Ice Cold (27 page)

Shooting him a dampening glance, she shook her head, clearly uncomfortable, remembering that only an hour ago, he’d had his face buried between her legs and she was screaming his name. Rafael shot her a wicked look and licked his lips. Pink flooded her pale skin, making his grin widen.

She couldn’t revert to Ice Princess. He’d shot that persona to hell and back. Now to see how “Laurie Peterson” responded in bed.

The first elevator car descended to the lobby, and Rafael indicated that the five giggling girls and their luggage were welcome to take it. They piled in behind the bellhop, shooting glances at him, not attempting to hide their stares and giggles. The door closed. Rafael turned Honey slightly so he could watch the lobby over her shoulder.

“Anyone?” she asked quietly, as a soft bell
dinged
, announcing another elevator car was available.

“Not yet.” He touched a hand to the small of her back and escorted her inside the elevator. She pressed the ornate button for the twelfth floor. As soon as the door closed, Rafael took her in his arms. God, even knowing the pregnancy belly was fake, he got a start of pleasure feeling it pressed against him. Raised by a single mother, he had a healthy respect for the strength and determination of women, but he’d never even considered that one day he might become a father.

The idea had a curious appeal.

“Cameras,” he whispered against her ear as he nuzzled it and urged her with his palm on her back to move in closer. Instead of crowding her against the paneled wall, he backed into the corner with her in his arms. Like any cornered animal, she’d react—probably violently. He made sure his hold was loose enough for her to break free if necessary, and he made sure his mouth persuaded her to stay right where he wanted her. After a few moments, he lifted his head, gratified to see her eyes were hazy, her lips bee-stung. He fingered her black bangs back into position then let his fingers linger on her warm cheek.

“Eyes everywhere,” he mouthed silently as he stroked his thumb across her lower lip, and the tip of her pink tongue came out to brush a wet path across it before she closed her mouth. Her bright eyes told him she was perfectly aware of her effect on him. He pressed his palms on either side of her head and bent his head to kiss her again.

She reciprocated in leisurely fashion, until the discrete chime announced their arrival on their floor. She dropped her head back against the wood-paneled wall and gave him a stern look. Her eyes flashed a “you can’t just kiss me whenever you feel like it” look. “Behave yourself.”

He patted her belly. “Too late.”

As much as he would’ve liked to press the button for the penthouse floor, Rafael followed Honey out of the elevator on twelve and accompanied her down the hallway. There was no such thing as privacy when they were in the field. The assumption was always that there were eyes, cameras, and audio feed capturing their every move.

His eyes moved down the long line of closed doors on either side of the wide corridor. Other than the two of them, the hallway was empty.

Honey used the old-fashioned key Weber had given her and the door swung open. The small living room led into a bedroom where a king-sized bed covered in an inviting, white down comforter dominated the room. He’d like to toss her down, strip off those clothes again, and see what else he could discover. Wasn’t going to happen. At least, not right then. Certainly not without a thorough sweep of the room to double-check for assorted spying devices.

Taking out his comm, he indicated with a hand gesture he was doing a sweep of the rooms. The handheld device, far more than an instrument to make calls, incorporated a receiver to pick up wireless signals and an electric circuit detector to detect wired bugs. It incorporated an electronic noise generator and would knock out any wired, or wireless microcomms, hidden cameras, or real time GPS tracking devices, in a three hundred square foot radius.

“I can’t wait to get to the casino and spend the money your mother gave me for my birthday.” Honey walked around the room, lifting lampshades, and running her fingers around mirrors and picture frames as they both used their comms. She sighed. “I’ll probably have to iron everything I brought with me.” She held up a small listening device and cocked a brow. “Be a sweetheart and get me some water, would you? I’m so thirsty.”

Rafael took it from her. “You’ll be running to the bathroom every thirty seconds with Lincoln pressing on your kidneys,” he said like a doting husband as he ran water in the adjoining bathroom and dropped the bug in the toilet. They continued the inane conversation as Rafael disposed of the other three small listening devices they found in the bedroom.

He killed the two in the living room.

The devices were years out of date, probably Russian. He doubted they’d been placed in the suite for them. More than likely, it was a hotel employee hoping for some dirt or a disgruntled spouse checking up on their partner.

They switched procedures. Honey used her device for a second sweep, while he ran his fingers over every surface and under every edge. They each found one more bug. Honey flushed them both.

After they checked the vents and known hiding places for surveillance cameras, Rafe gave the all-clear signal and Honey nodded her agreement. They were on the twelfth floor, the drapes firmly closed. He figured they were good.

Honey used the lock combination on one of the suitcases left for them on the luggage racks at the foot of the bed and flung back the top. “This one is yours.”

Not interested in the changes of clothing, although he appreciated having them, Rafael removed the weapons and ammo and lined everything up on the dresser so he could see what toys Weber had given him. “Nice.” Ammo clips, small knives, jamming device, and a handful of minute GPS trackers.

“Yes, she did a good job.” Honey removed her own new toys, then crunched a swath of black fabric into a bundle, tossing it on the bed as she rummaged—neatly—through the suitcase, taking stock.

“What’s this?” Rafael snatched up the long narrow column of silk black jersey, holding it up for inspection. He knew enough about woman’s clothing to imagine exactly what Honey would look like in this. The sleek column had long sleeves and a boat neck. She’d look sexy as hell covered from throat to toes in the clingy fabric, even with the baby bump. He went rock-hard just picturing her in it.

“People wear jeans and T-shirts in the casino. I’ll stand out in that. Especially with this.” She patted her belly.

“You’ll look incredible in it. Wear it; no one will be looking at me all night.”

