Hot Ice

was only that of animals in the trees. Something resembling a hedgehog waddled out into the sunlight, lifted its head to scent, then slipped back into the bush. She heard flies buzzing and the whine of insects. That’s what reminded her the sound of the copter had ceased. She kept her mind set on Doug, willing him to hurry.
    Though the settlement below seemed sparse and dingy, this was a much lusher Madagascar than the one she’d passed through over the last two days. It was green and wet, thriving with life. She knew there were birds or animals overhead as she listened to the leaves rustle. Once through the field glasses she thought she spotted a fat partridge fly low over the clearing.
    She could smell grass and the light fragrance of flowers that grew in the shade. Her elbows pushed through the springy moss to where the ground was dark and rich. A few yards away the hill sloped steeply, and erosion had washed soil down to rock. As she lay still, a fresh hush fell over the forest, a humming silence that was touched with the mystery she’d first anticipated when Doug had mentioned the country’s name.
    Had it really only been a matter of days, she mused, since they’d been in her apartment, him pacing, impatient, trying to wheedle a stake out of her? Already, everything that had come before that night seemed like a dream. She hadn’t even unpacked from Paris, yet she could remember nothing exciting from her trip there. She couldn’t think of a dull moment since Doug had jumped into her car in Manhattan.
    Definitely more interesting, she decided. She looked back at the huts, but they were as quiet now as they’d been before Doug had scrambled down the hill. He’d be very good, she thought, at his chosen profession. His hands were quick, his eye keen, and he was light, very light, on his feet.
    Though she wasn’t looking for a career change herself, she thought it might be fun to have him teach her a few tricks of his trade. She was a quick study and good with her hands. That and a certain steel-coated charm had helped her achieve success in her business without the help of her influential family. Weren’t the same basic abilities required in Doug’s field?
    Perhaps, just for the experience naturally, she could try her hand at being a thief. After all, black was one of her best colors.
    She had a trim little angora sweater that would do very nicely, she thought. And, if she remembered right, she owned a pair of black jeans. Yes, she was certain of it, snug black jeans with a row of silver studs down one leg. Really, she could be outfitted in no time if she picked up a pair of black sneakers.
    She could try the family estate on Long Island for starters. The security system there was complex and intricate. So intricate, her father set it off regularly, then bellowed at the servants to shut it down again. If she and Doug could manage to get through it…
    There were the Rubens, the pair of T’ang horses, the perfectly hideous solid-gold salver her grandfather had given to her mother. She could take a few choice pieces, box them up, and ship them back to her father’s New York offices. It would drive him crazy.
    Amused at the thought, Whitney scanned again. Daydreaming, she nearly missed the movement to the east. With a jerk, she brought the glasses back to the right and focused.
    The three bears were coming back, she thought. And Goldilocks was going to be caught with his fingers in the porridge.
    She drew in her breath to whistle when a voice close behind her had her gulping instead.
    “We flush ′em out in here, or we drive ′em out.” Leaves rustled smartly behind her and just overhead. “Either way, Lord’s luck’s running out.” The man who spoke hadn’t forgotten having a bottle of whiskey swung into his face. As he spoke, he touched the nose Doug had broken in the bar in Manhattan. “I want first shot at Lord myself.”
    “I want first shot at the woman,” another voice piped up, high and whiny. Whitney felt as though something slimy had passed over her skin.
    “Pervert,” the first man grumbled as he pushed his way through the forest. “You can play with her, Barns, but remember, Dimitri wants her in one piece. As for Lord, the boss doesn’t care how many pieces he’s in.”
    Whitney lay still on the ground, eyes wide, mouth dry. She’d read somewhere that true fear mists over hearing and sight. She could now verify it firsthand. It occurred to her that the woman they spoke of so