Ice Cold (36 page)

Wiping sweat out of his eye against his shoulder, Rafael said softly. “Bet on it,
cariña
.” Holding, easing, pulling, and stretching the wires with the deft precision of a neurosurgeon, he concentrated on what he was doing, not how pale her skin was. There was barely any give in the plastic-coated wires, but hopefully just enough- “Easy. Easy,” he cautioned Stuyvesant. The other man’s touch gentled. But he worked diligently, his movements almost as precise and methodical as Rafael’s.

“Go!” he told them ten minutes later, when he deemed the bindings loose enough to slip her free. “Move it!”

Weber and Stuyvesant ran toward the broken opening in the wall through which they’d entered, their footsteps almost soundless on the hard floor.

“What about me?” Andriy Kobevko yelled across the vast space, English forgotten as he reverted to his native Ukrainian. “You can’t leave me here!”

“Vybachte, ya ne govoryu ukrayinskoyu
,
”
Rafael replied, paraphrasing what Kobevko had said to Honey in the casino.
Sorry, I don’t speak Ukrainian
. He shook his head. It felt as if that happened a lifetime ago.
Time flies when you’re having fun.
He turned his attention back to Honey.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” she said, doing her best to smile; it just about killed him.

“Good. I need you to point your toes, flatten your feet out as much as you can.” He watched as she slowly, much too slowly, managed to do as he asked.

“Hang on, sweetheart. We’re almost out of here.”

Moving around the table to stand behind her head, he bent slightly, slid his hands under Honey’s back, grabbed her under her arms, and
pulled
.

Her body slipped free of the wires as if oiled.

Nothing blew. But he wasn’t hanging around to find out how closely he’d shaved this. He slung her cold, naked body over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and with the bomber’s pleading cries and invective echoing behind him, hauled ass.

A flight of dimly lit, crumbling cement steps led to a lower floor. Thirty-seven of them, slick with snow and rotten debris. Time counted off like a detonator in his head as he ran, Honey, a shifting deadweight, making it even harder to keep his balance.

He reached the bottom at last. The warehouse was open to the elements, and dawn bled a cheerless light as he ran across a floor littered with holes big enough for a man to fall into, and banks of fresh snow. Outside, the lights of the fast-approaching van lit the area like a runway.

The vehicle slewed in front of him in a screech of tires and the acrid stink of burning rubber, the back door already open. “Get in!” Weber yelled, helping him in after he’d tossed Honey inside. She slammed the door closed, even as Stuyvesant put his foot to the pedal and they spun out onto the gravel road. “Go. Go. Go!” she yelled, hanging on to the back of the driver’s seat with both hands.

The percussion of the explosion rocked the heavy van, causing it to bounce and shimmy across the road, spewing gravel and rocks.

