Maggie's Man (25 page)

She still looked the same, she thought. Tiny,
too thin. But then, maybe she was just slender. Her ankles were delicate, her
calves nicely rounded, her thighs supple. Her waist was very narrow, her
breasts small, but high and firm. And she had alabaster skin, she decided
abruptly. Not pasty-white.
Alabaster.

She perused the collection of bottled
toiletries lined up around the sink and finally discovered a little bottle of
lotion. With a spurt of resolution, she dumped out the rich cream and began
massaging the carnation-scented lotion into her skin. Next, she plugged in the
hair dryer and attacked her hair.

Fifteen minutes later, she stood still naked,
but her skin glowed now, supple and satiny. And her fiery red hair cascaded
down her body in rich ripples, falling from her widow's peak to her navel with
warm, crackling life.

She spent five minutes washing out her clothes
with shampoo and hanging them over a small radiator. Then she squared her
shoulders, adjusted her hair over her shoulders and breasts as a flaming veil
and decided if her great-great-great-grandmother could do it, so could she.

She stood in front of the door, took one last
deep breath and strode naked into the tiny room.

Cain was sitting in a tiny, wicker chair by the
window, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle.
He didn't look up as she entered; he didn't turn. She took another step toward
him, her hair brushing her hips. Then another.

And realized that the object of her ardor had
fallen asleep.

His chin was nestled on his chest, his face
clearly lined with fatigue. In the past twenty hours, he'd slept only three and
it showed.

She bent down beside him and simply watched him
for a moment. He looked so unbelievably dear she didn't have the heart to wake
him.

The new improved Maggie. More self-confident,
still no audience.

She stroked his hand lightly, but he still
didn't wake. There was only one thing left to do.

Half an hour later, after attacking her clothes
with the hair dryer and pulling them on, she slid out the front door.

Cain's eyes cracked open at the sound of the
door clicking shut. He stared at the closed door for a moment, blinking.

"Maggie?" he called out.

No answer. His head turned slowly to the
bathroom.

Door open, lights off, room empty. The fatigue
crashed down on him hard, his shoulders finally bowing beneath the strain.

He could only shake his head in the cool,
silent room.

"You promised," he whispered.
"Maggie, you promised."

Six-thirty a.m.

In Beaverton, Joel Epstein's phone started
ringing and the junior officer fumbled for the receiver. He'd fallen asleep
only an hour ago and he had too much on his mind to sleep well anyway.

"Officer Epstein?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is Captain James. We got a lead on
the Cannon case. I thought you'd want to be the first to know."

"Yes, sir!"

Captain James was succinct. Two kids had been pulled
over in Bend in a stolen vehicle and had been identified as suspects in a
recent convenience store holdup. Looking for bargaining chips, the young couple
claimed they hadn't really stolen the truck, but had taken it from another man
and his tiny, red-haired companion. The police were pretty sure the second
couple was Cain Cannon and his hostage, Maggie Ferringer.

The APB had just been updated in Bend with the
license plate of a gray hatchback car the kids had abandoned in favor of Cain's
truck. All police in the area were now on the lookout for that vehicle. When
they found it, they would most likely find Cain.

"I would like to go to Bend, sir,"
Joel said immediately. His heart was pounding in his chest. Sometimes he
remembered playing the saxophone in the smoky clubs with Cain and Kathy smiling
at him from the audience, clapping their hands as the notes got high and sweet.
But mostly he remembered the morgue, identifying his sister's body, and
realizing for the first time what kind of man Cain truly was. And just what
he'd done to Joel's sister.

Captain James hesitated. Joel understood that.
The department would like to keep him uninvolved, given his emotional ties.

"Captain," Joel said in a steady
voice, "we both know I have leave due to me."

The captain sighed, knowing at his age there
was no point spitting in the wind. "Take your leave," he said.
"Go to Bend, but not with your badge. And don't do anything stupid."

"Thank you, sir."

Joel hung up quickly. He hesitated one moment,
then dialed a new number he'd been given just ten hours earlier. He should keep
the information confidential, but then he knew too well what it was like to
want to protect your sister. And he didn't want someone else to be too late for
their sister, as he'd been too late for his.

"Brandon Ferringer,
please." A two-second pause. "Brandon? This is Joel Epstein. I have a
lead on Cannon. We're going to Bend."

Chapter 11

«
^
»

M
aggie
banged open the motel room with her hip, juggling three plastic grocery sacks
and one bulky coat. Dawn was just beginning to lighten a lavender sky and
triumph already stained her cheeks.

She stumbled over the slight step and half
tumbled into the room, a crinkling blur of plastic bags and giddy smiles. The
coat fell off her arm, but was embraced comfortably by the carpet. The rest of
the bags she held out with a flourish.

Cain wasn't sleeping in the chair as she'd
expected, but stood in the middle of the room with a single white towel wrapped
around his lean flanks. His blond hair was damp from a recent shower and
moisture still beaded his smooth chest. His face was curiously bland and
guarded.

"I did it!" she declared and shook
her bags of supplies. One fell open and a box of granola bars went tumbling to
the floor.

Cain simply stared at her, his green eyes
perfectly flat.

She decided more explanation was in order.
"I wasn't tired at all," she burst out in a rush. "So I thought,
why not take care of everything now and save us a bit of time in the morning? I
dialed the operator from the pay phone in the lobby and convinced her to hail a
cab for poor stranded me. Then I got the driver—his name is Barney and he has
three daughters, one of whom he swears looks just like me—to take me to a
twenty-four-hour convenience store. Barney helped me pick out granola bars,
orange juice, bananas and bagels. They didn't carry much in the way of clothes,
but the man had some hunting supplies so I also got a thermos, a pocketknife, a
canvas bag, two T-shirts saying Burns, Oregon—Been There, Done That. And
then—" her smile grew huge "—my piece
de résistance
—a hunting
jacket."

