Ice Storm

by user

  “Do you have any idea how much that piece of equipment cost?”

  “Do you have any idea how little I care?” He reached into the side pocket of the car door, handing her the cheap mobile phone he’d picked up. “Use this. I doubt whoever you call will be secure, but at least they won’t be able to track us.”

  “I have a number for Peter.”

  “Madsen’s probably dead by now.”

  He wasn’t able to rattle her. “Peter’s very hard to kill,” she answered calmly.

  “So were Morrison and MacGowan.” The traffic was heavier now, and it was making him edgy. They were about to get on the M3, and on the highway he wouldn’t be able to tell whether they were being followed. Right now his usually reliable instincts were shot all to hell. He could thank Isabel for that. He could still feel the warmth of her skin, still taste her mouth. She was a dangerous distraction, one he couldn’t afford. But he’d asked for her, and now he was paying the price.

  If he was the professional he prided himself on being, she’d have been left behind in a closet on the ferry. Though it might not have made a difference— security would have found her by now, setting up an alarm, and he wouldn’t be that far ahead of the game. Besides, he needed her to get into the Committee. Unless someone else, someone with the same agenda but different rules, took it down first.

  She was texting, and in the faint glow of the tiny screen he could see her face. She was frowning, biting her lower lip as she concentrated, and she had no idea he was watching her as well as the heavy traffic. She sighed and turned the machine off.

  “DO you think I need to toss this one, as well?” she said.

  It was the first time she’d asked his opinion in an equable tone. Maybe she was beginning to realize they might be in more trouble than she’d thought.

  “If you’ve turned it off they shouldn’t be able to trace it. Just turn it on if you need to use it again. What’s up?”

  “Change of plans. We had a safe house in Golders Green all set up for you. Very secure—there’s no way in hell anyone could get in there.”

  “But someone did?”

  “No. We’ve had to put someone else there, and you’re too volatile a contact. We don’t want to risk her life.”

  “Her?”

  “Peter’s wife. You’re at least half-right—someone’s targeted the Committee, and we’re all at risk. Personally, I think it’s simply because people are determined to get at you, and we’re in their way, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Peter’s wife can’t stay in their home in the country, so he brought her in and put her in the Golders Green house. And we’re not going to risk putting you there as well.”

  “Who don’t you want to risk, me or Genevieve?”

  “Genevieve,” Isobel said flatly. “I’m not even going to ask how you know her name—you’d just lie. At this point I don’t give a rat’s ass whether someone blows you to pieces or not.”

  “You should. You’re with me. Unless you have some romantic notion of dying by my side.”

  Her low growl was absurdly sexy. He’d made the worst mistake of his life last night. Not fucking her— that had been smart and well-planned, throwing her entirely off balance. But not finishing. Coitus interruptus might be fine for sharpening the senses, but some of his senses were entirely meshed with hers. It wouldn’t have made any difference if he’d come. And he’d be feeling a hell of a lot less distracted.

  Maybe. Or maybe not. She’d always had the ability to distract him, through the last eighteen years he hadn’t been able to let go of her. If he’d climaxed inside her body he’d just be wanting to do it again.

  “All right, no Romeo and Juliet fantasies,” he said lightly. “Nevertheless, keeping me alive would be the smart thing to do, once I’m dead, what’s to stop them from wiping you out entirely?”

  “Wrong. Once you’re dead they’d have no reason to come after us. Problem solved.”

  “And you without a gun,” he murmured. “I don’t think you’d get very far in hand-to-hand combat, but I’m more than happy to let you try.”

  “Just drive.”

  “Where?”

  “Head north of London, Peter will meet us.”

  “And he’ll have a gun,” Killian said. “Are you going to shoot Mahmoud, too? Because he’s going to be pretty pissed off if you kill me before he has a chance to do it.”

  “No one’s killing anyone, no matter how tempting,” Isobel said.

  “At least not tonight,” he said.

  And Isobel said nothing at all.

  “Get up.”