TWENTY-EIGHT

 C 
oherent enough to realize they were boarding the plane, Honey croaked, “Commlink. Now.”
Rafael set her on her feet, immediately wrapping a tight arm around her waist as she wobbled. “Shower. Soup. Then, if you’re good, you can have it.” She was wearing nothing but his coat, and her shivers matched the vibration of the engines under her bare blocks-of-ice feet.
As soon as this was over, she was heeding the call of the tropics. Hot sun, warm sand, and a cabana boy. She’d skip the ice in the umbrella drink. Even that image was too cold. The pilot raised the stairs after them, closing the door on the snow-laden, dawn sky. “Soup in the galley. Blankets in the warmer. First-aid supplies in the cabin. What else?”
“I’ve got it from here, thanks, Mike.””
Honey vaguely remembered Rafael’s side of the conversation from the van. She was sure she’d missed some of what he was saying; she remembered a tone of urgency, but couldn’t call back any of the content. Her brain realized they’d escaped, but the rest of her body lagged behind. Teeth chattering, frozen muscles contracting painfully, the sensation of pins and needles skittering along her sensitive skin—she felt like the poster girl for central heating. Damn. She’d heard Rafe’s terse orders without the benefit of comprehension. Rafael and Weber had done what they could to warm her in transit, but she knew she needed more than wrapped in Rafael’s coat.
Leaning against his strength, Honey admitted to herself that she’d never been so happy to see anyone in her life as when he’d shown up at that warehouse, guns blazing.
Custom-made, dense, black LockOut stretched across his broad chest, outlining his pecs, abs, and biceps. Cold as she was, worried crazy as she was about Pollack, Honey paused to appreciate the man. Gorgeous but so much more.
Back to Pollack.
“I have to call the ranch.” Chatter, chatter. Shiver. Just looking at him warmed her a little. Not as much as a blanket but first things first.
She pushed her arm out of the too-long sleeve of his coat and wiggled her alarmingly pale fingers. “Gimme.”
“Stand down, Winston. I called Dolan on the way here. The troops are on their way to the ranch now. You can call Pollack after you take a hot shower to get your core temp up.” Rafael frowned, his voice harsh. She’d never heard such colorful language as she had from him in the van as he tried to warm her.
He’d started stripping his LockOut to put on her, but she’d begged for his coat instead. Impractical, but it held the heat of his body and the smell of his skin, and was large enough to cover all of her. Her body had remained icy, but his genuine concern had warmed her heart. Melted her heart a little; okay, a lot. He gave a little tug, walking her a few feet backward.
“Move it. Blinston’s holding takeoff until you’ve showered.”
Honey gave the pilot an apologetic glance over her shoulder. “This is very important. Can you get us airborne while I take care of it?”
Blinston glanced at Rafael. “Navarro?”
He looked at her and sighed. “Against my better judgment, yeah. She’s like a dog with a bone, might as well.” Rafael reached into the pocket of his coat and handed over his comm. “Yours was eight-sixed en route to the warehouse, you’ll have to use mine. Sit. I’ll get the blanket.” He strode off, a man on a mission.
“Soup’s ready too. Warm you from the inside out,” Blinston said clearly relieved they were back in one piece. “Damn glad to have you back, Winston. Hang on a second.”
She gave him a grateful nod and turned her attention to the link. It was a little more complicated accessing her data because it wasn’t her own, but she knew her way around some of the walls and activated her own cloud.
Using her palm to activate the link, grateful it ID’d her by reading the veins under her skin. Her hands shook too much to use any of the features manually. She knew voice recognition was out, thanks to her chattering teeth. Both needed tweaking once she returned to her lab.
Rafael returned as she struggled to get her fingers to cooperate on the next step—contacting Pollack. Savage had a four-or five-hour lead. No matter how fast the pilot pushed the Challenger, they wouldn’t get there before Catherine. Yes, Dolan was sending people there, but would that be enough? “Damn, damn, freaking damn!”
“Tell me.” Removing the coat, Rafael quickly wrapped a hot blanket around her naked shoulders and torso, and another around her legs, then gently pushed her into the nearest seat and strapped her in. When he layered his coat on top, she buried her cold nose in the smell of him, the warmth of the layers a benediction against her cold skin. Her heart swelled with emotion, but she tamped it down; this was no time for sentimentality. The circumstances were fraught with high levels of stress. A near-death experience brought out all sorts of emotion usually buried.
When she had time, she’d step back, analyze, and be rational. If this was what it felt like to be a real girl, she wasn’t sure she could handle it. Feelings were messy, and complicated, and could prove lethal in the wrong hands. In the right hands . . . she had no idea. She’d never trusted anyone that far, until Navarro.
“Here, give me that thing. Tell me what we’re doing.”
Honey was reluctant to give it up, until Blinston returned with a bowl of steaming soup and she had to choose. She wasn’t giving in, just allowing her partner to help, she told herself. Navarro got the link, she took the mug in her palms,-the warmth was immediate. “Thank you.” Suddenly starved in addition to frozen, she put her face over the steam and inhaled.
“No problem. I make a mean mug of Campbell’s.” He left and seconds later, she felt the vibration of the engines as they started to taxi. Good. The sooner she got to Montana, the better.
Rafael tucked the blanket more firmly around her, leaving only her hands and face exposed. She sipped.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Call Pollack. Dial three-three-e-eight-seven-s-star-ni-nine-star-s-star,” she instructed, then waited with trepidation as he punched in the numbers to access her cloud account.
“Done.” Seated beside her, he snugged the blanket more closely under her chin. The sweet gesture brought a film of moisture to Honey’s eyes. Impatiently, she blinked it away.
“Next? Or was that it?”
“That was my ID code. Now, Games,” she instructed. “Balloons.”
He cocked a brow. “You want to play a game?”
“Contacting Pollack.” She took a cautious sip of chicken broth. Savory steam brushed her cold cheeks, liquid heat seared a path to her stomach as she swallowed. “God, that feels good.” She saw that he had the game up. Rows of colored balloons. A simple, mindless game she’d modified for her purposes. “Tap the balloons in this order; yellow, red, blue, undo—bottom left, then yellow, yellow. He’ll know it’s me. It’s a Red Alert.”
