Hot Ice Read Free Page A

breath.
    Black. Unrelieved black.
    She couldn't see .
    God help her. She. Could. Not. See.
    They'd hit her, several times, and hard , the last time she'd managed to get away. Hit her with something heavy. The butt of a gun most likely. She'd lost consciousness for a few seconds and had a blinding headache as a memento. Taylor fingered the knob on the back of her head. Was the damage permanent? God. She couldn't go there. The ramifications terrified her.
    "Well?" Despite the cacophony of noise from nearby, Taylor heard his soft words clearly.
    She licked dry lips. "H-Houston, I think we have a problem. I can't see—anything."
    There was a slight pause before he said quietly, "At all?"
    "At all."
    "Bloody hell."
    She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt his hand on the back of her head.
    "Your head bounced when you landed." He gently combed his fingers through her hair until he came to the tender spot she'd found a second ago. She winced when he brushed the area with a surprisingly gentle touch. "There's a nasty bump back here. Bleeding too."
    There was no point mentioning that her jailers had rewarded her for each escape attempt by using her as a punching bag before they'd thrown her back in the cell. Growing up on the wrong side of the tracks in Reno, Nevada, she'd had plenty of experience with bullies' fists.
    She'd had bruises before. They healed. It was her sight she was worried about.
    He dropped his hand. "This complicates things."
    Taylor almost snorted. "For me too, pal." It hurt to scowl. "Sorry to inconveni—"
    He stuck a solid shoulder to her midriff and hoisted her over his shoulder in a smooth move. Taylor grabbed the back of his shirt for balance.
    "Oh, God, please don't hang me upside down. I might puke." Which proved how badly her head hurt. Upside down was one of her specialties.
    "Don't," he told her unsympathetically as he strode across the room.
    She used both hands to clamp his impressively tight buns, to stabilize herself as he strode across the cell. Seconds later she felt and smelled—other air. It could hardly be termed fresh. It stank of unwashed bodies, fried food, and garbage. In this case, the smell of freedom.
    His shoulder must have been made of solid steel. Her bruised stomach and ribs protested vehemently as he jogged. She had the mother of all headaches, her ribs felt like they were gouging her aching lungs, and nausea threatened to erupt into projectile vomiting any second. Taylor didn't utter a single word of complaint as he headed away from the loud music and sound of bottles breaking. Away from that cell.
    She assured herself that the blindness was temporary. She just wished she knew how long temporary was . She'd also like to know who he was, and why he'd gone to all the trouble of rescuing her. But she could figure that out later. Right now she was simply grateful for his unexpected appearance.
    His footsteps were surprisingly silent as he ran for what felt like an hour. Just when she was positive she was going to lose all of Maria Morales's delicious canapés, he swung her to the ground, then held her upright with a firm hand on the back of her neck. His fingers felt hot and hard on her clammy skin. A reminder of his strength and a heads-up that he could snap her neck like a twig. Out of the fire and into the frying pan?
    The small fluttering wings of panic she'd been working hard to suppress for the past couple of hours unfurled a little more to beat an urgent tattoo in her stomach.
    He wasn't breathing hard, and she was reluctantly impressed. He was big, strong, and physically fit.
    But she was no lightweight. Five-foot-eight in her stocking feet, she might look deceptively fragile, but she was a solid 140 pounds. She worked out to keep her muscles tight and toned. In her business, every advantage counted.
    Even though Taylor couldn't see anything, she closed her eyes to better concentrate. Trying to pinpoint where they were. She hadn't a clue. No traffic noise. No people