Black Ice by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online

time to find a new playmate? Your husband must be tired of hearing about me. Choose a woman next time.”
    As he expected, she wasn’t insulted. She smiled her cat smile. “We could ask Miss Underwood to join us. It could prove very entertaining.”
    He kept his irritation well hidden. “She’s not my type.”
    “And neither am I, apparently. Not any longer.” She shrugged. “Too bad, but as you said, my husband was getting bored. He likes it when men hurt me, and you weren’t particularly into that.”
    “Maybe next time,” he said lightly, feeling a faint desire to wring her neck. It was a pretty neck, decked in diamonds.
    “Maybe not,” she said, and moved past him, reentering the living room without a backward glance.
    He lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke skyward, dismissing her and moving back to more important things. Who had hired Chloe Underwood, and who was she checking up on?
    And what a ridiculous name. She might as well call herself Mary Poppins. The name went well enough with her cover, but she should have gone with something a little less jeune fille.
    His own organization might have sent her, but he doubted it. Anyone as obvious as she was would have been weeded out long ago. And who was she after? Mr. Otomi, Ricetti or Madame Lambert? Maybe Hakim himself?
    One thing was certain—she hadn’t come from the most dangerous of the cozy little cartel. Christos Christopolous didn’t hire any but the best, and he had little use for women in any capacity.
    He wondered where the original translator was. Probably in some alley with her throat slit. Just because Miss Underwood wasn’t an expert at dissemination didn’t mean she couldn’t accomplish wet work with the best of them. Those small, slender hands of hers could kill just as efficiently as Hakim’s fists.
    And why was he still thinking about her, when she’d already made it clear that this wasn’t about him. Just a word in Hakim’s ear and she would be gone, and he could concentrate on his job.
    But then, he was tired of the job. Tired of so many lies he’d forgotten what the truth was, so many names and disguises that he’d forgotten who he really was. So many years that he no longer knew who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. And even worse, he didn’t care.
    For some reason Chloe Underwood piqued his curiosity. Made things a little more interesting. It would be a shame to get rid of her too quickly. This job wasn’t a particular challenge—his cover had been accepted long ago, and Hakim wouldn’t prove to be much of a problem. Until Christos showed up he could afford a minor diversion. And if she became an obstacle he could dispose of her just as easily as Hakim could. With more speed and mercy. Hakim liked to see them suffer.
    He could watch and wait. He had an instinct for knowing when to act, and right now more could be accomplished by simply biding his time. Until Chloe Underwood decided to make her final, fatal mistake.
     
    She’d made a fatal mistake, Chloe thought as she put her glass of wine back on the table. She should never have had so much to drink on a relatively empty stomach, not when she needed to keep her wits about her. It had been a simple enough matter to keep up with things during the long, leisurely dinner. The conversation had been purely social, and she hadn’t been called upon to translate more than a few words. Which was a good thing, since they kept refilling her wineglass whenever she took a sip, until she was borderline tipsy by the time the cheese course arrived.
    She probably would have been fine, even then, if she hadn’t been operating on a base of two glasses of Scotch drunk in quick succession after Monique VonRutter waltzed back into the living room, her lipstick smudged, her hair tousled, her eyes slumberous.
    Bastien Toussaint had kissed her in the hallway, walked into a crowded room, singled out another woman and taken her outside to have sex. There was no question about it—one