too young to hold a position as responsible as the one which she held, she was every inch the proper headmistress of an exclusive girls' school. Tall, slender, regal, elegant, charming, commanding, authoritative. There were some people who would have called Dani Faulks by considerably less flattering terms. "Thanks, Dani."

"You rest. I expect you and Hunt to come to see me in when you are on your feet. Palm Beach is such a nice area. It will be a good vacation for you. I certainly have the room for guests," Dani replied gently. "Rest now. I'll be back tomorrow before I have to go to the airport." "Thank you for coming, Dani." "I wouldn't have missed it," Dani said firmly, her periwinkle eyes sparkling. "You concentrate on getting well." In less than two minutes, everyone except Hunt had made their good-byes and had left. "Alone, at last," Hunt teased. "This isn't exactly the way that I had imagined spending my wedding night," Maggie said ruefully. Hunt laughed. "We've got years ahead of us, sweetheart. Don't worry about it. There will be plenty of time for us once you get back on your feet." "I love you, Hunter Alexander Thomas." "The feeling is quite mutual, Margaret Mary O'Shay Thomas." **** Later that night in the city of Madrid, a disguised, voice spoke into a public telephone, "You blew it, badly." "We are going to make another try tomorrow." "Forget it. You're fired. I'm handling this myself from now on. Your money is in the Grand Cayman bank we agreed on. Leave Spain quickly. The police are on to you." Then the caller hung up the telephone and walked away, making plans to rid the world of Maggie O'Shay, once and for all. Only now, it would be more difficult with Hunter Thomas in the way. But, that wasn't an insurmountable obstacle. The pair of them would simply have to be eliminated in some sort of joint accident. Preferably one which took out a host of others as well, in order to eliminate further suspicion. -------*Chapter 14*

In the long weeks of hospitalization that had been their marriage to date, Hunt had not once missed spending a day with her. He had been there on her good days, on her bad days, on the days that she had simply wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He had brought her a small electronic keyboard, one of the better ones made, for her to use once her shoulder had healed enough to move the arm without much pain. He had insisted that she play for him. He had brought her manuscript pads and had encouraged her to write down her music. And always there were flowers, both cut and potted. At times, she thought that her room might as well have been a florist shop. Oddly enough, the potted plants seemed to thrive under Hunt's care. Maggie thought that was some special gift. Of course, houseplants tended to commit suicide when they saw Maggie coming. If Hunt had a green thumb, then hers was strictly brown. "How do you keep them looking so good?" Maggie had asked quietly one morning when Hunt was watering the plants. "It isn't hard, Maggie mine. Plants are like people. You just have to find out what they need and then you give it to them," Hunt had replied. Maggie still mulled that one over. Hunt had continued, "When I was a little boy, my grandfather and I spent summers, and some Christmas vacations, in his greenhouse. Being around plants makes me remember him. You would have liked him, Maggie mine. He was a grand gentleman. How would you feel about being married to a man who spent all of his time puttering around with plants?" "If it makes you happy, it is fine with me," Maggie told him honestly. Hunt had smiled at her. "Would you miss living in a big city?" "Do you have any idea which general area you'd like to settle into?" Maggie had asked quietly. "That's really a decision that we can take some time to make. When you get back on your feet, we can get a RV and take a long drive through the country. Kind of a belated honeymoon. Then if we find someplace that we really love, we can settle there," Hunt suggested. "And if we don't find someplace which we love?" Maggie asked, fascinated by the whimsy in Hunt's voice. This was another side of her husband, the hard-nosed businessman. He had only smiled at her. "We will. It may take a while, but we will find someplace

to settle and put down roots." "This is quite a change in lifestyle, Hunt," Maggie said. "I told you that I was ready to settle down, put down roots, and raise kids. What did you think that I meant?" Hunt asked. "I guess that I didn't expect that you would be giving up your business." "I don't want to be an absentee husband and father, Maggie mine. You and our children, if we ever have any, will always take top priority in my life from now on," he pledged. Maggie smiled at him. "Hunt, what did I ever do to deserve you?" "Whatever it was, it must have been horrible," he teased. "_Hunt!_" "When we were kids, Maggie mine, we moved around regularly. Did you ever long for a home, a real home?" Hunt asked. Maggie nodded. "And a best friend whom I had known since kindergarten, and a big oak tree with a tree house and a rope swing ... A dog and three cats. Now, there are old, almost forgotten, longings. I used to think it would have been nice to live in a big white Victorian house with turrets and a wrap around front porch featuring an old-fashioned porch swing. The house would have a big front parlor where I would have my grand piano. The parlor would close off from the rest of the house with these big, sliding, pocket doors. The house would also sit on land with a big hill that would be good for sledding in the winter. I used to fantasize about families who could say, 'Yes, Grandpa built this house for Grandma as a wedding present.' Pretty dumb fantasies for a sixth generation military brat." Hunt smiled at her. "I don't think so. In fact, they are fairly close to mine. Only, I wanted several acres of land with extensive greenhouses and gardens along with the big house, tree house, pets, and best friend." "Big dreams, Hunt." "Not that big, Maggie mine. We could make some of them come true for our children." "Do you really think that we could settle down in a small town to a 'normal' life?" Maggie asked wistfully. "Honey, we can do anything that we want to do."

