“Did you ever consider that they might not be trying to kill me?” he said, breaking the thick silence.
She turned to look at him. “Everyone in the world wants you dead,” she replied after a moment. “Have you done anything to change their mind?”
Such a sweetheart. The hostility was coming off her in waves—waves of heat, nothing like the ice she’d encased herself in. “Oh, I’m sure most people want me dead,” he said. “I’m just wondering whether these current attempts are directed at me. Or whether someone’s trying to get rid of you, just as they got rid of Morrison and MacGowan. Or do you think it’s just a coincidence? Bad timing?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Neither do I.”
She pulled out her PDA, but he took it from her hand, opened the window and threw it out onto the rain-wet highway. “Your security’s been compromised,” he said.
“Do you have any idea how much that piece of equipment cost?”
“Do you have any idea how little I care?” He reached into the side pocket of the car door, handing her the cheap mobile phone he’d picked up. “Use this. I doubt whoever you call will be secure, but at least they won’t be able to track us.”
“I have a number for Peter.”
“Madsen’s probably dead by now.”
He wasn’t able to rattle her. “Peter’s very hard to kill,” she answered calmly.
“So were Morrison and MacGowan.” The traffic was heavier now, and it was making him edgy. They were about to get on the M3, and on the highway he wouldn’t be able to tell whether they were being followed. Right now his usually reliable instincts were shot all to hell. He could thank Isobel for that. He could still feel the warmth of her skin, still taste her mouth. She was a dangerous distraction, one he couldn’t afford. But he’d asked for her, and now he was paying the price.
If he was the professional he prided himself on being, she’d have been left behind in a closet on the ferry. Though it might not have made a difference—security would have found her by now, setting up an alarm, and he wouldn’t be that far ahead of the game. Besides, he needed her to get into the Committee. Unless someone else, someone with the same agenda but different rules, took it down first.
She was texting, and in the faint glow of the tiny screen he could see her face. She was frowning, biting her lower lip as she concentrated, and she had no idea he was watching her as well as the heavy traffic. She sighed and turned the machine off.
“Do you think I need to toss this one, as well?” she said.
It was the first time she’d asked his opinion in an equable tone. Maybe she was beginning to realize they might be in more trouble than she’d thought.
“If you’ve turned it off they shouldn’t be able to trace it. Just turn it on if you need to use it again. What’s up?”
“Change of plans. We had a safe house in Golders Green all set up for you. Very secure—there’s no way in hell anyone could get in there.”
“But someone did?”
“No. We’ve had to put someone else there, and you’re too volatile a contact. We don’t want to risk her life.”
“Her?”
“Peter’s wife. You’re at least half-right—someone’s targeted the Committee, and we’re all at risk. Personally, I think it’s simply because people are determined to get at you, and we’re in their way, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Peter’s wife can’t stay in their home in the country, so he brought her in and put her in the Golders Green house. And we’re not going to risk putting you there as well.”
“Who don’t you want to risk, me or Genevieve?”
“Genevieve,” Isobel said flatly. “I’m not even going to ask how you know her name—you’d just lie. At this point I don’t give a rat’s ass whether someone blows you to pieces or not.”
“You should. You’re with me. Unless you have some romantic notion of dying by my side.”
Her low growl was absurdly sexy. He’d made the worst mistake of his life last night. Not fucking her—that had been smart and well-planned, throwing her entirely off balance. But not finishing. Coitus interruptus might be fine for sharpening the senses, but some of his senses were entirely meshed with hers. It wouldn’t have made any difference if he’d come. And he’d be feeling a hell of a lot less distracted.
Maybe. Or maybe not. She’d always had the ability to distract him; through the last eighteen years he hadn’t been able to let go of her. If he’d climaxed inside her body he’d just be wanting to do it again.
“All right, no Romeo and Juliet fantasies,” he said lightly. “Nevertheless, keeping me alive would be the smart thing to do. Once I’m dead, what’s to stop them from wiping you out entirely?”
“Wrong. Once you’re dead they’d have no reason to come after us. Problem solved.”
“And you without a gun,” he murmured. “I don’t think you’d get very far in hand-to-hand combat, but I’m more than happy to let you try.”