CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Beth said, trying to scuttle away from him. MacGowan was cursing, yanking off his shirt and t-shirt so that he sat there, his ankles still bound, bare-chested and furious.

“Move your hand down so I can look at it.”

“I don’t think so.” She kept her hands cradled against her chest. “It’ll stop bleeding in a moment. And if you’re trying to distract me by your magnificent physique you can put your shirt back on. You’re not my type.”

They both knew that was lie, but he didn’t call her on it. “I’m going to use my t-shirt for a bandage.”

“Now that’s just stupid. Mine is already stained.” Dumb, dumb, dumb, she thought the moment the words were out of her mouth.

“You’re right. Now put out your goddamned hands and show me how badly you stabbed yourself. I warned you!”

“Yes, you did. I can’t help it if my fingers were numb.” She held out her wrists, looking at the slash across her palm. It looked as if the blood was slowing, though she couldn’t be sure.

He cut the rope deftly, and her arms fell apart. Her muscles were burning, so painful she barely managed to stifle her cry. “It’ll pass in a moment,” he said, and to her astonishment he put his hands on her shoulders, kneading them, moving down her arms with gentle, circular motions, moving the blood back through her starved muscles. “The cut doesn’t look too bad, but we’ll need to bandage it to keep from leaving a trail.” He glanced over at Dylan, who was watching all this with his eyes bugging out. “We’ll use your t-shirt,” he said, and before she realized what he was doing he’d taken the knife and sliced it open, leaving her sitting there in her pale pink bra. And thank God for that, she thought.

She tried to pull the remnants of the shirt off her body, but he stopped her, forcing her to wait while he slowly peeled it down her arms. It looked as if the bleeding had almost stopped, but he carefully avoided the gash, pulling the ripped shirt from her body.

She watched him, bemused, as he tore the white knit, and within a few short minutes she had a very serviceable white bandage over her hand. He tossed her his own shirt. “Put this on.”

She didn’t want to. It no longer held his body heat, thank God, but she knew it would smell like his skin. Touching her, surrounding her, embracing her. She had no choice. He helped her pull it over her head, his hand brushing her breast, but he said nothing and neither did she.

Dylan astonished her when MacGowan ripped off the duct tape. She’d been so certain his first word would be “dude” that she would have put good money on it. She was wrong.

“What the hell?” he said hoarsely.

“Be quiet.” MacGowan made quick work of the ropes that bound him, then leaned over to look out the window. “There are people down there. Tourists, it looks like, and the guy who met us is trying to argue with them. We could climb out the window if they weren’t standing there …” He pushed the window open a crack, and then moved back, and she sensed a subtle change in the way he held himself. “We’re good. They’re going to go into the restaurant. We’ll climb down the porch roof and get the hell out of here before they even know we’re gone.”

Beth leaned over to peer out, brushing against him. Down in the alleyway the man was arguing with two surprisingly tall Asian tourists, businessmen in matching dark suits, carrying cameras, speaking in Japanese and gesturing excitedly. One of them had odd, crimson hair, but apart from that they looked almost boringly normal.

“You don’t know those men, do you?” she asked doubtfully.

“I recognize Taka, though I don’t know who the other one is. They could help me take Leon and his pals, but I don’t want to risk any of you getting hurt again.” He hauled Dylan up from the chair. “Come on, cowboy. You first.”

He was right – the red-haired man had moved into the restaurant, refusing to understand Leon’s protests, and the other man followed, pushing Leon in front of him.

“Now,” MacGowan said, and shoved Dylan out onto the narrow porch roof. “You next, Beth.”

He’d stopped calling her Sister Beth. She wasn’t sure why. After their night together he knew better than anyone how close to celibate she was, and if anything she’d been afraid he’d mock her even more. He’d said nothing in front of Dylan, thank God, and with luck he wouldn’t. It was always possible the man had some sense of decency and discretion. Possible, but not likely.

The tiles felt loose beneath her feet when she followed Dylan, but she moved carefully, even as her flip-flops slid around her feet. When she got home she was going to spend thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars on shoes, and never look at a damned flip-flop again.

