Hot Ice Read Online Free PDF

of—loathing? she wondered. Why should he look down at a gun as though it were something vile? She’d thought a gun would fit easily into his hand, the way a gun did for a man who hung out in dim bars and smoky hotel rooms. But it didn’t fit easily. It didn’t fit at all. Then he went through the door.
    Who was Doug Lord really? Whitney asked herself. Was he a hood, a con, a victim? Because she sensed he was all three, she was fascinated and determined to find out why.
    Crouched, Doug took out what looked like a penknife. Whitney watched as he fiddled with the lock for a moment, then quietly opened the passenger door. Whateverhe was, Whitney noted, he was good at breaking and entering. Leaving that for later, she crept through the door. He was already in the driver’s seat and working with wires under the dash when she climbed inside.
    “Damn foreign cars,” he muttered. “Give me a Chevy any day.”
    Wide-eyed with admiration, Whitney heard the engine spring to life. “Can you teach me how to do that?”
    Doug shot her a look. “Just hold on. This time, I’m driving.” Throwing the Porsche into reverse, he peeled out of the space. By the time they reached the garage entrance, they were doing sixty. “Got a favorite hotel?”
    “I’m not going to a hotel. You’re not getting out of my sight, Lord, until your account has a zero balance. Where you go, I go.”
    “Look, I don’t know how much time I have.” He kept a careful eye on the rearview mirror as he drove.
    “What you don’t have any of is money,” she reminded him. She had her book out now and began to write in neat columns. “And you’re currently in to me for a windshield, an antique porcelain vase, a Meissen tea set—eleven-fifty for that—and a plate-glass window—maybe more.”
    “Then another thousand isn’t going to matter.”
    “Another thousand always matters. Your credit’s only good as long as I can see you. If you want a plane ticket you’re taking on a partner.”
    “Partner?” He turned to her, wondering why he didn’t just take her purse and shove her out the door. “I never take on partners.”
    “You do this time. Fifty-fifty.”
    “I’ve got the answers.” The truth was he had the questions, but he wasn’t going to worry about details.
    “But you don’t have the stake.”
    He swung onto FDR Drive. No, dammit, he didn’t have the stake, and he needed it. So, for now, he neededher. Later, when he was several thousand miles from New York, they could negotiate terms. “Okay, just how much cash have you got on you?”
    “A couple hundred.”
    “Hundred? Shit.” He kept his speed to a steady fifty-five now. He couldn’t afford to get pulled over. “That won’t take us farther than New Jersey.”
    “I don’t like to carry a lot of cash.”
    “Terrific. I’ve got papers worth millions and you want to buy in for two hundred.”
    “Two hundred, plus the five thousand you owe me. And—” She reached into her purse. “I’ve got the plastic.” Grinning, she held up a gold American Express card. “I never leave home without it.”
    Doug stared at it, then threw back his head and laughed. Maybe she was more trouble than she was worth, but he was beginning to doubt it.
    The hand that reached for the phone was plump and very white. At the wrist, white cuffs were studded with square sapphires. The nails were buffed to a dull sheen and neatly clipped. The receiver itself was white, pristine, cool. Fingers curled around it, three elegantly manicured ones and a scarred-over stub where the pinky should have been.
    “Dimitri.” The voice was poetry. Hearing it, Remo began to sweat like a pig. He drew on his cigarette and spoke quickly, before exhaling.
    “They gave us the slip.”
    Dead silence. Dimitri knew it was more terrifying than a hundred threats. He used it five seconds, ten. “Three men against one and a young woman. How inefficient.”
    Remo pulled the tie loose from his throat so he could breathe.