At the Edge of the Sun by Anne Stuart Page A

“Do you like them? Ian’s been ditching my suitcases every chance he gets. All I’m left with is lingerie and evening dresses. He keeps getting pissed off so I thought I’d give him the natural look.”
    “Did he appreciate it?” Maggie pulled herself out of the concave bed.
    “I’m afraid not. He said he couldn’t see the difference and stomped from the room in a foul temper. Somewhat like your friend Randall.”
    “Possibly they suffer from the same affliction,” Maggie suggested, running her fingers through her tangled mop of hair. “Are you all set to fly to Rome?”
    “I find I’m longing for civilization once more. When Ian finally deigned to tell me we were going I almost kissed him. I’ll call the hospital the moment I get there. Maybe there’ll be good news.”
    Maggie managed a brief, weary smile. “Let’s hope so.”
    “I hate jeeps.”
    “This isn’t a jeep,” Randall pointed out with maddening correctness. It was several hours later, with the two of them heading up into the mountains of the high Lebanon, and the atmosphere was more than mildly strained. He’d pushed her too far, he knew it, but he had no intention of stopping now. “It’s a very old Bronco,” he said.
    “I don’t give a damn what it is. I hate four-wheel drive armylike vehicles with flimsy roofs, lousy seats, rotten suspensions, and noisy engines. I hate jeeps, Broncos, Land Rovers, and everything like them. How come Mabib couldn’t come up with a nice Jaguar? Or a second-hand Peugeot? Even a Ford?”
    “This is a Ford.”
    “It’s got to be a bastard cousin,” Maggie grumbled, squinting into the bright sunlight.
    “We couldn’t drive into the mountains of Lebanon in anything less than a four-wheel drive. They don’t go in much for paved roads around here, and those that were in decent shape have been bombed out of existence.”
    She leaned back in the uncomfortable seat, sighing. “Do you think we’re going to find him?”
    “I don’t know. Our sources are pretty damned good at this point. The Children of God don’t like Flynn’s friends any more than we do—they’d have nothing to lose and everything to gain by screwing them. I’d guess that Flynn’s planning to fly to Rome from a pickup spot near the border.With us on his trail and Ian and Holly at the other end we should have him neatly trapped.”
    “Maybe,” she said doubtfully. “Somehow I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.”
    “Nothing ever is.”
    They rode on in silence. It was late morning and the rough dirt roads leading into the mountains of Lebanon were deserted. Mabib had promised to see the still-battling Holly and Ian off on the next flight out of Beirut, and now that they were separated from the other pair an uncomfortable silence had reigned between Maggie and Randall.
    “So what makes you think we’re heading in the right direction? How do you know Mabib’s informant isn’t the same slug using Bud Willis’s name?”
    Randall looked over at her in the bright sunlit morning. “Mabib knows who to trust in Lebanon,” he said slowly. “He wouldn’t still be alive if he didn’t. This isn’t the world’s most peaceful country, Maggie. You know that as well as I do. And like me you’ve learned who you can trust and who you can’t.”
    That distant, closed look shuttered down over her face again, and he wanted to slap the steering wheel in frustration. As usual he banked down his reaction, keeping his own expression impassive.
    “Have I?” she murmured. “I’m not sure about that.”
    “You know better than to believe anything Bud Willis would tell you. Particularly if it was about me.”
    She looked up then, her eyes wary. “What makes you think he told me anything about you?”
    His smile was cynical. “Instincts, Maggie. We weren’t on the best of terms when we parted in Chicago, but you didn’t hate me. You hate me now.”
    He waited for her to deny it. He was pushing her, goading her, hoping for