MacKenzie's Lady Page 2

  A ragged shout of excitement went up from the men in the bar. Only the cantina's owner was in disagreement with the opinion that a good fight was just what was needed to liven up the day.

  For the next few minutes Mac had his hands full just trying to prevent his thick-set opponent from beating his head in. He and Ken were outnumbered, and Ken's prediction of being scraped off the floor might have come true if most of their would-be opponents hadn't gotten sidetracked into personal battles of their own.

  Mac's memories of the fight were stored in brief images: Ken's wild war whoop as he waded into the fray until he and Mac stood back to back, the look of stunned surprise on Paco's square face when Mac's fist connected with his chin, snapping his head back. Without the need for words, he and Ken worked their way slowly toward the door. Mac searched the wild crowd for the woman who had been the cause of all this, and his eyes caught what would remain his favorite image. She stood on a chair near the door, wielding a heavy beer bottle with delicate—if indiscriminate—precision. More than one of the men went home with a headache that night.

  "Are you ready?" Ken's voice was breathless with exertion as he dodged another fist and backed a little closer to the door. Mac disposed of his current opponent with a quick uppercut.

  "Now!"

  The two of them broke for the entry. Mac's longer strides brought him to the door two steps ahead of his friend. The high wail of sirens in the distance added an extra urgency to his steps.

  Holly felt as if she were being swept up by a hurricane. She was standing on a chair, trying to visually sort the twisting mass of humanity into something recognizable. It seemed as if her eyes had just located the tall frame of her rescuer near the center of the room when he came surging toward her. She had a brief glimpse of his face and then one arm caught her around the knees, dumping her over his shoulder and knocking her breathless as he continued out the door.

  Stars danced in front of her eyes and her ears rang as her lungs struggled to function. It wasn't easy, with the pressure of his wide shoulder knocking the air back out of her with every loping stride he took. She didn't have enough wind to protest his cavalier treatment or to demand that he put her down. She couldn't even be too worried about where he was taking her. Ail she wanted was a chance to draw a breath in comfort. The ringing in her ears gradually merged with a high, incessant sound that she vaguely identified as a siren. Before she had a chance to react to this new information, the sound was cut off as her captor made a quick right and came to a halt next to a high adobe wall.

  He bent down and dropped her gently to her feet, and Holly backed away from him as quickly as her shaking legs would allow. The man looked even more disreputable in daylight than he had in the dingy bar. The scar that slashed his lean cheek competed for attention with a rough scrape high on the other cheekbone and an oozing cut on his lower lip. The pristine whiteness of his garish suit was marked by streaks of dirt.

  The smile he gave her might have been intended to reassure, but the thick black mustache and horrible scar combined to give him a ferocious look that made her already overworked heart go into double overtime. Only the brilliant blue of his eyes kept her from trying to dart past him. The eyes held her attention, whether she willed it or not. She took another step back and came up hard against the wall. Her wide eyes stayed focused on his face. She tried to maintain an air of calm control while her thoughts whirled madly around.

  Holly swallowed hard and began to edge her way to the side. He blocked her path out of the narrow alley, but maybe she could dart around him. She refused to consider that it would be impossible to outrun those incredibly long legs if he chose to recapture her.

  "Sorry for the rough transportation. Are you all right?" His voice was a slow drawl. Not a Southern drawl but just a lazy intonation that softened and lengthened his words.

  She nodded and managed a tentative smile. "I'm fine," she told him huskily. Maybe he was going to let her go without a fight. "Thank you for coming to my rescue in there." That was the way to do it, remind him of his good deed. Maybe he'd decide he didn't want to spoil his record. She edged a little farther along the wall and sighed with relief when he moved a step or two in the opposite direction. There was plenty of room for her to get around him now and he didn't show any signs of wanting to harm her.

  Everything was going to be just fine, and she and Maryann would have a good laugh about this once Holly was safely back in Los Angeles.

  "We're all clear. If anybody saw us come this way, they're not telling the local police."