Maggie had laughed. "You almost make me believe it." "Believe it." "I just have a hard time envisioning this." "I'm not going to force you to stay at home, if you are more comfortable working," Hunt said quietly. Maggie smiled. "You've never forced me to do anything, Hunt. But, if you are going to be puttering around in your acres of greenhouses, someone had better be marketing your produce and running the business end of things, don't you think?" Hunt laughed. "Oh, Maggie mine, I do love you so." "Words are cheap, love." "Wait until you are back on your feet, Maggie mine," he told her quietly, firmly, with a broad smile. "Wait until you are back on your feet." "I'm working on it," she told him. "I know. And you are doing a wonderful job of it. Keep up the good work." **** Now that she would be leaving the hospital, she found herself growing nervous. The nervousness stemmed from more than the knowledge that the person who had been ultimately responsible for her being shot was still out there, somewhere, waiting for another chance. Soon, the barriers would be down between her and Hunt. Soon, it would just be the two of them. And that made her more nervous than the threat of having to deal with a gunman. Doubts assaulted her about her ability to be the kind of wife whom Hunt needed. Certainly, marriage to her was not the safest action he could have taken. If there was really someone out there who wanted her dead, Hunt could easily end up as a victim. That prospect continued to frighten her. She wondered if they shouldn't take Hunt's mother and father up on the offer of one of the suites at their Inn, at least until she was stronger. But, Hunt had ruled that out because of the lack of security at his parent's Inn. Besides, he had told her with mischief in his eyes, when he took her to the Inn again, he wanted her on her feet so that he could race her down the ski slope where she had defeated him the last time. Hunt was probably right, she decided. Michael's estate would probably be the

safest place for them, just now. Truthfully, she found it profoundly ironic that the one place in the world safest for her was the place where the first attempt on her life had been made. She had said that she would never return to Michael's estate. Maggie supposed that this would teach her not to say 'Never'. Michael and Susan, if they weren't out gathering votes, would be spending most of their time in Washington. Michael had told Hunt that she and Hunt might as well use the place in Virginia, since it would be standing empty, except for staff most of the time. But, what had sold Hunt on landing there while Maggie got back on her feet was that Michael's estate would be more secure than almost any other place that he could think of. The fact that Michael's home featured an indoor pool, a sauna and hot tub, a fully equipped weight room, and a judo practice room, was merely incidental. Also incidental was the fact that Hunt thought that Maggie needed to lay a few ghosts to rest before she would be really ready to pick up her life. Maggie smoothed down the fabric of her dress. She had lost weight since she had last worn it. Her hair had grown out slightly from the hacked up mess the kidnappers had left it. Time and the efforts of a good hairdresser had worked wonders. The pins were now out of her hip. The stitches from the second operation had been removed today. There was a lot of healing to be done, yet. But, Maggie felt hopeful. Maggie had been given a booklet containing the exercises the physical therapists had decided were necessary for her to regain the full use of her left leg. Hunt walked into the room, all smiles. "Well, your hospital bills are all paid, Mrs. Thomas. Are you ready to go?" Maggie stood up, leaning heavily on her new cane. "I'm ready, darling." Hunt smiled at her. "We'll fly to London, lay over there for a few days, then return stateside, if that is all right with you. I thought that you might want to spend some time with your brother." "One of these days, Hunter Alexander, I am going to wake up and find that you are a figment of my imagination." "A nightmare, perhaps?" he teased shamelessly. "Don't fish for compliments, husband." He walked over to her. Hunt's arms went around her. He held her tightly. "There was a time that I doubted that I would ever hold you again," he said in a tortured voice. "Come on, let's get out of here."

