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“Satisfied?” Indy let out another heavily sarcastic sigh that was perhaps unwarranted but certainly felt good, like she wanted to poke him, prod him, provoke him into flipping that switch again. It was only when she realized she was doing it that she caught herself and pulled back the sharp mix of emotions that were making everything in her body buzz—and not in the good way. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put on my thankfully non-lethal clothing.”
Ice glanced up at her. His shades were back on. They annoyed Indy. The joke had run thin. It just made her want to roll her eyes again, pass some comment about how he wasn’t fooling anyone with this untouchable macho frame, remind him of what he’d said in that steam-filled cloud-dream.
What he’d said about fate. About destiny.
About . . . love.
Love? Give me a fucking break, Indy thought with sudden ferocity. Every professional interrogator is also a professional liar, a master of manipulation, willing and able to say anything, to do anything, to promise anything.
To get what he wants.
Now Indy’s breath caught again when she found her train of thought slam into the conclusion that well, even if all that was lies, it didn’t change the underlying truth about what Ice wanted in that steamy bathroom.
He wantedyou, came the whisper from something wicked inside her, something wistful inside her, something warm inside her, something wonderful inside her.
Stop it, she snarled inwardly. The asshole went cold again after that phone call, like maybe he was embarrassed at what he may or may not have revealed in there.
Maybe he was even embarrassed about what hewantedin there.
Maybe he’d snapped out of that state of mind, wanted to erase that from their collective memory, pretend like he was all about themissionnow.
But that stubbornly warm, obstinately wonderful, wistfully wicked part of her insisted there’d been a crack in his veneer, a peeling of the paint, a sliver of light cutting through his dark shades, enough for Indy to see that she’d gotten to him in there.
Not so cool and untouchable, are you,Ice, she wanted to taunt, just to see if she could strip off his irritatingly icy veneer, expose that crack in his armor again, show him that she’d made a mark, scored a hit, touched his heart which perhaps wasn’t cold stone after all.
Indy was about to pull the trigger and say all that, but then she abruptly stopped herself, remembering suddenly that she couldn’t pull off the taunt earlier in the bathroom either, that the words just wouldn’t come out in a teasing tone.
Because something about those words felt too damn serious, too damn real, too damn true.
So Indy gulped back the words before they revealed her own vulnerability. She straightened her shoulders, then strolled over to the sideboard and reached for her clothes.
But Ice smacked the top of her hand with the flat of his blade.
“Ouch.” Indy gasped and scrunched up her face, pulling her hand back and rubbing it where the heavy blade had struck her knuckles. “What the hell, Ice?”
A flash of color darkened Ice’s cheekbones, like maybe he’d smacked her knuckles harder than intended.
But he didn’t apologize.
Didn’t break his frame.
Didn’t stop playing his game.
A game that Indy didn’t feel like playing anymore.
Didn’t care if she won or lost anymore.
“It’s best you lose the clothes, toss them and wear something else,” Ice declared with far more authority than Indy wanted him to have over her clothes. She rubbed her throbbing knuckles as Ice slid the knife into the middle of the garment-stack and quickly separated the layers like an expert chef. “No explosives or tracking devices, but there’s no easy way to check for poison without access to a lab.”
“Poison?” A wide-eyed snort escaped Indy. “You think somebodypoisonedmyclothes? What next, a bewitched apple that turns me into a frog? Oh, wait,you’dbe the frog in that fairytale.” Indy rolled her eyes because she just couldn’t help herself. “Unless I read it wrong,” she added with a sarcastic shrug. “Lots of that going around today.”
The tiny hairs on the back of Ice’s neck visibly bristled, and his body stiffened as Indy watched him spread out the separated garments. He stayed silent for a long tense moment, using his knife to carefully line up the still-folded garments on the sideboard like soldiers ready for inspection.
Finally he straightened and half-turned in her direction, his face dark with hot color. “Youdowork for the CIA, right?” he snapped. “Do you have any idea what kind of shit your employer has tried in the past? Yes, it is possible that someone poisoned your clothes, O’Donnell. Get real. Your life is in danger, and your sarcasm is making it fucking hard to protect you.”
Indy snorted again, this time in wide-eyed disbelief. “OK, do I need to remind you that not long ago you were tied to the—”
“To the bathroom fixtures, yes, I get it, congratulations, great fucking work, what a tough move slipping plastic ties around my wrists and ankles while I was almost passed out thanks to some undercooked bacon.”
