Hot Ice by Cherry Adair Read Free Book Online Page A

suspected, temper.
    Hunt shook his hand. He'd asked to be bitten, which pissed him off. Hell, he'd bite too. He leaned over the bed and grabbed her neatly folded pile of clothes.
    He tossed them at her. "I checked. Nothing in them."
    She fumbled for her clothes like a drowning woman grabbing a life ring. "No kidding. I don't keep anything of value on me, Hugh."
    "Hunt." It needled him that she didn't remember his name.
    "Hugh. As in Grant. As in bumbling guy with a British accent."
    Hunt hadn't a clue who the hell she was talking about. She redressed in her own clothes and combed her wet hair back from her face with her fingers.
    "Feel better?"
    "Dandy."
    He almost smiled at the edge in her words. "There's a chair to your right three paces."
    She found it and sat down like a queen about to give an audience. The lamp beside her illuminated her milk white skin, making it look like porcelain. "No bright lights or bamboo shoots?"
    "Not my style." Neither was intimidation by caress, but it had almost worked. And he felt almost ashamed at how much he'd enjoyed it. Fortunately, his legendary control had kicked in to prevent him from making an ass of himself. "You cleaned out a state-of-the-art safe."
    She smiled, and Hunt glanced away for a second from the potency of those pale, incredible eyes, alight with pleasure. "The unbreachable Faulkner KS796? I certainly did," she said with unassailable pride.
    "There were other things in that safe. Keep everything?"
    She shrugged. "If they were in there. Maybe. I had a bad feeling all night. I just wanted to go in and get the hell out. So yes, I took everything."
    "What did you do with the take after you left Morales's house?"
    "I told you!"
    Her bravado was impressive, but downright dangerous right now. Those codes were an integral part of an act of terror Mano del Dios had scheduled for October 13. Just two months from now. They had barely sixty days to get their hands on the launch codes and then locate the missile.
    Sixty days to unravel a crisis and avert disaster. Hunt hoped it was long enough, but he was tired of playing guessing games with Annie Sullivan.
    T-FLAC had averted Mano's last attack—a nerve agent scheduled for release during Mardi Gras in New Orleans last February. There had been nothing overt from the group since. But Morales, religious zealot that he was, hadn't been idle.
    He gave her a cool look. "It's no sweat for me to deliver you back to those goons exactly as you are right now. Blind and exhausted. Try again, sweetheart." If T-FLAC could have done this without her, they would have. God knew, they'd tried.
    "I have a partner. He took everything."
    She was lying through her pearly white teeth. "And this convenient partner of yours didn't give a damn that you were caught and tossed in that hellhole of a jail?" Hunt walked closer to her.
    She shrugged. "Apparently not."
    Hunt had an urge to put his fingers around her throat and squeeze. Except he did not want to touch her. Because he realized with dawning fury that he couldn't touch this woman in anger. One brief contact would turn into a caress. The caress into hard, fast sex. Sex into—
    Hell. She'd drive any poor, stupid bastard crazy with that innocent tone and a look from those big beautiful eyes. "And you're meeting up where?" he demanded, at the edge of his temper.
    He never lost his temper. Not ever. It was all a matter of control. He considered himself a master of control. Yet his jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
    "Rio."
    "When?"
    "Thursday."
    "What's this person's name?"
    She hesitated. Thought about it. He could almost see her roll through a list of names and pick one. "Toby."
    A muscle jumped in his jaw. God, she was a piece of work. "Toby—?"
    "Now why would I tell you? Okay, fine. For God's sake. I'm exhausted, and I've answered your questions. Toby Blackman ."
    He didn't believe her for a second. Yet he'd never met anyone, male or female, who lied -with such panache. It was not a trait he admired.