**** Hunt's London penthouse apartment was just as she had remembered it. Hunt picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He put her down on the king-sized bed. "You rest now. I'll go make us some lunch. Then we'll do your exercises." "Hunt?" He smiled at her. "Rest now, Maggie mine. You are more tired than you think that you are." **** Maggie was asleep when he returned with a tray containing their lunch. Hunt set the silver tray on the night table. Then he stretched out beside her, rolled onto his side, and just looked at her for the longest time. Maggie awoke slowly with the sensation of being watched. She opened her eyes. A broad smile crossed her face. "How long have you been lying there?" "A minute. an hour. a century. I don't know...." he told her quietly. Maggie reached out to him. Hunt took her hand. "Come on, I made us a cold lunch. Sandwiches, salad, fruit. You need to eat," Hunt said gently. Maggie smiled at him. "I love you, Hunt." He kissed her lightly on the mouth. "I love you, Maggie mine. Being patient is one of the hardest things that I've ever done. But, you still need time to finish healing. You aren't physically ready to be a wife to me. So, I'm going to take our lunch into the dining room, out of the way of temptation. Then I'll be back to escort you in." Maggie smiled at the back of her swiftly retreating husband. Then she followed him, leaning heavily on the beautifully sturdy ebony cane he had bought for her. **** John and an obviously pregnant Emily arrived at dinner time. Maggie had decided after her thirty minutes of grueling therapy, that she would help with dinner. Hunt wasn't too happy at the prospect of Maggie doing anything besides resting. But, he gave in. Maggie had peeled and chopped vegetables for the soup. She had shaped the dinner rolls Hunt had made and kneaded in his mixer. She

had also filled and frosted the Black Forest cake for dessert. And they had talked about things in general. This dinner preparation time had been very companionable. Maggie was exhausted by the time that dinner was over. And Emily was showing signs of weariness herself. So, John took his wife home shortly after dinner. Maggie walked to the bedroom, leaning heavily on the cane. She gathered her night things and went into the bathroom. "What I wouldn't give for a bath," Maggie muttered. "Don't even think about it, Maggie mine," Hunt replied from the doorway. "In a few more days, when the stitches have healed up, then you can have a long hot bath. Do you need any help washing up?" Maggie turned to her husband. "I think that I can manage, Hunt. Thank you." Hunt nodded tightly. "All right. I'll just be out here, if you need me. I'll change the dressing when you are ready for bed." **** Five days cooped up in his London apartment, with Hunt sleeping in the guest room, were about all she could take, about all either of them could take. So, Hunt made the arrangements to fly to Virginia. **** Maggie slept for most of the overseas flight from London to New York. They made it through customs without incident. But, trying to get from customs to the gate for the charter flight that would be taking them to the airstrip on Michael's estate was another matter. Hunt had wanted her to use a wheelchair, but she had refused. Still, one of the bodyguards pushed the offending chair, waiting for her to need it. The press descended on them en masse. "Mrs. Thomas, how does it feel to be back home?" Maggie smiled at them. "If I kissed the ground, I'd never get back up," she replied easily. "What do you think of your stepfather's stand on terrorism?" Maggie's face became hard. "I agree with it. We can not give in to terrorism.

Terrorists must be stopped, and stopped hard. Terrorist actions are acts of war, and must be treated accordingly." "How do you feel about the way that your stepfather handled the negotiations with the kidnappers?" "I was unaware that there were any negotiations with the scum," Maggie replied sharply. "I do know that they were trying to manipulate Michael and Hunt and my brother, John. And I also know the three mule-headed men in my life well enough to know that the more that they are pushed, the more resolved they become not to be pushed further. One and all, they are all line drawers. Each of them will be patient with a situation only so far and no further." Hunt cleared his throat menacingly. "Look, my wife has only just gotten out of the hospital a few days ago. She shouldn't be standing for prolonged periods." "Excuse me, gentlemen and ladies. I believe the boss has spoken." "Are you going to campaign for your stepfather?" a reporter asked as Hunt and Maggie walked away. Maggie turned around slightly. "You know, he hasn't asked me to," she said. "Michael has my full and unconditional support. I strongly believe that he is the best candidate from those currently in the field. Now, please excuse me, I am really very weary. I must go." When Maggie turned, to walk away, her left leg nearly went out from under her. Hunt steadied her, then picked her up. He walked away with her cradled in his arms. That picture made the newspapers and television broadcasts. -------*Chapter 15* When Maggie and Hunt arrived at Michael's estate, they were allowed through the gate by the armed guards. Reaching the main house, both Maggie and Hunt were surprised to find Michael and Susan at home. Michael met them at the car. "I thought that you'd be in Iowa or someplace pressing the flesh," Maggie said teasingly. "There was no place that I would have rather been than right here, just now, thank you," Michael told her gruffly. "Welcome home, Daisy."

