
She would stay until the weekend and then disappear.
She'd been at Moon's house almost a month and it was past time she moved out. Her ankle had mended, and Moon had removed the stitches last night.
She needed to get back to her own life. But it wouldn't be easy to leave Moon's cabin. She had become comfortable living with him. And she was more than attracted to him. She looked forward to seeing him each morning, sharing his day. She was forgetting who she was, and in a frightening way that felt good.
When she left Moon's home she would miss his jeans hugging his hips, and the way his flannel shirts outlined his strong shoulders and sturdy back. But mostly she would miss his generosity and the way his deep voice always turned soft when he spoke to her. How he dragged out the word honey.
He said it like she was important to him. Like he really cared what happened to her. What would he do if he found out the truth?
PERFECT ASSASSIN
WENDY ROSNAU
Books by Wendy Rosnau
Silhouette Intimate Moments
The Long Hot Summer #996
A Younger Woman #1074
The Right Side of the Law #1110
\*Beneath the Silk #1157
\*One Way Out #1211
\*Last Man Standing #1227
†Perfect Assassin #1384
Silhouette Bombshell
†The Spy Wore Red #32
Silhouette Single Title
A Thousand Kisses Deep
Silhouette Anthology
Stuck on You
"Just Say Yes"
WENDY ROSNAU
was named Writer of the Year by Midwest Fiction Writers in 2004. She also received the Rising Star Award in 2001. Her first book, The Long Hot Summer, was a Romantic Times nominee for Best First Series Romance of 2000. She lives in Minnesota.
To Pati and Dwight for your warm hospitality, your shared knowledge of Montana and especially the Glacier area. To backroads, mountain passes and finding the perfect lake---we did it all.
Also to my parents who took this journey with me. We relived old memories, made new ones and laughed along the way.
Contents
It was a three-hundred-yard, kiss-your-ass-goodbye shot. The rifle, an Austrian Steyr AUG with a history for accuracy at twice as many yards.
The assassin took aim as the red handkerchief drifted on the cool morning breeze. It floated, lifted then settled on the ground in a graceful, almost poetic swan song. A synchronized second later, a slender finger with a neatly trimmed pink nail squeezed the trigger.
The bullet struck the British Intelligence agent in the right temple, and before Alton Bromly hit the pavement in the middle of Sloup svate Trojice, the assassin disappeared off the rooftop of the Moravske Muzeum in Brno, mentally crossing number one off the list.
Minutes later, the assassin walked through the market square to a parked brown sedan and climbed into the passenger seat. There, Prisca Reznik pulled off her black stocking cap and shook out her raven-black layers.
"This one was easy for you---good way to begin," the driver said, tucking the red handkerchief into his pocket.
Otto was an analytical man. Maybe not the best shot in his own right, but he'd been in the business long enough to know perfection when he saw it, so he had told Prisca. During her months of practice he had stood behind her, analyzing each shot. Praising her talent, and squeezing her shoulder.
"Ja, perfection is a beautiful thing," he muttered as he tossed the remains of an orange out the open window, then took the compact leather gun case off her lap and lifted it over the seat and into the back.
He was all about taking care of her. A task that he seemed to enjoy since Prisca's father had hired him. For three months he had attended to everything, from where they would sleep each night to what they would eat each morning.
A multi-task expert, he had become her mother, father, friend, bodyguard and controller for each assassination.
Prisca tossed the stocking cap into the back seat. It landed on the black leather gun case. Her father's signature gun disassembled inside---his pride and joy, and now hers.
"The shot," Otto began, "was---"
"On target. Let's leave it at that." Prisca didn't hide the edge in her voice. She wasn't experienced in the art of killing, and it would take some time to feel good about her new profession.
She pulled the seat belt around her narrow waist and buckled up. Staring out the window, she heard him expel a heavy sigh.
"It'll get easier," he soothed, as if he had read her thoughts. "Bromly was a double agent. He was weak in character and in morals. A man who would sell his mother to a glue factory to increase his bank account."
