Hot Ice

back in the pack and hoped he was too dazed to see her hand shake.
    “That does it.” Holding his sore stomach, he sent her a look that might’ve made Dimitri step back and reconsider.
    “Douglas…” She held up a hand as she might to a lean, vicious dog. “Take a few deep breaths. Count to ten.” What else was there? she wondered frantically. “Jog in place,” she hazarded. “Don’t lose control.”
    “I’m in complete control,” he said between his teeth as he stalked her. “Let me show you.”
    “Some other time. Let’s have some wine. We can…” She broke off as his hand closed over her throat. “Doug!” It came out in a squeak.
    “Now,” he began, then looked up at the whirl of engines. “Sonofabitch!”
    He wouldn’t mistake the sound of the helicopter a second time. It was almost overhead and they were in the open. Wide fucking open, he thought on a surge of fury. Releasing her, he began to grab up gear. “Move ass,” he shouted. “Picnic’s over.”
    “If you tell me to move ass one more time—”
    “Just move it!” He shoved the first pack at her even as he hauled up the other. “Now get those pretty long legs moving, sugar. We ain’t got much time.” He locked his hand over hers and headed for the trees in a dead run. Whitney’s hair flowed out behind them.
    Above, in the small cabin of the copter, Remo lowered his binoculars. For the first time in days, a grin moved under his moustache. Lazily, he stroked the scar that marred his cheek. “We’ve spotted them. Radio Mr. Dimitri.”

CHAPTER
8
    “Do you think they saw us?”
    At top speed, Doug headed dead east and kept to the thickest part of the forest. Roots and vines snatched at their feet, but he never lost his footing. He ran instinctively, through a foreign forest crowded with bamboo and eucalyptus just as he had through Manhattan. Leaves swung out and lashed back as they pushed through. Whitney might’ve complained when they swatted into her face, but she was too busy saving her breath.
    “Yeah, I think they saw us.” He didn’t waste time on fury, on frustration, on panic, though he felt all. Every time he thought they’d gained some time, he found Dimitri on his heels like some well-groomed English hound who’d tasted blood. He needed to rework his strategy, and he’d have to do it on his feet. Through experience he’d come to believe it was the best way. If you had too much time to think, you thought too much about consequences. “There’s no place for them to put that copter down in this forest.”
    It made sense. “So we stay in the forest.”
    “No.” He was loping along like a marathon runner, smoothly, breath even. Whitney could detest him for it even as she admired it. Overhead, lemurs chattered in wild fear and excitement. “Dimitri’ll have men combing this area within the hour.”
    That made sense as well. “So we get out of the forest.”
    “No.”
    Exhausted from the run, Whitney stopped, leaned her back against a tree, and just slid down to the mossy ground beneath. She’d once, arrogantly, considered herself in shape. The muscles in her legs screamed in revolt. “What’re we going to do?” she demanded. “Disappear?”
    Doug frowned, not at her, nor at the steady, whirling sound of blades and engine overhead. He looked off into the forest while the plan formed in his mind.
    It was risky. In fact, it was undoubtedly foolhardy. He glanced up to where a canopy of leaves was all that separated them from Remo and a .45.
    Then again, it might work.
    “Disappear,” he murmured. “That’s what we’re going to do.” Crouching down, he opened a pack.
    “Looking for your fairy dust?”
    “I’m looking to save that alabaster skin of yours, sugar.” He pulled out the lamba Whitney had bought in Antananarivo. While she sat, he draped it over her head, going more for coverage than style. “Good-bye Whitney MacAllister, hello Malagasy matron.”
    Whitney blew pale blonde hair out of her eyes. One elegant, fine-boned hand folded over the other. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
    “Got a better idea?”
    She sat for a moment. The forest was no longer quiet with the intrusion of helicopter blades overhead. Its shade and spreading trees and mossy scent no longer equalled protection. In silence, she crossed the lamba under her chin and tossed the ends back. A lousy idea was better than none at all. Usually.
    “Okay, let’s move.” Taking her hand he hauled her to her feet.