Hot Ice

Washington, the general and MacAllister had hired a private detective. The man in the panama hat had picked up their trail, dogging them just as Dimitri had. When they’d jumped from the train heading toward Tamatave, both the general and MacAllister had been on a plane to Madagascar. The authorities there had been only too happy to cooperate in the capture of an international criminal.
    “Fascinating,” Whitney said when it looked like the general’s monologue would go on until dawn. “Simply fascinating. I can see why you earned those five stars.” Hooking her arm through his, she smiled. “You saved my life, General. I hope you’ll give me the pleasure of showing you the treasure.”
    With a cocky smile over her shoulder, she led him away.
    MacAllister drew out a cigarette case and flipped it open, offering it to Doug. “Nobody bullshits like Whitney,” he said easily. “I don’t believe you’ve met Brick-man.” He gestured to the man in the panama. “He’s worked for me before, one of the best. He’s said the same of you.”
    Doug eyed the man in the panama. Each man recognized the other for what he was. “You were at the canal, just behind Remo.”
    Brickman remembered the crocks and smiled. “My pleasure.”
    “Now.” MacAllister looked from one man to the other. He hadn’t succeeded in business without knowing what went on in men’s minds. “Why don’t we get a drink and you can tell me what really happened?”
    Doug flipped his lighter and studied MacAllister’s face. It was tanned and smooth, a sure sign of wealth. His voice had the ring of authority. The eyes that looked back at him were dark as whiskey, as amused as Whitney’s. Doug’s lips tilted.
    “Dimitri’s a pig, but he stocks a good bar. Scotch?”
    It was nearly dawn when Doug looked down on Whitney. She was curled, naked, under the thin sheet. A slight smile touched her lips as though she were dreaming of the rush of lovemaking they’d shared after they’d returned to the hotel. But her breathing was slow and even as she slept the sleep of the exhausted.
    He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t. He’d thought of leaving her a note. But he didn’t.
    He was who he was, what he was. A thief, a nomad, a loner.
    For the second time in his life, he’d held the world in his hands, and for the second time, it had vanished. It would be possible, after a time, to convince himself that he’d come across that big break again. The end of the rainbow. Just as it would be possible, after a very long time, to convince himself that he and Whitney had had a fling. Fun and games, nothing serious. He’d convince himself because those damn strings were tightening around him. It was break them now, or not at all.
    He still had the ticket to Paris, and a check for five thousand the general had written to him after Whitney had had the retired soldier bubbling with gratitude.
    But he’d seen the look in the eyes of the officials, of the private detective who recognized a con and a thief when he saw one. He’d earned a reprieve, but the next dark alley was just around the corner.
    Doug glanced at the pack and thought of her notebook. He knew his tab came to more than the five thousand he had at his disposal. Going over, he rummaged through her pack until he found the pad and pencil.
    After the final total, which caused him to lift a brow, he scribbled a brief message.
    IOU, sugar.
    Dropping both back in the pack, he took a last look at her while she slept. He slipped from the room like the thief he was, silently and swiftly.

    The moment she woke, Whitney knew he was gone. It wasn’t a matter of the bed being empty beside her. Another woman might have assumed he’d gone out for coffee or a walk. Another woman might have called his name in a husky sleepy voice.
    She knew he was gone.
    It was in her nature to face things directly when there wasn’t a choice. Whitney rose, pulled back the blinds, and began to pack. Because silence was unbearable, she switched on the radio without bothering to fiddle with the dial.
    She noticed the boxes tumbled on the floor. Determined to keep occupied, she began to open them.
    Her fingers slid over the flimsy lingerie Doug had picked out for her. She gave a quick, tilted smile at the receipt with her credit-card imprint. Because she’d decided that cynicism would be her best defense, Whitney slipped into the pale blue teddy. After all, she’d paid for it.
    Tossing the box aside, she drew off the