Ice Storm (Ice 4)

He was tempted to stay there until she came back, then pull her down on the bed and finish what he should have finished last night. The sight of her, the smell of her was driving him crazy, and he hated the way she tucked her hair in a bun, like some sexless bitch.

She was far from sexless. He’d made her wet last night, and she hated him for it. She’d been so damn proud of her frigidity, and it had come crashing down at the touch of his hands. There were women who could climax just from having their breasts touched, just from being kissed. He was willing to bet Isobel was one of them.

No wonder she’d thought she was frigid. She’d forced herself into a suit of armor made of dry ice, letting nothing come near her. Because she’d explode too easily if it did.

He was going to make that happen. First he needed to find out exactly what the hell was going on with the Committee, and why the operatives were being picked off one at a time. Was he right—had they really been after her all the time, and not him? And how was an untried Japanese kid with a fake name going to protect Mahmoud when some very powerful, very dedicated people seemed determined to take the notorious Josef Serafin out?

He pushed himself off the bed, pulling his shirt back around him but not bothering to button it, zipping up his jeans reluctantly. Had Isobel been the one to search him so thoroughly? He’d hate to think he’d missed it.

There was a small living room, a dining room with a laptop set up on the table, and a tiny kitchen. Her back was to him, but her voice was calm and accepting. “It’s really hard to keep you shackled, isn’t it?”

He moved into the kitchen, crowding her. On purpose. “Just about impossible.” The windows were boarded up, allowing in no light. “I take it this isn’t your apartment.”

“You think I’d take you to my home?”

“Hope springs eternal. This seems like the kind of place you’d live. The perfect place to do eternal penance.”

“My flat is very large, elegant and airy,” she said, pouring boiling water into the coffee press. “And I have absolutely nothing to do penance for.”

“Not anymore. You didn’t kill me.”

She turned around to glare at him. “I never regretted killing you. Only that I’d been such a fool in the first place.”

“You were out of your league, princess. There was no way you could even guess how well you were being played. I’ve got skills you wouldn’t even imagine, and you were nothing more than a kid, infatuated with me, just as I planned for you to be.”

To his amazement there was a faint stain of color on her pale cheekbones, the only clue to her rigidly repressed emotions. When she looked at him her eyes were clear and cool. “As you say, I was young and stupid. I’m neither of those things now.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid. Just vulnerable.”

“Trust me, I’m not currently vulnerable.”

He didn’t move. “Trust me, you are.”

She’d managed to will the color away from her face, and when she turned she was the picture of calm efficiency. “I suggest we start the debriefing process as soon as you’ve had your coffee. I’ll admit things aren’t going as planned, and we shouldn’t waste time if we can help it.”

“I thought Madsen was going to do the questioning.”

“He’s got other things to deal with.” Her voice was flat and unemotional.

“Like what?”

“Like none of your damn business. I don’t have anything better to do at the moment.”

“I thought you wanted to get back to that elegant and airy apartment of yours.”

“I do. Unfortunately, the people who are after you are far too determined, and it’s not safe. Given their recent track record they would probably figure out where I live quite easily. We need to conserve manpower.”

“You still think it’s me they’re after?” Killian took the coffee press from her. “Don’t you think the Committee has more than its share of enemies? Why take out MacGowan? He was in Central America, and he had nothing to do with me.”

She slammed the mugs down on the table. “How do you know everything about our operations? We don’t even know if MacGowan’s dead. He may have just gone to ground—his cover was so deep no one should have broken it. Did you set him up? He was a good man….”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what your operatives are doing, as long as they aren’t interfering with me. The fault lies in your operation. If I could get that kind of intel, then so can other, less benevolent people.”

“‘Benevolent?’” she echoed.

“I’m not the worst man in the world.”

“Prove it.”