Hot Ice (25 page)

"We wouldn't," he assured her, indicating, impatiently, that she should keep moving. "Stay with the car," he instructed Bishop.

She hadn't thought they'd wait for her in the car. But it had been worth a shot. She got out and, without a backward glance, went through the imposing wrought-iron doors of the two-hundred-year-old bank. She strode across the cool marble lobby, greeted the receptionist in fluent Swiss-German, and waited for the bank officer to accompany her to the vault.

One area was reserved for the thousands of secure mailboxes. Another for safety-deposit boxes. And of course she also had her bank accounts here. But today all she was interested in was her mail.

Taylor punched in her code outside the high-security area and waited for the light to blink green. The bank officer then did the same. A screen lit up, and she kept her eyes open for the retinal scan. She thanked the gentleman, who'd wait outside, then preceded her entourage into the large silent room.

It took a matter of minutes to slide the large metal box from the wall and return to the table in the center of the room where Hunt and his men stood waiting.

"Might as well take a load off," Taylor told them, sitting down herself after lowering the heavy box to the table. She unlocked it and flipped the lid.

The last envelope she'd mailed to herself was on top. She removed the padded envelope and set it aside.

"A little something splashy?" Hunt asked wryly.

"The Elliott emeralds."

He shot her an unfathomable look. Taylor wondered how he'd react if she closed the foot of space between them to kiss him.

"Jesus," he said roughly. "That smile scares me."

She patted his thigh. "Anything unfamiliar is always frightening. Don't worry, I'm harmless." She felt the flex and play of his muscles beneath her hand and wanted to fan herself. She'd always loved the adrenaline rush of danger. And Huntington St. John personified it.

The legs of his chair scraped across the carpet as he shoved it back out of range and stood. "Insidious, you mean."

Max laughed.

Taylor shrugged, then removed the package she'd mailed from San Cristóbal.

Hunt and Max came up on either side of her.

"Back off," she told them firmly. "I'm here. You're here. The envelope is here. Breathing down my neck isn't going to make me open it any faster."

"Open the damn thing and let's get on with it."

She picked up the small knife she kept inside the box to slit the envelope.

Hunt's hand shot out and gripped her wrist. "No knife."

He wasn't holding her tightly, but there was no way she could break free. The knife fell from her numb fingers with a small clatter. A fabulous trick, and one she'd love to learn.

"Geez." She looked up at him. "What do you think I can do to you with this little thing?"

"We're not going to find out. Here, I'll open it."

"
I'll
hold the envelope. You cut." She didn't want them to know the weight of the contents. They could have the disks. But whatever else was in the envelope was none of their business.

"Fine." He slit the top of the large padded envelope. "Pour everything out on the table."

She could see the Barter diamonds from Morales's safe coiled like a glittering snake at the bottom of the heavy padded bag. Her heart did a little excited lurch at their fiery beauty. She would have them couriered to the office in the morning, along with the emeralds.

She stuck her arm into the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers, envelopes, interspersed with what looked like mini-DVDs in plastic cases. There were two left deep inside the bag, tangled with Maria Morales's necklaces.

"Here." She handed the unwieldy bundle to Hunt with her left hand, while palming the other two small disks with her right.

Insurance.

She had absolutely no proof, other than Huntington St. John's word, that they
were
the good guys. And although she believed it 99.9 percent, there was always the possibility of a double cross. It never hurt to watch your own back because, basically, people never did what you thought they were going to do. They were all out for number one.

Well, so was she. She had to be. As long as she took care of herself, Mandy was taken care of. And that was all that mattered.

"Thanks, Taylor." Max smiled. He had a nice smile, easy, relaxed, friendly. It might not reach all the way to his eyes, but it was there nevertheless.

She smiled back at him. Max Aries was a lot easier to get along with than Hunt. Too bad she wanted the guy with no sense of humor. Go figure.

"You're welcome. Now, no offense, but—nice knowing you. Good-bye." She quickly got to her feet, slamming the lid down.

Hunt grabbed her wrist. "Not so bloody fast. Empty the envelope onto the table. Now."

She looked down at his dark hand circling her pale wrist, trying to figure out how such light pressure could hurt so badly and how his grip could be unbreakable. Damn. He was full of neat tricks. She gave him a hurt look from under her lashes. "You're hurting my wrist.
Again
."

"It's not broken. Yet. Don't push me. Dump it."

Taylor flipped the lid of the metal box open with a thump, then took out the envelope and jabbed it into his rock-hard stomach. "Here. Open it yourself. And don't even think about taking my diamonds, they're my paycheck."

Hunt released her wrist and took the bag from her, tossing the contents onto the mahogany tabletop. The diamonds looked even better piled all together on the dark wood. Taylor rubbed her wrist. Clearly there was nothing else in the envelope but jewelry. "Satisfied?"