She dropped the three bags in favor of the
camouflage jacket, which she scooped up off the floor. "They only carried
it in extra large, but Barney says the extra room is good so you can wear
layers beneath it. Can you believe he didn't even charge me for the time in the
store? He's such a nice man. I got his address so I can send him a thank-you
card when this is all over."

She draped the jacket over the bed and surveyed
her trophies once more with a satisfied nod of her head. Her cheeks remained
flushed, and her blue eyes unbelievably brilliant. At last she settled her
hands on her hips and declared in a very smug voice, "Not even C.J.
could've done it better. Hah!"

She grinned at Cain, who still hadn't moved.
His face hadn't changed, either.

"You shouldn't have done this," he
said abruptly.

"What?" The roses faded from her
cheeks. She stared at him, genuinely puzzled.

"You didn't need to do all this,
Maggie," he said levelly. "I'm not one of your lost causes."

She scowled at him immediately, her hackles
rising. "And you're welcome," she snapped back. "Now go back to
bed and don't get up again until you've found your manners!" Wow, she
sounded just like Lydia when she said that. She resumed smiling, feeling
ridiculously proud of herself.

Cain did not appear amused. "I told
you—"

She gave up, throwing her hands up in the air.
"What is wrong with you? I did a good thing here, I know I did. We have to
have supplies. We'll save so much time now and—"

"What
we?"
he gritted out
abruptly, his voice uncharacteristically tight. "There is no
we.
There is
me,
the escaped felon, and
you
the hostage, but there is
no
we."

She looked at him, and for the first time some
of the wind left her sails. She studied his face, searching for some sign to
tell her where she'd gone awry. She'd been so sure he'd be delighted. She'd
gone so far as to imagine him scooping her up in his arms and telling her she
was so wonderful, so perfect, a true blessing/angel/godsend. She'd thought he
might at least smile and say, "Thank you, Maggie. That was very smart
thinking."

"I thought…" Her voice sounded so
weak, so faint. She took a deeper breath. "I thought we were a little
beyond that captor-hostage thing," she said at last.

"Why? Because of last night?"

"Last night? Cain, that was three hours
ago."

He didn't even look ashamed. He simply shook his
head and said in a hard, relentless voice, "I told you at the time,
Maggie, that there were ground rules. I told you that you wouldn't own me, that
you couldn't adopt me or save me, or any of that—"

"No!" she cried, his words hurting
her horribly. She didn't crumple, though; she jabbed her finger at him and
fought back vehemently. "You told me I couldn't own you, but now you're
trying to own
me.
You're telling me how to think, how to feel. What I
should expect, how I should act. Well, you can't do that. I'm helping you and
you're just gonna have to suffer through it, mister. And I'm not leaving and
you're going to have to suffer through that as well!"

"You don't even know anything about
me!" he exclaimed sharply.

"I know what I need to know."

"And what is that, Maggie?"

Her face was more troubled. "That you're a
good person, intelligent and levelheaded. That you don't usually yell at me.
That
generally
you treat me like an intelligent human being who's
capable of making her own decisions and strong enough to bear the consequences.
That you respect me, that you think I have a big heart and that … that you find
me attractive just as I am." Her voice faded away. She could no longer
look at him. Instead she studied the rug, her hands knotted before her.

Cain was silent for a long time. Not moving,
not speaking, just standing there. She finally risked a glance. His face was no
longer blank, but troubled.

"I thought you'd left," he said
abruptly.

"I did. I went to the store."

"No. I mean I thought you had
left,
as in you were never coming back."

Her eyes widened. "Cain," she said
softly, "I gave you my word."

"I know." He looked at the ceiling.
"I know. But I thought you had left anyway, and it bothered me, Maggie. It
really … bothered me. I … I don't want to be bothered by such things." He
peered at her through squinted eyes, his blond hair waving over his brow.
"Can you understand that?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Cain,
I—"

"Maggie, you've never asked about the
murder."

"I don't need to."

"You can be that sure?"

"Yes," she told him honestly.

Her faith didn't seem to make him proud,
though, or soften him, or touch him. Instead, he was abruptly shaking his head
as if that proved she was a fool, and that hurt her tender feelings all over
again.

"You think I'm so naive then?" she
asked through an unbearably thick throat. "That it proves I'm
stupid?"

"I wasn't going to s—"

"No, but you were thinking it. You were
thinking, how can this tiny woman with her big ol' generous heart be so
gullible? It's not like you're the first person who's thought that, Cain. And …
and dammit, I refuse to apologize or defend or change. I trust people, all
right? I go through life assuming the best about everyone, so there. Just sue
me.

"And I've spent twenty-four hours in your
company and I do
not
believe you are capable of murder. You didn't hurt
the guard, you didn't hurt me. You are one of the most even-tempered people I
know—the thought of you committing a rash crime of passion is frankly
ludicrous. And then there's the simple matter that I asked you and you said no.
You said
no.
I believe you, Cain. You can think I'm stupid if it makes
you feel better, but I believe you anyway—"

"I don't think you're stupid."

"Are you so sure about that?" She
refused to be so easily mollified. Instead, she stood five feet away from him,
her fingers clenched into fists, her body stiff and her open face filled with
hurt.