The comment was meant to make her feel better, and in an odd way it did. Her own mother was gone and she was sensitive about anything that had to do with family.
She asked, "How do you know that?"
"I'm paid to know these things. But you don't need to concern yourself with unimportant details. Our mission has been authorized, and we do what we must. Government assassins make sacrifices. Remember the cause when you pull the trigger, then let it go."
"All right. I've done my job, and I'm letting go. It was a good shot. No more need be said."
"The shot was better than good. What it was, Miss Pris, was absolute perfection. It is a beautiful thing to watch, your father's gun in your hands. You're magnificent."
Prisca ignored the silly nickname he had given her years ago and was glad when Otto put the car into Drive and sped away from the curb.
She had told herself she could do this, not to think about the act or the victim. Still, her sage-brown eyes searched the market square, a mix of emotions altering her breathing.
An elderly woman carrying a brown shopping bag had stopped near the body. At first she simply stood there staring, then suddenly she started to scream and point to Bromly sprawled between two merchant vendors.
He lay on his side, a paper cup of spilt coffee beside him. His left hand still clutched a market bag. The soles of his shoes were visible, as well as his bare ankles---Alton wasn't wearing socks this morning.
"Yes, everything about you is perfect, Miss Pris," Otto continued, completely ignoring the sound of a police siren and the growing pandemonium in the square. "Never think I take it, or your father's faith in my ability to protect such perfection, for granted. It's an honor. To know one's purpose in life...it settles the soul, and focuses the mind. You are my purpose, Miss Pris, and I pledge unconditional devotion to you in all things. Whatever you require, you need only to ask. Anything and everything I have is yours."
Still blind to the mayhem in the market square, Otto steered the sedan past the growing crowd. They would leave Czechoslovakia and head back to Austria. Stay in the flat Otto had secured in Vienna. She would rest and try not to think about her sobering new profession, while Otto began detailing the next hit.
"You were meticulously precise, Miss Pris. Not too anxious. That's the key. Perfection can't be rushed. An artist is what you are. The way you---"
"Otto...please."
"That old Brit's cerebrum was mush before his knees hit the---"
"Trust me, I know the power behind a SS109."
"Trust you? Of course, Miss Pris. With my life. And you know you can trust me with yours. I would die for you." He glanced at her, his eyes full of emotion.
She knew it was true. Otto would die for her because he loved her. Ja, it was in the eyes, and she had always been good at reading the eyes. Yes, love, she saw it there now, and each time she caught him staring. And she saw something else, too---hope that one day she would return that love.
But she wouldn't ever feel that way about him. Otto was like the brother she'd never had. He was thirty, eleven years older than she was.
She closed her eyes, and rested her head on the seat. Rubbed her forehead.
"If your headache is still bothering you, there's a bottle of pills in the glove compartment. And water there, between the seats."
"Thank you. Can we talk about something else?"
"You're right. Let's forget about Bromly. He's history. Number two awaits us in Italy, in three weeks. An American by the name of Walrich. And like Bromly, his self-serving activities have marked him for death. Then we're off to Poland, followed by Germany and Vancouver after that. Once we've finished with the first ten on the list we will take a break to let the trail grow cold. Be thinking where you want to go." He turned and smiled at her. "I vote for someplace warm. We'll call it a vacation."
Prisca didn't say anything. She wasn't going to Poland with him after Italy. But she would let him make the flight plans and all the arrangements. Otto wouldn't understand or appreciate what she'd been contemplating for weeks. After all, he was loyal to her father's wishes. He bore the title of controller now. A detail man who had one primary goal---to stay on schedule and to make sure she performed perfectly.
Let Otto think she was content with the schedule that had been laid out. But things had changed since the kill-file had been composed. Tragedy had struck her life, and at the moment Otto's focus was not hers.
Bromly may have deserved to die, but she knew of two men who deserved it more. She wasn't abandoning her father's instructions, or his all-important mission, just altering the line-up. Those on the list would still die, she had made a promise, and she, too, was loyal. But what difference could it make if someone lived a few weeks longer and someone else died a few weeks sooner? What would it matter if she hit number twelve and twenty-one ahead of schedule? In the end justice would still be served.