Maggie was blinking back tears. "There were times, recently, when I doubted that I would ever see this place again," she said. "I can't tell you want it really means to be back." Hunt wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Maggie needs to take a rest," he said firmly. "Of course," Susan said graciously. "Come with me, I'll show you to your suite. I've put you in the south wing in the gold suite." Maggie nodded. "That will be just fine, Susan. Thank you." "It's nothing," her stepfather's wife replied easily. No, Maggie thought cynically, it is nothing. Unless things had changed drastically, the gold suite was an apartment to itself. There was a kitchen, an intimate dining room, a utility room with washer and dryer, two bedrooms each with their own bath, and a living room. It was about as far as a person could get from the main part of the house without going out of doors. Of course, one advantage was that the gold suite was just across the hall from the swimming pool, and sat on the far side of the weight room. All of the athletic facilities in the house were in the south wing on the main floor. So, maybe this placement wasn't an intentional slur. Maybe, Susan wanted to make my rehabilitation that much easier, Maggie thought. But, she couldn't help but remember the comments that Susan had once made about a foreign dignitary who had come to do some bit of extended business with Michael. "Oh," Susan had said, "We'll put him in the gold suite. He'll feel like he has been accorded a special honor. And I'll feel much better by having him out from under foot." **** The rest that Hunt urged Maggie to take never materialized. Instead, she spent almost an hour in the weight room. The hospital stay had weakened her more than she had thought. She knew that her stamina was way down. She knew that she was sleeping far more than she ever had. But, she hadn't realized that she could no longer do a hundred reps of a simple arm curl with a ten-pound dumbbell. Maggie had been hurting after thirty repetitions of that exercise. And that had been with her good arm. She barely got ten reps out of her wounded arm. Yes, she was definitely more out of shape than she had imagined that she would have been. Hunt walked into the weight room when she was doing side leg lifts, working on her left hip, with a two pound weight band strapped on her left ankle. "You're going to

hurt yourself, Maggie mine." Maggie just nodded. "I know what I am doing Hunt. I'm not going to strain anything. But, I've got to get back in shape. I don't like feeling this lethargic. And I hate feeling like a cripple." Hunt nodded tightly. "At least, let me be around while you are working on this. I'd hate the thought of you hurting yourself with no one around." "Believe me, I'd hate the thought of my hurting myself whether anyone was around or not," Maggie replied mischievously. "Maggie...." "All right Hunt. I won't work out in here by myself any more. Happy?" "Happier." "Good...." Maggie looked at the clock which hung over the door. "We will be expected for dinner in an hour or so. We probably should get ready." **** Dinner was, as usual at Michael's table, excellent. Francois Du Mont had come to work for Michael when Maggie had been thirteen. There had never been a bad meal served in the house since. But, tonight, Francois had surpassed himself. All of Maggie's absolute favorite foods were served. Maggie found herself with a real appetite. "Francois has outdone himself, this time," Maggie said quietly after the chocolate/bourbon/pecan torte was served. Michael laughed. "It's good to see you eat again, Daisy." "So, how's the campaign really going?" Michael nodded affirmatively. "It isn't as close of a race as I had thought that it would be." "The press has been asking whether I'll be campaigning for you," Maggie said. Michael looked at Hunt, then at Maggie. "I don't think that would be a very good idea, just now. Your primary concern should be getting your strength back," he said gently. "All right," Maggie questioned with narrowed eyes, "What aren't you all telling me?"

Hunt sighed. "There's been another threat delivered against your life, Maggie mine. That's one of the reasons that we are here." "Why didn't you tell me?" Maggie demanded. "What kind of threat? How was it delivered?" "Michael's Capitol Hill office got a fax containing a photograph of you sleeping in the room of the house where you were held in Spain. The caption on the picture said 'It isn't over. She's a dead woman. Anyone who gets in our way will be dead, too'," Susan said. "I was in the office working when it came in." "When was this?" "Two weeks ago," Michael said tightly. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" Maggie asked. Hunt took his wife's hand. "Maggie mine, we didn't want to worry you." "Who would have had access to your fax number?" Maggie questioned. "Anyone who could read. I published the number," Michael said. "It is a fax line for the convenience of my constituents." "I can't imagine the mountain of paper which you must have in your office from all those unsolicited faxes," Maggie said with a small laugh. Michael smiled at her. "Thanks to Susan, I've got a preprocessor hooked up to the line. It's a computer with a fax card, two very large hard drives, and a tape back up. The computer intercepts the faxes, checks for sizes, and stores only the first two pages. It also stores the telephone number from which the call was placed. So, if a staff member wants to look at the rest of the fax, he can call back and request a retransmission on a different line. A staff member browses through the faxes, logs the responses, and prints only the ones that need my attention. That way, I minimize the amount of waste paper. Only whoever sent this one was a reasonably skilled hacker. He replaced the telephone number with (000) 123-4567." Maggie sighed. "We shouldn't underestimate these people," she said. "But, you should have told me. You really should have. Please don't keep me in the dark. I have a right to know." Hunt tightened his grasp on his wife's hand. "We just didn't want to worry you, Maggie mine." Maggie smiled and shook her head. "I appreciate the fact that you want to keep me

