At the Edge of the Sun Read Online Free

good in the world and not a fundamental judge and jury demanding blind obedience to a limited set of values, but faith hadn’t had much space in the sisters’ upbringing and had no space at all in their adult life.
    “And in the hands of the doctors,” Kate added defiantly.
    “And in the hands of the doctors,” Jilly agreed.
    “So we’re back to the same question,” Holly said, stretching out her long legs in an instinctively graceful gesture. “What are we going to do about it?”
    Maggie took a deep breath. “I’m going to England. Tonight. Alone. The L.A.P.D. were able to trace Flynn as far as London. They’ve passed it on to Interpol, but I’m not about to sit around waiting.”
    “You’re going tonight? Sybil might not make it through the night,” Kate shrieked.
    “Kate, it’s not going to make any difference if I’m here or not,” Maggie said gently. “And it’ll make a difference in whether I’m able to catch up with Flynn or not. He’s already got a twenty-four hours’ head start on me—I can’t afford to let him get much more.”
    “But—” Kate argued, but Holly interrupted.
    “Maggie’s right, you know. Sybil would rather have Maggie catch him than she would want her hovering over her hospital bed. But she’s wrong about something else. She’s not going alone. I’m going with her.”
    “No, you’re not,” Maggie said flatly. “I can’t spend mytime worrying about you while I’m trying to track down Flynn. All my energy needs to be concentrated on him, not on looking after an amateur.”
    “I’m not needed here, Maggie,” Holly said. “Kate and Jilly are enough. You might find I’m more than simply decorative.”
    Maggie shook her head. “I can’t take the chance. I can’t risk putting you in danger, Holly. This man has already killed a dozen women, not to mention countless political victims. He wouldn’t think twice about carving you up.”
    “What about you?”
    Maggie smiled, a faint, distant smile that held a trace of her old humor. “I can take care of myself.”
    “But—”
    “No, Holly. Besides, I’ve got my reservation on the midnight flight to London, and I’m already packed. I don’t want to wait around for another flight while you pack half your wardrobe.”
    “But—”
    “Miss Bennett?” The green-suited doctor who appeared at their side took the customary moment to stare at Holly before turning to Maggie. “Your mother’s regained consciousness. She’s asking for you.”
    The doctor’s definition of consciousness and Maggie’s differed. Sybil lay in the big white hospital bed, a small, huddled figure attached to tubes and machines that brought Bud Willis back to mind no matter how she fought it. Her mother looked small and old, her famous aquamarine eyes sunken, her black hair lifeless. And she’d said only two words before sinking back into a coma.
    “Get him,” she said, and her eyes closed once more.
    And Maggie had touched the oddly frail flesh. “I will, Sybil,” she said softly, knowing she was beyond hearing. “I will.”
    LAX was still busy, even at eleven o’clock at night, but Maggie felt a curious, welcome sense of isolation as shewaited for the boarding call. Her mother’s words still lingered in her mind as she sat in one of the orange plastic seats, waiting. She’d get him, all right. The Colt 380 pistol was hidden in its special pouch in her makeup bag, makeup that had been touched far less often than the gun during the last four months. It would go through with the checked baggage safely enough, and she had only customs to worry about.
    She was leaping blind, with only minimal information. The L.A.P.D. had been scarcely helpful, and she’d had to rely on her boss for what solid information she had. Mike Jackson had taken over as head of Third World Causes, Ltd., when Peter Wallace had been murdered. She’d worked with Mike during her short tenure at the CIA, and they’d always shared a mutual respect. He’d