Hot Ice

before he had the jeep roaring down the narrow dirt road. A low-hanging branch swiped against the windshield and broke with a crack like a gunshot. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Remo running around the side of the hut. He pushed Whitney’s face into the seat and the gas pedal to the floor before the first of three shots rang out.
    “Where’d you go?” Doug demanded as they left the light of the settlement behind. “A hell of a lookout you make when I nearly get myself shot looking for you.”
    “That’s gratitude.” She shook back her hair as she sat up. “If I hadn’t created a diversion, you’d never have gotten the jeep hot-wired in time.”
    He slowed down only enough to assure himself he wouldn’t smash the jeep against a tree. “What’re you talking about?”
    “When I saw Remo was coming out, I figured you needed a diversion—like in the movies.”
    “Terrific.” He negotiated a bend, bumped over a rock, and kept on going.
    “So, I ran around back and let the dog into the pigsty.”
    Whitney brushed the hair out of her eyes and revealed a very smug smile. “It was quite entertaining, but I couldn’t hang around to watch. It did, however, work perfectly.”
    “Lucky you didn’t get your head shot off,” he mumbled.
    “I continue to prevent you from having yours shot off and you resent it,” she returned. “Typical male ego. I don’t know why I…” She trailed off and sniffed the air.
    “What’s that smell?”
    “What smell?”
    “That smell.” It wasn’t grass, damp, or animal, odors to which they had become accustomed. She sniffed again, then turned and kneeled on the seat. “It smells like…” She lowered so that when Doug turned his head he saw only her slim, well-shaped bottom. “Chicken!” Triumphant, Whitney leapt up again, holding a drumstick. “It’s chicken,” she said again, taking an enormous bite. “They have a whole cold chicken back here and a pile of cans— cans with food in them. Olives,” she announced, digging in the back again. “Big, fat Greek olives. Where’s the can opener?”
    While she dug, head down, Doug plucked the drumstick from her hand. “Dimitri believes in eating well,” he said over a healthy bite. He could have sworn he felt it slide all the way down. “Remo’s smart enough to raid the larder when he’s going to be on the road.”
    “I’ll say.” With a light in her eyes, she flopped back on the seat again. “Beluga.” She held the small tin between her thumb and finger. “And there’s a bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé, ′79.”
    “Any salt?”
    “Of course.”
    Grinning, he handed her the half-eaten drumstick. “Looks like we’re traveling to Diégo-Suarez in style, sugar.”
    Whitney retrieved the bottle of wine and drew out the cork. “Sugar,” she drawled. “I never travel any other way.”

CHAPTER
13
    They made love in the jeep like giddy teenagers, high on exhaustion and wine. The moon was white, the night still. There was music from night birds, insects, and frogs. With the jeep pulled deep into the bush they feasted on caviar and one another while the forest sang around them. Whitney laughed as they struggled to have more of each other on the small, uncooperative front seat of the jeep.
    With her clothes half on, half off, her mind light, and her hunger satisfied, Whitney rolled on top of him and grinned. “I haven’t had a date like this since I was sixteen.”
    “Oh yeah?” He ran a hand up her thigh to her hip. Her eyes were dark, glazed with a combination of weariness, wine, and passion. Doug promised himself he’d see them like that again, when they were in some cozy hotel on the other side of the world. “So a guy could get you into the back seat with a little wine and caviar?”
    “Actually it was crackers and beer.” She sucked beluga from her finger. “And I ended up punching him in the stomach.”
    “You’re a fun date, Whitney.”
    She tipped the last drops from the bottle into her mouth. Around them, the forest was full of insects rubbing their wings and singing. “I am, and have always been, selective.”
    “Selective, huh?” He shifted so that she lay across him as he supported himself against the door of the jeep. “What the hell’re you doing here with me then?”
    She’d asked herself the same question and the simplicity of the answer left her uneasy. She wanted to be. For a moment she was silent, nestling her head against his shoulder. It felt right there, and though