Ice Storm (23 page)

“No. I see you far too clearly, as the sick, murderous bastard you are. It doesn’t matter how hard you try to be charming, I know you’re an ugly piece of work in pretty packaging. I won’t kill you, but I’ll dance on your grave when someone finally manages it.”
He laughed, sounding almost lighthearted. “How sweet. You still love me, don’t you? I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but you always were a stubborn woman. Lousy judge of character.”

“I can change my mind and kill you.”

“Of course you can. But you won’t. It doesn’t matter what you think I am, what you think I’ve done. You’re in love with me, and you will be until the day you die.”
She shoved at him, and he let out a small sound of pain as he released her. “Careful there, Isobel. You really wouldn’t want to damage me.”

She sat up. The highway was empty—no one was following them. Probably no one had been following them for the last hour: he’d just used a as an excuse to humiliate her.
She opened her mouth to tell him all the things she wanted to do to him—hurt him, kill him. But the words didn’t come. Because he knew her too well. Better than she knew herself. She was the Ice Queen, the Iron Maiden, and she wasn’t going there.
“Shut up, Killian.” she said, reaching for her ripped shirt. In the darkness he wouldn’t know how rattled she was. He might guess, but there was no way he could know for certain he’d managed to get to her. “Shut up and drive.”

And he did.

17

Things were not going according to plan. Then again, things seldom did, and Killian was used to adjusting at an instant’s notice. But something wasn’t feeling right about this situation, even taking into account the expected complications and snafus.
He had a simple enough job. The Committee was to extract him from North Africa, bring him to
London
, where he would supposedly be debriefed on his years spent in the service of some of the world’s most notorious dictators, warlords and terrorist organizations. While he was feeding them false and useless information, he’d be doing his own part to bring the Committee to total ruin. By the time he vanished, the Committee would be disbanded, leaving the way clear for his people to take over. It should be easy enough to accomplish—his cover was so impenetrable that no one even suspected there was more to him than there appeared to be. He’d always been particularly good at that. People believed what he wanted them to believe.

But someone was killing off members of the Committee, and that body count had nothing to do with his job. At least, he hoped it didn’t. If someone else was assigned to the same task and they hadn’t bothered to inform him, he’d be beyond angry.
But the attack on the Committee seemed to be coming from somewhere else entirely. It was direct and bloody, and if he just stayed out of the way he might not have to do anything at all. Whoever was intent on bringing down the organization was doing a very effective, if violent, job of it, and his employers wouldn’t care just how it happened. No one in his line of work was particularly squeamish about body counts, as long as the outcome was the required one.

He could pull over and disappear into the night, leaving Isobel with Mahmoud. She wouldn’t thank him for that, and sooner or later he had no doubt that Mahmoud would track him down and kill him, if he had to wait ten years to do it. The boy was on his own mission—one from God—and Killian had to pay.

As far as his Intel went, the current roster of active Committee agents was very small. Takashi O’Brien was tied up in his late grandfather’s business in
Tokyo
. Peter Madsen was little more than a bureaucrat, sidelined with a bad leg. Morrison was dead, and MacGowan had disappeared, which left Jeffreys in
Thailand
, and perhaps one other.
And Isobel. Sitting beside him in the front seat, her bloody shirt covering her poor back, staring out into the night as he drove down the A35. If someone was targeting Committee operatives, she’d be high on the list.

“Did you ever consider that they might not be trying to kill me?” he said, breaking the thick silence.

She turned to look at him. “Everyone in the world wants you dead,” she replied after a moment. “Have you done anything to change their mind?”

Such a sweetheart. The hostility was coming off her in waves—waves of heat, nothing like the ice she’d encased herself in. “Oh. I’m sure most people want me dead,” he said. “I’m just wondering whether these current attempts are directed at me. Or whether someone’s trying to get rid of
you,
just as they got rid of Morrison and MacGowan. Or do you think it’s just a coincidence? Bad timing?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Neither do I.”

She pulled out her PDA, but he took it from her hand, opened the window and threw it out onto the rain- wet highway. “Your security’s been compromised,” he said.
“Do you have any idea how much that piece of equipment cost?”

“Do you have any idea how little I care?” He reached into the side pocket of the car door, handing her the cheap mobile phone he’d picked up. “Use this. I doubt whoever you call will be secure, but at least they won’t be able to track us.”
“I have a number for Peter.”

 
“Madsen’s probably dead by now.”

He wasn’t able to rattle her. “Peter’s very hard to kill,” she answered calmly.
“So were Morrison and MacGowan.” The traffic was heavier now, and it was making him edgy. They were about to get on the M3, and on the highway he wouldn’t be able to tell whether they were being followed. Right now his usually reliable instincts were shot all to hell. He could thank Isabel for that. He could still feel the warmth of her skin, still taste her mouth. She was a dangerous distraction, one he couldn’t afford. But he’d asked for her, and now he was paying the price.

If he was the professional he prided himself on being, she’d have been left behind in a closet on the ferry. Though it might not have made a difference— security would have found her by now, setting up an alarm, and he wouldn’t be that far ahead of the game. Besides, he needed her to get into the Committee. Unless someone else, someone with the same agenda but different rules, took it down first.

She was texting, and in the faint glow of the tiny screen he could see her face. She was frowning, biting her lower lip as she concentrated, and she had no idea he was watching her as well as the heavy traffic. She sighed and turned the machine off.
“DO you think I need to toss this one, as well?” she said.

It was the first time she’d asked his opinion in an equable tone. Maybe she was beginning to realize they might be in more trouble than she’d thought.

 
“If you’ve turned it off they shouldn’t be able to trace it. Just turn it on if you need to use it again. What’s up?”