Only Otto wouldn't understand, or agree to altering the line-up. He would remind her of their promise to each other, and to her father.
True, they were bound together by tragedy and circumstance. Her mother had died on Glass Mountain, and Otto's father Jakob had sacrificed his life as well.
Prisca hugged herself, feeling the chill of loneliness wrap its cold fingers around her. Her life had been ripped apart---her family destroyed. She had a right to alter the schedule. She had a right to seek justice for what had been taken from her.
The revenge she sought might not be sweet, but it was necessary. Not for peace of mind---there would never again be room for solace in her heart---but she needed the finality in order to move forward.
The only sure thing in her life was the legacy her father had left behind. She was her father's daughter, the daughter of Holic Reznik, and she would not fail him.
Practice makes perfect, he had always told her. She had taken the words to heart that day at Groffen when she'd raised her rifle and drilled the paper target with supreme accuracy. It had proven to her father that she'd been listening, demonstrated what dedication and patience could accomplish.
And it had confirmed that she was her father's daughter in every way that was important.
"To you, Mother, I promise eternal love, and to you, Father, undying loyalty." Prisca felt her heart constrict, felt the pain bone-deep. "And to those who took both of you from me, I promise death."
A failed mission. There had been so few of those at Onyxx that it was hard to swallow. But what else could you call it when the kill-file that had been recovered was a fraud---a fake that had led to an agent's death, and started the killing?
What they had tried to prevent had begun. And there would be more to come. There were close to a hundred names marked for death in the infamous kill-file.
Merrick entered his office in a sour mood. He'd just faced his superiors upstairs and conceded that mistakes had been made. He had been forced to explain that somehow Holic Reznik had switched the file, and what they had recovered was a rearranged version of the master copy. A useless list that was meant to mock and torture. To twist the knife a little deeper.
Holic was a master game player. Somehow he'd managed to hand off the original to a class-act assassin who was as loyal as he was talented. Someone Holic trusted---Merrick had seen the twinkle in the devil's eyes when Holic had spoken of his replacement. He had seen the supreme elation that the killing had begun, and that he had outsmarted them.
They were left with a useless file with dates and names out of sequence, with a nameless assassin on the loose willing to do whatever Holic asked of him.
Holic was under lock and key, but the smell of death was still ripe in the air. He was laughing at them from his cell, and it made Merrick want to strangle the bastard.
"Damn you, Holic," Merrick muttered as he stood at the window in his Washington office. He was tempted to open his bottom drawer and pour himself a drink. He needed one, but he'd been considering joining AA. The booze had become too important, a daily necessity. Hell, he'd been slamming shots a dozen times a day for fifteen years, and it was finally catching up with him.
The truth was he hadn't dealt with Johanna's death. The guilt was still eating him from the inside out, and he preferred living with his pain. He deserved no better. Certainly not solace, or to be freed from his guilt. Johanna was gone, and he was the reason her life had been cut short.
Merrick slipped behind his desk and opened the report he'd received on the dead British Intelligence agent. Alton Bromly had been thirty-six, single and a veteran with a number of successful missions to his credit.
He scanned the data on how and where he'd been killed. It had all the signs of Holic's signature assassinations---one shot, right temple. Ammunition type, a Nato-standard SS109.
"Amazing," Merrick muttered. If he didn't know it was a physical impossibility for Holic to make the hit, he would say that their cell guest at Clume was a magician. But Holic was no magician.
He'd been locked up behind bars for three months.
So who had pulled the trigger on Bromly? Who the hell was Holic's sharpshooter replacement?
A loud rap sounded at the door, and Merrick closed the file. "Come in."
Pierce Fourtier entered. Like Sly and Bjorn and the other agents under Merrick's command, Pierce had earned the Onyxx tag of rat fighter. On Merrick's quest to find the toughest men alive for his special-ops team, he'd ventured to New Orleans to an underground club where knife-fighting had become a high-stakes game. Where only the best and the toughest survived. It was there that he'd first seen Pierce Fourtier. The man had given new meaning to the saying "splitting hairs."
