Hot Ice (40 page)

Dimitri hadn’t bothered to lock the door. Doug was a little disappointed, and a little wary that it was so easy. They slipped inside. Rain began to patter against the windows. Whitney went directly to the shelves on the east wall and drew back the section of books.

“It’s in here,” she whispered. “The combination’s fifty-two right, thirty-six left—”

“How do you know the combination?”

“I saw him open it.”

Uneasy, Doug reached for the knob. “Why the hell isn’t he covering his tracks?” he muttered as he began to turn. “Okay, what’s next?”

“Another five to the left, then twelve right.” She held her breath as Doug drew down the handle. The door of the safe opened without a sound.

“Come to Papa,” Doug murmured as he drew out the box. He checked its weight before he grinned at Whitney. He wanted to open it, to take just one more look. To gloat. There’d be other times. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Sounds like an excellent idea.” Tucking a hand through his arm she started toward the terrace doors. “Shall we use these so we don’t disturb our host?”

“It seems like the considerate thing to do.” As he reached for the knob, the doors swung open. Facing them were three men, guns glittering wet in the rain. In the center, Remo grinned. “Mr. Dimitri doesn’t want you to leave until he buys you a drink.”

“Yes, indeed.” The library doors opened. Still in his white dinner jacket, Dimitri strolled through. “I can’t have my guests going out in the rain. Do come back and sit down.” The amiable host, he went to the bar and poured brandy. “My dear, that color’s superb on you.”

Doug felt the barrel of Remo’s gun at the base of his spine. “I don’t like to impose.”

“Nonsense, nonsense.” He swirled the brandy as he turned. At his touch, the room flooded with light. Whitney would have sworn at that moment his eyes had no color at all. “Sit down.” The quiet order had all the charm of the hiss of a snake.

Pressed by the barrel of the gun, Doug came forward, the chest in one hand and Whitney’s palm in the other. “Nothing like a brandy on a rainy night.”

“Precisely.” Graciously, he passed two snifters to them. “Whitney…” Her name came out on a sigh as he gestured toward a chair. “You disappoint me.”

“I didn’t give her much choice.” Doug threw Dimitri an arrogant look. “A woman like her worries about her skin.”

“I admire chivalry, especially from so unlikely a source.” He tipped his glass at Doug before he drank. “I’m afraid I was aware of Whitney’s unfortunate attachment to you all along. My dear, did you really think I believed you’d shot our Mr. Lord?”

She shrugged, and though her hands were damp on the snifter, drank. “I suppose I have to work on my skill as a liar.”

“Indeed, you have very expressive eyes. ‘Even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart,’” he quoted from
Richard II
in his smooth, poet’s voice. “However, I did enjoy our evening together.”

Whitney brushed a hand over the short skirt of her robe. “I’m afraid I was a bit bored.”

His lips curled back. Everyone in the room knew it would take only a word from him, only a word, and she’d be dead. Instead, he chose to chuckle. “Women are such unstable creatures, would you agree, Mr. Lord?”

“Some show particularly good taste.”

“It amazes me that someone with Miss MacAllister’s inherent style would have an affection for someone of your class. But,” he moved his shoulders, “romance has
always been a mystery to me. Remo, relieve Mr. Lord of the box, if you please. And his weapons. Just set them on the table for now.” While his orders were carried out, Dimitri sipped his brandy and seemed to ponder great thoughts. “I took the risk that you would want to retrieve both Miss MacAllister and the treasure. After all this time, after this very intriguing chess game we’ve been playing, I must say I’m disappointed to have you checkmated with such ease. I’d hoped for a little more flare at the end.”

“You want to send your boys away, you and I could probably come up with something.”

He laughed again, ice clinking on ice. “I’m afraid my days of physical combat are over, Mr. Lord. I prefer more subtle ways of settling disputes.”

“A knife in the back?”

Dimitri merely lifted a brow at Whitney’s question. “I’m forced to admit that one on one, you’d far outmatch me, Mr. Lord. After all, you’re young and physically agile. I’m afraid I require the handicap of my staff. Now…” He touched his finger to his lips. “What are we to do about this situation?”

Oh, he’s enjoying this, Whitney thought grimly. He’s like a spider, merrily spinning a web to catch flies so he can suck the blood from them. He wanted to see them sweat.

Because there was no way out, she slipped her hand into Doug’s and squeezed. They wouldn’t grovel. And by God, they wouldn’t sweat.

