Free Black Ice by Anne Stuart

She could only hope that fate hadn’t decided to toss a little violence her way as well.
    I was only kidding, God. She cast her thoughts skyward, still trying to feign a nice, deep sleep. A nice, comfortable, boring life in Paris is all the adventure I want.
    Be careful what you wish for. She opened her eyes just a crack, to take a surreptitious look at Bastien. His attention was focused on the narrow road ahead of them, his hands draped loosely, confidently on the small steering wheel as he sped through the countryside. For some silly reason she thought spying on him when he didn’t realize she was looking might tell her something about him. He looked the same, the high, strong nose, beautiful mouth, the calm, slightly amused demeanor. As if he found the world to be nothing more than a joke of the blackest humor.
    “Change your mind about lunch?” he asked, not turning. So much for spying—he’d known she was watching him and as usual he’d given nothing away.
    She closed her own eyes again, closing him out. “No,” she said. And beneath the sound of Charles Aznavour her stomach growled.
     
    He knew the minute she actually fell asleep. Her hands had been in her lap, clutching the leather handle of her bag, and they’d relaxed. Her breathing had slowed, too, and her pretty mouth was no longer a narrow, nervous line. He should have told her to take off her shoes, at least until they got there. But then, she would refuse to admit they hurt her.
    What other lies would she tell? It would be interesting to see, and if all went well he’d have time enough to find out. First he had to get to a pay phone and call Harry Thomason, see if the Committee knew anything about exactly who Chloe was. As well as see what they were going to do about the shipment of Legolas sheep to Turkey. Because they weren’t sheep, they were very powerful weapons with infrared sites and smart bullets capable of doing a very great deal of damage by even the most inept of marksmen. He had little doubt what the Committee wanted him to do. Let them deliver the weapons, let innocent people die while the Committee went in search of bigger fish to fry. Collateral damage was their mantra, and Bastien had long ago stopped caring.
    He glanced at his sleeping companion. She wasn’t going to last long, not with her ineptitude. But in her case it wouldn’t be collateral damage, it would be the fortunes of war.
    He just hoped, for some odd reason, that he wouldn’t have to be the one who killed her.

6
    C hloe woke with a start, just as the car pulled up outside a small sidewalk café. She had no idea how long she’d slept, and she still couldn’t believe she’d been able to do so when trapped inside such a tiny space with Bastien Toussaint. Maybe it had been self-preservation.
    “Here you go,” he said, making no effort to turn off the car. “This is the remarkably boring little town of St. André. There’s a small bookstore around the corner, and if you change your mind you can get yourself some lunch at the café. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
    “You’ll be back? Where are you going?”
    “I have some business to attend to. If you were counting on my company I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there are certain things that demand my attention….”
    “I’m not disappointed,” she said, feeling oddly grumpy. She glanced through the windscreen. The skywas dark, overcast, and the town looked small and depressed. “Are you sure the bookstore will have what I need? The town is very small.”
    “It doesn’t matter. Hakim doesn’t care about the books—he just wanted to get rid of you for a few hours. Me as well. I doubt he’ll even look at what you bring back.”
    She stared at him. “I don’t understand.”
    “What’s to understand? This way he kills two birds with one stone.” His hands were draped loosely over the steering wheel. Beautiful hands. Even with the plain gold band.
    She opened the door and slid out of the low-slung