Dylan was waiting for her at the far end by the leaning wall and Beth followed him, with MacGowan close on her trail. The drop was about twelve feet to the pavement, and she’d probably break an ankle if he made her jump. There were discarded cardboard boxes nearby, and it was always possible she could hit them if she leapt far enough. She looked at MacGowan but he’d already moved past her, and before she realized what he was doing he’d jumped down, as light as a cat, landing on his feet like a gymnast performing a perfect dismount.

“How the hell did you do that?” she whispered.

“Practice.” He held out his arms. “Jump.”

She didn’t move. Throwing herself into his arms was the last thing on her agenda, probably because it was exactly what she wanted to do so badly. “If you can make it I can.”

Dylan was already sitting on the edge of the roof, his long legs dangling, and in the next moment he was over, landing with a graceless sprawl next to MacGowan, but a moment later he was on his feet, trying to regain his teenaged dignity.

“You’ve got a bad hand.” MacGowan was managing to control his temper, but just barely. “Get the fuck down here. I’ll catch you.”

She ignored him, sitting on the roof where Dylan had, preparing to leap, but she’d underestimated MacGowan’s determination and his height. His hands clamped around her ankles and he yanked, pulling her off and into his arms.

He staggered beneath her weight but didn’t go down, which annoyed her. He held her for just a second longer than he needed to, though she wasn’t sure whether it was as a punishment or relief, and then he dumped her on her feet.

The tourists were blocking the door and any sight of the escapees, both of them arguing in very bad French spoken with heavy Japanese accents. Beth couldn’t understand a word they were saying, but MacGowan paused, listening intently, then gave a little nod. “The two of you,” he said. “Get in there.”

“There” was a narrow space between the building looming overhead and the restaurant, with barely enough room to stand up.

“Why?”

“So I can help Taka and his friend deal with this little problem and find out exactly what they wanted.” He gave her a shove toward the narrow passageway, but she dug in her heels.

“And what if you don’t happen to succeed? Dylan and I will be perfect targets for them. I think we should get the hell out of here. You’ve done your duty, gotten us to Europe, and …”

He paid no attention, shoving her into the narrow passageway. “My job’s not done yet, and I’m not letting you run out without paying the bounty,” he said. “Besides, it’s too fucking dangerous. Dylan, keep her quiet.”

Dylan sidled into the alleyway in front of her obediently enough. “Dude,” he said. “You sure we’re going to be all right?”

MacGowan actually grinned, the heartless bastard. He was enjoying this, though she wasn’t sure why. Whether it was the chance to push her around, or the adrenaline rush of facing down his captors, but either way she didn’t give a damn. She turned her face away from him, looking down to the end of the passageway, wondering if that small movement was a rat. If he failed he was dead and they’d follow suit, but he wasn’t listening and she was tired of fighting. “Go kill yourself then,” she snapped.

But he was already gone.

She could hear the voices from within the crumbling brick wall, the French unintelligible given the various accents. And then the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle, furniture crashing, and she shivered.

“What’s up with you two?” Dylan asked suddenly.

She’d be so busy concentrating on what was going on beyond the blank wall that it took her a moment to focus. “What?”

“I said what’s up between you and MacGowan? You been bumping uglies?”

“Ewww,” Beth said at the really horrid picture it evoked. “Absolutely not.” At least, not the way Dylan had phrased it.

“Sure looks like it. He looks at you like he’s starving and you’re a six-course banquet. Dude, he wants you bad. Don’t you know that?”

“No, I don’t.” Did he? After the debacle of last night?

“And you’re just as bad. Like you want to jump his bones if you could only figure out how to do it. Trust me, all you have to do is ask.”

“Thanks for the advice,” she said wryly. “In the meantime …” She heard the shots, a volley of them, and she froze. Beyond the thick wall she heard the muffled cry. MacGowan’s name, shouted in a voice filled with shock.

She knew. There was no other explanation. MacGowan didn’t have a gun and they did. He was dead.

Sun was beating down overhead, slicing through the narrow pocket, which meant it must be around noon. He died at noon, she thought numbly. And she and Dylan would be soon to follow.

It wasn’t as if she cared. She was sorry about Dylan – he was too young to die. But all she could think of was MacGowan, separated from her by the thick, unfeeling wall, bleeding out on the floor of that filthy café.