safe. But, please don't treat me like I was either the village simpleton or an old maid likely to succumb to vapors if given bad news." Susan looked at her seriously. "If we hadn't been told by the doctors that you were still a virgin, we might have been more concerned by the picture. Although, that news did surprise me." Maggie turned white, then red. She didn't miss the looks which Michael and Hunt gave the other woman. "You want to explain that, Hunt?" she asked quietly. "The photo showed you, lying on a blanket, eyes closed, naked with a knife to your throat," he told her painfully. "You don't remember that picture being taken?" Maggie shuddered. "No," she answered tightly. "They probably came in while I was asleep. You know how I am when I conk out." Hunt smiled at her. "Yes, sweetheart. Heaven help anyone who needed to get you awake after you fell asleep." Maggie finished her coffee. "Well," she said firmly, "I hate to be a wet blanket on this little party. However, I am extremely tired. Please excuse me." "I'll be in shortly," Hunt said as he let go of her hand. "All right. Good night, Michael, Susan. I'll see you in the morning?" Michael nodded. "We'll be leaving about noon for a campaign trip. We won't be back for a week or so." Maggie nodded. "Then I'll see you in the morning." **** But sleep didn't come at all. Maggie, finally tired of being awake in the darkness of her lonely bedroom, rose and went into the kitchen. As she had suspected, the cabinets and refrigerator were completely stocked. She found a gallon jug of milk, some sugar, cocoa powder, vanilla, and a bag of miniature marshmallows. She had just put the chocolate mixture on to heat when Hunt walked in, knotting the belt of his short terry robe around him. "Is there enough for two?" Maggie nodded, as she took another heavy mug from the cabinet. "Sure. You can't sleep, either?"

"I'm a light sleeper, Maggie mine. I heard you out here," he told her quietly. "I didn't make much noise." "One of us needs to be a light sleeper," he said. Maggie sat down at the small oak table. "You want to make sure that the cocoa doesn't scorch, please?" Hunt nodded and moved over to the stove. "Are you mad at me?" "No," she replied wearily after a long moment of introspection. "Not really." "It embarrassed you that Susan was so frank at the dinner table." "That's a rather personal thing to be bandied about like that," Maggie said softly. "The doctors had to know if you would need treatment for any one of a number of STDs. We were all relieved to find that the men hadn't forced themselves on you, Maggie mine," Hunt told her gently. Maggie covered her face with her hands. She forced herself to draw several deep breaths to calm herself down. It was all Hunt could do not to step over to her and wrap his arms around her, to tell her that it was all right to give into the anger and pain that she felt. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge she definitely would not appreciate it. Maggie wasn't ready yet to confront what had happened to her. It tore him up watching her put on a brave front all the time. Frankly, he found himself wanting to strangle Michael and her father and brother for teaching her that this was the only way to handle pain: to pick up her life and ignore it. A few minutes later, he poured the steaming cocoa into the marshmallow-lined mugs. "Here you are," Hunt said gently. "Thanks. I'm sorry to wake you up." "Don't be sorry. I'm here for you, whenever you need me, Maggie mine." "Did you see the picture on the fax?" she asked hesitantly. "No," Hunt said. "I didn't want to. I knew that it would make me too angry. The description made me angry enough." Maggie nodded. "I can understand that." Then she looked at him searchingly, the pain that he had so rarely seen in her eyes back, now in force. "Would it have made

