A Touch of Spring by Evie Hunter Page B

muttering something in between each kiss. She anchored his head so that she could return to his mouth. As if it were a signal, his lips plundered hers, almost bruising in their intensity.
    “I swear, Roz, if you ever do anything like that again, you won’t sit down for a week,” he said.
    She pulled back. “Are you out of your mind?”
    Maybe she was the one who was out of her mind. She knew perfectly well who Andy McTavish was. He was the security operative who had been ordered to bring her in and make sure she gave evidence before she disappeared into Witness Protection.
    They had met chasing through the streets and catacombs of Paris.
    They weren’t even on kissing terms. Where the hell did he get off, thinking he could spank her?
    “No, but you clearly are,” he snapped. “What did you think you’re doing, going skiing on your own, getting caught in an avalanche and not calling for me? I’ve been going demented searching for you.”
    Roz sat up in the bed, anger allowing her to ignore the throbbing in her head. “What business is it of yours what I do?”
    Maybe a bit of bravado will keep him off the track of the missing Van Gogh.
    He stared at her as if she had sprouted horns and a tail. “Roz. You’re my wife.”
    Roz didn’t know whether to laugh or spit. “Married? To you?”
    The door opened and the uniformed nurse popped her head into the room. “You have found your wife, Herr — ” She stumbled over his name, before eventually strangling out an unrecognisable version of McTavish.
    “Yes.” Andy smiled at her.
    “No,” Roz announced firmly. The cheek of him. Was this how he planned to take her into custody, by pretending they were married? Not a chance.
    The nurse glanced from one to the other and was about to speak when the sound of the Tardis blared loudly in the tiny room.
    Andy reached for his phone.
    The nurse shook her head disapprovingly as the ring tone increased in volume. She pulled the door open. “Outside, if you please, Herr McTavish. No telephones are permitted in the hospital.”
    With a last reluctant glance at Roz, he left the room, speaking quietly into the phone as he hurried down the corridor, followed by the nurse.
    Roz swung her legs over the side of the bed and the room swayed alarmingly. She blinked, waiting for it to come back into focus before stumbling towards the locker where her clothes were stored. Knowing Andy McTavish, she didn’t have much time.
    She dressed as quickly as she could, grabbed the painkillers that the nurse had left for her and slipped into the corridor. She carried her heavy ski boots and tiptoed on stocking feet. Her thumping headache would have to wait until she was out of here. So far, so good, but she needed her skis.
    The lobby of the small hospital was crowded with people anxious to discover if their relatives had been involved in the avalanche. Roz tapped an orderly on the shoulder and requested directions to the storeroom for patients’ property.
    She forced her feet into her ski boots and scanned the room. A broken telephoto lens was testament to the ferocity of the avalanche she had been swept up in. She had only the vaguest memory of the skis she had hired that morning. Why did they have to look so alike? She didn’t have time for this, Andy could return at any second.
    There was something familiar about the handle of one of the ski poles. She was certain that she had seen the colourful design on the handles before. Roz tugged them from the pile. They would have to do.
    The door swung open and a tall man with sallow skin and cropped brown hair entered. Gorev. The name popped into her fogged brain. She knew him. Vadim Gorev, one of the nastiest gangsters the Russian mafia had ever produced.
    He cocked his head and grinned. “Red? What are you doing here?”
    “Same as you,” she said, proud that her voice didn’t tremble. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
    She strode confidently towards the door, but Vadim stepped into her path.