Read Online Hot Ice by Cherry Adair - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cherry Adair
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Romance, Contemporary, South America, romantic suspense, Romantic Suspense Fiction, Terrorists, Jewel Thieves, Women Jewel Thieves, Female Offenders
Ads: Link
diamonds had already been in the upstairs library safe, instead of in the bedroom, as they normally were. It was possible the thief had come for her jewelry.
It was, of course, impossible to memorize all the information contained on the disks. That was the point. Making access to the mine complex, and perhaps impossible, without them.
If the thief had specifically stolen the disks, knowing what was on them, it would be that much harder to find them. Either the man was affiliated with another terrorist organization that would utilize the information for their own purposes, or the thief would sell the information to the highest bidder.
But if the thief had accidentally taken them when he'd stolen Maria's jewelry, then José knew he was still screwed. Because not knowing their value might cause him to discard the disks as worthless.
The hot hand of God fisted in his stomach.
The contents of the disks held the key to his legacy—the tool necessary for leaving his mark on the world—something for his children and their children and their children after them. Future generations would speak the name José Morales with reverence.
He let his eyes speak for him about retribution if the job was not done. The men surrounding him knew the expression. At one time or another all of them had witnessed firsthand what happened to anyone who crossed purposes with him. He depended on that. Traded on it. And he intended to make an example of this thief.
It would be graphic.
No. Epic.
"Find him. Find him now."
----
Chapter Nine
October 8
Houston
She moved with stealth and surety. Clearly, she'd recovered her sight. Good, Hunt thought savagely. He wanted her to see his face when he caught her. Looked forward to those unforgettable blue eyes widening as she realized that this time, God help her, she wasn't going to get away from him.
He watched her on his small wrist monitor as she drifted like black smoke through the midnight-dark halls of the Houston museum. "Damn, she's good." If he hadn't been here specifically to find her, if he wasn't scanning every inch of the wide hallways, he wouldn't have even known she was there.
Liquid motion, footsteps silent, she moved swiftly toward the gem exhibit at the end of the south corridor.
Where he patiently waited.
It had taken him—and the extensive resources of T-FLAC—almost a month to find her. Again. Once more they'd had to pull people off other assignments to locate this woman.
One bloody woman had eluded the best trackers in the world.
He'd thought he'd had her in Chicago three weeks ago. Knew , damn it, that he had her. But when he'd stormed into her hotel room, she was gone. And for the next fortnight her tracks had gone cold. Ice cold. It was as though she'd vanished into thin air.
Hunt enjoyed a challenge. But not this one. Time was running out. He not only despised wasting time, he didn't have any more to spare. And he hated like hell acknowledging that this woman had managed to best him.
Even thinking about what she'd done to him in San Cristóbal irked him. As he'd suspected at the time, there'd been no time-locked safe at the Banco Central de San Cristóbal . And he had to live down being handcuffed to the bed. Jesus.
Now, he observed her as she moved about the exhibit hall in this small, obscure museum in Houston, Texas. Got you now . As she appeared, framed by the wide doors opposite his hiding place, Hunt pulled down his nvg's. Her face was covered by a dark mask, but he didn't need to see her face to ID her. He'd recognize that sinuous body anywhere.
He was surprised—and more than a little annoyed—to find his heart rate elevated with her this close. Anticipation. Annoyance. And, damn it, arousal . He hadn't felt any of the three in months, and experiencing any of them now seriously pissed him off.
She'd had a busy, and highly profitable, month. Heists in Paris, Edinburgh, Madrid. She'd pocketed several mil in gems.
Hunt had followed her trail like a
It was, of course, impossible to memorize all the information contained on the disks. That was the point. Making access to the mine complex, and perhaps impossible, without them.
If the thief had specifically stolen the disks, knowing what was on them, it would be that much harder to find them. Either the man was affiliated with another terrorist organization that would utilize the information for their own purposes, or the thief would sell the information to the highest bidder.
But if the thief had accidentally taken them when he'd stolen Maria's jewelry, then José knew he was still screwed. Because not knowing their value might cause him to discard the disks as worthless.
The hot hand of God fisted in his stomach.
The contents of the disks held the key to his legacy—the tool necessary for leaving his mark on the world—something for his children and their children and their children after them. Future generations would speak the name José Morales with reverence.
He let his eyes speak for him about retribution if the job was not done. The men surrounding him knew the expression. At one time or another all of them had witnessed firsthand what happened to anyone who crossed purposes with him. He depended on that. Traded on it. And he intended to make an example of this thief.
It would be graphic.
No. Epic.
"Find him. Find him now."
----
Chapter Nine
October 8
Houston
She moved with stealth and surety. Clearly, she'd recovered her sight. Good, Hunt thought savagely. He wanted her to see his face when he caught her. Looked forward to those unforgettable blue eyes widening as she realized that this time, God help her, she wasn't going to get away from him.
He watched her on his small wrist monitor as she drifted like black smoke through the midnight-dark halls of the Houston museum. "Damn, she's good." If he hadn't been here specifically to find her, if he wasn't scanning every inch of the wide hallways, he wouldn't have even known she was there.
Liquid motion, footsteps silent, she moved swiftly toward the gem exhibit at the end of the south corridor.
Where he patiently waited.
It had taken him—and the extensive resources of T-FLAC—almost a month to find her. Again. Once more they'd had to pull people off other assignments to locate this woman.
One bloody woman had eluded the best trackers in the world.
He'd thought he'd had her in Chicago three weeks ago. Knew , damn it, that he had her. But when he'd stormed into her hotel room, she was gone. And for the next fortnight her tracks had gone cold. Ice cold. It was as though she'd vanished into thin air.
Hunt enjoyed a challenge. But not this one. Time was running out. He not only despised wasting time, he didn't have any more to spare. And he hated like hell acknowledging that this woman had managed to best him.
Even thinking about what she'd done to him in San Cristóbal irked him. As he'd suspected at the time, there'd been no time-locked safe at the Banco Central de San Cristóbal . And he had to live down being handcuffed to the bed. Jesus.
Now, he observed her as she moved about the exhibit hall in this small, obscure museum in Houston, Texas. Got you now . As she appeared, framed by the wide doors opposite his hiding place, Hunt pulled down his nvg's. Her face was covered by a dark mask, but he didn't need to see her face to ID her. He'd recognize that sinuous body anywhere.
He was surprised—and more than a little annoyed—to find his heart rate elevated with her this close. Anticipation. Annoyance. And, damn it, arousal . He hadn't felt any of the three in months, and experiencing any of them now seriously pissed him off.
She'd had a busy, and highly profitable, month. Heists in Paris, Edinburgh, Madrid. She'd pocketed several mil in gems.
Hunt had followed her trail like a
Similar Books