  Holly screamed and spun around, almost losing her footing on the loose stones that surfaced the alley. The new voice coming from directly behind her was totally unexpected. The man who had spoken raised his sandy eyebrows, surprised by her reaction. "I didn't mean to startle you, lady. I figured you must have heard me."

  She shook her head, realizing even as she did so that she had heard him but had been concentrating so hard on the first man that she hadn't really registered the sound of his approach.

  The newcomer grinned at her, and despite the empty space where his front teeth should have been, there was something so boyish in the expression that Holly relaxed slightly.

  "Boy, you sure know how to cause trouble, lady. I thought I was going to end up with six broken ribs when Mac decided to play knight in shining armor."

  Holly's eyes flickered to the other man, trying to imagine him as a knight in armor. The newcomer grinned again, seeing the doubt in her dark eyes. "Believe it or not, lady, he can't resist a damsel in distress. You wouldn't believe the number of times I've had to fight for my life just because I happened to be with him when he decided someone needed to be rescued."

  The alleged knight gave his smaller companion a tolerant smile. "You're exaggerating, Ken. It must be that streak of Irish in you that can't resist embellishing every story you tell."

  Holly relaxed even more. The bantering between the two of them reminded her so much of her brother, it was impossible for her to hang on to her fear. Besides, now that she'd had a chance to catch her breath, she realized that her fear had been more of the situation than of the individuals. Despite their daunting appearance, neither of these men seemed threatening to her.

  The man called Ken gave his large companion another grin before turning back to Holly. "Are you okay, lady? Mac carried you out of there like a sack of potatoes. Any lasting damage?"

  "Only to my dignity," she answered truthfully. "And I wish you'd stop calling me lady. It makes me feel like a cocker spaniel."

  "Sure," he said obligingly. "If I knew your name, I'd call you something else."

  She hesitated only briefly, her common sense wrestling with her instincts. "Holly Reynolds."

  "Holly." Ken murmured her name and then shook his head. "I think I prefer Lady. It suits you better."

  "I'll be sure to tell my parents that you don't approve of their choice," she told him dryly.

  She ran her hands over the full skirt of her sundress, grimacing faintly as she noticed the streaks of dirt on the soft cotton.

  "So, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" She couldn't help but smile at Ken's cheerful delivery of the hackneyed line, but Mac spoke before she could answer him.

  "You'll have to excuse him, Ms Reynolds. I'm afraid Ken is under the mistaken impression that everyone wants to tell him their business."

  Her eyes flickered over him and then away. There was something about him that disturbed her.

  "Of course she wants to tell us what she's doing here, don't you, Holly?"

  Holly was grateful to turn her attention back to Ken. She understood him. He reminded her of her brother James. She could cope with that feeling more easily than the confusing emotions the other man inspired.

  "Well, actually, it's not all that interesting. My roommate was dating a guy a couple of months ago, and when they broke up, he ended up with a watch that belonged to Maryann's grandfather. He had supposedly taken it to a repair shop run b
y a buddy of his. Personally, I think Jason sold it and pocketed the money. Anyway, Maryann has been trying to get the watch back ever since.

  "Jason called last week and told her that he had moved back East but he was going to be in Tijuana this weekend and if she wanted the watch, she could pick it up down here. My brother was going to come with Maryann but he got called out of the state. And then Maryann got the flu, so I volunteered to come instead. I bet Jason set this whole thing up as some kind of sick joke. It would be just like that weasel to send her to a place like that bar and then have a good laugh when he imagined her trying to cope. Maryann could never have handled that whole situation."

  Ken and Mac exchanged amused looks, but neither of them pointed out that Holly hadn't been coping too well before Mac's intervention.

  "Damn, I must have dropped my purse in the bar."

  "I'm afraid you're going to have to write off the loss," Mac told her.