  Reno ignored the voice. The plump blonde lying next to him squealed, jumped up with the sheet wrapped around her, leaving him stark naked in the bed, and ran out of the room. Reno turned over, slowly to look up into Peter Madsen’s ice-blue eyes.

  “What’s up?” For a moment he wondered whether Madsen would put his hands on him. IL would be an interesting battle—Reno didn’t underestimate his opponent for one moment, despite his bad leg and the ten years age difference between them. There was no guarantee of the outcome, and Reno tended to fight dirty. He expected Peter Madsen did, as well.

  “Get out of bed. And get rid of the girl. Who is she, by the way?”

  Reno shrugged. “Just someone with a taste for the exotic,” he said. “There are more of them around here than I can count. In English or in Japanese.”

  “Did you ever stop to consider that sleeping around might compromise our security?”

  “I know what I’m doing:’ he said lazily, climbing out of bed. The girl emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed, beet-red. Was that one Lucy? Or Angela? He’d lost track.

  “Uh…I’d better be going,” she said, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

  He half expected Peter to stop her, but Madsen simply stepped back. “See you.” Reno said unhelpfully.

  Reno tucked his shirt in, reaching for his sunglasses. “No. I didn’t sell you out. I may not want to be here. but I don’t betray family, and by extension, you’re family. You matter to Taka, and Taka matters to me.” Reno met Peter’s gaze calmly. He’d taken out his tiger eye contact lenses, and there was nothing between them, just ice blue gazing into cold brown.

  And then Peter nodded. “I believe you.”

  He’d managed to shock Reno. “You shouldn’t just take my word for it,” he said.

  “I have good instincts. And I already called Taka.”

  “Good,” he said. “I would have done the same. So why did you wake me up? What time is it, anyway?”

  “A little after midnight. We have to go pick up Madame Lambert and Josef Serafin. They’ve been driving around for hours now, until I could set this up.”

  “It sounds simple enough. Why do you need my help?”

  “Why do you always ask questions?”

  “Taka told me to. That way you learn things.”

  “What if people refuse to answer?”

  “You can learn as much from what they don’t say as what they do,” Reno said in as maddening a tone as he could manage. He’d been working on it for a while, and it came naturally to him. Unfortunately, Peter Madsen wasn’t the best subject to try it on.

  “You’re going o find out, anyway. There’s a hidden apartment behind the offices, just below this one. It’s totally soundproofed and blocked off, but we’re going to have to keep Serafin there for the time being, until we find out who’s been coming after us.”

  “Us?”

  “Someone’s targeting Committee operatives, which includes you, so no more sex.”

  Reno simply snorted It hadn’t taken him long to gel tired of it; he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for here, and substitutes weren’t fixing the problem. He wasn’t about to admit that to a hard-ass like Peter Madsen, though.

  “Whatever,” he said, one of his favorite English expressions, right up there with “holy motherfucker.” “I thought he was going to the safe house.”

  “Genevieve’s there.”

  P
eter wasn’t quite the Iceman he thought he was, Reno observed, keeping his expression blank. “Why?”

  “We’ve lost three agents in the last two weeks. I’ve warned Taka, and there’s no way Madame Lambert’s going back to her apartment. Golders Green is safe enough for Genevieve, but I’m not putting someone like Serafin anywhere near her. The more scattered the targets the better our odds.”

  “And what did your wife say to that?”

  “None of your business:’ Peter said, looking harassed. “She wasn’t happy. If she didn’t have some kind of stomach bug I wouldn’t have been able to make her.”

  “Stomach bug? You’re certain no one’s poisoned her?”

  “Son of a bitch:’ Peter muttered, opening his phone and texting quickly, then clicking it shut again. “You ready?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “For your first assignment. To meet Serafin the Butcher, the most dangerous man in the world.”

  “Sounds like he’s got a good PR firm,” Reno said. “And I’ve been ready for days.”

