Cold as Ice - Anne Stuart [109]
“So Peter’s alive after all,” he said, reaching for the minibar and pouring himself a drink. “Can I get you something, sweet cakes? Afraid I don’t have any of that belly-wash soda pop you seem to like, but I’ve got just about everything else. Might make things a bit easier on you.”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Harry chuckled happily. “I doubt that. Now, why didn’t you think to tell me that Peter was alive after all?”
“What makes you think he’s alive?”
“Don’t try that shit on me. I heard his voice, clear as day, telling you to run for it. Too little too late, but then, you’ve always been his worst nightmare, haven’t you? If it weren’t for you, I’d already be dead as a doornail.”
“Then I’d think you’d be a little grateful,” she said.
He backhanded her across the face, a casual blow that still snapped her head back. “I don’t like mouthy women, did I ever tell you that? Your bosses should have known better than to send me a mouthy broad.”
“Lawyers tend to be mouthy.”
He slapped her again, and this time her lip started bleeding. He liked that, but he didn’t want to let her leave any trace behind in the car. He would already have to get rid of the car the kids puked in. He’d set them down in the middle of the burned-out landscape— they’d never find their way out through those dead trees, and it got right cold on an April night up here in the mountains. The fog would just be icing on the cake.
He hadn’t decided on a cover story for that one yet—he was still concentrating on the delicious package of revenge sitting beside him. If the kids were found alive no one would believe anything they said, not when charming Harry Van Dorn came up with a plausible explanation. He didn’t know what that was, but it would come to him, spur of the moment. He was blessed that way. Everyone loved Harry Van Dorn— he could do no wrong.
“Watch yourself, missy. I plan to take my time with you, and I don’t want you annoying me. Having Peter still alive changes everything. He’s going to come after you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If he’s really alive and cared the slightest bit about me, he wouldn’t have let me walk into a trap like that.”
“Good point,” Harry conceded. “But I’m not giving up hope. Look at it this way, I’m keeping you in one piece until I’m certain Peter Jensen isn’t going to ride to the rescue.”
“His name is Madsen.”
He contemplated hitting her again, then decided it wasn’t worth it. “You see, it would be twice the fun making him watch. Double the pleasure, double the pain.”
“I’m sure he’s seen a lot of people die, Harry,” she said, too calm for his liking. “He’s not going to give much of a shit whether you kill me or not—he’s not that sentimental. You could always kill him first and make me watch, but I’m afraid I’d simply enjoy that, and you wouldn’t get your rocks off…”
“Don’t you ever shut up?” he demanded.
“Not if I can help it,” she shot back.
Oh, he was really going to enjoy killing her, maybe more than he’d ever enjoyed killing anyone. She was rapidly becoming even more infuriating than Peter Jensen…Madsen himself.
“Guess what?” he said cheerfully, slapping some duct tape over her mouth. “You can’t help it.”
He could barely see the road, but he tore up it like a bat out of hell anyway, trying to catch up with the taillights that must be somewhere ahead of him. Where the hell could he be taking her in this impenetrable fog? He could just as easily run off the road as Peter could, and they’d have to be careful.
They were in a limo. Presumably with a driver, since Harry never did a thing for himself when he didn’t have to, and he’d have a hard time controlling Genevieve while trying to drive in this shit.
Which meant he had her to himself in the back of the car. Peter stepped harder on the gas pedal, guessing where the winding road led. They were heading in the direction of Big Bear, the tackier of the lake resorts, and if Harry got that far he’d be even harder to find.
Peter wasn’t giving up. His rifle was beside him in the rental car, which had all the pickup of