"You wanted to see me."
"Come in and have a seat, Pierce. The killing has started. An agent was hit yesterday."
"An agent on the list?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"In the Czech Republic. The market square at Brno. Alton Bromly, nine years at British Intelligence. Know him?"
"No. How do we know it wasn't random?"
"It was a signature shot. One shot, right temple. Holic's caliber. The point of entry wasn't off even by a millimeter."
Pierce relaxed in the chair in front of Merrick's desk. He was dressed in a brown T-shirt, jeans and a pair of alligator-leather Western boots. He had an unmistakable Southern accent, wore his black hair ultra-short, and his bayou-bred heritage on his sleeve.
The Acadian was six-one, went two-twenty, and had lazy brown eyes that rarely expressed a fraction of what he was thinking. Those eyes had given him the nickname the Sleeper due to the unruffled dead calm that surrounded him in the midst of a crisis.
It was rumored that the Sleeper was the son of a voodoo priest in Louisiana. But no one knew for sure. Pierce's past was as mysterious as the little town of Le Mystère which he called home.
"So what you're saying is Holic Reznik handed the kill-file to an associate before we captured him in Austria?"
"In Bjorn's report he says Holic doesn't believe in the buddy system. No partners. Holic doesn't trust anyone. But it looks like he's trusting someone."
"He'd have to if he wants to get the job done. He's at Clume, and unless he's got an inside contact to get him out of there, he's not going anywhere."
"This confirms that the file we recovered is a rearranged version of the master. The bitch is, we have the names sanctioned for assassination, but we don't have the correct dates, or the locations we need to stop it."
"So Bromly was on the rearranged kill-file we have."
"Yes. But not number one."
"Holic must have anticipated capture," Pierce concluded.
"I can't believe he would allow that. Besides, in the report Bjorn filed, he states Holic had plenty of time to run."
"That's true. He did. So the question is, why didn't he?"
"He had transportation out of the country, and yet he stayed on Glass Mountain until you and Bjorn got there."
"He believed his wife betrayed him. He hates Bjorn," Pierce pointed out. "Health-wise, he was a mess, but he's not used to losing."
"What are you saying? His pride kept him there? That doesn't make sense. Why not just disappear to an island and plot revenge and enjoy his fat bank account while he recovered?"
Pierce shrugged. "He's a complicated bastard. His wife's betrayal could have colored his judgment. He's human after all. We did trick him. He never expected two more agents riding to the rescue. Bjorn's impersonation plan worked. Holic never suspected that it wasn't Bjorn and Nadja on the helicopter. He was fooled completely, all the way to the end. He might be locked up at Clume, but I don't doubt he's been busy inventing a new game."
"You don't believe he allowed us to corner him on that mountain?"
"No. I think he was outsmarted. But that doesn't mean he's ready to surrender even from behind bars."
"And the fake kill-file?"
"Holic leaves nothing to chance. His spotless record proves that. Maybe a simple precautionary measure just in case."
Merrick felt a chill race up his spine. They were dealing with a madman. Holic was secured behind bars, but the kill-file was still out there in the hands of someone just as talented as the master.
He watched as his agent rubbed his shoulder, and it reminded him that Pierce was slow to recover from one of the bullets he'd taken on Glass Mountain three months ago.
"How's the shoulder doing?"
"It still gives me a little trouble now and then. But I'm good. Have you talked to Bjorn about Holic? Does he know the file he and Nadja recovered was a fake?"
"Not yet. When he hears he'll be back here on the next flight."
"And you don't want that?"
"Nadja's pregnant. Right now she needs him more than I do."
"You getting soft, Merrick? A year ago you would have hauled his ass back here no matter what."