any difference to the way that you felt about me, if...." Maggie couldn't finish the sentence. She looked down at her cup of cocoa. Her face crumpled. Tears began to fall freely. Great wracking sobs came from her. She never knew when Hunt swept her from the chair and carried her to the sofa in the living room, she was so absorbed in the misery she had carried around for too long. Gradually, she became aware of Hunt's strong arms around her, holding her firmly but gently, of his voice speaking comforting words to her, telling her that it was all right to cry, telling her that he would make certain that she was never hurt again. "Feel better, now?" Hunt asked gently, as he wiped the tears from her face. "Actually, my head hurts, my eyes are burning, and my throat feels like sandpaper," she replied lightly. "I want to crawl in a hole somewhere and pull the hole in after me." Hunt nodded. "I know. I've been waiting for you to drop those formidable walls of yours. They were holding in more pain than they were letting out." Maggie was quiet for a long time as she snuggled into his arms and nuzzled her head into his shoulder. "Have I really been that closed off?" she asked lightly as she looked at him. "Oh, Maggie mine," Hunt practically whispered. "You've had a lot on your mind lately. You've dealt with it the best way that you knew how to deal with it." "But, I hurt you by closing you off," she said. "I knew that you'd open up eventually," he said quietly, just before he lightly kissed her forehead. "Or at least, I hoped that you would." Maggie pulled Hunt's head down. She kissed him. He returned the kiss. Long moments later, he gently held her away from him. "You aren't well enough, Maggie," he told her reluctantly. Maggie laughed softly. "Will you just stop telling me how I feel?" she demanded quietly. "And please stop making decisions for us without consulting me. I am half this family, in case you have forgotten." Hunt smiled at her. This sounded more like the old Maggie. He hugged her tightly. She pulled herself from his arms and stood. Holding out her right hand to him, she said gently, "I'm going to bed, Hunter. Will you join me?" Hunt reached out and took her hand. He stood looking at her for a long moment.

"Baby, are you sure?" Maggie nodded mutely. **** Hunt sat up in the early morning light with his back against the headboard of the bed just looking at his wife who lay beside him. He knew that he would never grow tired of looking at her. Maggie stirred. "Good morning," she said with a blush staining her cheeks. "You haven't slept that long," Hunt said gently. "Why don't you try to get some more sleep." Maggie shook her head negatively. "Michael is leaving today. I ought to spend some time with him. After he and Susan have gone, we can come back to the bed." Hunt smiled at her, broadly. Maggie blushed even brighter. "Hunt!" she protested quietly. "That wasn't what I meant." "Pity," he teased, just before he kissed her hard on the mouth. "How's your hip?" "Don't worry about it. The doctor said that I was supposed to work it." "Somehow, I doubt that this was what he meant." Maggie laughed. "I love you, Hunt." "I doubt that I will ever grow tired of hearing that." "I hope not, husband." "A physiotherapist will be here starting tomorrow to put you through the exercises several times a day," Hunt told her. "Do you think that is necessary?" Hunt smiled. "Probably not. But, Michael had already made the arrangements. He's worried about you. This is something that he wants to do for you." "Then, how can I refuse?" "Come on, beautiful. Out of bed, if you want to get out of bed today."

She smiled at him. "We can catch up on our sleep later, love." Hunt rose from bed. Maggie lay there looking at his nude form as he went into the bathroom. She heard the bath water run. "Do you still want to take a bath?" Hunt asked from the bathroom doorway. "Sounds heavenly. That tub is pretty big, as I recall. Want to join me?" "Wanton," Hunt charged with a laugh as he crossed over to her, apparently completely comfortable with his nakedness. "It's amazing, the things that I am learning about myself," she replied with a smile. "Heaven forbid that I should be standing in the way of self-discovery." Maggie smiled as she rose from the bed and stood before her husband. She wrapped her arms around him. "Who said that you were standing in the way of anything, Hunt?" -------*Chapter 16* Hunt and Maggie walked into the formal living room to find Susan and Michael there. Michael was reading a report of one of his election consultants. Susan was drinking a cup of coffee and reading a computer journal. "Good morning," Maggie said, announcing their arrival. Michael looked at them. Maggie was leaning on Hunt's arm instead of walking with a cane. He smiled. Susan also looked up. Something like concern flashed in her eyes, but only momentarily. "It's Louis' day off. We've been waiting breakfast for you. Do you still like the Swiss Almond Chocolate coffee which you used to be so fond of, Margaret?" Maggie smiled. "I'm surprised that you remember." "I actually have a very good memory, Margaret. Shall we adjourn to the dining room? Breakfast will be ready in a matter of minutes," Susan urged as she rose from the sofa.

