Hot Ice

eyes, she arched like a bow. “No!” She struggled, nearly knocking the gun from Doug’s hand as she tried to get up. “Jacques! Oh God.”
    “Stay down.” He gave the order between his teeth as he locked his legs around hers. “There’s nothing you can do for him now.” When she continued to fight, he dug his fingers in hard enough to bruise her. “He’s dead, dammit. Dead before he hit the water.”
    Her eyes were wide, swimming, as she stared up at him. Without a word she closed them and lay still.
    If he felt guilt, if he felt grief, he’d deal with them later. Now it was back to the first priority. Staying alive.
    He could hear nothing but the gentle lap of water as the boat drifted in the current. They could be on either side, that he knew. What he didn’t know was why they hadn’t simply riddled the canoe with bullets. The thin outer skin would be no protection.
    They had orders to take them alive. Doug glanced down at Whitney. She remained still and passive, eyes shut. Or to take one of them alive, he realized.
    Dimitri would be curious about a woman like Whitney MacAllister. He’d know everything there was to know about her by now. No, he wouldn’t want her dead. He’d want to entertain her for a time—be entertained by her— then ransom her back. They wouldn’t shoot at the canoe, but simply wait them out. The first order of business was to find out where they were waiting. Doug could already feel the sweat pooling between his shoulder blades.
    “That you, Remo?” he shouted. “You’re still using too much of that fancy cologne. I can smell you out here.” He waited a moment, straining to hear any sound. “Dimitri know I’ve had you running around in circles?”
    “You’re the one who’s running, Lord.”
    On the left. He didn’t know how he was going to do it yet, but he knew they’d have to get to the opposite shore.
    “Yeah, maybe I’m slowing down.” Checking off different angles, Doug kept talking. The birds that had fled skyward screaming at the sound of the shot were calm again. A few had resumed their lazy chatter. He saw that Whitney had opened her eyes again, but she wasn’t moving. “Maybe it’s time we talked deal. You and me, Remo. With what I got, you could fill a swimming pool with that French cologne. Ever think about branching out on your own, Remo? You got brains. Aren’t you getting tired of taking orders and doing somebody else’s dirty work?”
    “You want to talk, Lord. Paddle over. We’ll have a nice little business meeting.”
    “Paddle over and you’ll put a bullet in my brain, Remo. Come on, let’s not insult each other’s intelligence.” Maybe, just maybe, he could angle one of the poles in the water and guide the boat. If he could wait until dusk, they might have a chance.
    “You’re the one who wants to deal, Lord. What do you have in mind?”
    “I got the papers, Remo.” Gently he tugged open his pack. He also had a box of bullets. “And I got me a classy lady. They’re both worth a hell of a lot more money than you’ve ever seen.” He shot Whitney a look. She was staring at him, pale and dry-eyed. “Dimitri tell you I got me a heiress, Remo? MacAllister. You know, MacAllister’s ice cream? Best goddamn fudge ripple in the States. You know how many million they made off fudge ripple alone, Remo? You know how much her old man’d pay to get her back in one piece?”
    He slid the box of bullets into his pocket while Whitney watched. “Play along with me, sugar,” he told her as he checked to see that his gun was fully loaded. “We both might get out breathing. I’m going to give him a list of your attributes. When I do, I want you to start swearing at me, rock the boat, kick up a scene. While you’re doing it, grab that pole. Okay?”
    Expressionless, she nodded.
    “There ain’t much meat on her but she really warms up the sheets, Remo. And she ain’t too particular about who she warms them up with. Know what I mean? I got no problem sharing the wealth.”
    “You rotten sonofabitch.” With a screech that would’ve done a fishwife proud, Whitney reared up. He hadn’t meant for her to put herself in range and grabbed for her. Wound up, she swung at his hand and knocked it away. “You’ve absolutely no style,” she shouted, standing straight. “Absolutely no class. I’d as soon sleep with a slug as let you into my bed.”
    In the lowering light she was magnificent, passionate, hair streaming behind her, eyes