Ice Storm - Anne Stuart [48]
And Peter didn’t doubt Isobel had known exactly what she’d been walking into—she didn’t make those kinds of mistakes either. Serafin might be considered the most dangerous man on earth by certain glossy news magazines, but Peter would put his money on Isobel every time.
He flicked off the light switch, setting the alarm system. Overhead he could hear Reno—music that could only be Japanese hip-hop, for God’s sake, and thumps and bumps. Either he had half a dozen girls up there on the floor and he was doing them one by one, or he was doing some sort of exercise. Or dancing. The thought of Reno dancing was enough to send cold shivers down Peter’s spine. He preferred the notion of an orgy. In the few days Reno had been in London it was clear he was like catnip to the nubile female population. It was astonishing he was finding enough time to work on his English.
Peter headed downstairs, out into the darkened streets. Genevieve would be waiting up for him, and he intended to lose himself in her wonderful body tonight. She was already past her fertile time, she’d told him gloomily. So now they could fuck just for the sheer pleasure of it, something he was looking forward to. He didn’t mind providing stud service on call for Genevieve—there were far worse things on his plate—but he was looking forward to having the two of them in bed with no agenda. Maybe even doing a few things that didn’t make babies but provided shattering pleasure.
No, he was going to have a good night, and then sleep soundly. He’d put enough roadblocks in Thomason’s way; their former boss wouldn’t know Isobel had successfully completed the mission until she was safely back in London.
If Peter were a decent human being he’d have some pity for the old man. Thomason had been shoved out of the job and the world he’d controlled for almost two decades, replaced by a female, no less. He’d do just about anything to get back in power, and the only way he was going to do that was over Isobel’s dead body.
Not that Thomason would dare go that far. Not from any moral qualms—it was his ruthless ordering of terminations that had finally been his downfall—but because too many people were watching him. However, he was entirely capable of sabotaging Isobel’s mission so that he could step in.
Peter had made sure Thomason wouldn’t know she was in Spain, or if she was even alive, until she could present herself in person, mission complete. And then maybe Sir Harry would get the message.
In the meantime Reno had provided a distraction. Thomason had been so horrified, he’d gone rushing off, presumably to do his best to get both Reno and his cousin Taka drummed out of the Committee. It wasn’t going to happen, but it would keep Sir Harry occupied for a few days until Isobel came home.
And then life was going to get very interesting indeed. In the meantime, Peter had a woman waiting for him, and he’d stayed too long at the office already. He glanced at the shaded windows of the third floor flat and shook his head. Isobel was going to love finding out about Reno.
12
Killian might think he knew how to pilot a plane, but several hours later Isobel was far from convinced. It was still dark outside when they landed—or crashed, if she decided to be critical—and if he’d found an actual airfield she’d be surprised. They were in the middle of nowhere, hopefully in Spain, but she couldn’t even be sure of that. Mahmoud had woken up for a few moments, long enough to try to stab her with a knife she hadn’t realized he was carrying, and once she’d disarmed him he fell asleep again. Even the bumpy, jarring landing didn’t disturb him, but at least his color, beneath the layers of dirt, was better than it had been.
Killian emerged from the cockpit, stepping over the blanketed body of their erstwhile pilot. “Not bad,