Hot Ice Read Free Page A

Whitney suggested. She barreled around the next corner, skimming the curb. “You’re making me nervous.”
    Doug flopped back in his seat and wondered why, with all the possibilities, it had to end this way—smashed into unrecognizable pulp in some crazy woman’s Mercedes. He could’ve gone quietly with Remo and had Dimitri murder him with some ritual. There’d have been more justice in that.
    They were on Fifth again, moving south at what Doug saw was better than ninety. As they went through a puddle, water slushed up as far as the window. Even now, the Lincoln was less than a half block behind. “Dammit. They just won’t shake lose.”
    “Oh yeah?” Whitney set her teeth and gave the mirror a quick check. She’d never been a gracious loser. “Watch this.” Before Doug could draw a breath, she whipped the Mercedes around in a tight U-turn and headed dead-on for the Lincoln.
    He watched with a kind of fascinated dread. “Oh my God.”
    Remo, in the passenger seat of the Lincoln, echoed the sentiment just before his driver lost courage and steered toward the curb. The speed took them over it, across the sidewalk, and with an impressive flourish, through the plate-glass window of Godiva Chocolatiers. Without slackening pace, Whitney spun the Mercedes around again and cruised down Fifth.
    Dropping back in his seat, Doug let out a series of long, deep breaths. “Lady,” he managed to say, “you got more guts than brains.”
    “And you owe me three hundred bucks for the windshield.” Rather sedately, she pulled into the underground parking of a high rise.
    “Yeah.” Absently, he patted his chest and torso to see if he was all in one piece. “I’ll send you a check.”
    “Cash.” After pulling into her space, Whitney turned off the ignition and hopped out. “Now, you can carry my luggage up.” She popped the trunk before she strolled toward the elevator. Maybe her knees were shaking, but she’d be damned if she’d admit it. “I want a drink.”
    Doug looked back toward the entrance of the garage and calculated his chances on the street. Maybe an hour or so inside would give him the chance to outline the best plan. And, he supposed, he owed her. He started to haul out the luggage.
    “There’s more in the back.”
    “I’ll get it later.” He slung a garment bag over his shoulder and hoisted two cases. Gucci, he noted with a smirk. And she was bitching about a lousy three hundred.
    Doug walked into the elevator and dumped the two cases unceremoniously on the floor. “Been on a trip?”
    Whitney punched the button for the forty-second floor. “A couple of weeks in Paris.”
    “Couple of weeks.” Doug glanced at the three bags. And she’d said there were more. “Travel light, do you?”
    “I travel,” Whitney said rather grandly, “as I please. Ever been to Europe?”
    He grinned, and though the sunglasses hid his eyes, she found the smile appealing. He had a well-shaped mouth and teeth that weren’t quite straight. “Few times.”
    They measured each other in silence. It was the first opportunity Doug had had to really look at her. She was taller than he’d expected—though he wasn’t altogether sure just what he’d expected. Her hair was almost completely hidden under an angled white fedora, but what he could see was as pale as the punker’s he’d stopped on the street, though a richer shade. The brim of the hat shaded her face, but he could see a flawless ivory complexion over elegant bones. Her eyes were round, the color of the whiskey he’d downed earlier. Her mouth was naked and unsmiling. She smelled like something soft and silky you wanted to touch in a dark room.
    She was what he’d have termed a stunner, though she didn’t appear to have any obvious curves beneath the simple sable jacket and silk slacks. Doug had always preferred the obvious in women. Perhaps the flamboyant. Still, he didn’t find it any real hardship to look at her.
    Casually, Whitney reached in her