"You have no idea. Let's go. We'll give you a lift to a hotel on our way back to the airport."

"How lovely for me." Taylor secured the box, returning it to its position in the wall, and walked ahead of them out of the room. She went through the exit security measures by rote.

Fifteen minutes from start to finish and they were back in the waiting limo. The rain had stopped and the early morning air smelled clean and fresh.

"Where to?" Hunt asked. He didn't seem to care. Which was just fine and dandy with her.

"The Hotel
Baur au Lac
," she told the driver. It was a quick train ride from home.

The car pulled away from the curb. They passed a flower seller packing up for the day. There was a stall near home. She'd stop there on her way out of town and buy a bunch of colorful flowers to take Mandy. Her sister loved color. And the simple amazement of scents. Not like the interior of the car. It smelled… wrong.

Rain made the view through the windows waver. Odd. She thought the rain had stopped. Taylor frowned, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. She swallowed bile. There was a carafe of water and several glasses in a little bar near Hunt, but she was afraid if she moved, she'd throw up. She never got sick. Never. It was one of the few things she counted on when working all over the world.

"Carsick?" Hunt asked, his image large and menacing in the dusky light inside the car. His eyes seemed to glow in the semidarkness as he loomed over her.

Black dots swirled in her vision. "Nope," her voice slurred. "Don' get ca—"

Everything went black.

Chapter Twenty-four

8:30 A.M.

October 10

Outside Zurich

Hunt caught Taylor as her eyes rolled and she started to slide off the seat to the floor. "What the bloody hell… ?" He hefted her gently onto his lap, fingers going to the pulse at her throat. Normal. Her face was pale, but cool to the touch. No fever.

"Stress?" Max asked.

"She
induces
it," he told Max absently, tilting her face up and feeling for a pulse beneath her ear. Even she couldn't fake this. Her pulse was too slow and even, her eyelids didn't flutter, and her body lay limp and boneless against him.

He cupped her cheek in his palm. He'd never seen her face this unanimated, and seeing it this way now gave him a strange hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. She wasn't the type of woman to swoon under duress.

"Taylor? Wake up, love." He reached back to slide aside the privacy window, but it was stuck. Bloody hell. He rapped on it to get the driver's attention. "Get us to the hospital.
Now
."

His head jerked around at a loud, hollow
thump
. Beside him, Bishop was slumped against the door. Unconscious.

"Fuck." Hunt realized too late that something was seriously wrong. He fumbled beneath his jacket for his H&K in the shoulder holster. The grip seemed to slip through his fingers. Bloody hell. He'd never been this butterfingered in his life. He tried again and finally managed to withdraw the weapon. It felt as though it weighed twenty pounds.

"Hold your breath," he yelled at Max, who was also scrabbling for his own gun. "Open the goddamned windows." Hunt saw his friend's glassy eyes roll. Max jerked himself upright, felt for the window control. Cracked it an inch. Shook his head. Tried again.

Still holding the last breath he'd taken, Hunt shifted Taylor's limp body to the seat between himself and Bishop and reached for the automatic window button on his side. It was as though he were moving through treacle.

Too late.

His fingers touched the small square button, but it felt soft instead of hard. His head spun.

Get… everyone… out of… ah… what
? Car.
Out… Car
.

Trees and buildings whizzed by in hyperdrive. The windows appeared to buckle as he tried to force his fingers, eyes, and brain to cooperate.

Max slid in slo-mo across the seat toward the window closest to him. "Ga—" He didn't make it. He slumped, then slid into an ungainly heap to the floor at Hunt's feet.

Gas. Yes. Hunt knew. His vision grayed out, then returned, dim and useless. He felt himself slipping under and gritted his teeth trying to hold on.

Window. Door. Out.

Throw Taylor from the speeding vehicle? She'd be safe. Dead, but safe. The car had to slow for something. Traffic. Lights. Pedestrians.
He must be rea
—Hunt shook his head trying to clear the thick fog.
Must be ready
.

Using every muscle and tendon, he attempted to straighten his sagging body, but nothing worked. His automatic dug into his rib cage as his body and brain melted and dissolved.
Weapon. Must. Tay
—

Hunt opened his eyes, head braced against the window to his left. Red danced and wavered in his vision. He blinked several times to bring the surreal, Salvador Daliesque world into focus. The car was parked in a field of brilliant scarlet poppies spotlit by a white half-moon.

He straightened, removed the H&K from the seat beside him, and checked his inside pocket with the other.

The three disks were gone.

Fucking bloody hell.

He turned to check on Taylor. She was exactly as he'd left her—he glanced at his watch—Jesus!
Three hours ago
. He felt for her pulse while doing a lightning-fast scan of the interior of the vehicle. Bishop was gone. Max was still unconscious on the floor.

Powerful shit to have them out this long.