Hot Ice

by Nora Roberts, Anna Fields (Narrated by)

Overview

With HOT ICE Nora Roberts reveals once again why she is the reigning master of sensually charged intrigue and high-voltage suspense.

Rich, gorgeous Whitney MacAllister likes fast cars, vintage movies, and dangerous men. But even this jaded, high-living Manhattan socialite is taken by surprise when a stranger in black leather hijacks her Mercedes—just before the bullets start flying. International jewel thief Douglas Lord is used to living life on the run—part of the lure of his chosen profession is the thrill of the chase. But he has one iron-clad rule: he always works alone. Until now.

Wounded and in desperate need of cash for what could be the glittering crown of his dazzling career, Doug reluctantly accepts the wealthy, well-connected Whitney as his new partner in crime. With the papers screaming headlines about the missing New York heiress, and a gang of cunning criminals in hot pursuit, Doug and Whitney take off for the sultry wilds of Madagascar in search of...

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780736697897
Publisher:	Books on Tape, Inc.
Publication date:	06/05/2007
Edition description:	Unabridged

About the Author

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.

Hometown:

Keedysville, Maryland

Date of Birth:

1950

Place of Birth:

Silver Spring, Maryland

Website:

http://www.noraroberts.com/

Read an Excerpt

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...

Editorial Reviews

Women are as addicted to her contemporary love novels as chocoholics are to Godiva. . . . Roberts is a superstar.”—The New York Times

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

“Her stories have fueled the dreams of twenty-five million readers.”—Entertainment Weekly

From the Publisher