Hot As Ice

by Merline Lovelace

  With one eye on the bedroom door, Diana punched in the chronometer's knob.

  "Go ahead, Artemis."

  She might have known Mackenzie would answer.

  The woman probably hadn't even gone home last night.

  "I've changed my mind, Comm. I need you to get someone out here to run a screen and set up active and passive security systems. I want the best from your bag of tricks," she warned. "Quiet. Un­detectable. Infallible."

  "Ahhh, I love a personal challenge like that. I'll pull up the layout of the resort and see what pro­tective measures will work best. We should be able set them up today. If I need you out of there, can you and the iceman disappear for an hour or so?"

  "No problem. Just let me know when."

  "Will do. Anything else?"

  "I'd also like for you to arrange a courier. I want some samples hand-delivered to Dr. Sylvie Mar-quez-Jourdain at the Lawrence Livermore National Lab in Berkeley. I'll call ahead and arrange the spe­cific tests I need run."

  "I'll have a courier there within a half hour. Is that it?"

  "No." She blew out a breath. "I need to talk to Lightning."

  "He left for Paris two hours ago." A faint note of disapproval crept into Mackenzie's voice. "Em-manuelle Beart is dining at Nickz tonight and spe­cifically requested the owner to join her."

  "I hate to spoil his dinner with the sexy star of Mission: Impossible, but you'd better patch me through to his jet."

  "Will do."

  The call went out via a secure device that scram­bled each word at the transmission point and un­scrambled it at the receiving end. Once the connec­tion was established, Lightning listened intently to Diana's hurried report.

  "Well," he said after she finished, "at least I can inform the president that Soviets apparently didn't shoot down Major Stone's plane. I have a hard time believing that one of our country's venerable sci­entists had anything to do with it, though."

  "You and me both!"

  "What's the plan now, Artemis?"

  "I need you to pull some strings with the CIA. I want copies of any documents relating to Dr. Goode's work with the initial U-2 cadre. Particu­larly his early experiments in superoxygenation."

  After agreeing to exercise his muscle as OMEGA's new director, Nick concurred with Di­ana's recommendation that she and Charlie remain in Santa Monica.

  "It's as good a spot as any to keep Major Stone under wraps until we sort through all this. Do you need backup?"

  "No, I've got it covered. I've asked Comm to install additional security, just in case."

  "Good enough. Keep me posted, Artemis."

  "Will do."

  * * *

  Diana was in the sitting room nursing a mug of coffee when Charlie emerged from the bathroom, showered and shaved and outfitted in a red knit polo shirt and brand new jeans that looked and felt as though they'd been run through the wringer a couple dozen times. Burying a pang of nostalgia for the stiff-legged, rolled-cuff jeans of his era, he filled a mug and joined her on the plaid sofa.

  She'd used his time in the shower to dress as well, exchanging the terry-cloth robe for loose-fitting tan linen slacks with a drawstring waist and a short-sleeved ocean green top. Her still-damp hair framed her face in careless waves. Wedging her back into the corner of the sofa, she curled her legs under her and regarded him through the steam rising from her mug.

  "Breakfast should be here any minute. I ordered omelettes for both of us." "Good. I'm starved."

  Charlie hooked an ankle over his knee. The ten­sion that had ridden his back from the moment he'd opened his eyes at the oceanographic station still sat square on his shoulders—it would until he had some answers—but sharing it with Diana had lightened the load exponentially. That, and the incredible pleasure they'd shared last night. Just the thought of how she'd given herself so joyously, so generously, generated a different brand of tension altogether. Smiling at the sensation, he tipped his mug to her.

  "I've also contacted a colleague at Lawrence Livermore National Lab," she said, ignoring the in­vitation buried in his smile. "She's agreed to run a full spectrum of tests on the rubber samples. A cou­rier will be here within the hour to hand-carry the samples to Berkeley."

  Charlie didn't alter his lazy sprawl, but her distant tone sent up a whole mast full of red flags. What the heck happened while he was in the shower?

  "You've been busy."

  "That's me, Dr. Efficiency."

