Read Online At the Edge of the Sun by Anne Stuart - Free Book Online

Maggie insisted.
    “Wouldn’t he? I’m not convinced of that.”
    Maggie sighed, a long-suffering exhalation of breath. “If you’re not certain then why don’t we head back to the hotel rather than wander all over the Irish countryside in the dead of night? My feet are killing me, I’m half frozen, and I want a large glass of Irish whiskey to wash away that disgusting warm beer.”
    “You can go back if you want, Maggie. The car’s still parked by the trees back there.”
    “And leave you to take care of everything? No way, Randall. I’m sticking to you like glue.”
    He looked down at her. “Promises, promises,” he muttered under his breath.
    “What?”
    “Never mind,” Randall said with a weary sigh. “Come on, Maggie. Miles to go before we sleep.”
    “Miles?” she echoed unhappily.
    “Miles.”
    “And we can’t drive?”
    “It wouldn’t be wise,” he said.
    Maggie stopped complaining. There was a heavy fog lingering over the hills and valleys as they tramped in silence. The dampness crept beneath the cape and sweater, and Maggie shivered in the darkness. She’d been fool enough to wear her new leather boots, and her feet hurt like hell. Next time she’d stick with her Nikes.
    In complete silence she followed Randall down the deserted roadways, the mist clinging to them like a malevolent ghost. Several times she opened her mouth to complain, to challenge, to break through the still night air. Each time she closed it again, trudging onward in silence.
    They were approaching a town—the lights glowed eerilythrough the fog and the muffled sounds came and went, bouncing off the thick mist. Randall had come to an abrupt halt, and through the shifting light and shadows Maggie could see the pub not more than a hundred yards away. The door opened, and noise and light and laughter spilled out for a moment, then disappeared like the closing of a tomb.
    Maggie ignored the shiver of apprehension that swept over her. She wanted that light and warmth, not the cold, deadly darkness around her. “What the hell are we waiting for, Randall?” she demanded in a heavy whisper. “It must be after midnight by now. Let’s go in and find O’Banion.”
    “Not yet.” His voice was low, emotionless, and brooked no possibility for argument. Maggie once more contemplated bloody vengeance as she stood behind Randall in the alleyway.
    “You want to tell me what you’re waiting for, Randall?” she inquired with ironic courtesy. “Or am I just supposed to stand here all night and freeze to death while you decide whether it’s safe or not?”
    “Stop bitching,” he whispered, not bothering to glance in her direction. “I may be saving your life.”
    “You may be giving me pneumonia. What—” Her voice stopped abruptly, not even needing his sudden, furtive gesture. She could hear it as well as he could, the sound of booted feet moving stealthily down the cobbled roadway.
    She edged closer to him, forgetting for the moment her distaste at his nearness. In the cold damp air his body heat was curiously comforting, and she didn’t even notice when he put an arm around her, half in restraint, half in protection.
    He was intent, listening, and she tilted her face up to his, curious. The footsteps drew closer, and in the shadowy night she could see the silhouettes of half a dozen men edging toward the pub. And then, through the darkness, camean eerie clicking noise. The sounds of weapons being readied. She watched with horror as they moved in on the pub, and she opened her mouth to scream a warning to the people in the pub. A warning that never came.

six
     
    Randall slammed her back against the side of the building, hard, and his hand crushed her open mouth. The scream died to a gurgle in her throat as she kicked at him, struggling as he subdued her. From the corner of her eye she could see the light once more flood the dark street, hear the noise and laughter. And then there was no sound but the thunder of machine