Cold as Ice by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online

her myself," he said.
    "I don't think Hans would like it."
    "And what does Hans have to say to anything? This is my operation."
    "So it is. But we've all got orders to keep an eye on each other. What with the shake-up and all, the Committee isn't as trusting as it used to be."
    Jensen wanted to laugh at the very idea of trust and the Committee in the same sentence, but he was too edgy and she was too damn heavy slung over his shoulder. "Fine," he said. "You take her to the island and I'll deal with Hans."
    "Not a good idea, Petey," Renaud drawled. He'd always hated being called Petey, something Renaud already knew. "It's the witching hour. No time left for heroic gestures."
    He was right. They'd planned the takeover for midnight, and it was too damn close to risk everything for the sake of a spoiled young lawyer.
    He gave up fighting. "You're right," he said. "So much for being a gentleman. I'll dump her back in her room. Maybe we'll get done with Harry before she even wakes up."
    "Yeah, you can believe that," Renaud said, dropping his cigarette on the teakwood deck and stubbing it out. "But we both know what's going to happen in the end. You're going to have to kill her."
    He didn't bother to argue. Renaud was only stating the unpalatable truth. Genevieve Spenser was in the wrong place at the wrong time and she hadn't left when she could. She was going to have to live with the consequences.
    And die by them.
     
    It was a pleasant enough dream. She was being rocked, peacefully, like a babe in her mother's arms, except that her mother had never been much for rocking. She was surrounded by comfort, and yet she felt oddly free, peaceful, pampered.
    Something was making a low, rumbling vibration, adding to her delicious sense of comfort. She wasn't about to wake up—it was too lovely lying there enjoying the physical sensations. There was a faint, nagging worry at the very back of her mind, but she decided to ignore it, sinking deeper into a blissful sleep.
    She should have known it was coming. It always happened when she least expected it, and it took over before she could stop it. It was three years ago and she was back in that dingy little cubicle at Legal Aid in the tiny town of Auburn, New York, with her cluttered desk filled with too many hopeless cases, the industrial green on the walls stained with damp, the cold, rancid coffee and the telephone that rang and rang and then stopped like a death knell.
    She should have known not to work late, alone, in that building. Too many very bad people knew where it was, and she'd made a lot of enemies in her short life. She was Joan of Arc, a heroine riding to the rescue of battered women, putting their abusive, murderous husbands in jail, helping to give the women a new chance at a decent life. She'd done such a good job of it that she was being handed all the cases involving domestic abuse, and in a poor area like Clinton County, New York, the workload was overwhelming.
    But she kept at it, overworked, underpaid, foolishly thinking she was making a difference, and she never heard the footsteps down the deserted hallway. Never knew what was happening until she looked up and saw Marge Whitman's husband looming in the doorway.
    He was an ugly man with an ugly temper, and a day after he got out of jail for breaking his wife's arm, cheekbone and shoulder, he'd been served with a restraining order. And he wasn't happy about it.
    Genevieve had a button beneath her desk to call for help if she needed it. She pressed it with her knee as she reached for the phone.
    "You don't have an appointment, Mr. Whitman, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she said. She was calm, always certain she could fix anything. "If you want to come in tomorrow and discuss your case—"
    "The telephone don't work," he said, lumbering closer. He was a huge man, burly and heavily muscled, and he smelled like beer and sweat. And rage. "And I ain't got a case. You've been interfering between me and