  "I suppose so. It had my favorite lipstick in it and they don't make that shade anymore." She seemed to contemplate this loss for a moment before shrugging. "Oh, well, it could have been my head that got lost. Luckily I didn't have much money in my purse and I left my credit cards and driver's license in the car, so I'll be able to get home with no problem."

  "Where's home?" Mac asked the question so casually that Holly answered without hesitation. Her attention was on a newly discovered broken strap on her sandal.

  "Los Angeles," she murmured absently as she tried to tuck the strap under the edge of her foot to hold it in place. She missed the sharp look Ken threw his friend and then the knowing grin that followed it. He whistled softly to himself. Mac gave him a warning scowl that was completely ignored. Ken continued to whistle "Some Enchanted Evening." The tune seemed out of place in a deserted alley in one of the less enticing areas of Tijuana.

  Holly set her foot back down, giving a pained sigh as the strap promptly popped back out again. "I guess my shoes are going to be a write-off, too. If I ever lay my hands on Jason Nevin again, I think I'll hold him down and pluck every hair out of his beard, one by one." Ken chuckled at her vengeful tone and Mac's face creased in a lazy smile.

  "It's probably safe to leave now. The police must have rounded up their quota of bar patrons." Mac's words gave Holly an oddly unsettled feeling. Of course, she was delighted by the thought of putting the whole embarrassing incident behind her. And she had to keep in mind that no matter how charming Ken seemed and no matter how disturbing Mac was, they were obviously not the kind of people that the average kindergarten teacher needed to list among her acquaintances.

  Her eyes shifted awkwardly between the two men, her next move uncertain. Was she supposed to just walk away? Should she offer to pay them? But she didn't have any money and, somehow, she couldn't picture asking them for an address to mail a check to.

  The silence in the narrow alley grew until she could almost hear herself breathe. In the distance she heard the sound of cars, traffic, people, civilization. All of those things seemed very far away. Nearby she could hear a dog barking. On the other side of the wall, a goat bleated mournfully and a little farther away children laughed.

  She swallowed and gave the two men a strained smile. Funny, she didn't even know their last names. She would never see them again—and she certainly didn't want to see them again, she assured herself—but it was hard to just walk away.

  The children laughed again and her smile grew a little more natural. The familiarity of the high childish sound helped her to regain her balance. "My students would never recognize their neat and tidy Miss Reynolds now. I look like something the cat dragged in."

  "Barroom brawls are a little hard on the wardrobe," Mac agreed quietly. He nodded his head down the alley. "If you go out that way and turn right, you'll hit a major street in about a block. You should be able to find your car from there."

  It was a dismissal. As clearly as the bell ringing at the end of a school day, he was telling her that it was time for her to go home now. It was time to put this frightening incident behind her and go back to the real world. And she did not feel hurt by his tone.

  She nodded briskly, holding her chin high. "Thank you for coming to my rescue. I hope it hasn't caused you any problems." She started to hold out her hand, then realized how absurd the conventional gesture looked and quickly tucked it back behind her skirt. She smiled nervously and forced herself to turn away and walk down the alley.

  She was almost to the corner of the wall when she couldn't resist turning back for one last look at her strange benefactors. Ken raised his hand and gave her a cocky grin. Mac's hands remained in his pockets but the intensity of the look in his eyes remained with her long after she was safely in her car and driving back to L.A.

  Chapter 2

  Mac leaned indolently against the wall and let his eyes drift shut, closing out the quiet bustle of the big room in front of him. He must be getting old. There had been a time when just the smell of this room had been enough to make his pulse skip a beat. It had been a long time ago, when he had been new at the job, convinced that he was going to solve at least some of the world's problems.

  He couldn't even dig up much curiosity about being called into the chief's office. He assumed it was a new assignment but he wasn't all that interested. His dark brows pulled together in a frown. Maybe it was time to get out. He'd seen cases where agents burned out on the job and he didn't want to become one of them. Maybe he needed to start seriously considering the future and what he wanted out of it.

  "Hey, Mac, wake up. The chief is ready for you." He straightened away from the wall and smiled at his boss's secretary.

