Fire And Ice

“[Stuart is] arguably romantic suspense’s most popular novelist.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A master at creating chilling atmosphere with a modern touch.”

—Library Journal

“Brilliant characterizations and a suitably moody ambience drive this dark tale of unlikely love.”

—Publishers Weekly on Black Ice [starred review]

“Stuart knows how to take chances, and this edgy thriller shows how well they can pay off.”

—Publishers Weekly on Cold As Ice

“[A] sexy, edgy, exceptionally well-plotted tale.”

—Library Journal on Into the Fire

“A consummate mistress of her craft.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Before I read…[a] Stuart book I make sure my day is free…. Once I start, she has me hooked.”

—New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

To my fabulous agents, Jane Dystel and

Miriam Goderich, for unflagging support, wise advice and, most of all, patience.

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

First off, I couldn’t have written this without falling in love with J-rock and Japan, so thanks to my daughter for dragging me to Otakon. I have an addiction to Japanese doramas (twelve-hour television miniseries, which I watch slavishly, in Japanese with Chinese subtitles and I don’t speak or read either language but I love them anyway).

My Yakuza is not terribly realistic, so don’t blame David E. Kaplan and Alec Dubro or their fabulous book Yakuza: The Explosive Account of Japan’s Criminal Underworld. I believe in poetic license.

And if you want a soundtrack for this, listen to the new age music from Pacific Moon, rock from Hyde and L’Arc-en-Ciel and, oh, just maybe the soundtrack to “Final Fantasy: Advent Children.” A touch of Dir en grey wouldn’t hurt either.

Reno bounded up the stairs, two at a time, and pushed open the door to the deserted apartment, only to stare directly into the barrel of a Glock.

Peter Madsen slowly put his gun away. “What the hell are you doing here? I could have shot you.”

Reno grinned. He knew Peter thought he was the most annoying, most flamboyant operative ever to work for the Committee, that covert organization of ruthless do-gooders, and he did his best to live up to that image. He brushed an invisible speck of lint off his leather jacket and kept his sunglasses firmly in place in the darkened room.

“I trust your instincts,” he said, closing the door behind him and strolling into the apartment. His pointy-toed leather cowboy boots echoed on the parquet flooring.

“How do you ever sneak up on anyone when you’re so damned noisy?” Peter said.

Reno gave him his most annoying smile. There was nothing he liked better than to irritate the Ice Man. “I manage,” he said. “I thought you might need a little help.”

“When I need help, I’ll ask for it.”

Reno shrugged. “Just trying to do my duty, boss. Isobel’s really gone, hasn’t she? Our fearless leader has disappeared, leaving you in charge.”

“Yes.” Peter glowered at him. “And don’t call me boss. It’s not my idea you’re here.”

“Not mine, either. You think she went with Killian?”

“I expect so.”

“Aah, true love,” Reno said. “For good?”

“I hope so,” Peter said.

“Why? So you can take over running the Committee?” Reno wandered over to the window to look out into the wet winter afternoon.

“Hardly. I’m passing this off to the first person qualified.”

“Then why?”

Peter shrugged. “Because this kind of life demands too high a price. Isobel and Killian stayed too long—they earned the right to get out of it.”

Reno snorted. “You don’t seem the sentimental kind to me.”

“And you’re such a great judge of character?”

Reno merely smiled his catlike smile. “So explain this to me,” he said in his deliberate English. “Why are we still in hiding? Why have my cousin and his wife disappeared somewhere in Japan? Thomason is dead—any contracts he put out should be canceled, and the Russian mercenaries should have lost interest. Mercenaries don’t work without money, and their source of income has dried up. We should be ready to move on to new things, not wasting time cleaning up old messes.”

“Maybe the Russians haven’t heard. Maybe they’ve moved on to other things, but our intel is spotty. Either way, I’m not about to take a chance. We’ve lost too many operatives to risk it. Besides, I’m rather fond of your cousin.”

“So am I. I also think he could hold his own against half-a-dozen retired Russian operatives,” Reno said.

“Probably. But we’re not going to find out. They stay hidden until we know it’s safe. You got that?”

Reno didn’t respond, changing the subject instead. “How is Mahmoud doing?”

“Fine,” Peter said gloomily. “I’m supposed to bring home a Play Station Three. The kid’s a ruthless, soulless assassin, so Genevieve’s plan is to get him blowing up virtual heads instead of real ones. No thanks to you.”