  Peter didn’t look happy. Reno though. But then, he hadn’t looked particularly pleased since he’d first set eyes on Reno at the airport. It must gall him that he’d have to put him to work. Which was just an added bonus for Reno, banishing the last of his temper at being awakened so rudely. Besides, he’d gotten rid of Lucy or Angela, so everything was fine.

  “Just follow orders and don’t make the mistake of thinking for yourself,” Peter said in a tight voice. “Serafin’s an unknown quantity, and God only knows what’s been happening to them.”

  “Unless Madame Lambert has changed, she probably has him on a leash and collar.” Reno said.

  “You’re young,” Peter said dismissively, annoying him. “You shouldn’t take people at face value.”

  “You mean Madame Lambert isn’t a coldhearted bitch who could take down an army single-handed?”

  “Meaning Isobel Lambert isn’t as invulnerable as she likes to think she is. None of us is.”

  “Not even you?” Reno asked mockingly.

  “No, kid. And not even you.”

  The Kensington streets were empty when they stepped outside the white stone building that looked just like all the other white stone buildings. It had taken all Reno’s concentration to recognize it in the first couple of days, whoever had built this upscale area of London hadn’t had much imagination. The street was lined with parked cars, and he picked out the milk truck immediately, heading for it.

  Peter was at his side “How did you know”

  Reno smirked. “Taka sent me here for a reason. We’re picking up two people, one who might put up a fight, and a small car would be too dangerous. People are less likely to pay attention to a commercial van, and a milk van is more likely to be out very early in the morning making deliveries than any other company. I don’t suppose you’re going to let me drive?”

  “Your first time in England? I don’t think so.”

  “We drive on the left-hand side of the road in Japan, too, and London’s nothing compared to Tokyo. Besides, that’s probably a standard shift and you’ve got a bad leg. You’ll put us in danger.” He held out his hand for the keys.

  Madsen looked at him for a moment. “You don’t waste time on tact,” he said. “I like that.” And he dropped the keys in Reno’s hand, climbing in the passenger side.

  They were already leaving the city when his mobile beeped. Peter flipped it open, then sat there reading the screen, an odd expression on his face.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Concentrate on your driving,” Peter said finally, snapping the phone shut. “I had the nurse take a look at Genevieve. She hasn’t been poisoned, and she doesn’t have stomach flu.”

  “So?”

  “She’s pregnant.” Peter Madsen said in a voice of utmost doom.

  And Reno, heartless creature that he was, laughed.

  18

  Killian opened his eyes very slowly, not convinced that he actually wanted to see where he was. The room was dark—no natural light whatsoever, and the artificial light was muted. He was lying in a bed, his hands tied to what presumably was a bedpost, his feet bound together with some kind of cording, and someone had stuffed a gag in his mouth. And he was in a very bad mood.

  It had been a long time since someone had gotten the drop on him. More than a decade, maybe two, since he’d lost focus long enough that he was no longer calling the shots. The last thing he remembered was pulling over to the side of the road, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d thought Isobel was thoroughly demoralized by the incident on the boat and she’d been pissed as hell to have to lie with her head in his lap. He’d assumed she wouldn’t want to get near enough to him to try to take him out. He’d underestimated her.

  In the end, it hadn’t taken much. He could still feel the faint sting at the side of his neck, and he must have gone down hard. Someone had pulled his clothes apart, obviously looking for weapons, and he lay on the bed with his shirt open, his jeans unzipped, barefoot and pissed off.

  How the hell had she managed to get something to knock him out? He’d been all over her body the night before, and there was no way she could have hidden something. It must have been when she insisted on a rest stop. He couldn’t very well follow her into the loo at the petrol station, tempted though he might be. And she’d come right out again. He was disgusted with himself, letting her sucker him. First she’d shot him, then eighteen years later she’d tricked him. He was beyond annoyed.