“As I see it, Mr. Lord, your fate is really quite elemental. In essence, you’ve been a dead man for weeks. It’s simply a matter of method.”

Doug gulped down brandy and grinned. “Don’t let me rush you.”

“No, no, I’ve been giving the matter a great deal of thought. A great deal. Unfortunately, I haven’t the facilities
here to carry things out in the style I prefer. But I believe Remo has a strong desire to take care of the matter. Though he did fumble quite a bit on this project, I feel the ultimate success deserves a reward.” Dimitri drew out one of his rich black cigarettes. “I’ll give you Mr. Lord, Remo.” He lit the cigarette and looked out through the fine mist of smoke. “Kill him slowly.”

Doug felt the cool barrel of the gun below his left ear. “Mind if I finish my brandy first?”

“By all means.” With a gracious nod, Dimitri turned his attention to Whitney. “As to you, my dear, I might have preferred a few more days in your company. I’d thought perhaps we could share some mutual pleasures. However…” He tapped the cigarette in a clear crystal tray. “Under the circumstances, that would add complications. One of my staff has admired you since I showed him your picture. A case of love at first sight.” He smoothed the thinning hair back from his forehead. “Barns, take her with my blessing. But do be tidy this time.”

“No!” Doug leapt up from his chair. In an instant his arms were clamped behind him and a gun was lodged against his throat. Hearing Barns’s giggle, he struggled despite them. “She’s worth more than that,” he said desperately. “Her father’d pay you a million, two million, to get her back. Don’t be a fool, Dimitri. Give her to this little creep, she’s worth nothing to you.”

“Not all of us think in terms of money, Mr. Lord,” Dimitri said calmly. “There’s a matter of principle at stake, you see. I believe as strongly in reward as I do in discipline.” His gaze flicked down to his mutilated hand. “Yes, just as strongly. Take him along, Remo, he’s creating quite a fuss.”

“Keep your hands off me.” Springing up, Whitney dashed the contents of her snifter in Barns’s face. With fury carrying her, she doubled up her fist and planted it
squarely on his nose. His squeak and the squirt of blood gave her momentary satisfaction.

Doug took his cue from her and, bracing himself against the man behind him, reared back and smashed his foot under the chin of the man across from him. They might’ve been mowed down in that instant if Dimitri hadn’t signaled. He enjoyed watching the doomed struggle. Calmly he took the derringer from his inside pocket and fired into the vaulted ceiling.

“That’ll do,” he told them, as if speaking to obstreperous adolescents. He watched tolerantly as Doug gathered Whitney to his side. He was particularly fond of Shakespeare’s tragedies that dealt with star-crossed lovers— not only because of the beauty of words, but because of their hopelessness. “I’m a reasonable man, and a romantic at heart. In order to give you a bit more time together, Miss MacAllister is welcome to go along while Remo proceeds with the execution.”

“Execution,” Whitney spat at him with all the venom a desperate woman can gather. “Murder, Dimitri, doesn’t have such a clean, cool ring to it. You delude yourself into believing you’re cultured and suave. Do you think a silk dinner jacket can hide what you are, and what you’ll never be? You’re nothing more than a crow, Dimitri, a crow picking at carrion. You don’t even kill for yourself.”

“Normally, no.” His voice had frozen. Those of his men who had heard the tone before tensed. “In this case, however, perhaps I should make an exception.” He lowered the derringer.

The terrace doors burst open, shattering glass. “Put up your arms.” The order was authoritative, delivered in English with a classy French accent. Doug didn’t wait for the outcome, but shoved Whitney behind a chair. He saw Barns grab for his gun. The grin was blown off his face.

“The house is surrounded.” Ten uniformed men trooped into the library, rifles at the ready. “Franco Dimitri, you are
under arrest for murder, conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping…”

“Holy shit,” Whitney murmured as the list lengthened. “It really is the cavalry.”

“Yeah.” Doug let out a breath of relief, holding her warm beside him. It was also the police, he reflected. He wouldn’t exactly come out smelling like a rose himself.

He saw, with a feeling of inevitability and disgust, the man with the panama walk through the doors. “I should’ve smelled cop,” he muttered. A man with a shock of white hair strode into the room with an air of impatience.

“All right, where is that girl!”