Merrick cleared his throat, not liking the way Pierce was eyeing him. "There's more. I've spoken to Polax from EURO-Quest. He claims the Quest agent that Bjorn killed at Groffen was definitely working for the Chameleon. He believes that the body we've got on ice at the lab isn't the Chameleon. He says the Chameleon didn't die in Greece. That he's still alive."
"Impossible."
"I agree. The Chameleon is dead. I need to believe that. But our experts haven't been able to ID the body as the Chameleon. It keeps coming up as Pavvo Creon. But we know that's not possible. He's been dead for fifteen years. I have to tell you that I've been playing around with the idea that maybe Polax is right. Maybe we're about to see the Chameleon rise from the dead."
"If he's alive he could very well be the force behind Holic's new game. But I'm still convinced that the Chameleon is dead."
"Yes, he's dead. That has to be him lying on that slab. But there could be someone in his organization who is pulling Holic's strings. We know that the Chameleon's mobocracy is still running full-throttle across the country. We know that promises were made between him and Holic. Maybe Holic is now loyal to a new man. As you said, he takes his spotless record seriously. It's true the kill-file originated with the Chameleon, but whoever has picked up the reins could still be influencing Holic's actions."
"Enter in Holic's love for money, and his equal contempt for us, and there you are," Pierce added. "A binding relationship that even death won't sever---or a change of rank at the top."
"The Chameleon's dead," Merrick said again.
"I'm with you on that. I was there that day in Greece. I watched that yacht blow sky-high. We have his body at the morgue."
"A body with someone else's face and matching blood type," Merrick reminded.
"We knew the Chameleon had had plastic surgery and taken Pavvo Creon's face.
"But his blood, too?" Merrick shook his head, then came out with the reason he'd asked Pierce to join him in his office. "Here's the deal. I thought you might do the leg work on this one for me since Bjorn brought you in at the end, and you're familiar with the mission's details and its outcome. It's not too physical or dangerous, both considerations since you're still in recovery. Most of this work can be done from here, with minimal travel."
"Why not put Jacy on it? He was the controller for Bjorn. He knows the details, and probably has all the data meticulously filed for instant access. He's the better man when it comes to details."
"I asked him, but he turned me down. He says he's retiring from Onyxx."
"I don't believe it. Give him a little more time. It's not easy to shed a skin that fits, and this business fits him and his talents. As much as we would like to deny it, we all fit the mold. I hear he's finally out of the wheelchair."
"It's true. Vic Kandle tells me he's got a heavy limp and it's permanent, but other than that, he's on a comeback."
"That means he'll be getting bored up there on that Montana mountain one of these days."
"We can only hope."
"This kill-file...Onyxx is still convinced it's on a time schedule and targeting active agents?"
"We believe it's the Chameleon's hate list. And the targets aren't all field agents. But all are government intelligence of some kind. Not all the targets are active. There are a few retired names on the list."
"I take it our names are on the list, too?"
This was the amazing part Merrick didn't understand. "My entire team is on the list. You and the other rat fighters. Men I've worked with in the past, but not me."
"You're not on it?"
"Damn strange, don't you think? I should top the list. We've been enemies for fifteen years."
"That's more than a little strange."
"Our problem is, we're back to square one now that a replacement has started to make Holic's hits for him. We're hunting for an unknown face, with no data on where he comes from."
"And that's where I come in?"
"Like I said, the paperwork on this can be done from behind your desk. With minimal leg work. I'd like you to schedule an appointment with the authorities in Brno, and check out the market square where the hit took place. Get in touch with British Intelligence and find out everything you can on Alton Bromly and his activities over the past nine years. Your nose is one of the best we have. You've always been able to see things no one else sees. Maybe we're missing something."
"Is that a nice way of saying I have a criminal mind?"
"No offense, but your past, as you said, fits the mold."
"I know why I was asked to join Onyxx. And it wasn't my good looks," Pierce joked.
Merrick handed Pierce the file on his desk. "It's all in there. Everything we have on Bromly and his years of service to Interpol. Look it over on the flight. Prep your deviant mind. There's also a copy of our bogus kill-file in there."
Pierce took the file. "Has Holic talked?"