“Change of plans. We had a safe house in Golders Green all set up for you. Very secure—there’s no way in hell anyone could get in there.”

“But someone did?”

“No. We’ve had to put someone else there, and you’re too volatile a contact. We don’t want to risk her life.”

“Her?”
“Peter’s wife. You’re at least half-right—someone’s targeted the Committee, and we’re all at risk. Personally, I think it’s simply because people are determined to get at you, and we’re in their way, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Peter’s wife can’t stay in their home in the country, so he brought her in and put her in the Golders Green house. And we’re not going to risk putting you there as well.”

“Who don’t you want to risk, me or Genevieve?”

“Genevieve,” Isobel said flatly. “I’m not even going to ask how you know her name—you’d just lie. At this point I don’t give a rat’s ass whether someone blows you to pieces or not.”

“You should. You’re with me. Unless you have some romantic notion of dying by my side.”
Her low growl was absurdly sexy. He’d made the worst mistake of his life last night. Not fucking her— that had been smart and well-planned, throwing her entirely off balance. But not finishing. Coitus interruptus might be fine for sharpening the senses, but some of his senses were entirely meshed with hers. It wouldn’t have made any difference if he’d come. And he’d be feeling a hell of a lot less distracted.
Maybe. Or maybe not. She’d always had the ability to distract him, through the last eighteen years he hadn’t been able to let go of her. If he’d climaxed inside her body he’d just be wanting to do it again.

“All right, no Romeo and Juliet fantasies,” he said lightly. “Nevertheless, keeping me alive would be the smart thing to do, once I’m dead, what’s to stop them from wiping you out entirely?”

“Wrong. Once you’re dead they’d have no reason to come after us. Problem solved.”
“And you without a gun,” he murmured. “I don’t think you’d get very far in hand-to-hand combat, but I’m more than happy to let you try.”

“Just drive.”

“Where?”
“Head north of
London
, Peter will meet us.”

“And he’ll have a gun,” Killian said. “Are you going to shoot Mahmoud, too? Because he’s going to be pretty pissed off if you kill me before he has a chance to do it.”

“No one’s killing anyone, no matter how tempting,” Isobel said.

“At least not tonight,” he said.

And Isobel said nothing at all.

 
“Get up.”

Reno
ignored the voice. The plump blonde lying next to him squealed, jumped up with the sheet wrapped around her, leaving him stark naked in the bed, and ran out of the room.
Reno
turned over, slowly to look up into Peter Madsen’s ice-blue eyes.
“What’s up?” For a moment he wondered whether Madsen would put his hands on him. IL would be an interesting battle—
Reno
didn’t underestimate his opponent for one moment, despite his bad leg and the ten years age difference between them. There was no guarantee of the outcome, and
Reno
tended to fight dirty. He expected Peter Madsen did, as well.

“Get out of bed. And get rid of the girl. Who is she, by the way?”
Reno
shrugged. “Just someone with a taste for the exotic,” he said. “There are more of them around here than I can count. In English or in Japanese.”

“Did you ever stop to consider that sleeping around might compromise our security?”
“I know what I’m doing:’ he said lazily, climbing out of bed. The girl emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed, beet-red. Was that one Lucy? Or Angela? He’d lost track.
“Uh…I’d better be going,” she said, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
He half expected Peter to stop her, but Madsen simply stepped back. “See you.”
Reno
said unhelpfully.

Reno
tucked his shirt in, reaching for his sunglasses. “No. I didn’t sell you out. I may not want to be here. but I don’t betray family, and by extension, you’re family. You matter to Taka, and Taka matters to me.”
Reno
met Peter’s gaze calmly. He’d taken out his tiger eye contact lenses, and there was nothing between them, just ice blue gazing into cold brown.

And then Peter nodded. “I believe you.”

He’d managed to shock
Reno
. “You shouldn’t just take my word for it,” he said.
“I have good instincts. And I already called Taka.”

“Good,” he said. “I would have done the same. So why did you wake me up? What time is it, anyway?”

“A little after midnight. We have to go pick up Madame Lambert and Josef Serafin. They’ve been driving around for hours now, until I could set this up.”
“It sounds simple enough. Why do you need my help?”

“Why do you always ask questions?”

“Taka told me to. That way you learn things.”

“What if people refuse to answer?”

“You can learn as much from what they don’t say as what they do,”
Reno
said in as maddening a tone as he could manage. He’d been working on it for a while, and it came naturally to him. Unfortunately, Peter Madsen wasn’t the best subject to try it on.
“You’re going o find out, anyway. There’s a hidden apartment behind the offices, just below this one. It’s totally soundproofed and blocked off, but we’re going to have to keep Serafin there for the time being, until we find out who’s been coming after us.”
“Us?”
“Someone’s targeting Committee operatives, which includes you, so no more sex.”
Reno simply snorted It hadn’t taken him long to gel tired of it; he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for here, and substitutes weren’t fixing the problem. He wasn’t about to admit that to a hard-ass like Peter Madsen, though.

“Whatever,” he said, one of his favorite English expressions, right up there with “holy motherfucker.” “I thought he was going to the safe house.”
“Genevieve’s there.”

Peter wasn’t quite the Iceman he thought he was,
Reno
observed, keeping his expression blank. “Why?”

“We’ve lost three agents in the last two weeks. I’ve warned Taka, and there’s no way Madame Lambert’s going back to her apartment. Golders Green is safe enough for Genevieve, but I’m not putting someone like Serafin anywhere near her. The more scattered the targets the better our odds.”

“And what did your wife say to that?”

“None of your business:’ Peter said, looking harassed. “She wasn’t happy. If she didn’t have some kind of stomach bug I wouldn’t have been able to make her.”