Doug saw Whitney’s eyes widen until they seemed to cover her whole face. Then with a bubbling giggle she sprang up from behind the chair. “Daddy!”

It didn’t take long for the Malagasy police to clear out the room. Whitney watched the handcuffs being snapped onto Dimitri’s wrist below a fat emerald cuff link.

“Whitney, Mr. Lord.” Dimitri’s voice remained soft, cultured, calm. A man in his position understood temporary setbacks. But his eyes, as his gaze passed over them, were as flat as a goat’s. “I’m sure, yes, quite sure we’ll see each other again.”

“We’ll catch you on the eleven o’clock news,” Doug told him.

“I owe you,” Dimitri acknowledged with a nod. “I always pay my debts.”

Whitney’s gaze met his briefly, and she smiled. Once again, her fingers trailed down to the shell around her neck.

“For Jacques,” she said softly, “I hope they find a hole dark enough for you.” Then she buried her face against her father’s clean-smelling jacket. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Explanations.” But MacAllister held her fiercely for a moment. “Let’s have some, Whitney.”

She drew away, eyes laughing. “Explain what?”

He struggled with a grin and huffed instead. “Nothing changes.”

“How’s Mother? I hope you didn’t tell her you were trailing after me.”

“She’s fine. She thinks I’m in Rome working. If I’d told her I was chasing our only daughter all over Madagascar, she wouldn’t have been able to play bridge for days.”

“You’re so clever.” She kissed him, hard. “How did you know to chase me all over Madagascar?”

“I believe you’ve met General Bennett?”

Whitney turned and faced a tall, rangy man with stern, unsmiling eyes. “Of course.” She offered her hand as though they were at a well-mannered cocktail party. “At the Stevensons’ year before last. How are you, General? Oh, I don’t believe you’ve met Douglas. Doug…” Whitney signaled to him across the room where he was mumbling out a tangled statement to one of the Malagasy officials. Grateful for the respite, he went to her. “Daddy, General Bennett, this is Douglas Lord. Doug’s the one who stole the papers, General.”

The smile turned a little sickly on Doug’s face. “Nice to meet you.”

“You owe Douglas quite a bit,” she told the general and poked in her father’s jacket for a cigarette.

“Owe,” the general blustered. “This thief—”

“Secured the papers, keeping them out of the hands of Dimitri. At the risk of his own life,” she added, holding up the cigarette for a light. Doug obliged her, deciding he’d leave the explanations to her after all. She sent him a wink as she blew out smoke. “You see, it all started when Dimitri hired Doug to steal the papers. Of course, Doug knew right away that they were priceless and had to be kept out of the wrong hands.” She drew in smoke, then waved the cigarette expressively. “He virtually took his life in his hands to secure them. I can’t tell you how many
times he told me if we found the treasure, what a priceless contribution to society it would be. Isn’t that so, Doug?”

“Well, I—”

“He’s so modest. You really must take credit where credit’s due, darling. After all, securing the treasure for General Bennett’s foundation nearly cost you your life.”

“It was nothing,” Doug muttered. He could see the rainbow beginning to fade.

“Nothing?” Whitney shook her head. “General, as a man of action, you’d appreciate just what Doug went through to prevent Dimitri from hoarding the treasure. Hoarding,” she repeated. “He intended to keep it to himself. To wallow in it,” she added with a slanted look at Doug. “When, as we all will agree, it belongs to society.”

“Yes, but—”

“Before you express your gratitude, General,” she interrupted, “I’d appreciate it if you’d explain to me just how you arrived here. We do owe you our lives.”

Flattered, and confused, the general began an explanation.

Whitaker’s nephew, terrified by his uncle’s fate, had gone to the general confessing everything he knew. Which was considerable. Once the general had been alerted, he hadn’t hesitated. The authorities had been on Dimitri’s trail before Whitney and Doug had climbed off the plane at Antananarivo.

Dimitri’s trail had led to Doug, and Doug’s, because of their escapades in New York and D.C., to Whitney. She had reason to be grateful to the ever-eager paparazzi for several grainy pictures in the tabloids her father’s secretary poured over.

After a brief session with Uncle Max in Washington, the general and MacAllister had hired a private detective. The man in the panama hat had picked up their trail, dogging them just as Dimitri had. When they’d jumped from
the train heading toward Tamatave, both the general and MacAllister had been on a plane to Madagascar. The authorities there had been only too happy to cooperate in the capture of an international criminal.