"I've interrogated him a number of times since we locked him up. He claimed from the moment we captured him that the file wasn't authentic. I didn't believe it. I had no reason to until yesterday."
"Have you talked to him since Bromly was hit?"
"Last night I flew up to Clume to see him. And now, after talking to you, I think you're right. Holic has a new agenda." Merrick opened his drawer and pressed Play on the tape recorder. "I took a recorder with me last night and taped my conversation with him."
Within seconds Holic Reznik's Austrian accent filled the room.
"You're back, Merrick. Does that mean the killing has begun? Your silence must mean it has. And now you're here to ask me who has filled my shoes, ja?"
"Who is your replacement, Holic? Who has the kill-file?"
"If I tell you it would end all the fun. I told you that your kill-file was a fake, but you didn't believe me. Do you believe me now? The look on your face tells me you do."
"Who is your replacement, Holic? Give me the name of the man who has taken up your cause."
"A ten-million-dollar question. Are you willing to match that?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Look at my hands. I can barely feed myself thanks to Bjorn Odell and that bitch, Nadja Stefn. I'm too young to live my life sucking my food through a straw. A heavy price to pay for killing a few insignificant people, don't you think?"
"I'll ask again. Who has the original kill-file? Who shot Alton Bromly?"
"Perfection has replaced perfection, that's who. Like fine wine, it's all in the fruit and how it's taken care of while it matures on the vine."
"You talk in riddles."
"A riddle that, if you figure it out, will answer your question, Merrick. But you won't be able to. I own the winning hand in this game, and you know I do or you wouldn't have flown up here to pay me a late-night visit."
"You're telling me ten million dollars will call off your dog?"
"The money means nothing without a pair of working hands to spend it."
"Meaning?"
"You have an expert team of surgeons at your disposal. They operated on my hands not long ago. But I think they can do better. They could give me back full use if they knew what was at stake, don't you think?"
"What?"
"You heard me. My hands restored to full use by the best surgeon you employ."
"Impossible."
"Then I guarantee that the killing will continue, Merrick."
"This is madness, Holic. End this insanity."
"Only you can end it. Another agent will fall soon. Then another and another. Did you count the names on the list? The list I altered so you could check them off as they fall. It's a very long list, isn't it? Who do you think will be next? Take a guess. A wild guess is all you have, but maybe you'll get lucky. The odds are against it. Your list was meant to torment you and your superiors, nothing more. To give you names without dates. Ingenious, don't you think? Has it been keeping you up nights? You look tired, Merrick. It's like a puzzle that doesn't fit, ja? Let me assure you that it will never fit until the last man falls."
"You're crazy."
"No, I'm a perfectionist, and without my hands I've been forced to find an alternate to remain in the game. After all, my reputation is at stake. How could I surrender without giving back to you as much as you've given me? The clock is ticking, and this time, time is on my side."
Merrick turned off the recorder and looked at Pierce. "After talking to you, I have to agree that Holic doesn't know how to lose. That he will continue to play his sick game until he's dead. It's true our medical staff has the technology to restore mobility to his hands, but---"
"Then Onyxx would be responsible for putting a gun back into the restored hands of the devil."
"My superiors would never go for that."
Pierce stood. "Of course you're right. But then their names aren't on that list. It's damn easy to make decisions when your own ass isn't the one being pinched."
Merrick caught the censure in his agent's voice. "The rules here are black and white, but necessary. If we make deals with every criminal we apprehend, where would that leave us? The bottom line is we have the assassin under lock and key. The entire mission wasn't a failure. Holic is ours."
"And from his iron cell he's unleashed a competent replacement. One that appears to value perfection as much as he does."
Merrick swore. "I'll admit, at the moment, Holic has us by the balls."
"Then we can only hope that his successor slips up. And if he doesn't, you better start looking for another team to replace us, because we're in for a slaughter."
Thomas Walrich's body was discovered ten hours after he toppled face-first into the Amo River in Florence, Italy. A bullet traveling two hundred and eighty yards struck him in his right temple and he went swimming a second later clutching a briefcase, his mousy-brown toupee clinging to his forehead.
