Hot Ice

at her. “Fondle it, gaze upon it. Own it.”
    While Doug’s attitude had frustrated her, at least she understood it. He’d seen the treasure as a means to an end. Dimitri saw it as a personal possession. A dozen arguments sprang up in her mind. She repressed them. “I’m sure Marie would have approved.”
    As he considered this, Dimitri gazed toward the ceiling. Royalty was another of his fascinations. “She would have, yes. Greed is looked on as one of the seven deadly sins, but so few understand its basic pleasure.” He dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin before he rose. “I hope you’ll forgive me, my dear, I’m accustomed to retiring early.” He pressed a small button that was worked cleverly into the carving on the mantel. “Perhaps you’d like to choose a book before you go up?”
    “Please don’t think you have to entertain me, Mr. Dimitri. I’ll be quite happy on my own, just browsing.”
    With another smile, he patted her hand. “Perhaps another time, Whitney. I’m sure you need your rest after your experiences of the last few weeks.” There was a quiet knock at the door. “Remo will show you to your room. Sleep well.”
    “Thank you.” She set down her coffee cup and rose, but had taken no more than two steps when Dimitri’s hand clamped over her wrist. She looked down at the lightly polished nails, and the stub. “The bracelet, my dear.” His fingers pressed hard enough to rub against bone. She didn’t wince.
    “Sorry,” she said easily, holding her hand out.
    Dimitri unhooked the gold and rubies from her wrist. “You’ll join me for breakfast, I hope.”
    “Of course.” Whitney swept toward the door, pausing as Dimitri opened it. She stood trapped between him and Remo. “Good night.”
    “Good night, Whitney.”
    She held to cool silence until the door of the sitting room locked behind her. “Sonofabitch.” Disgusted, she took off the delicate Italian slippers that had been provided for her and threw them at the wall.
    Trapped, she thought. Locked up just as tidily as the treasure chest—to be gazed upon, fondled. Owned. “In a pig’s eye,” she said aloud. She wanted to weep and wail and beat her fists against the locked door. Instead, she stripped off the ivory silk and left it in a heap before she marched into the bedroom.
    She’d find a way, Whitney promised herself. She’d find a way out, and when she did, Dimitri would pay for every minute she’d been his prisoner.
    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