**** Hunt, Maggie, and Michael sat around the table talking. Smells of cooking bacon drifted into the room from the kitchen. Susan brought in a big platter of waffles and a pitcher of warm maple syrup. "I'll have the bacon and coffee in just a few minutes," Michael's wife said quietly. After Susan returned to the kitchen, Hunt followed her, to lend a hand and to give Maggie a couple of minutes alone with her stepfather. Walking into the kitchen, Hunt saw Susan begin to pour a glass container of a solution into a small silver coffee pot. "What is that?" Hunt asked. Susan turned around rapidly, shooting him an angry look. She tried to hide the vial behind her back. Hunt crossed the room to her. He pulled her arm out from behind her back. The vial was unlabelled. "What is this?" he demanded harshly. Susan placed the vial on the counter before she struck out at him. He blocked the blow. "Michael!" Hunt yelled. Susan struck at him again and again. But, her ineffectual blows bounced off of him. "What is going on here?" Michael thundered from the doorway. "She was putting something into Maggie's coffee," Hunt said as he took several steps back from the woman. He no longer trusted himself not to be violent with anyone trying to harm Maggie. "The vial is on the counter." Michael looked at his wife, then he looked at the vial on the counter. "What is in the vial, Susan Elizabeth?" Michael demanded. Hunt watched Susan cringe at her husband's tone. "I have no idea. The first I saw of it was when he took it out of his pocket." Michael tensed. "You are lying, Susan."

"What's going on?" Maggie asked from just behind Michael. "Your husband is trying to break up my marriage," Susan accused loudly. Maggie squeezed around Michael. She limped to Hunt. "Darling?" "I stopped Susan from putting the contents of that vial into your coffee," Hunt informed her. "What vial?" Maggie asked. "This one," Susan said firmly as she picked up the vial. Susan looked at each of their faces. Then, before anyone could stop her, she drank almost the entire contents. Michael crossed the room to his wife and knocked the nearly empty vial from her hand, sending the glass to the quarry tile floor. "What was in that vial?" he demanded, grabbing her arms. "What was in that vial?" he repeated, shaking her. "Tell me!" "Thallium, in an aqueous suspension," Susan replied. Her wild laughter chilled Maggie to the bone. Hunt looked at a very pale Maggie. "Maggie mine?" he asked. Maggie's eyes remained fixed on Susan. "Why, Susan? Why have you done this to yourself?" Susan turned her head to look at Maggie. The pure hatred Maggie had often felt coming from Susan, in a masked form, was there in Susan's face for everyone to read clearly. "This was meant for you. But, since that nosy husband of yours was making a stink about this, I knew that I my future was gone. Now, I just don't have to watch the years go by from a prison cell. Now, Michael will still have a chance to be elected. Think of the sympathy vote. 'Poor man', the average voter will think, 'his wife died after a lingering illness.'" "You know that there is no antidote? The dose is lethal?" "It was calculated to be. And since you are taller than I am, even though I didn't get all of it down, it should do the job," Susan replied coldly. Michael let go of his wife as the import of her words sank in. "You've just committed suicide?" he asked, sounding bewildered. "And you were going to murder Daisy? Why?" "Why?" Susan answered, her voice high, nearly hysterically. "Why? She's a threat

to our marriage. As long as she is around, you are never going to give our marriage the kind of dedication that it deserves. She reminds you too much of her mother. You sent her away once because you couldn't stand to be around her after her mother died. Her pretty face reminded you too much of the woman whom you loved. If she had been of age, you would have married her when her mother died. You've never really loved me, not like you should have. "_And it is her fault!_ Because _you_ are hung up on her. That's why I tried to kill her years ago. But, she's got more luck than a cat. Her musician boyfriend was the one who died. And I really messed up when I hired those men to kidnap her. I should have briefed them more thoroughly about her abilities. I should have had them kill her straight off, then send the message to the papers." Hunt steadied Maggie. Michael looked at his wife in stunned disbelief. "Oh, Susan," Maggie said sadly. "I'd love to be able to hate you for this. But, I can only feel sorry for you." Tears fell from Maggie's eyes. "Do you know the kind of horrible death that you are going to face?" Susan nodded tightly. "But, at least, I won't face charges and public humiliation. Of the two, this is the lesser evil," the older woman said. Then she rushed from the room. Michael started to follow her. Then he stopped, sat down at the kitchen table. Maggie crossed the room, leaning on Hunt's arm, and took a seat at the table. She took Michael's hand. Her stepfather looked at her. For the first time that Maggie could remember, Michael looked every one of his sixty-nine-years, and then some. "Daisy...." he said painfully. "How long does she have?" "Weeks, maybe. That poison works on the musculature, if I am remembering correctly. She'll be in a lot of pain. She'll lose her hair. And eventually, there'll be paralysis, coma, and death. It's a horrible death. I can't believe that she is doing this to herself. I can't believe that she wanted to do that to me," Maggie said. Michael looked at her with horror on his face. He shook his head. "Oh, Daisy. What have I done to you?" "You aren't responsible for her actions," Hunt told Maggie's stepfather. Michael looked at Maggie. "Are you certain about the poison?" "I might be wrong about the symptoms. Poisons aren't my strong suit. But, I do

