Read Online Ice Storm by Anne Stuart - Free Book Online Page B

good Muslim wife, ten paces back, with the lethal child taking up the rear. Assuming Serafin had no more surprises to inflict on her, they’d arrive back in
England
by the next morning, and she could pass him on to Peter. Never have to see the man again. Twenty-four hours, she promised herself. And then she could breathe.

6
    It was almost full light by the time they managed to slip inside Samuel’s house. The place was large and rambling, with an inner courtyard, a fountain and a burked wife to greet them without a word.
    “Take the boy,” Serafin said. “The sooner he’s safely locked away the better.”
Mahmoud had no idea what was coming. Samuel’s wife sidled up behind him, putting her small hand on his shoulder. He whirled around, trying to aim the gun at her, but collapsed on the floor before he could even speak, and the woman dropped the hypodermic.
Serafin walked over to his unconscious little form and kicked the gun away. Then he glanced up at Isobel.
    “He looks so innocent, doesn’t he?’ he said. “I can see your heart bleeding for him.”
“Then you’re having hallucinations.” she said. “I’ve been telling you to ditch him for hours.”
Serafin reached down and hauled the small figure into his arms. “Where do you want him, Samuel?”
    “My wife can carry him. She’s very strong.”
    The silent woman stepped closer, her arms outstretched, but Serafin made no move to relinquish him. “That’s all right,” he said. “Just show me where you want him. You can take the first shower, princess.”
    Isobel gritted her teeth, then smiled sweetly. “How very thoughtful of you. But I imagine Samuel and his wife have more than one shower in this lovely house.”
“We’ll be in a back bedroom, out of sight,” Serafin said, shifting the limp body in his arms. “Don’t be squeamish. Madame Lambert. I promise your virtue is safe with me.”
She bit back her instinctive snarl. “I’m relieved to hear it.”
    “Samuel, why don’t you show her the room while I follow your wife?” Serafin said. “Because, much as I trust you, old friend, an Arab never allows his wife to be alone with another man. Particularly one like you.”
    “I think your wife will be able to resist my charms.” Serafin said. But he handed Mahmoud’s limp body over to his friend. “I’ll show Madame Lambert to our rooms.”
Rooms? There was a plural there—a great relief to Isobel. She needed someplace alone, quiet, to sort things out in her head. Her meeting with the dead man hadn’t gone the way she’d planned, and she needed time to put things in perspective.
He was looking down at her, large, bulky and unattractive—despite Samuel’s concerns. And yet there was still some intangible something.... Maybe it was something inborn, something that had nothing to do with physical beauty. Because any beauty on Serafin’s part had been shot to hell a long time ago. Thank God. It left her coolly, totally immune.
    “What did she do to Mahmoud?” Isobel asked.
    “A simple tranquilizer. He’ll sleep for hours, wake up in his new life at the Christian school.”
    “Poor kid,” she said reflexively.
    “At least he’ll be alive. None of his friends or family has survived, and if I’d left him in
Lebanon
he wouldn’t have survived much longer himself.”
    “He came from
Lebanon
? What were you doing there? I thought your last job was working for Fouad Assawi.”
    “I get around,” he said, telling her absolutely nothing. “We need to get back to the apartments. It wouldn’t do for Samuel’s servants to see us. He runs a pretty strict household, but people would pay a lot to find out where I am.”
    “And who could blame them?” she muttered, following him. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not that they’d finally gotten rid of Mahmoud. Particularly since Serafin had yet to give her a straight answer as to why he’d kept the boy with him, why he was indulging someone determined to kill him.
    The rooms