Maggie's Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

psychotic from dehumanizing things. That's right. Remind him everyone's a
person, she's a person, he's a person, the cops are people, too.
    She was going to be sick.
    "What … what's your name?" she
whispered at last, having to moisten her lips to speak.
    "Prisoner number 542769." His gaze
remained on the rearview mirror. "But you can call me Pris for
short."
    She swallowed a hysterical giggle and practiced
deep breathing. Remember, there must be a human being in there somewhere, no
doubt just hiding really darn well behind those cold, cold, eyes.
    "Your real name?" she tried again,
then added weakly, "Not that Pris isn't cool."
    His face remained frozen for a moment, then
abruptly his full, well-shaped lips twisted. "Cain," he said levelly,
"my father named me Cain. He said God had given him the gift of
sight." His face didn't change but she paled.
    "How apropos," she murmured at last.
A long harsh tremor shuddered through her body. His thigh was pressed against
hers, his shoulder hard against her chest. She shuddered again, and he didn't
even flinch.
    The light turned green. He pressed down lightly
on the gas. The police car remained right behind them. Then, several blocks
back, she saw a second cop turn into the traffic flow.
    "Cain," she forced herself to say,
"Cain, don't do this. You can't win this way, don't you see that? It's a
nice truck, but they have cars and guns and helicopters. The minute that
policeman turns on his sirens … if you run for it, you'll only hurt all these
nice, innocent people, people with spouses and children and parents and … and
even three-legged cats."
    She stared up at him with her most pleading
blue gaze. C.J. had once told her no sane man could say no to such big blue
eyes. Of course, C.J. was a flirt and Maggie was the one whose love life had
entered the ice age sometime around the age of sixteen and never unthawed.
    "You're right," Cain said abruptly.
    "What?"
    "You're right." His gaze left hers,
focusing on the road while his hands flexed on the wheel. Green eyes darted to
the rearview mirror, then back to the road signs. "I can't win in a
high-speed chase. I'm spending too much time on tactics and not enough on
strategy." He seemed to be talking to himself more than her. She didn't
mind that. His voice was steady and soft, the voice of a man contemplating life
versus plunging rashly ahead. Keep him calm, Maggie. That's good. She
might not be a fighter, but she was good at soothing people. Though her mother
routinely dismissed Maggie's job as being too prosaic, Maggie was one of the
best marriage counselors in the field.
    Cain glanced at her. "Ever play chess,
Maggie?"
    She shook her head.
    "It's a good game," he said absently,
his fingernails drumming on the steering wheel as he peered back at the cop.
"It's based primarily on mathematics, you know. People like Sir Isaac
Newton and Benjamin Franklin used to write formulas for perfect Knight Tours.
The chessboard is eight by eight, and originally the number system was base
eight. It's why computers can be programmed to play chess as well. Really, it's
simply a matter of rapidly computing and calculating all the different
scenarios. Quite logical."
    Maggie stared at him. "Oh," she said
at last. It was the only syllable she could get out of her mouth. For an
escaped felon, he seemed surprisingly intelligent, lucid even. Not a raving,
insane bone in his body. Was that good or bad?
    "Strategy," he muttered now.
"It's all about strategy. I'm spending too much time on tactics and not
enough on strategy."
    "What?"
    "Get the map," he said abruptly.
    "Why?" she risked countering.
    He turned and looked at her, his face composed
and his startling green eyes steady. "I'm following your advice, Maggie.
You're going to plot us an escape route that will take us away from all these
cars and pedestrians. Something rural would be ideal."
    "But … but…" But she would be helping
him. She couldn't help him, that would be wrong. And though she wasn't