know that thallium is a delayed action poison for which there is no antidote. Thallium! God's mercy!" Michael's eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry for the pain that she caused you, Daisy dear." "You aren't responsible for her actions, Michael," Hunt said again. "In spite of what she said, I really did love her," Michael said. "She isn't responsible for her actions. She's more than a little crazy, Michael," Maggie said quietly. "And the penalty she's given herself is much worse than any which a court would have imposed on her." Michael's face crumpled. Maggie scooted her chair over to sit beside her stepfather. Her arms went around him. He buried his face on her right shoulder and wept freely for a long time. Hunt stood behind his wife, lightly stroking her hair as Maggie allowed her stepfather to work out his grief. **** When Michael had composed himself, more than a half-hour after Susan had left the kitchen, the Senator had gone in search of his wife. But, he hadn't been able to find her. She wasn't in their suite. She wasn't anywhere that she normally would have been found. Michael called down to the gate to see if she had left the grounds. But, she hadn't. The stable hands hadn't seen her. While Michael was searching for Susan, Hunt and Maggie cleared away from the uneaten meal. They had just gotten the dishes loaded into the dishwasher when Michael appeared at the door. "Will you help me find Susan?" he asked in a near panic. "She's still on the grounds. But, no one has seen her." So, Michael and Hunt went room to room throughout the upper floors of the house looking for her, while Maggie searched the rooms on the ground level. By the time that Maggie got to the south wing, Michael and Hunt had joined her. Susan wasn't in the weight room. She wasn't in the dojo. Maggie shrieked as she spotted a bikini clad Susan on the bottom of the deep end of the pool. Hunt beat Michael into the pool. They pulled Susan's body up from the ten-foot bottom. Getting her on the pool deck, they began to administer CPR and Rescue breathing.

While Hunt and Michael were trying to revive Susan, Maggie found Susan's suicide note. She folded it, and tore it into more pieces than a nun with infinite patience could have reconstructed. Then she took it to the shower room, burned it, and flushed the ashes from the note down the john. "This is an accident," Maggie said quietly when she returned to where Michael and Hunt were trying to revive Susan on the pool deck. "An unfortunate accident. Susan never was much of a swimmer. But, she wanted to be able to join you, Michael, for your morning swims. So, without telling you, she had taken to working out alone in order to develop her skills. And today, her luck ran out. She drowned." Maggie looked at her stepfather. "Do you understand, Michael? No one needs to know about Susan. No one needs to know what she has done. It's better this way. A scandal just now would serve no purpose and would ruin your political career. And the truth would mean that I would face charges because I just destroyed evidence from a crime scene." Michael nodded. "You had better call emergency services then," he said wearily. "Susan drowned. It was a horrible accident." **** The county medical examiner was an old friend of Michael's family. He came himself when the call came in. The man took one look at the body and pronounced the cause of death as drowning and that there was no need for an autopsy. The police took all of their statements. The story was that they had eaten breakfast together, Susan had excused herself leaving Maggie, Hunt, and Michael to talk. After about a half-hour, they went to look for Susan, hadn't found her, called around the estate, and then found her at the bottom of the pool. It wasn't long until the press was clamoring at the gate. Michael, Hunt, and Maggie went down to the gate to face the reporters. "Are you withdrawing from the race?" a reporter asked. Michael smiled sadly. "This election was something that my wife wanted for me. It would be untrue to her memory to withdraw now. I have postponed my plans for the campaign tour that was to have begun today. And I will be making no campaign stops for a week or so, in order to give me some time to begin to work through my grief. At the moment, this all seems less than totally real." "Have funeral plans been made?" another reporter wanted to know. Michael looked pained. The photograph of that expression made the papers. "Susan was a Presbyterian. Her memorial service will be according to the form of her faith,

and it will be private. She wanted to be cremated. That will be done. I owe it to her to abide by her wishes." **** Returning from the gate, Michael excused himself and went to his room. Maggie took Hunt's arm. She kissed his cheek. "It's over," she said quietly. "My long nightmare is over." Hunt nodded. "Now, you can get on with the rest of your life." "Now, we can get on with the rest of our life. As soon as I am on my feet, we have some traveling to do." Hunt smiled at his wife. "I think that we've both had enough excitement to last a lifetime or two. I'm ready to settle down someplace quiet and raise orchids and kids." Maggie looked at her husband questioningly. "Do you really think that anyplace where we would settle would be quiet for long?" He laughed quietly. "Now, you wouldn't want life to be boring, would you?" "Somehow, I don't believe that you and I will ever have that problem." Hunt laughed as he urged his wife toward the south wing of the house and toward their suite. -- THE END -----------------------Visit www.fictionworks.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.