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He wasn’t done interrogating India.
32
Indy glared through red-tinted vision as Ice slowly zipped her half-undone pants back up. She was boiling with a deadly combination of arousal and anger, and if it wasn’t so cramped in here and if her head wasn’t close to exploding from the peaking drug Indy might have been able to right herself and cross her arms over her breasts and pout at this exasperatingly unreadable asshole who could heat up like fire and cool down like ice.
But it was all she could do to just hang on to a rapidly receding shred of reality. Her vision was a psychedelic frenzy, her body a buzzing beehive, her head a dizzying dance of drunk-as-hell dragons. Still, somewhere in her roiling brain simmered the vaguely reasonable thought that perhaps getting naked in a stolen parked car a few blocks from where she’d murdered her own mother wasn’t the best move while peaking on LSD.
Like maybe Ice wasn’ttotallya teasing asshole for opening up that part of her again and then zipping her up like he’d changed his mind, pointed this drug in a different direction.
Except Ice’s body didn’t seem to agree, Indy realized when she tried to squirm off his lap and realized he was still stiff like a sea-monster poking its massive bulbous head above the waves to scan for a willing victim, a tempting target, a panting pussy.
Hungry hope rose in her, but then Ice twisted his body away to dig into his pocket for his phone and Indy decided that yes, he was a cold-hearted butthole who got a kick from pushing her buttons, pulling her levers, turning her dials—then pushing her away, pulling himself back, turning those dials down to zero again.
Absolute zero, where everything was frozen including air and light, emotions and energy.
“Speaking of dials, who the hell are you calling?” Indy watched with indignant disbelief when Ice opened that damn flip phone and started poking the buttons clumsily like he could barely see straight.
Ice frowned quizzically up at her, like maybe he was wondering when they’d been talking about dials. He shrugged, was about to say something to her, but then flicked his gaze away when the call connected and a man’s voice came through the phone’s surprisingly loud speaker.
“What the hell, Ice? I was about to get on a damn plane and come down there myself.” It took Indy a moment to recognize Jack Wagner’s voice.
Really? You zip me up to call yourbrother?
“You alone, Jack?” Ice’s voice was strained, his neck even more strained, like he was using every ounce of willpower and muscular strength to focus on speaking coherently instead of vomiting out the nonsense word-garbage that his peaking brain was undoubtedly suggesting. “Turn your Darkwater phone off. Benson might be listening in to see if I call you on another line.”
There was a pause on the other end, then Jack’s voice crackled through again. “Done. What the fuck is going on, Ice? Benson called me an hour ago asking if you were in contact using a burner phone. He sounded agitated, on edge, like shit was going bad. Then I tried calling your Darkwater phone and it’s dead. So I switched on my burner, figuring you’d call. If you were still fucking alive, that is. You all right, brother?”
Ice swallowed. “Listen, Benson is not to be trusted. I repeat, donottrust that snake. And most definitely do not tell him I called you.”
“All right, but why?” Jack was quiet for a long moment. “Ice, you sound strange. Your voice is all weird, like you’re being throttled or some shit. You sure you’re all right?”
“Shut up and listen. Someone sent an NOC asset after us. A woman. She’s dead, and hopefully won’t be found for a while. But we need to stay off the radar until we’re back Stateside. Offeveryone’sradar.”
“Fuck. Benson didn’t tell me that.” He paused. “Only someone in the CIA can activate an NOC asset.” He took a sharp breath. “Wait, you thinkBensonsent someone to kill you? Hell, I will snap his neck, rip his fucking balls off. Give me the word, and—”
“No, wasn’t him, just chill,” Ice said in a strained, very not-chill voice. “Rhett Rodgers is the guy. Well, probably. Can’t be sure yet but my gut says yes. Benson slipped up and mentioned his name earlier.”
Jack let out a surprised scoff into the phone. “Rhett Rodgers? The CIA hotshot who’s been getting cozy with Senator Robinson?”
“Benson mentioned him to you?”
“Seen him visiting the Robinsons when I was doing guard-duty over the last couple of months.” Jack grunted. “And yeah, Benson did just mention his name. In fact I’m supposed to meet Rhett Rodgers in about twenty hours at Senator Robinson’s townhome. Darkwater got pulled from security duty at the Senator’s request, and I guess Rhett is going to station a couple of CIA guys in civvies to fill in the gaps until full-blown Secret Service protection gets approved. Benson, Kaiser, and Rhett are doing some kind of a security-assessment walk-through of the premises tomorrow while the Senator and his family are out of town. Benson wants me there since I’d been the lead Darkwater guy on the security team for the past couple of months.” He rumbled out a breath. “Does Benson know Rhett sent a damn assassin after a Darkwater man?”
“Yes.”
“Then what the fuck is Benson doing scheduling some bullshit meeting with the guy?” Jack’s voice was a low snarl. “And why is the damn CIA Director going to be at the meeting?”
“It’s got to be Benson trying to force this thing to a head.” Ice spoke clearly now, his eyes burning and intense as he gazed directly at Indy while speaking to Jack. “Bring this mission to its endgame.”
Indy felt Ice’s intensity sink into her skin. She realized she was listening with rapt focus now, the drug drawing her attention to a sharp point. Silently she swung her legs off Ice’s lap, folded them under her until she was sitting cross-legged and gently rocking back-and-forth like an Indian yogi vibrating her way to enlightenment.
“Yeah, well, Benson’s endgame should be to make sure his Darkwater guys get home safe.” Jack’s anger was palpable to Indy, the brotherly bond making her smile even though she still wanted to sulk a little. “If he knew that you were in danger and didn’t do a damn thing about it . . .”
“Nah, he warned me about a potential NOC hit, so he did right by me on that. But this mission is bigger than just me, which is why we can’t trust Benson completely. It’s bigger than any of the earlier Darkwater missions. There’s some sketchy CIA history tied up in this thing—with Benson at the center of it. And I suspect Kaiser’s future is somehow hanging in the balance too.” He took a breath, huffed it out. “It’s hard to explain, but I think this mission is going to decide who becomes the CIA Director when—and if—Robinson wins the White House next year. So the stakes are high enough that Benson just might sacrifice everything—and everyone—for the bigger mission.” He shrugged. “And you know what? I get it. But it still means we can’t trust him. Not yet, at least.”
“Roger that,” Jack muttered. “Those are high stakes. No shit Benson sounds worried. But what the hell does he expect to happen at that meeting at the Senator’s home?” He paused, then exhaled sharply. “You think it’s a hit on Rhett Rodgers?”
“I wish.” Ice whooshed out a breath. “But they can’t justmurdera high-ranking CIA man in the middle of DC.” He shook his head, took another heavy breath. “But Benson’s got something cooking, and I’m going to crash that dinner party.” Ice checked his watch, then glanced at Indy, his eyes gleaming with a strange knowingness that made her heart flutter. “Stay cool until I get there. We’ll sort this out together. Force our own fucking endgame. Get all those CIA snakes in the same room, so nobody can slither his way out with more lies.” He looked at his watch again, nodded with infectious excitement. “We’re getting on a direct flight to JFK in a couple of hours. Fifteen hours to New York, then a four-hour drive down to DC. Hell, if we pull it off, we’ll get there just in time for that meeting.”
