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Ice chuckled dryly, his eyes flashing with something that made Indy wonder if Ice had just thought of the very same thing that now occurred to her:
That Benson had scheduled this meeting with just enough lead-time for them to get there.
Coincidence or cunning?
Providence or planning?
Excitement hissed through Indy as she rocked back and forth like a cross-legged wind-up toy as the unanswerable questions buzzed around her like bees in a cosmic hive. Again she saw that flash of what felt like knowingness in Ice’s burning green eyes, like maybe he was starting to believe in something he would never have before this day, before their minds had been ripped open by this potion administered by her murderous mother.
Oh, shit, don’t think about her, Indy screamed inwardly as that hotel room suddenly flicked back into vivid focus. Cursing herself Indy snapped her eyelids closed tight, biting her lip to hold her thoughts from going to that dangerously tender place again. The drug will take you where you point it, she reminded herself desperately, so point it somewhere else!
But she was already spinning down that tunnel, a dark space where the namesScarletandRhettwere scrawled like glowing cosmic graffiti on the walls of her madness. She clawed at her hair, shook her head until her teeth rattled, dug her fingernails into her palms to make it stop, make it go away, make it . . . make it come back?
Indy almost threw up as a ball of tight dark emotion tightened her throat with violent constriction. It felt like something was still packed away inside her, rolled up in the tiny angry fists of that damaged child Indy thought had been healed, pacified, laid to rest, saved. She kept her eyes closed, shook her head no-no-no, rocked side to side like a pendulum, then suddenly stopped when she felt Ice’s arm slide around her shoulders and pull her close with his stabilizing power, hold her tight with his protective strength.
Her eyelids fluttered open to meet Ice’s warmly reassuring gaze. He was still on the phone, but Indy could feel his attention on her, saw the understanding in his eyes, heard the soundless words mouthed by his silently moving lips.
I love you, he was saying without sound but louder than a scream, clearer than a crystal, truer than an arrow. I love you, Indy, so hold on to that, hold on to me, hold on to . . . tous.
Becausethat’sthe endgame.
Weare the endgame.
Indy heard all of this with soundless certainty, and she snuggled closer to his warm body and rested her head on his big shoulder and did what she could to keep it together, keep it in the here and now, keep her mind away from that dark tunnel where those names were spinning and swirling like dry leaves in a hurricane.
Names like Indy and Ice.
Rhett and Scarlet.
What had Ice said about how maybe the namesweren’tjust a coincidence?
He’d said something about Benson having an “OCD thing” about names lining up.
Lining up like Ice and Indy lined up?
Like Rhett and Scarlet lined up?
Like Rhett, Scarlet, andIndialined up, all from the same damn story?
Coincidence or cunning?
Providence or planning?
OCD or OMG?
Now again Indy’s throat tightened like something dense and solid was trying to rise up and come out, come back, burst free into the light.
And again she pushed it back down, pulled herself closer to Ice, retreating from its darkness, reaching for his light.
It seemed to work, because Indy could hear Ice and Jack talking again.
“Roger that,” Jack was saying. Indy thought she could hear a grin come through in his voice. “I’m still buddies with the union guys at JFK. Should be no problem getting them to pop the hatch and then stay clear of Air India 217 for a few minutes after touchdown so you can offload your stowaway ass undetected. And I’ve got enough time to set you up with a vehicle in long-term parking.” He took a breath, his voice taking on a curiously excited tone. “Oh, hey, one last thing.”
“Shoot,” said Ice.
“The woman. Her name is Indy. You realize that Indy starts with—”
“I’m hanging up, Jack.”
