Hot Ice

didn’t take long for the Malagasy police to clear out the room. Whitney watched the handcuffs being snapped onto Dimitri’s wrist below a fat emerald cuff link.
    “Whitney, Mr. Lord.” Dimitri’s voice remained soft, cultured, calm. A man in his position understood temporary setbacks. But his eyes, as his gaze passed over them, were as flat as a goat’s. “I’m sure, yes, quite sure we’ll see each other again.”
    “We’ll catch you on the eleven o’clock news,” Doug told him.
    “I owe you,” Dimitri acknowledged with a nod. “I always pay my debts.”
    Whitney’s gaze met his briefly, and she smiled. Once again, her fingers trailed down to the shell around her neck.
    “For Jacques,” she said softly, “I hope they find a hole dark enough for you.” Then she buried her face against her father’s clean-smelling jacket. “I’m so glad to see you.”
    “Explanations.” But MacAllister held her fiercely for a moment. “Let’s have some, Whitney.”
    She drew away, eyes laughing. “Explain what?”
    He struggled with a grin and huffed instead. “Nothing changes.”
    “How’s Mother? I hope you didn’t tell her you were trailing after me.”
    “She’s fine. She thinks I’m in Rome working. If I’d told her I was chasing our only daughter all over Madagascar, she wouldn’t have been able to play bridge for days.”
    “You’re so clever.” She kissed him, hard. “How did you know to chase me all over Madagascar?”
    “I believe you’ve met General Bennett?”
    Whitney turned and faced a tall, rangy man with stern, unsmiling eyes. “Of course.” She offered her hand as though they were at a well-mannered cocktail party. “At the Stevensons’ year before last. How are you, General? Oh, I don’t believe you’ve met Douglas. Doug…” Whitney signaled to him across the room where he was mumbling out a tangled statement to one of the Malagasy officials. Grateful for the respite, he went to her. “Daddy, General Bennett, this is Douglas Lord. Doug’s the one who stole the papers, General.”
    The smile turned a little sickly on Doug’s face. “Nice to meet you.”
    “You owe Douglas quite a bit,” she told the general and poked in her father’s jacket for a cigarette.
    “Owe,” the general blustered. “This thief—”
    “Secured the papers, keeping them out of the hands of Dimitri. At the risk of his own life,” she added, holding up the cigarette for a light. Doug obliged her, deciding he’d leave the explanations to her after all. She sent him a wink as she blew out smoke. “You see, it all started when Dimitri hired Doug to steal the papers. Of course, Doug knew right away that they were priceless and had to be kept out of the wrong hands.” She drew in smoke, then waved the cigarette expressively. “He virtually took his life in his hands to secure them. I can’t tell you how many times he told me if we found the treasure, what a priceless contribution to society it would be. Isn’t that so, Doug?”
    “Well, I—”
    “He’s so modest. You really must take credit where credit’s due, darling. After all, securing the treasure for General Bennett’s foundation nearly cost you your life.”
    “It was nothing,” Doug muttered. He could see the rainbow beginning to fade.
    “Nothing?” Whitney shook her head. “General, as a man of action, you’d appreciate just what Doug went through to prevent Dimitri from hoarding the treasure. Hoarding,” she repeated. “He intended to keep it to himself. To wallow in it,” she added with a slanted look at Doug. “When, as we all will agree, it belongs to society.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Before you express your gratitude, General,” she interrupted, “I’d appreciate it if you’d explain to me just how you arrived here. We do owe you our lives.”
    Flattered, and confused, the general began an explanation.
    Whitaker’s nephew, terrified by his uncle’s fate, had gone to the general confessing everything he knew. Which was considerable. Once the general had been alerted, he hadn’t hesitated. The authorities had been on Dimitri’s trail before Whitney and Doug had climbed off the plane at Antananarivo.
    Dimitri’s trail had led to Doug, and Doug’s, because of their escapades in New York and D.C., to Whitney. She had reason to be grateful to the ever-eager paparazzi for several grainy pictures in the tabloids her father’s secretary poured over.
    After a brief session with Uncle Max in