on, but they were still working out the “when” and “where” as Doug crouched behind bushes six feet away. It seemed Remo had been fussy about getting blood on the Lincoln’s upholstery.
At first Doug had been angry. No matter how many times he’d been double-crossed—and he’d stopped counting—it always made him angry. Nobody was honest in this world, he’d thought as the adhesive pulled a bit at his skin. Even while he’d concentrated on getting out in one piece, he had begun to consider his options.
Dimitri had a reputation for being eccentric. But he also had a reputation for picking winners, from the right senator to keep on the payroll to the best wine to stock in the cellar. If he wanted the papers badly enough to snip off a loose end named Doug Lord, they must be worth something. On the spot, Doug decided the papers were his and his fortune was made. All he had to do was live to claim it.
In reflex he touched his arm now. Stiff, yes, but already healing. He had to admit crazy Whitney MacAllister had done a good job there. He blew smoke between his teeth before he crushed out the cigarette. She’d probably charge him for it.
He needed her for the moment, at least until they were out of the country. Once he got to Madagascar, he’d ditch her. A slow, lazy grin covered his face. He’d had some experience in outmaneuvering women. Sometimes he succeeded. His only regret was that he wouldn’t get to see her stomp and swear when she realized he’d given her the slip. Picturing those clouds of pale, sunlit hair he thought it was almost too bad he had to double-cross her. He couldn’t deny he owed her. Even as he sighed and began to think kindly of her, the connecting door burst open.
“Still in bed?” Whitney crossed to the window and pulled open the drapes. She waved a hand fussily in front of her face in an attempt to clear the haze of smoke. He’d been up for a while, she decided. Smoking and plotting. Well, she’d been doing some figuring herself. When Doug swore and squinted, she merely shook her head. “You look terrible.”
He was vain enough to scowl. His chin was rough with a night’s coarse growth of beard, his hair was unruly, and he’d have killed for a toothbrush. She, on the other hand, looked as though she’d just walked out of Elizabeth Arden’s. Naked in the bed with the sheet up to his waist, Doug felt at a disadvantage. He didn’t care for that sensation.
“You ever knock?”
“Not when I’m paying for the room,” she said easily. She stepped over the tangle of jeans on the floor. “Breakfast is on its way up.”
“Great.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, Whitney made herself at home by sitting on the bottom of the bed and stretching out her legs.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Doug said expansively.
Whitney only smiled and shook back her hair. “I got in touch with Uncle Maxie.”
“Who?”
“Uncle Maxie,” Whitney repeated, giving her nails a quick check. She really needed a manicure before they left town. “Actually, he’s not my uncle, I just call him my uncle.”
“Oh, that kind of uncle,” Doug said, a half sneer on his face.
Whitney spared him a mild glance. “Don’t be crude, Douglas. He’s a dear friend of the family’s. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. Maximillian Teebury.”
“Senator Teebury?”
She spread her fingers for a last examination. “You do keep up with current events.”
“Look, smartass.” Doug grabbed her arm so that she tumbled half into his lap. Whitney only smiled up at him, knowing she still held all the aces. “Just what does Senator Teebury have to do with anything?”
“Connections.” She ran a finger down his cheek, clucking her tongue at the roughness. But roughness, she discovered, had its own primitive appeal. “My father always says you can do without sex in a pinch, but you can’t do without connections.”
“Yeah?” Grinning, he lifted her up so that her face was close to his and her hair streamed down to the sheets. Again he caught the drift of her scent that meant wealth and class. “Everybody has different priorities.”
“Indeed.” She wanted to kiss him. He looked rough and restless and disheveled, the way a man might after a night of wild sex. Just what kind of a lover would Douglas Lord be? Ruthless. She felt her heart thud a little faster at the thought. He smelled of tobacco and sweat. He looked like a man who