Hot Ice

to do.”
    She drew on a blouse the color of crushed raspberries. “Such as?”
    “I checked the train schedule.” Doug dropped into a chair, crossed his ankles on the table, and bit into a roll. “We can be on our way east at twelve-fifteen. Meantime we’ve got to pick up some supplies.”
    She took her coffee to the dresser. “Such as?”
    “Backpacks,” he said, watching the sun rise over the city outside. “I’m not lugging that leather thing through the forest.”
    Whitney took a sip of coffee before picking up her brush. It was strong, European style, and thick as mud. “As in hiking?”
    “You got it, sugar. We’ll need a tent, one of those new lightweight ones that fold up to nothing.”
    She drew the brush in a long, slow stroke through her hair. “Anything wrong with hotels?”
    With a quick smirk, he glanced over, then said nothing at all. Her hair looked like gold dust in the morning light. Fairy dust. He found it difficult to swallow. Rising, he paced over to the window so that his back was to her. “We’ll use public transportation when I think it’s safe, then go through the back door. I don’t want to advertise our little expedition,” he muttered. “Dimitri isn’t going to give up.”
    She thought of Paris. “You’ve convinced me.”
    “The less we use public roads and towns, the less chance he has of picking up our scent.”
    “Makes sense.” Whitney wound her hair into a braid and secured the end with a swatch of ribbon. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
    “We’ll travel by rail as far as Tamatave.” He turned, grinning. With the sun at his back he looked more like a knight than a thief. His hair fell to his collar, dark, a bit unruly. There was a light of adventure in his eyes. “Then, we go north.”
    “And when do I see what it is that’s taking us north?”
    “You don’t need to. I’ve seen it.” But he was already calculating how he could get her to translate pieces for him without giving her the whole.
    Slowly, she tapped her brush against her palm. She wondered how long it would be before she could translate some of the papers, and keep a few snatches of information to herself. “Doug, would you buy a pig in a poke?”
    “If I liked the odds.”
    With a half smile, she shook her head. “No wonder you’re broke. You have to learn how to hang on to your money.”
    “I’m sure you could give me lessons.”
    “The papers, Douglas.”
    They were strapped to his chest again. The first thing he was going to buy was a knapsack where he could store them safely. His skin was raw from the adhesive. He was certain Whitney would have some pretty ointment that would ease the soreness. He was equally sure she’d mark the cost of it in her little notebook.
    “Later.” When she started to speak again, he held up a hand. “I’ve got a couple of books along you might like to read. We’ve got a long trip and plenty of time. We’ll talk about it. Trust me, okay?”
    She waited a moment, watching him. Trust, no, she wasn’t foolish enough to feel it. But as long as she held the purse strings, they were a team. Satisfied, she swung her handbag strap over her shoulder and held out her hand. If she was going on a quest, she’d just as soon it be with a knight who had some tarnish on him. “Okay, let’s go shopping.”
    Doug led her downstairs. As long as she was in a good mood, he might as well make his pitch. Companionably, he swung an arm around her shoulder. “So, how’d you sleep?”
    “Just fine.”
    On their way through the lobby, he plucked a small purple blossom from a vase and tucked it behind her ear. Passionflower—he thought it might suit her. Its scent was strong and sweet, as a tropical flower’s should be. The gesture touched her, even as she distrusted it. “Too bad we don’t have much time to play tourist,” he said conversationally. “The Queen’s Palace is supposed to be something to see.”
    “You have a taste for the opulent?”
    “Sure. I always figured it was nice to live with a little flash.”
    She laughed, shaking her head. “I’d rather have a feather bed than a gold one.”
    “‘They say that knowledge is power. I used to think so, but I now know that they meant money.’”
    She stopped in her tracks and stared at him. What kind of a thief quoted Byron? “You continue to surprise me.”
    “If you read you’re bound to pick up something.” Shrugging, Doug decided to steer away from philosophy and