Hot Ice

to do that?”
    Doug shot her a look. “Just hold on. This time, I’m driving.” Throwing the Porsche into reverse, he peeled out of the space. By the time they reached the garage entrance, they were doing sixty. “Got a favorite hotel?”
    “I’m not going to a hotel. You’re not getting out of my sight, Lord, until your account has a zero balance. Where you go, I go.”
    “Look, I don’t know how much time I have.” He kept a careful eye on the rearview mirror as he drove.
    “What you don’t have any of is money,” she reminded him. She had her book out now and began to write in neat columns. “And you’re currently in to me for a windshield, an antique porcelain vase, a Meissen tea set—eleven-fifty for that—and a plate-glass window—maybe more.”
    “Then another thousand isn’t going to matter.”
    “Another thousand always matters. Your credit’s only good as long as I can see you. If you want a plane ticket you’re taking on a partner.”
    “Partner?” He turned to her, wondering why he didn’t just take her purse and shove her out the door. “I never take on partners.”
    “You do this time. Fifty-fifty.”
    “I’ve got the answers.” The truth was he had the questions, but he wasn’t going to worry about details.
    “But you don’t have the stake.”
    He swung onto FDR Drive. No, dammit, he didn’t have the stake, and he needed it. So, for now, he needed her. Later, when he was several thousand miles from New York, they could negotiate terms. “Okay, just how much cash have you got on you?”
    “A couple hundred.”
    “Hundred? Shit.” He kept his speed to a steady fifty-five now. He couldn’t afford to get pulled over. “That won’t take us farther than New Jersey.”
    “I don’t like to carry a lot of cash.”
    “Terrific. I’ve got papers worth millions and you want to buy in for two hundred.”
    “Two hundred, plus the five thousand you owe me. And—” She reached into her purse. “I’ve got the plastic.” Grinning, she held up a gold American Express card. “I never leave home without it.”
    Doug stared at it, then threw back his head and laughed. Maybe she was more trouble than she was worth, but he was beginning to doubt it.
    The hand that reached for the phone was plump and very white. At the wrist, white cuffs were studded with square sapphires. The nails were buffed to a dull sheen and neatly clipped. The receiver itself was white, pristine, cool. Fingers curled around it, three elegantly manicured ones and a scarred-over stub where the pinky should have been.
    “Dimitri.” The voice was poetry. Hearing it, Remo began to sweat like a pig. He drew on his cigarette and spoke quickly, before exhaling.
    “They gave us the slip.”
    Dead silence. Dimitri knew it was more terrifying than a hundred threats. He used it five seconds, ten. “Three men against one and a young woman. How inefficient.”
    Remo pulled the tie loose from his throat so he could breathe. “They stole a Porsche. We’re following them to the airport now. They won’t get far, Mr. Dimitri.”
    “No, they won’t get far. I have a few calls to make, a few… buttons to push. I’ll meet you in a day or two.”
    Remo rubbed his hand over his mouth as his relief began to spread. “Where?”
    There was a laugh, soft, distant. The sense of relief evaporated like sweat. “Find Lord, Remo. I’ll find you.”

CHAPTER
2
    His arm was stiff. When Doug rolled over he gave a little grunt of annoyance at the discomfort and absently pushed at the bandage. His face was pressed into a soft feather pillow covered by a linen case that had no scent. Beneath him, the sheet was warm and smooth. Gingerly flexing his left arm, he shifted onto his back.
    The room was dark, deceiving him into thinking it was still night until he looked at his watch. Nine-fifteen. Shit. He ran a hand over his face as he pushed himself up in bed.
    He should be on a plane halfway to the Indian Ocean instead of lying around in a fancy hotel room in Washington. A dull, fancy hotel room, he remembered as he thought of the fussy, red-carpeted lobby. They’d arrived at one-ten and he hadn’t even been able to get a drink. The politicians could have Washington, he’d take New York.
    The first problem was that Whitney held the purse strings, and she hadn’t given him a choice. The next problem was, she’d been right. He’d only been thinking of getting out of New York, she’d been thinking of details like