HOT ICE(ISBN=9780553264616)pdf/txt下载_在线阅读全文

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“You can’t bottle wish fulfillment but Nora Roberts certainly knows how to put it on the page.”—New York Times

“Roberts is indeed a word artist, painting her stories and her characters with vitality and verve.”—Los Angeles Daily New

From the Paperback edition.

内容简介

Reckless Whitney MacAllister possesses all the wealth and beauty every woman dreams of. Streetwise Douglas Lord has the good looks and quick wits to be a success at his chosen profession: larceny. She has the cash and the connections.He has the stolen documents leading to a fabulous hidden fortune.It is a business proposition, pure and simple. But the race to find the treasure, from Manhattan to Madagascar, is only part of the game. For their fierce and dangerous attraction to each other soon threatens to overwhelm them-unless their merciless and shadowy rivals kill them first.

作者简介

Nora Roberts is one of the world’s most acclaimed and beloved authors. There are more than 125 million copies of her books in print, including the New York Times bestsellers Finding the Dream, The Villa, Montana Sky, and Carolina Moon. Ms. Roberts lives in Maryland.
From the Hardcover edition.

在线试读部分章节

Chapter 1

He was running for his life. And it wasn’t the firsttime. As he raced by Tiffany’s elegant window display, he hoped itwouldn’t be his last. The night was cool with April rain slick onthe streets and sidewalk. There was a breeze that even in Manhattantasted pleasantly of spring. He was sweating. They were too damnclose.

Fifth Avenue was quiet, even sedate at this time of night.Streetlights intermittently broke the darkness; traffic was light.It wasn’t the place to lose yourself in a crowd. As he ran byFifty-third, he considered ducking down into the subway below theTishman Building, but if they saw him go in, he might not come backout.

Doug heard the squeal of tires behind him and whipped around thecorner at Cartier’s. He felt the sting in his upper arm, heard themuffled pop of a silenced bullet, but never slackened his pace.Almost at once, he smelled the blood. Now they were getting nasty.And he had the feeling they could do a lot worse.

But on Fifty-second Street were people, a group here and there,some walking, some standing. Here, there was noise, raised voices,music. His labored breathing went unnoticed. Quietly he stoodbehind a redhead who was four or five inches taller than his ownsix feet, and half again as wide. She was swaying to the music thatpoured out of her portable stereo. It was like hiding behind a treein a windstorm. Doug took the opportunity to catch his breath andcheck his wound. He was bleeding like a pig. With- out giving it athought, he slipped the striped bandana out of the redhead’s backpocket and wrapped it around his arm. She never stopped swaying hehad very light fingers.

Chapter 1 
 He was running for his life. And it wasn’t the first
time. As he raced by Tiffany’s elegant window display, he hoped it
wouldn’t be his last. The night was cool with April rain slick on
the streets and sidewalk. There was a breeze that even in Manhattan
tasted pleasantly of spring. He was sweating. They were too damn
close. 
 
Fifth Avenue was quiet, even sedate at this time of night.
Streetlights intermittently broke the darkness; traffic was light.
It wasn’t the place to lose yourself in a crowd. As he ran by
Fifty-third, he considered ducking down into the subway below the
Tishman Building, but if they saw him go in, he might not come back
out. 
 
Doug heard the squeal of tires behind him and whipped around the
corner at Cartier’s. He felt the sting in his upper arm, heard the
muffled pop of a silenced bullet, but never slackened his pace.
Almost at once, he smelled the blood. Now they were getting nasty.
And he had the feeling they could do a lot worse. 
 
But on Fifty-second Street were people, a group here and there,
some walking, some standing. Here, there was noise, raised voices,
music. His labored breathing went unnoticed. Quietly he stood
behind a redhead who was four or five inches taller than his own
six feet, and half again as wide. She was swaying to the music that
poured out of her portable stereo. It was like hiding behind a tree
in a windstorm. Doug took the opportunity to catch his breath and
check his wound. He was bleeding like a pig. With- out giving it a
thought, he slipped the striped bandana out of the redhead’s back
pocket and wrapped it around his arm. She never stopped swaying he
had very light fingers. 
 
It was more difficult to kill a man outright when there was a
crowd, he decided. Not impossible, just harder. Doug kept his pace
slow and faded in and out of the packs of people while he kept his
eyes and ears open for the discreet black Lincoln. 
 
Near Lexington he saw it pull up a half block away, and he saw the
three men in trim dark suits get out. They hadn’t spotted him yet,
but it wouldn’t be long. Thinking fast, he scanned the crowd he’d
merged with. The black leather with the two dozen zippers might
work. 
 
“Hey.”He grabbed the arm of the boy beside him. “I’ll give you
fifty bucks for your jacket.” 
 
The boy with pale spiked hair and a paler face shrugged him off.
“Fuck off. It’s leather.” 
 
“A hundred then,”Doug muttered. The three men were getting closer
all the time. 
 
This time the boy took more interest. He turned his face so that
Doug saw the tiny tattooed vulture on his cheek. “Two hundred and
it’s yours.” 
 
Doug was already reaching for his wallet. “For two hundred I want
the shades too.” 
 
The boy whipped off the wraparound mirrored sunglasses. “You got
‘em.” 
 
“Here, let me help you off with that.” In a quick move, Doug yanked
the boy’s jacket off. After stuffing bills in the boy’s hand he
pulled it on, letting out a hiss of breath at the pain in his left
arm. The jacket smelled, not altogether pleasantly, of its previous
owner. Ignoring it, Doug tugged the zipper up. “Look, there’re
three guys in undertaker suits coming this way. They’re scouting
out for extras for a Billy Idol video. You and your friends here
should get yourselves noticed.” 
 
