I haven’t heard from Bentley since that day in his vineyard, and I don’t expect to know anything besides what I see on the news. Two weeks after Scalero and Porter died, Bentley sold Alliance to investors for enough money to keep him comfortable until the day he dies. But not too peacefully.
It seems the video found at the “murder-suicide” site of Alliance contractors Mario Scalero and Richard Porter has found its way to the investigative journalist Dorris Maclean after all, care of an anonymous video file mailed to her desk. It may never amount to anything, given the two men Royce accused are dead, but it’s made for one hell of a news story.
While it doesn’t bring Ned back, it made Ivy feel like he didn’t go down without a fight. And I’ll do anything to ease her pain over her uncle’s death.
Ivy has handled the truth about my past better than I ever expected. There are some more specific details that she doesn’t need to know and doesn’t want to know. The hows and whos she doesn’t want to hear about.
But the whys help her understand. And, on the odd occasion, late at night, when I find myself wanting to talk and needing her reassurances, she’s always willing to listen.
She’s never afraid.
And she’s always there to ease my conscience.
“Let me show you the rest of the place.” I grab her by the hips and hoist her tiny body over my shoulder with no effort.
“You know I hate being manhandled,” she mutters, but she doesn’t fight me when I carry her straight to the master bedroom. “You’re painting this, right?” She cringes at the stark, cold white.
“Any color you want.”
She nods, her wheels spinning as she wanders around the bright space, the south wall full of windows, stopping in front of the closet. She runs her fingers along the slats. “Just like at Ned’s house,” she murmurs.
I know exactly what she’s thinking about.
I had no intention of ever telling her about that day. But one night, after hours of intensive interrogation involving harsh sexual manipulation, I finally admitted to spying on her.
I got the cold shoulder for two days.
“I think I like this house.” She steps into the closet and closes the door.
And clears her throat, as if she’s waiting.
Fuck . . .
I hang my head and smile.
“You’re still not forgiven . . .” she reminds me with her trademark icy tone.
I think I actually am. She just enjoys the leverage she has far too much.
Oddly enough, so do I.
With a deep sigh, I unbuckle my belt.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Oh, Ivy. What a challenge you proved to be. You are who you are, not because you’re broken or damaged or scarred. You’re just you, and it was difficult finding the right match for you. I think I found him, though, in an equally complex character.
Surviving Ice concludes the planned books for this series, one that I am proud to have written. I strive to make each book unique, and each story line make sense for the character. The raw, sometimes dodgy elements of this story feel right for Ivy.
While this story is a work of fiction, the challenges that come with employing private security companies during war is very real. If you’re unfamiliar, you should take some time to google news stories surrounding them, especially during the war on Iraq. Many of my plots are inspired by real-life news stories. Surviving Ice is another such one.
Thank you to my readers, for picking up this book, and every other book I’ve written. Whether you buy a print copy at your local bookstore, or order it online, or borrow it from your local library/sister/friend/mother, you are helping to give me the opportunity to write books.
Thank you to the bloggers who continue sharing my book releases within their world.
Thank you to my publicist, KP—for being patient with me, and protecting me from a lot of the everyday things I couldn’t deal with while writing TWO books at the same time, under tight deadlines.