Hot Ice

replenishing it when he had to. He wished he could be certain just how far north they should travel before they dared swing east to the coast and easier ground.
    Dimitri might be waiting in Tamatave, soaking up wine and sunshine, dining on the fresh local fish. Logically, that should be their first stop, so logically they had to avoid it. For the time being.
    Doug didn’t mind playing a game of wits, the bigger the odds the better. The sweeter the pot, as he’d once told Whitney. But Dimitri… Dimitri was a different story.
    He hitched at the straps of his backpack until the weight settled more comfortably on his shoulders. And there wasn’t only himself to think of this time. One of the reasons he’d avoided partnerships for so long was because he preferred having one body to worry about. His own. He shot a look across at Whitney, who’d been cooly silent since they’d left the train tracks and headed toward the highlands.
    Damn woman, he thought for lack of anything better. If she thought the cold-shoulder routine was going to shake him up, she was dead wrong. It might make some of her fancy patent-leather jerks beg for a word of forgiveness, but as far as he was concerned, she was a hell of a lot more attractive when her mouth was shut anyway.
    Imagine complaining because he’d gotten her off the train in one piece. Maybe she had a few bruises, but she was still breathing. Her problem was, he decided, she wanted everything all nice and pretty, like that high-class apartment of hers… or the tiny little piece of silk she was wearing under that skirt.
    Doug shook away that particular thought in a hurry and concentrated on picking his way over the rocks.
    He’d like to keep to the hills for a while—two days, maybe three. There was plenty of cover, and the going was rough. Rough enough, he was certain, to slow Remo and some of Dimitri’s other trained hounds down. They were more accustomed to tramping down back alleys and into sleazy motel rooms than over rocks and hills. Those used to being hunted acclimated with more ease.
    Pausing on a crest, he drew out the field glasses and took a long, slow sweep. Below and slightly west, he spotted a small settlement. The cluster of tiny red houses and wide barns bordered a patchwork of fields. Rice paddies, he decided, because of their moist emerald green color. He saw no power lines and was grateful. The farther away from civilization, the better. The settlement would be a Merina tribe, if his memory of the guidebook was accurate. Just beyond was a narrow winding river. Part of the Betsiboka.
    Eyes narrowed, Doug followed its trail while an idea formed. True, the river flowed northwest, but the notion of traveling by boat had some appeal. Crocodiles or not, it was bound to be faster than going on foot, even for a short distance. Traveling by river was something he’d have to decide on when the time came. He’d take an evening or two to read up on it—what rivers would suit his purpose best and how the Malagasy traveled by them. He remembered skimming over something that had reminded him of the flatbed canoes the Cajuns used. Doug had traveled through the bayous on one himself after nearly bungling a job in a stately old house outside of Lafayette.
    How much had he gotten for those antique pearl-handled dueling pistols? He couldn’t remember. But the chase through the swamp where he’d had to pole his way across cypress trees and under dripping moss—that had been something. No, he wouldn’t mind traveling by river again.
    In any case, he’d keep his eye out for more settlements. Sooner or later, they’d need more food and have to bargain for it. Remembering the woman beside him, he decided that Whitney might just come in handy there.
    Disgusted, and aching from bruises, Whitney sat on the ground. She wasn’t going another step until she’d rested and eaten. Her legs felt entirely too much like they had the one and only time she’d tried the electric jogging track at the gym. Without giving Doug a glance she dug into her pack. The first thing she was going to do was change her shoes.
    Replacing the glasses, Doug turned to her. The sun was straight up. They could make miles before dusk. “Let’s go.”
    Cooly silent, Whitney found a banana and began to peel it in long, slow strips. Just let him tell her to move her ass this time. With her eyes on Doug’s she bit into the fruit and chewed.
    Her skirt was hiked up past her knees as she sat cross-legged