  His mug went to the table beside the sofa. Un­hooking his ankle, he squared around to face her. "What's going on here, Diana?"

  ''Exactly what you wanted. Once we get the sam­ples analyzed, we'll decide the next step."

  "I'm not talking about the samples."

  Her glance flicked over him, as sharp and cutting as slivers of ice. "What are you talking about, then?"

  "Us. Last night."

  "Last night happened. It was...enjoyable."

  Enjoyable? He took the hit right where it hurt most. His pride would have crashed and burned right there if the hard glitter in her eyes hadn't warned him he was missing something vital in this conversation.

  ''You might be experiencing a few morning-after doubts," he said slowly, "but I'm not. Those hours with you took me higher and faster and farther than I've ever flown in my life."

  Diana wanted to believe him. Emotionally, she longed to believe there was no direct cause and ef­fect between the astonishing passion they'd ignited and Charlie's decision to share his secret with her. Intellectually, she couldn't break the connection. She'd crossed the line with him, and now had to pay the price. Scrubbing the heel of her hand across her forehead, she was as honest as she could be in the circumstances.

  "All right, I broke a few speed and endurance records last night, too. The problem is we went too far, too fast."

  "It's a physical impossibility for a test pilot to go too far or too fast, sugar."

  She refused to let his swift, slashing grin distract her. ' 'You just spent forty years plus buried in ice. We're not even sure yet why you landed there. Until we get the answers you're looking for, we can't al­low physical needs to cloud our thinking or our judgment."

  To her surprise, laughter sprang in his eyes.

  "Do you find something amusing?" she asked frigidly.

  "No! It's just that..."

  "What?"

  "In my time, that always used to be the guy's line. It generally went something like 'let's not make too big a deal of this, it was just a physical thing, I'll call you.'"

  "I'm serious here, Charlie. You've raised some unsettling questions. Until they're answered, we'd better switch to a hands-off mode."

  His amusement faded. "Are you upset because I've thrown some doubts on your precious Dr. Goode?"

  "Of course not! I'm just suggesting we...we throttle back a little."

  "I'm not sure I can turn whatever it is you do to me off and on that easily,'' he said slowly.

  "Try."

  For pity's sake! Why was she letting him put her on the defensive like this? Stone was supposed to be the hotshot, love 'em and leave 'em flyboy. He'd probably used that line he rattled off a moment ago dozens of times in his heyday. It was on the tip of Diana's tongue to remind him of those blankets he claimed to have spread under the pier when knuck­les rapped against the front door.

  "That should be breakfast," she said, assuming a calm she was a long way from feeling. “Do you want to have it here or on the deck?''

  The courier arrived while they were still sitting in the sun, tossing the remnants of their toast to the gulls that dive-bombed from dizzying heights to snatch the morsels out of the air. Charlie said noth­ing when Diana handed over the package she'd carefully wrapped in one of the plastic trash bags they'd found under the counter of the well-equipped kitchenette.

  Once the rubber samples were on the way to the lab at Berkeley, the day that had begun amid a tangle of warm sheets stretched cold and empty be­fore them. Restless, Charlie flipped through the TV
channels while Diana checked her e-mail and at­tended to the details of her civilian life. By ten, he'd had his fill of cartoons, morning talk shows, and gloomy stock market predictions. By noon, he was prowling the bungalow.

  "I'm going to take a walk on the beach."

  Diana flipped down the computer's screen. "I'll come with you."

  "Suit yourself."

  His shrug told her he hadn't worked his way past the screeching halt she'd put on their physical ac­tivities. Neither had she, for that matter.

  It was the right decision, she echoed silently, re­peatedly, as they tracked footprints through the sand. The only decision.

  She was still trying to convince herself over a late lunch, eaten at an open-air fish restaurant a mile or so down the beach, and later, when they trudged back to the resort. They climbed the wooden stairs to the bungalow, tired and wind-burned and still edgy with each other. So edgy, Diana almost missed the glint of sunlight on steel just inside the sliding glass doors.

  She caught a glimpse of it when Charlie snapped the door back on its runners. Only a glimpse.