“Oh yeah?” And as the boy turned around with his best
bored-teenager’s look on his face, Doug was diving through the
nearest door. 
 
Inside, wallpaper shimmered in pale colors under dimmed lights.
People sat at white linen-covered tables under art-deco prints. The
gleam of brass rails formed a path to more private dining rooms or
to a mirrored bar. With one whiff, Doug caught the scent of French
cooking sage, burgundy, thyme. Briefly he considered hustling his
way past the maitre d’ to a quiet table, then decided the bar was
better cover. Affecting a bored look, he stuck his hands in his
pockets and swaggered over. Even as he leaned on the bar, he was
calculating how and when to make his exit. 
 
“Whiskey.” He pushed the wraparound shades more firmly onto his
nose. “Seagram’s. Leave the bottle.” 
 
He stood hunched over it, his face turned ever so slightly toward
the door. His hair was dark, curling into the collar of the jacket;
his face was clean-shaven and lean. His eyes, hidden behind the
mirrored glasses, were trained on the door as he downed the first
fiery taste of whiskey. Without pausing, he poured a second shot.
His mind was working out all the alternatives. 
 
He’d learned to think on his feet at an early age, just as he’d
learned to use his feet to run if that was the best solution. He
didn’t mind a fight, but he liked to have the odds in his favor. He
could deal straight, or he could skim over the finer points of
honesty, depending on what was the most profitable. 
 
What he had strapped to his chest could be the answer to his taste
for luxury and easy living, the taste he’d always wanted to
cultivate. What was outside, combing the streets for him, could be
a quick end to living at all. Weighing one against the other, Doug
opted to shoot for the pot of gold. 
 
The couple beside him were discussing the latest Mailer novel in
earnest voices. Another group tossed around the idea of heading to
a club for jazz and cheaper booze. The crowd at the bar was mostly
single, he decided, here to drink off the tension of a business day
and show themselves to other singles. There were leather skirts,
three-piece suits, and high-topped sneakers. Satisfied, Doug pulled
out a cigarette. He could have chosen a worse place to hide. 
 
A blonde in a dove gray suit slid onto the stool beside him and
flicked her lighter at the end of his cigarette. She smelled of
Chanel and vodka. Crossing her legs, she downed the rest of her
drink. 
 
“Haven’t seen you in here before.” 
 
Doug gave her a brief look, enough to take in the slightly blurred
vision and the predatory smile. Another time, he’d have appreciated
it. “No.” He poured another shot. 
 
“My office is a couple of blocks from here.” Even after three
Stolichnayas, she recognized something arrogant, something
dangerous in the man beside her. Interested, she swiveled a little
closer. “I’m an architect.” 
 
The hair on the back of his neck stood up when they walked in. The
three of them looked neat and successful. Shifting, he looked over
the blonde’s shoulder as they separated. One of them stood idly by
the door. The only way out. 
 
Attracted rather than discouraged by his lack of response, the
blonde laid a hand on Doug’s arm. “And what do you do?” 
 
He let the whiskey lie in his mouth for just a moment before he
swallowed and sent it spreading through his system. “I steal,” he
told her because people rarely believe the truth. 
 
She smiled as she took out a cigarette, then handed him her lighter
and waited for Doug to flick it on for her. “Fascinating, I’m
sure.” She blew out a quick, thin stream of smoke and plucked the
lighter from his fingers. “Why don’t you buy me a drink and tell me
all about it?” 
 
A pity he’d never tried that line before since it seemed to work so
well. A pity the timing was all wrong, because she filled out the
little suit neater than a CPA filled out a 1099. “Not tonight,
sugar.” 
 
Keeping his mind on business, Doug poured more whiskey and stayed
out of the light. The impromptu disguise might work. He felt the
pressure of a gun barrel against his ribs. Then again, it might
not. 
 
“Outside, Lord. Mr. Dimitri’s upset that you didn’t keep your
appointment.” 
 
“Yeah?” Casually, he swirled the whiskey in his glass. “Thought I’d
have a couple of drinks first, Remo, must’ve lost track of
time.” 
 
The barrel dug into his ribs again. “Mr. Dimitri likes his
employees to be prompt.” 
 
Doug downed the whiskey, watching in the mirror behind the bar as
the two other men took position behind him. Already the blonde was
backing off to look for an easier mark. “Am I fired?” He poured
another glass and figured the odds. Three to one, they were armed,
he wasn’t. But then, of the three of them, only Remo had what could
pass for a brain. 
 
“Mr. Dimitri likes to fire his employees in person.” Remo grinned
and showed perfectly capped teeth under a pencil-thin moustache.
“And he wants to give you real special attention.” 
 
“Okay.” Doug placed one hand on the whiskey bottle, the other on
the glass. “How about a drink first?” 
 
“Mr. Dimitri doesn’t like drinking on the job. And you’re late,
Lord. Real late.” 
 
“Yeah. Well, it’s a shame to waste good booze.” Whirling, he tossed
the whiskey into Remo’s eyes and swung the bottle into the face of
the suited man at his right. With the impetus of the swing, he ran
headlong into the third man so that they fell backward onto the
dessert display. Chocolate soufflé and rich French cream flew in a
symphony of high-caloric rain. Wrapped around each other like
lovers, they rolled into the lemon torte. “Terrible waste,” Doug
muttered and pushed a handful of strawberry mousse into the other
man’s face. Knowing the element of surprise would wear out quickly,
Doug used the most expeditious means of defense. He brought his
knee up hard between his opponent’s legs. Then he ran. 
 
“Put it on Dimitri’s tab,” he called out as he pushed his way
through tables and chairs. On impulse, he grabbed a waiter, then
shoved him and his loaded tray in Remo’s direction. Roast squab
flew like a bullet. With one hand on the brass ...

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