  "I wasn't asleep, Livvie. How are the grandchildren?"

  The woman's round face lit up in a smile that was reserved for a special few. "Growing like weeds, as always."

  "Remind me to give you a package for them before I leave."

  "You shouldn't be buying presents for them, Mac," she scolded lightly, but her dark eyes twinkled with pleasure. "You ought to be spoiling little ones of your own."

  A shadow slid over his face, momentarily dimming the azure of his eyes before it was banished by a lazy smile. "I didn't buy them anything major, Livvie, just a couple of things I picked up the last time Ken and I were in Mexico."

  She opened the door to the chief's office. "Just as long as that's all you picked up in Mexico," she murmured wickedly.

  Mac was still smiling as he shut the door behind him. Chief Daniels turned away from the window and limped heavily across the room to shake the agent's hand. His left knee was twisted at an awkward angle, the result of an exchange of bullets between government agents and drug runners. A cane lay propped against his desk but he refused to use it unless he absolutely had to.

  Once the two men were seated, the older man's cool gray eyes studied Mac thoughtfully. Mac returned the gaze without discomfort. The chief liked to think out his words before speaking.

  "What's your interest in the Reynolds case?" The question was abrupt, without preliminaries.

  "Reynolds case?" Mac started to shake his head. "I don't know anything about a Reynolds case."

  "No? Then why have you been making inquiries that relate to it?"

  "I didn't know I had been."

  He caught the file Daniels tossed him. "It's in the records that you've been asking for information regarding one Holly Ann Reynolds. Age: twenty-eight. Occupation: schoolteacher at the kindergarten level."

  Mac's fingers tightened around the folder. "I don't know anything about any case involving Holly Reynolds. The inquiry was made for personal reasons."

  The chief's sandy brows rose sardonically but Mac refused to say anything more. He knew as well as his boss that using the agency files for personal reasons was strictly forbidden.

  Daniels let it pass without comment. "What do you know about Holly Reynolds?"

  Mac shrugged. "Not much. Ken and I ran into her in Tijuana a month or so ago. She got into trouble in a cantina down there and we came to the r
escue."

  "Oh, yes, the damsel in distress you mentioned in the report." He nodded, his fingers toying idly with a duplicate of the file Mac held. Suddenly his eyes came up to look at Mac intently. "Why were you trying to find her?"

  The color in Mac's face deepened slightly but his gaze didn't waver. "I wanted to see her again."

  "Humph." The snort expressed the chief's opinion of using the agency computer as a -dating service, but once again, he let the subject drop. He leaned back in his chair.

  "Holly Reynolds's father was a career diplomat. Retired a couple of years ago. Her older brother, James, followed him into the field. James is thirty-three and was just assigned to one of our embassies in Europe."

  Mac listened carefully. Whatever the agency's interest in -James Reynolds, he wanted to know every detail and exactly how it might affect Holly. He hadn't spent a month waiting for an answer to his strictly illegal inquiries only to lose interest now she was within reach.

  "Do you know much about fine art?"

  Mac shook his head, taking the apparent change of subject in stride. Daniels always had a reason.

  "I don't know the difference between a Renoir and a finger painting," Daniels admitted without regret. "During World War II, a lot of the great works of art in Europe were either hidden by the people who owned them or were stolen. Some of the stuff reappeared after the war, of course, but there's still a lot of it missing. Caches are discovered from time to time.

  "Shortly after James Reynolds was transferred to the embassy, paintings that hadn't been seen in over forty years began to turn up in private collections. Our agency wouldn't be involved if it wasn't for the fact that several of these works of art have been smuggled into this country."

  Mac swallowed against sudden anger. If James Reynolds was involved in smuggling fine art, he was dealing with a very tough crowd. The mere fact that she was his sister could be enough to put Holly in danger. Remembering those wide brown eyes and stubborn little chin, Mac felt a stab of fear that was out of proportion, considering he knew little more than her name.