She removed folded black jeans and a long-sleeved, black sweater from the case. Both would effectively cover her LockOut, and were pretty much her uniform when she was on an op. Weber had also supplied flat-heeled, soft, black leather boots with heavy rubber soles. He liked the look of her long legs in jeans and high-heeled boots. Hell, he liked her long legs in nothing, wrapped around his shoulders.
Focus on the job, Navarro.

“I’ll wear this,” she told him, her voice cool. “I’m not here to play.” She placed folded piles of clothing on the foot of the bed, inspecting everything, then returned it all neatly to the suitcase. She met his eyes.

Hers were that eerie, permafrost blue. Yet, he knew that if he raked his teeth in that spot beneath her ear, her body would shudder and she’d cry out his name. Her eyes weren’t icy blue, they were wary blue. Feeling her hot skin beneath his hands had proven Honey Winston wasn’t the Ice Princess people believed her to be. He’d keep that world-shattering announcement to himself, however.

“Stop looking at me like Simba gazing at a lamb chop.”

“I’m gazing at you like Simba eyeing a well-seasoned lamb roast.”

“Well, stop it,” she said, keeping her tone mild and non-confrontational. “I do want to run a theory by you, if you’re going to just stand there.”

“How about I lie here instead?” Rafael stretched out on the bed, stacking his hands behind his head. Oh, she didn’t like him lying there watching her, not at all. He didn’t bother hiding his expression. He wanted her. He’d always want her. She might as well deal with it. He glanced at his watch. “We have about forty minutes before we need to go down and get this show on the road. What’s your theory?”

Lifting her sweater, Honey untied the back of the prosthetic then dropped it on a nearby chair. Unself-consciously, she pulled the black sweater back down over a black lacy bra. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and Rafael’s fingers twitched to reach out and touch. ”I miss the little guy.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What little guy?” she asked puzzled.

“Lincoln Michael. I was hoping he’d have my beauty and your brains.”

TWENTY-ONE

 C 
harming, he was irresistible. Part of Honey’s jumbled emotion was that sex had never been great for her before a few hours ago. Making love with Navarro had been like. . .Like a rebirth.

She liked it okay, in a messy, please-leave-now-so-I-can-go-to-sleep-since-were-done kind of way. Navarro had given her her first look-ma-no-hands climax. Ever.

She’d always been too conscious of what all the body parts were doing, and what, when, where. She was too self-conscious to let go and never trusted any man enough to fall asleep after the act.

Now she thought of nothing but getting Navarro into a real bed, of making love with all the time in the world at their disposal. In addition, falling asleep in his arms. A dangerous precedent she was too smart to allow.

Pulling off the dark wig and the stretchy cap holding her hair firmly in place, she ran her fingers through her hair so it fell in a straight sheet of pale satin to her shoulders. She should twist it up out of the way, but a surreptitious glance at Navarro showed his eyes lingering on her hair.

He might be looking at her hair, but his heated gaze said he remembered burying his face in it as he pounded into her, bringing them both to multiple orgasms. Honey’s peaked nipples rubbed against her lace bra, and she was grateful the cashmere hid the outward manifestation of her desire.

Picking up a pen from the nearby desk, she twisted her hair on top of her head and secured it with a quick, efficient jab.

“I’ve never really noticed how erotic a woman’s throat is.” he said softly, hands cupped behind his head as he watched her with hungry eyes. “Beautiful. Regal. Se—”

“You’d better look at something else.”

“Believe me. I am.”

“We’re not here to bounce on the sheets, Navarro,” she said in no-nonsense tones. Picking up her comm from the foot of the bed where she’d tossed it, she held it up. “This is what Nielson sent me on the way from the airport. Take a look.”

His comm
pinged
, and Navarro took it out of his pocket, black eyes instantly alert, although he lounged on the big bed looking like the King of Siam waiting for his latest concubine. “What am I looking at?”

“Surveillance footage from the office building in San Francisco where the law firm is located.”

“That represented Savage?”

“Yes.” Honey came and sat next to him, tilting his screen so they could both see it. The heat of his body seeped through the fabric of her jeans. He ran hot. Hot enough she’d thought he was running a fever when he’d made love to her.

Shifting to put a few inches of space between their hips, she pointed as a woman walked into the frame. “
This
is Stephanie Garland arriving to work a few weeks before she went to Colorado. This…” she held her comm side by side with his, “is the woman pretending to be Garland arriving at the prison.”

“Identical.”

“No. Look at her gait. Garland. Someone else. Garland has a slight limp from a racquetball injury in college. Very slight—See there?” She pointed to his screen, then held up her own so he could watch the two woman walking side by side. “
This
woman is a little younger, less confident. Look at her shoulders. The hesitation, as slight as it is, in her steps as she walks across the parking lot. She’s second-guessing herself. The limp is a little exaggerated here, and here she’s forgotten about it. Look at her face,” Honey enlarged the image. “She’s wondering what she’s getting herself into.” Her eyes rose to meet his.

“These are two different women. Now check this out.” She added a second video to her screen. “
This
is the woman who left the prison that day.
This
is Savage.”

Navarro levered himself upright, stuffing a pillow behind his back. “Let’s take a look again.”

Honey didn’t need to look again. The woman exiting the prison was Catherine Seymour. The woman who’d taught her everything she knew about disguises and staying in character. The master chameleon. Honey knew that walk. Had studied that walk. Had memorized Catherine’s every movement and tried to mimic her style.

Navarro wrapped his dark fingers around her suddenly fragile and pale-looking wrist to hold the devices side by side. “Jesus! You were right. How the hell did she pull off something of this magnitude undetected? It boggles the mind.”

“You clearly don’t know Catherine. I discovered something else back in London, which I’ll tell you in a second, but first, I have a theory.”