He was dead, and she didn’t want to live. It was that simple. Surely she was way too smart to have fallen in love with him. It was gratitude that he’d rescued her, a normal reaction to his strength. And god, without the beard he was freaking gorgeous, which didn’t help. It was no wonder that she’d been crushing on him. No wonder she’d grieve his death.

All reasonable. It didn’t explain the aching despair, the blank emptiness that filled her. She could feel the hot tears pouring down her face, and she pressed it against the stone. MacGowan, you stupid bastard, she thought. Why did you have to go and get yourself killed? I care about you.

Care about you. Stupid phrase. She knew the truth, and right then the least she could do for the man who’d died protecting her was to admit it. She was stupidly, idiotically in love with him. He didn’t deserve it, she was smart enough to know better, but all the rationalization in the world didn’t help. It simply was.

The low murmur of voices was getting louder, but it was just background noise to the despair that filled her. The stone wall was rough beneath her cheek, and she realized she had her hands up against it, trying to scratch her way through. Her hand was bleeding again, but she didn’t care.

She heard Dylan’s voice, asking her a question, but it didn’t sink in. If she stayed in this strange, despairing fugue state she’d be all right. If she had to emerge it would be unbearable. She couldn’t face the pain that reality would bring. He was dead, and there was nothing left.

She was vaguely aware of Dylan moving, more light coming in the narrow passageway. And then it darkened again, as someone took Dylan’s place, and a hand clamped down on her arm.

She tried to pull away, filled with panic as the truth started to sink in, hitting at the inexorable hands, hitting at the voice that tried to break through. He caught her again, pulling her, and her hands scraped against the wall as she was hauled out into the sunlight to die.

“Jesus, MacGowan, what did you do to her?” A voice came from a distance, elegant and coolly formal. “I thought you were supposed to be so good with women.”

“Back off, Taka,” a familiar voice snarled from beside her. “She’s had a tough few days.”

She turned in disbelief. It was MacGowan all right, in one piece, blood streaming from his forehead.

She didn’t throw herself in his arms, weeping. She was stronger than that. She straightened, reaching out for the cut. “You’re not dead.” Even her voice sounded reasonably calm, despite the pained rasp in it. “Were you shot?”

He shook his head. The blood had matted in his long hair, adding one more color to the black and silver, brown and sun-bleached. “Piece of the stone wall ricocheted when a bullet hit. What’s wrong with you?”

He was looking at her too closely, and she averted her face, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears on her face. “Nothing,” she said firmly. She looked at the door to the café, now closed, and she didn’t want to ask. “Who are your friends?”

“You don’t need to know,” he said, looking at her oddly out of those flint-gray eyes. “Why were you crying?”

Shit, of course he’d noticed. He noticed everything. She straightened her back. “I thought I was going to die.” That was a reasonable cause for crying, wasn’t it?

“You aren’t usually such a pussy.”

It startled a laugh out of her, the anguish that had been strangling her slowly loosening its hold. He was all right, nothing would kill him. “Shut up, MacGowan,” she snapped. “Everyone’s allowed a moment of weakness.”

A car was coming down the narrow alleyway, moving slowly, and she glanced up to see the flame-haired young tourist pulling up in the sedan, climbing out with indecent energy.

“GPS coordinates are set,” he said in perfect if formal English. “Food in the backseat, blankets, change of clothing.”(

“We’ll see these two back to their homes,” the more conventional-looking man said. “You’re better off alone.”

“No,” MacGowan said abruptly. Then he laughed. “At least, it’s up to them. You ready to go back home, kid?”

Dylan shook his head. “Don’t have a home to go to. I’ll stick with you and Sister Beth.”

MacGowan glanced at Beth, a question in his eyes, and she knew she should say no, jump for safety with the two faux-tourists who’d doubtless take excellent care of her. Why did MacGowan even give her the choice? Didn’t he want to get rid of her?(Dylan’s words came back to her. “He looks at you like he’s a starving man and you’re a six-course meal.”

Her heart, already shredding, was going to get destroyed if she stayed with him. But she’d played it safe most of her life.

“I’m with you, MacGowan.” She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her unbandaged hand. “Just try not to get us killed.”

He grinned at her, and there was a sudden, odd lightness between them. “I’ll do my best.”