Cold as Ice - Anne Stuart [73]
He almost smiled for the first time in days. “Of course. I’d expect nothing else.”
“Enjoy your time off. I expect you back in two months, at the top of your game.” She took a parting glance around the room. “Definitely needs a woman’s touch.”
Genevieve heard voices. She was scarcely Joan of Arc, and it wasn’t the voice of God, that rich Texas drawl that oozed warmth and compassion. It was the voice of the devil, some huge, slimy, warty creature who stank of death and bourbon.
She drank that tea. She tried not to, but the patient, implacable Anh had stood over her, her English limited to “You drink.”
And Genevieve had drunk, because she’d had no choice, hoping she had misunderstood Takashi O’Brien’s implied warning. But it hit her so fast she had only time to whisper, “Oh shit,” as Anh caught her falling teacup.
She fought the effects, but it was like wrestling in marshmallow fluff—everything was white and thick and sticky, and when she tried to push it away it clung to her hands. The sheets were wrapped so tightly around her body she couldn’t move. She could only lie there, mummified, hoping she was suddenly transported back in time to the couch in Harry’s living room on the island, and she could somehow stop the inevitable.
But the voices told her otherwise. It was Harry Van Dorn’s familiar voice, but the words were strange.
“She screwed him,” he said. “I can see the stink of him on her. Get rid of her. I’m no longer interested.”
“As you wish.” It was his assistant’s soft voice. Takashi—who’d warned her about the tea.
“On second thought,” the voice that was and wasn’t Harry said, “maybe there’s some fun to be had. I don’t get to play with a white woman very often—too many people ask questions when they disappear. But she’s already been declared dead—I can do anything I want, take as long as I want, and I don’t need to worry about repercussions. Why don’t you keep her like this until I get back.”
“Of course,” Takashi O’Brien said, ever the obedient servant. “If you have no problem with Madsen’s leavings.”
Madsen? Who was Madsen, Genevieve thought uneasily. And then she remembered. She should open her eyes, tell them she could hear them, but someone had sewn her eyelids shut and put one-hundredpound weights on them.
They were standing over her as she lay on the bed—she could tell that much even without being able to see. Harry made a sound of disgust. “You’re right, Jack,” he said. “You always are. I certainly don’t want sloppy seconds, even if there is no trace of him.
“What would I do without you, Jack? You protect me from my mistakes. If it weren’t for you, I imagine I would have stopped having fun long ago.”
She didn’t have to see to know that Takashi O’Brien was giving an obsequious bow, but Harry’s laugh confirmed it. “That’s what I like about you Japs,” he said. “Always bowing and scraping, and you understand loyalty. You know who’s master, and you’ll die to protect me.”
“Certainly.”
“So you take care of the bitch. You can have a bit of fun with her, if you’re not picky, but just make sure you get rid of the body so that it’s never found. I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire right now and I can’t have anything get in the way. There’s a lot of money riding on my current project, and she’s endangering it. One false move and the entire thing would come tumbling down, and I’m out billions of dollars. And I like money, Jack.”
“Yes, sir.”
Genevieve would have given anything to open her eyes and see his face. But the fog was still surrounding her, and she decided she didn’t really give a shit. If Jack/Takashi was going to kill her there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about it—not at this point. If he waited long enough, maybe she’d be able to roll out of bed and hide underneath it. But at that point she couldn’t even manage to summon the energy to open her goddamn eyes.
Someone leaned over her, and gentle hands patted the covers that imprisoned her useless body. “I