Hot ice - By Nora Roberts Page 0,92

he saw the improvised fishing line grow taut. “Sonofabitch. Now take it easy,” he advised as she scrambled to her knees and rocked the boat. “Don’t lose it, that’s tonight’s main course.”

“I’m not going to lose it,” she said between gritted teeth. And she wouldn’t, but she didn’t have any idea what to do next. After another moment of struggle, she turned to Jacques. “What now?”

“Pull him up easy. It’s a big bastard.” Drawing his paddle into the canoe, he went to her with light movements that kept the boat steady. “Yessirree, we eat tonight. He’s going to fight.” He rested a hand on her shoulder while he looked over the side. “He’s thinking about the frying pan.”

“Come on, sugar, you can do it.” Doug left the oars behind to creep to the center and root. “Just bring ’im up.” And he’d fillet him, sauté him, and serve him on a bed of fluffy rice.

Giddy, excited, determined, Whitney caught her tongue between her teeth. If either man had offered to take the pole from her, she’d have snarled. Using arm muscles she only remembered during an occasional brief set of tennis, she brought the fish out of the water.

Wiggling on the end of the line, he caught the glint of the late afternoon sun. It was only a simple trout, flopping frantically, but for a moment, he looked regal, a flash of silver caught against the deepening blue of the sky. Whitney gave out a war whoop and fell back on her rump.

“Don’t drop him now!”

“She won’t.” Reaching out, Jacques caught the line between his thumb and fingers, drawing it gently in. The fish waved back and forth like a flag in a breeze. “She’s caught herself one big, fat fish.” In a quick move, he drew out the hook and held up the catch. “How about that? Some luck.” He grinned, fish in hand, while Tina Turner gritted out a tune from the tape player behind him.

It happened so fast. Still, as long as she lived Whitney would remember the instant as though it had been captured frame by frame on film. One moment, Jacques was standing, glistening with healthy sweat and triumph. Her laughter was still hanging on the air. The next, he was tumbling into the water. The explosion never even registered in her mind.

“Jacques?” Dazed, she scrambled to her knees.

“Down.” Doug had her pinned beneath him so that her breath came in gasps. He held her down while the boat rocked and he prayed they wouldn’t capsize.

“Doug?”

“Lie still, understand?” But he wasn’t looking at her. Though his head was only inches above hers, he scanned the shore on either side of the canal. The brush was thick enough to hide an army. Where the hell were they? Keeping his movements slow, he reached for the gun in his belt.

When Whitney saw it, she shifted her head to look for Jacques. “Did he fall? I thought I heard a—” When she saw the answer in Doug’s eyes, she arched like a bow. “No!” She struggled, nearly knocking the gun from Doug’s hand as she tried to get up. “Jacques! Oh God.”

“Stay down.” He gave the order between his teeth as he locked his legs around hers. “There’s nothing you can do for him now.” When she continued to fight, he dug his fingers in hard enough to bruise her. “He’s dead, dammit. Dead before he hit the water.”

Her eyes were wide, swimming, as she stared up at him. Without a word she closed them and lay still.

If he felt guilt, if he felt grief, he’d deal with them later. Now it was back to the first priority. Staying alive.

He could hear nothing but the gentle lap of water as the boat drifted in the current. They could be on either side, that he knew. What he didn’t know was why they hadn’t simply riddled the canoe with bullets. The thin outer skin would be no protection.

They had orders to take them alive. Doug glanced down at Whitney. She remained still and passive, eyes shut. Or to take one of them alive, he realized.

Dimitri would be curious about a woman like Whitney MacAllister. He’d know everything there was to know about her by now. No, he wouldn’t want her dead. He’d want to entertain her for a time—be entertained by her— then ransom her back. They wouldn’t shoot at the canoe, but simply wait them out. The first order of business was to find out where they were

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