At the Edge of the Sun Read Online Free PDF

without an army of witnesses. I’ll wait till they’ve gone and then take a little walk down the hallway. I have no doubt at all I’ll find him waiting for me.”
    “Uh, Maggie, he looks awfully strong …”
    Maggie only smiled. “Trust me, Holly.”
    It took all her self-control to wait patiently as three extremely handsome young men placed Holly’s twelve suitcasesin one of the bedrooms of the large suite. It took every ounce of calm to stand there, looking out the window, as Holly flirted and tipped and sent them on their way. And it took every bit of her inner balance to calmly wash her hands and face, retrieve the Colt 380 from its hiding place, and head for the door.
    “I’m coming.” Holly hadn’t even bothered to change, a rare situation indeed, but Maggie was having none of it.
    “You’ll stay right here. I don’t need anyone else in the line of fire.”
    “Are you actually going to use that thing?” Holly eyed the gun warily.
    “Not if I can help it.” She dropped it in the pocket of her Irish knit cardigan. “But it doesn’t hurt to carry insurance.”
    “No,” Holly said faintly. “It doesn’t hurt.”
    The hallway was still and deserted. Maggie moved down the narrow carpet without a sound till she came to a spot she’d noticed on their way in, a shallow hallway leading to what was probably a linen closet. Ducking in, she waited there, listening, her back pressed against the wall as a measured pair of footsteps moved down the hallway.
    She could feel the tension running through her exhausted body, and she held herself taut and still, listening, desperate not to make the kind of mistakes that weariness inspired. She stood there, unmoving, as an elegant, elderly gentleman passed the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief that she’d had the sense to wait till she was certain. The sound of his door closing almost muffled the next set of footsteps.
    This time she knew. By the itching in her palms, by the adrenaline buzzing through her, by instincts older than civilization.
    It happened very quickly. One moment Maggie was standing there, seemingly calm and relaxed, and in the next she had Green Eyes dragged back into the tiny hallway, pressed up against the wall, her gun at his neck.
    “Would you like to tell me why you’re following me?” she inquired pleasantly.
    “You expect me to believe you’d shoot me?” The voice that came from that rough, belligerent face was startlingly elegant, the perfect tone of the British upper classes. The green eyes were clouded with both fury and embarrassment, and Maggie guessed quite rightly that he was outraged that he’d been bested so easily. “You have no silencer on that little toy,” he continued. “It would make a hell of a noise and a hell of a mess, and then you’d never find out anything. Why don’t you put the silly thing away?”
    “It may look like a toy to you, Green Eyes,” Maggie said sweetly, “but it could still make an awful big hole in you.”
    “I’m aware of that, Miss Bennett,” he said, his eyes sweeping her with insolent disdain. “But I think you have more sense than to shoot me.”
    “Oh, I won’t shoot you,” Maggie agreed as her nimble hands reached inside his jacket and removed his own, much larger gun, tossing it on the carpet. “Not yet, anyway. But you are going to tell me how you know my name and why you’re following me.”
    “I have no objections to that.” He glowered at her as she continued a desultory search of his body, one that allowed for no maidenly restraints. She found the knife in its ankle holster and tucked it in the pocket of the cardigan. She pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, flipped it open, and grimaced.
    “Ian Andrews,” she read his identification. “British Army Intelligence, eh? Maybe I can trust you. But that still doesn’t answer my question. Why?”
    “You’ve got it a bit wrong. I’m not following you.”
    “All right, I’ll bite. Who are you following?” She