Escape Out of Darkness by Anne Stuart Page B

attention—it would be a warm enough night and they’d be much better off without it. She opened her mouth to tell him so, then closed it again, hating her weakness.
    Mack must have read her mind. He crossed the few feet of beach that separated them and brushed some of the sand off her pensive face. “Don’t worry, Maggie May,” he said again. “I don’t like the dark much, either.”

nine
     
    Mack was right, of course. There wasn’t even a run-down village or an abandoned shack anywhere near their beach, much less a Holiday Inn. Fortunately, before the darkness closed around them, Maggie had a decent fire going, keeping the night at bay.
    Solemnly they divided and shared the soggy candy bars and the remnants of the bourbon, making the meager feast last. Maggie sat cross-legged on the sand, listening to the steady rush of the outgoing tide, trying vainly to dry out their dwindling supply of cash. She should have felt grateful. If the tide hadn’t been coming in that afternoon, they would have been pulled out to sea, ending up as shark bait or something equally unpleasant.
    But even so, given the solid ground beneath her, the warmth of the night, and the salt-laden candy bar that had at least taken the edge off her hunger, she was feeling disturbed and angry over God only knew what.
    She was unable to make light conversation, and Mack didn’t push her. He lay back in the sand, apparently at ease, his attention half on the fire in front of them, half on the night around them, and thankfully not at all on her. Or so she thought.
    “What’s on tap for tomorrow?” he inquired lazily, his voice cutting through her unhappy self-absorption.
    “What?” She roused herself to stare at him across the firelight.
    “I said what have you got planned for tomorrow,” he said patiently. “How are you going to get us out of this mess?”
    Slowly she pulled herself together, her battered pride and unhappiness pushed out of the way. “First I find us some transportation,” she said, her voice firm in the night air. “And at the same time find out what country we’re in.”
    “That might be a good idea,” he said idly, leaning back in the sand.
    “You … uh … don’t have any idea where we are, do you?”
    “Not a clue. I expect we’re somewhere in Central America—Lonesome Fred was going to keep parallel to the coastline.” He crossed his long legs, peering at the horizon. “Think you’ll have any trouble finding where Van Zandt’s holed up?”
    “Maybe. But I’ll find him sooner or later.” She stared at his averted profile for a long, suspicious moment. She’d been sitting there, feeling useless and sorry for herself, and suddenly Mack had given her back her pride. Had he done it on purpose?
    She had relied on him too much in the last twenty-four hours. First, to keep the night terrors from destroying her, then to keep her afloat during that interminable afternoon. It had been different when it came to stealing the car. She was perfectly comfortable having Mack rescue them. As long as she asked him to in the first place. She hated like hell having to accept his aid when it was presented unasked.
    She had been prepared for him to try to take over the expedition, and in expectation she launched an attack. “That was a great pilot you picked,” she said.
    Mack shrugged, unmoved. “So I got a little overzealous,” he drawled. “I didn’t want to leave all the burden on you, Superwoman. I wouldn’t want you to think I couldn’t pull my weight.”
    Did he know what she’d been going through? Quite possibly. She had yet to meet a man who’d give up control so easily and yet still remain calm and strong. Apparently Mack was a man who could do it. Maybe. Maggie searched about in her own mind for the right words, gratitude without encouragement,comradeship without losing the upper hand. If she really had the upper hand at all.
    “You pull your weight, Pulaski. I know I can count on you if need be,” she