Hot Ice(120)

For a moment she rested her head against the armoire because the urge to weep was almost too strong to resist. After she’d controlled it, Whitney reached inside for a teal blue kimono. She needed to think, that was all. She just needed to think. The scent of flowers permeated the room. Air, she decided, and marched to the French doors that led to the tiny bedroom balcony.

With her teeth set, she yanked open the doors. It was going to rain, she thought. Good, the rain and wind might help clear her head. Resting her hands on the rail, she leaned out, looking toward the bay.

How had she gotten herself in this mess? she demanded. The answer was plain, two words. Doug Lord.

After all, she’d been minding her own business when he’d barged into her life and embroiled her in treasure hunts, killers, and thieves. At this moment, instead of being trapped like Rapunzel, she’d have been sitting in some nice smoke-choked club, watching people show off their clothes or their new hairstyles. Normal stuff, she thought grimly.

Now look at her, locked in a house in Madagascar with a smiling middle-aged killer and his entourage. In New York, she had an entourage, and no one would have dared turn a key on her.

“Doug Lord,” she muttered aloud, then looked down numbly as a hand clamped over hers on the rail. Whitney drew in her breath to scream when the head popped over.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Doug said between his teeth. “Now help me over, goddamn it.”

She forgot everything she’d just been thinking about him and bent over to cover his face with kisses. Who said there wasn’t any Seventh Cavalry?

“Look, sugar, I appreciate the welcome, but I’m losing my grip. Give me a hand.”

“How’d you find me?” she demanded as she reached down to help him over the rail. “I didn’t think you’d ever come. There are guards out there with these nasty little machine guns. My doors’re all locked from the outside, and—”

“Jesus, if I’d remembered you talked so much I wouldn’t have bothered.” He landed lightly on his feet.

“Douglas.” She wanted to cry again but held the tears back. “It’s so nice of you to drop in like this.”

“Yeah?” He strolled through the French doors into the opulent bedroom. “Well, I wasn’t sure you wanted any company—especially after that cozy little dinner you had with Dimitri.”

“Were you watching?”

“I’ve been around.” Turning, he fingered the rich silk of her lapel. “He gave you this?”

Her eyes narrowed at the tone, her chin tilted. “Just what are you implying?”

“Looks like a nice setup.” He wandered to her dresser and drew the top from a crystal decanter of scent. “All the comforts of home, right?”

“I hate to state the obvious, but you’re an ass.”

“And what’re you?” He pushed the stopper back into the bottle with a snap. “Walking around in fancy silk dresses he bought for you, drinking champagne with him, letting him put his hands on you?”

“His hands on me?” She said the words slowly, letting them sink in.

Doug gave her a look that skimmed from her bare legs to the milky skin of her throat. “You sure know how to smile at a man, don’t you, sugar? What’s your cut?”

Each step measured, Whitney walked over, reared back, and slapped him as hard as she could. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the wind kicking up against the open windows.

“You’ll get away with that once,” Doug said softly as he ran the back of his hand over his cheek. “Don’t try it again. I’m not a gentleman like your Dimitri.”

“Just get out,” Whitney whispered. “Get the hell out. I don’t need you.”

There was an ache in him that far outdid the sting in his cheek. “Don’t you think I can see that?”

“You don’t see anything.”

“I’ll tell you what I saw, sugar. I saw an empty hotel suite. I saw that you and the box were gone. And I saw you here, nuzzling up to that bastard over a rack of lamb.”

“You’d have rather found me tied to the bedpost with bamboo shoots under my nails.” She turned away. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Well, why don’t you tell me what the hell’s going on then?”

“Why should I?” Furious, she brushed a tear away with the back of her hand. Damn, she hated to cry. Worse, she hated to cry for a man. “You’ve already made up your mind. Your very limited mind.”

Doug dragged a hand through his hair and wished he had a drink. “Look, I’ve been going crazy for hours. It took me the better part of the afternoon to find this place, then I had to get through the guards.” And one of them, he didn’t add, was lying in the bushes with a slit throat. “When I get here, I see you dressed like a princess, smiling across the table at Dimitri as though you were the best of friends.”