  That was all she needed. She recognized the busi­ness end of a gun barrel when she saw it. Leaping across the weathered planks, she made a grab for Charlie. To her consternation, he hooked her arm, spun her behind him, and lunged through the door.

  Chapter 10

  "Charlie, wait!"

  Diana's frantic shout went unheeded as Charlie plunged through the open door. Recovering her bal­ance, she exploded into the bedroom after him.

  Every instinct she possessed screamed that this was exactly the wrong move. The first rule of pro­tective services was to keep the client safe, to hustle him or her away at any hint of danger. That was why ex-cops and military types made such bad bodyguards! They were trained to attack, or at the very least neutralize the threat.

  Which was obviously Charlie's plan.

  With a snarling curse, he launched himself at the man crouched over the open canvas gear bag, a pistol gripped in one plastic-gloved hand. The intruder sprang up, shot a dismayed look at Diana over Char­lie's flying form, and took the body block square in his chest. Staggering back, he crashed into the wall behind him and went down, taking his attacker with him. A bone-cracking chop to his wrist sent his weapon sailing through the air. Oh, Lord!

  To a chorus of grants and thuds, Diana scrambled over the gear that had been dumped out of the can­vas bag onto the carpet. She had to disengage Char­lie before he inflicted serious bodily injury.

  "What in the world...?"

  The sound of running footsteps brought Diana whirling around. She speared a single glance at the startled woman in a blue-gray body suit and turned her attention back to the two combatants.

  OMEGA's chief of communications took in the scene and swore. Lightning wasn't going to like this! With that thought going off like a klaxon in Mackenzie's head, she dumped the tangle of wires in her hand and waded into the fray beside Diana.

  They both made a grab for the arm Major Stone swung back in a vicious arc, but before either could get a firm grip, he smashed his fist into the other man's jaw.

  Poor John, Mackenzie thought ruefully. His head snapped back. His eyeballs rolled. With a soft little gurgle, he went limp.

  Chest heaving, the Iceman straddled his uncon­scious opponent and studied him for signs of life, which gave Mackenzie a few tense seconds to study him. Sand still clumped on the soles of his bare feet. His red polo shirt gaped at the neck, half the buttons ripped away. The muscles under the red knit re­mained coiled and ready to spring. Mackenzie formed the impression of a distinctly lethal male.

  Sitting back on his heels, Stone raked her with a hard glance. She could imagine how she must look with her black hair falling from its loose bun, her headphones draped around her neck and antistatic booties tied over her sneakers.

  "Who the hell are you?"

  Several possible answers formed instantly in her mind. Rather than rattle one off, Mackenzie looked to the woman beside her for a cue. This was her show, after all.

  Diana hesitated, then dipped her head in a slow nod. "Tell him."

  Relief coursed through Mackenzie. Despite the pummeling he'd just given her assistant, Major Stone was one of the good guys. He'd gone through enough without confusing him even more with some hastily concocted tale. Besides, whatever she came up with to explain her presence and the equipment scattered through the bungalow would sound lame...even to a man who'd been out of action as long as Charlie Stone.

  "I'm chief of communications for a government agency."

  "What agency?"

  "It's highly classified," Mackenzie began, but Stone wasn't about to be palmed off with such a convenient excuse.

  "Don't give me that bull! What agency?"

  Calmly, Diana deflected his aim. "The same one I work for."

  Stone's incredible baby-blues knifed into the woman beside Mackenzie. Suspicion flared hot in his eyes, before icing over almost instantly. "You told me you work for a private research institute."

  "I do. I also take on certain special...assign­ments... when directed or requested."

  His face went hard and tight. Pushing to his feet, he advanced on the two women. Diana stood her ground. Mackenzie did the same, although she wasn't above admitting to a distinct qualm. Up close and personal, the Iceman presented a rather large and very muscular target.

  "You want to tell me just what your assignment is here?"

  The serrated edge to his voice could have sawed right through an anchor cable.

  "I was detailed to act as a combination body­guard and handler."