  Isobel wasn’t strong enough to have dragged him to wherever they were if he was unconscious, therefore she must have had help. He was slowly assessing his surroundings—one smallish, dark room with the bed in the middle, and he could just see the faint outlines of a shuttered window. Not much light coming through, but it probably wasn’t daytime yet. He hadn’t been out that long, which meant they must be somewhere in or near London.

  He wondered how Mahmoud was doing. He wouldn’t have taken Killian’s abduction well, for despite his elaborate and oft-voiced plans for Killian’s eventual torture and murder, the boy was fiercely protective. He would have put up a hell of a lot better fight than Killian’s own piss-poor performance. He jerked at his hands, but the ropes were thin and tight, and Isobel’s friends had found just about every weapon he carried. Not that that would stop him: it just might slow him down a bit. He lay still, listening for anything that might give him a clue as to his whereabouts. He had no doubt Isobel had called for reinforcements, anyone else would have killed him by now. Probably why he’d been so lax—most people simply wanted to kill him, and he was good at avoiding just that. A simple kidnapping was unexpected.

  There was at least one other room beyond the small bedroom, and the light emanating from it was dull and yellow. He could see blankets on the wall—for soundproofing, he assumed. He tried to spit out the gag, but someone had put tape over his mouth. He had no choice but to wait until his captor made her appearance. In the meantime, he could work on the ropes that bound his wrists.

  He knew she was there before he saw her, before he heard her. It was a sixth sense he’d developed over the years, and when it came to her it was line-tuned. He turned his head to meet her calm gaze in the shadowed room. She’d changed her bloody shirt, presumably taken a shower. Her hair was pulled back in an elegant knot at the base of her neck—part of her armor. She looked elegant and unapproachable, the Ice Queen, the Iron Maiden. Madame Lambert—a lifetime removed from Mary Isobel Curwen. She’d probably thought that girl was gone forever. Until he’d reminded her last night on the rumpled bed in the ship’s cabin.

  His eyes met hers, and her faint smile was flinty. A bit too sure of herself. “I suppose you want me to untie you?”

  Since he wasn’t able to reply he simply looked at her, daring her to move closer. She was a smart woman— she knew how dangerous he could be, and she skirted the bed, keeping out of the way of his long legs. Even tied together at the ankles they could sweep her, knock her onto the
bed. He could break her neck in a matter of seconds if he wanted to.

  He didn’t want to. She came at him sideways, away from his legs, reaching down to pull the duct tape away.

  He didn’t even notice the pain, spitting out the rag someone had put in his mouth earlier. She turned, and handed him a bottle of water. “You’re probably thirsty. The drug I gave you tends to make your mouth dry.”

  “No, I think that was caused by the sock someone stuffed in there,” he said. “Your work?”

  “Peter’s.”

  “What made you think you’d have trouble getting me to come with you? Haven’t I stuck with you for the last few days?”

  “I thought it would be better if you didn’t know where you are. That way no one can torture it out of you.”

  “I wasn’t planning on being tortured,” he said in his most amiable tone. “So why the bondage? If you wanted sex games all you had to do was ask.”

  She didn’t even blink. However close he’d gotten to her before, she’d managed to recover. Now appeared immune to him, immune to their history. “It seemed better to keep you immobile until we were sure you were going to cooperate.”

  “I’m the soul of cooperation, princess. Is Madsen in the other room?”

  “He had to go check on the sale house. I told him I could handle you without any difficulty.”

  “Oh, really? That remains to be seen. In the meantime, untie me and tell me where the hell Mahmoud is. You didn’t have to kill him, did you?”

  “Unlike you, I don’t kill children. Or maybe you don’t consider fifteen-year-olds to be children—not to mention twelve-year-olds.”

  For a moment he had no idea what she was talking about. “You mean Mahmoud’s sister? Since she was pregnant, I considered her an adult.”

  “And therefore you shot her. What was she doing, coming at you with a burning pike?”

  “You want some nice, noble excuse for it? I’m not giving it to you” he said. “I put a bullet in her forehead and she died instantly. You don’t need to know anything more, as long as you realize what I’m capable of doing.”