Hot Ice

sail from port to port. He’d head for the south of France, bake in the sun, and watch women. He’d keep one step ahead of Dimitri for the rest of his life. Because Dimitri, as long as he lived, would never let up. That, too, was part of the game.
    But the best part was the doing, the planning, the maneuvering. He’d always found it more exciting to anticipate the taste of champagne than to finish the bottle. Madagascar was only hours away. Once there he could start applying everything he’d been reading along with his own skills and experience.
    He’d have to pace himself to keep ahead of Dimitri— but not so far ahead he ran into Dimitri on the other end. The trouble was that he wasn’t sure how much his former employer knew about the contents of the envelope. Too much, he thought, absently touching a hand to his chest where it was still strapped. Dimitri was bound to know plenty because he always did. No one had ever crossed him and lived to enjoy it. Doug knew if he sat still too long he’d feel hot breath on the back of his neck.
    He’d just have to play it by ear. Once they were there… He glanced over at Whitney. She was kicked back in her seat, eyes closed. In sleep she looked cool and serene and untouchable. Need stirred inside him, the need he’d always had for the untouchable. This time he’d just have to smother it.
    It was strictly business between them, Doug mused. All business. Until he could talk her out of some cold cash and gently ditch her along the way. Maybe she’d been more help than he’d anticipated so far, but she was a type he understood. Rich and restless. Sooner or later, she’d become bored with the whole scheme. He had to get the cash before she did.
    Certain he would, Doug pressed the button to release his seat back. He shut the book. What he’d read he wouldn’t forget. His gift for recall would have breezed him through law school or any other profession. He was satisfied that it helped in the career he’d chosen. He never needed notes when he cased a job because he didn’t forget. He never hit the same mark twice because names and faces stayed with him.
    Money might slip through his fingers but details didn’t. Doug took it philosophically. You could always get more money. Life would be pretty dull if you put it all in stocks and bonds instead of on the wheel or the horses. He was satisfied. Because he knew the next few days would be long and hard, he was even better than satisfied. It was more exciting to find a diamond in a garbage heap than in a display cabinet. He was looking forward to digging.
    Whitney slept. It was the movement of the plane beginning its long descent that woke her. Thank God, was her first thought. She was thoroughly sick of planes. If she’d been traveling alone, she’d have taken the Concorde. Under the circumstances, she hadn’t been willing to pick up the extra fare for Doug. His account in her little book was growing, and while she fully intended to collect every penny, she knew he fully intended she wouldn’t.
    To look at him now, you’d think he was as sincere as a first-year Boy Scout. She studied him as he slept, his hair mussed from travel, his hands closed over the book on his lap. Anyone would’ve taken him for an ordinary man of some means on his way to a European vacation. That was part of his skill, she decided. The ability to blend in with any group he chose would be invaluable.
    Just what group did he belong to? The sleazy, hard-edged members of the underworld who dealt in dark alleys? She remembered the look in his eyes when he’d asked about Butrain. Yes, she was sure he’d seen his share of dark alleys. But belong? No, it didn’t quite fit.
    Even in the short time she’d known him she was certain he simply didn’t belong. He was a maverick, perhaps not always wise, but always restless. That was part of the appeal. He was a thief, but she thought he had a certain code of honor. A court might not recognize it, but she did. And respected it.
    He wasn’t hard. She’d seen in his eyes when he spoke of Juan that he wasn’t hard. He was a dreamer. She’d seen that in his eyes when he spoke of the treasure. And he was a realist. She’d heard that in his voice when he spoke of Dimitri. A realist knew enough to fear. He was too complex to belong. And yet…
    He’d been Cassie Lawrence’s lover. Whitney knew the West-Coast diamond ate men for breakfast. She was also very discriminating about whom she chose to share