  That went down about as easily as the highly classified bit had. A muscle ticked in Stone's left cheek. His eyes turned glacial. Mackenzie didn't re­quire any special communications skills to get the message. The major didn't particularly appreciate being guarded or handled.

  "I'll give you full marks for dedication to your job," he said, skewering Diana with a look that could have stripped paint from a ship's bulwark. "In my day, jumping into the sack with an assignment would have been considered above and beyond the call of duty. Guess the rules have changed."

  Red surged into Diana's cheeks. Her mouth opened, snapped shut. After an obvious mental ten-count, she tried again.

  "Why don't we continue this conversation in the other room? I'll join you there as soon as Comm and I make sure her tech's okay."

  Rubbing his bruised knuckles, Stone flicked the man on the floor an unsympathetic glance, then stalked across the room to retrieve the weapon he'd sent flying a few moments ago. With a precision that left no doubt about the ownership of the long-barreled Colt, he released the safety, flipped open the cylinder to check for a chambered round, and snapped it closed again. Both he and the Colt dis­appeared into the other room a moment later.

  "Whew!" Blowing out a long breath, Mackenzie turned to her friend. "Sorry about this, Artemis."

  "It's okay. I didn't expect to see you here, Comm."

  "I hopped a plane right after you called." Her mouth twisted. "I should've let you know we were on-site. Since you weren't here when we arrived, we just slipped in and went to work."

  "We took a walk down the beach."

  "I know. We were tracking you via the tran­sponder in your watch. We planned to be out of here before you and the Iceman headed back this way. The electronic screens we set up must have scram­bled your transponder's signals."

  With a mental note to adjust the electromagnetic pulse the screens emitted, Mackenzie dropped down on one knee and eased her now groaning tech into a sitting position.

  ''Anything broken or otherwise dented?''

  John worked his jaw from side to side to the ac­companiment of a few bone-cracking pops.

  "Just my pride," he admitted.

  Middle-aged, happily married and the father of four, he'd worked for OMEGA for years. To any­one's knowledge, this was the first time he'd ever been taken down on a job.

  With Diana's assistance, Mackenzie
helped him to his feet. "What happened?"

  "When I tested the bedroom sensors, they re­corded the presence of cordite. I had just tracked it to the handgun in Major Stone's gear bag when he and Artemis returned. The situation, uh, deteriorated at that point."

  "No kidding."

  Her ready grin eased his embarrassment almost as much as her assurance that he'd followed correct operating procedures. The inventory of Major Stone's gear Artemis had sent back from the ocean-ographic station had listed the Colt, but John was right to check it out anyway. Only a fool would rig electronic devices without verifying the source and amount of gunpowder or explosive materials present at the work site.

  "Major Stone saw the Colt in your hand," Diana explained. "He shoved me out of the line of fire and launched his attack before I could stop him."

  "Oh, that's good." Mackenzie's grin widened. "The iceman was trying to protect you. No wonder he looked so surprised when he learned you were here to protect him."

  Surprised and not particularly thrilled.

  Mackenzie didn't know Stone well enough to as­sess his male ego, but her ex had sported one the size of Texas. Too handsome for his own or anyone else's good, the jerk had charmed her into the mis­taken notion that she'd formed the only bright, shin­ing star in his solar system. He'd also honestly be­lieved that his career took precedence over hers. After all, the military was a man's world, and En­sign Blair had a husband only too willing to take care of her.

  Unfortunately, too many senior officers in com­mand positions subscribed to the same mentality. Mackenzie had butted against their paternalistic at­titudes for far longer than she should have, but had finally left both Lieutenant Commander Blair and the navy behind.

  Thank goodness OMEGA's former director had recruited her to take over as communications chief just days after she'd hung up her uniform. Macken­zie would always be grateful to Maggie Sinclair. Since joining the agency, she hadn't had time to regret either her career switch or her divorce. Much.

  "Let's finish up and get the heck out of Dodge," she instructed John. "Artemis needs to soothe the Iceman's ruffled feathers. And what fine feathers they are," she added, sending a sideways glance at the man in the other room as John went back to work.