She drank more soup, watching him over the rim of the mug. His hair was damp, hanging in his eyes as he did what she instructed. His skin was pale, and she could see his concern by the tension in his stubbly jaw and the grim line of his mouth.
“Why would Pollack need a Red Alert? What’s going on, Winston?”
“Pollack will bring everyone inside the main house and lock it down. He knows what to do until I get there.”
“Does this have something to do with your safety? A defense against kidnapping?”
She gave a slight shake of her head. “No. Now we contact Savin and Dolan and bring them up to speed on what we learned about Savage’s plans.” She suddenly looked alarmed. “You only spoke to Dolan, right? Not Nielson?”
He glanced up, confused but following her lead. “Only Dolan and Marc Savin. Why not Nielson?”
Normally, Control would be read in on this latest development, but after what had happened, with Savage knowing their every move? “Right now I don’t trust anyone. I don’t think she’s involved, but I’m not staking Pollack’s life on it. No. For now. Dolan and Savin. That’s it.”
Rafael nodded. “Got it. I’ll take care of it. Finish your soup. You’re starting to get back a little color—Savin? Navarro. Has Dolan called you yet? We have a situation—”
Impressed that Rafael had the head of T-FLAC’s direct line, Honey glanced out the window as he talked. She hadn’t realized they were already airborne. Nothing but streaky, bruised pink and gray sky as far as the eye could see. Exhaustion dragged at her and her lids drooped.
Rafael finished his call then got to his feet. Holding out his hands, he said, “No sleep for the wicked, sweetheart. Come on, you can fill me in while you take a hot shower.”
“I’d rather take a nap. But we still have arrangements to make—”
“Savin and Dolan are handling it. They have it covered until we get there. Shower. Then nap. You’ll have plenty of time after that to do whatever needs doing before we land, and you’ll be in better shape to do it. Move, Winston. That’s an order.”
Dragging the blankets with her like a queen with her train, Honey went to the small aft cabin and straight into the bathroom. It was well appointed, but really only large enough for one person. Navarro crowded in behind her and reached around her to open the shower door and turn on the water.
He proceeded to strip.
Honey slid her arm out of the cocoon, stroking her palm up his chest. His skin felt wonderfully hot to the touch. She loved the feel of the crisp dark hair across his pecs and followed it with her finger down the center of his body. “Good idea. This will warm me up in no time.” She closed the gap between them, lifting her face for a kiss.
Manacling her wrist gently between his fingers, he firmly removed her wandering hand then brushed a kiss across her mouth. “Shower first, this after. Guaranteed to heat your blood. In.”
She shed the blankets and stepped into the small shower stall. The spray was as hard as Honey liked it, but, “Ow! Holy cow, Rafael, it’s too hot.”
The brave and foolish man got inside with her, closing the shower door behind him. He slid his hands over her shoulders, skimmed her ribs, circled her waist, and pulled her against him. “The hot water is barely turned on. Your skin is still cold because your core’s cold. Pull up your big girl panties and stay put.”
He edged her backward, a slow dance in a very confined space, until her back bumped the wall. Honey squeezed her eyes shut. God, he felt so good. Big and strong and hot. Wrapped in his warmth was more healing, more life-sustaining than any soup or shower. The water sluiced over her. It felt boiling hot, but she’d seen him turn the taps, so she stuck it out.
“I never wear panties.”
He smiled. “One of the many things I like most about you is you don’t waste money on unnecessary things. Very frugal of you to save on undergarments.”
I love you, Honey thought, the emotion too big, too vast, too painful for her chest to contain. Every cell of her body seemed to have absorbed him, assimilated him, until he was an integral part of her now, and she had no idea when and how that happened. She squeezed her eyes shut.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d never thought in a million years that she was capable of this depth of emotion. And if this was how she felt now, how badly would it hurt when this op was over and they went their separate ways?
When she opened her eyes, it was to find him watching her, his gaze intense, a slight frown between his brows.
“This is not how I imagined our first shower together,” she sulked, enjoying the brush of his hard body, and the way his skin pebbled from the cold—to him—water. She rubbed her palms up and down his arms. “Here, I’ll warm you up.”
I might never feel your bare skin again. I might never feel the brush of your breath against my face or see your eyes darken when you look at me.
He leaned his forehead on hers in a gesture that brought tears to her eyes. Silly, foolish, girlie tears that had no place coming from a hardened T-FLAC operative with no emotions. “I want to skip the prelim and take you right here.” His voice ragged, his fingers digging into her waist. “Nail you to the wall, make you scream until you have no breath left. Make you come so hard it blows the top of your head off . . .”
She slid her hands up his chest then wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted his head to look down at her. Beads of water glinted on his short lashes, and his eyes appeared black. She held his gaze, not fighting herself, refusing to dwell on anticipating the end when everything in her felt light and buoyant and alive. “Okay.”
His breath shuddered. “You’ve been traumatized and almost frozen to death. The least I can do is wait until you thaw.”
“Oh, I think you took care of my thawing days ago, Navarro.” Anticipation effervesced inside her. “Nail away.”
“You’ll be the death of me, woman,” he glanced down, meeting her eyes with a wicked grin. He was erect, despite the temperature. “Thank God the cold water isn’t killing my libido.”
It was starting to feel cold to her too. She reached back and turned up the hot water. While she was distracted, he glided his hands over her hips, then slid his palms to cup her ass cheeks. “Opportunist,” she murmured against his mouth.
He kissed her until her bones seemed to melt, and the wetness between her legs was hotter than the water sluicing over them. “Can’t resist you, Winston.”
“Good. I hate being resisted.”
His hands slid down the backs of her thighs and he lifted her easily. Honey wrapped her legs around his waist as he pushed her harder against the tiled wall.
He slid into her slick wetness as if they were two parts of a whole. To Honey, the intimate contact was like an intense electrical current running through her body. His hips pumped against her, driving him deep inside her. She dug her heels into the small of his back and kissed him with everything she had.
They came together. Not a fierce explosion, but something quieter, more profound. She felt weepy, not sad, but too filled with emotions.