After his final exit, and sudden plunge into the Amo, both the briefcase and the toupee were swept away with the current. The briefcase was recovered two weeks later in Empoli. The toupee, caught in a yacht's twin caterpillar engine, ended up in the Tyrrhenian Sea, lost forever.
The authorities notified the appropriate agencies after recovery of the body. A positive identification was made, and within twenty-four hours Adolf Merrick received a phone call telling him that another operative had fallen---the stats on his death cloning those of Alton Bromly's. It seemed that Holic's replacement was on target again, and Merrick would be forced to make a check mark on his useless copy of the kill-list.
This time, Thomas Walrich, an American agent on secret assignment in Italy.
That made two assassinations within three weeks. Pierce was right: at this rate they were in for a slaughter.
Suddenly Holic's words came back to haunt Merrick. The clock is ticking, and time is on my side.
Adolf reached for the phone and called Pierce. He relayed the information, sending his agent now on to Italy to follow up and escort Walrich's body home the minute it was released. Then, in the quiet of his office, he sat back and stroked his short gray beard.
He had to admit that the Chameleon was still controlling his life. Hell, all their lives, if the bastard was still alive. But how could that be?
"You're dead, and yet you live." Merrick muttered the words, then closed his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, the pain hammering his temples warning him that he hadn't been sleeping well again, and as a result his tension headaches were back.
"Will you ever be gone from my mind, you evil bastard? You've taken everything from me. Everything important, and still you continue to torment me. Will this nightmare never end?"
The phone rang again, and this time Merrick hesitated before answering it. He glanced at the number as it came up and when he recognized it, he frowned in puzzlement. It was Sarah Finny, and for a moment he wondered why she would be calling him. Then he glanced at the calendar and saw that it was Thursday, and below the day's date he'd written, Dinner with Sarah at 6:00.
He checked his watch. Saw that it was past seven. Wincing, feeling like an ass, he hesitated a few seconds longer before picking up the phone.
"Hello, Sarah."
"Adolf, is everything all right with you? I thought we were---"
"Yes, everything is fine, Sarah. I'm afraid I'm a bit rusty at this sort of thing. Dinner completely slipped my mind. I rarely have appointments outside the office."
"This was dinner, Adolf, not an appointment."
"Of course. That's what I meant to say. I haven't been asked to dinner since Johanna and I... Ah, do you still want me to come, or is it too late? If you'd rather cancel, I understand."
"I've spent two hours in the kitchen. The food is---"
"I could be there in twenty minutes. But I understand if... Okay, I'm on my way."
The night Jacy Moon Madox got the first call it started to snow in the mountains. But snow in late September wasn't unusual, not in the high country of Montana.
His brother had sounded drunk on the phone, but that wasn't unusual either---Tate was a beer drinker and not just a two-bottle limit with dinner.
Out of bed and out of sorts, Jacy pulled on his jeans and took Highway 2 to 89. Once he reached Browning he headed south. The Sun Dance Saloon was on the outskirts of Heart Butte on the Blackfoot Indian Reservation. It was a dark, honky-tonk, old-West beer-and-chili joint with saddles for bar stools, booths lining the walls, a circular dance floor and a half dozen pool tables.
He had picked up the phone at ten-thirty, and it was almost midnight when he parked his black pickup in front of the Sun Dance, climbed out.
"Hey, Moon."
"Tommy."
Jacy nodded at the barrel-chested Indian as they passed on the front porch. To the locals Jacy was simply addressed as Moon. It didn't matter that he'd left the rez at the age of fifteen to join the Hell's Angels with his brother Tate, or that half the blood flowing through his veins was from a German immigrant, the now-deceased forest ranger, Corbel Madox. All who lived in these parts knew Jacy had been born under a full moon to Nola Youngblood. And if that wasn't significant enough, he was Koko Blackkettle's grandson, the visionary who could see things before they happened.
Jacy limped through the saloon's front door with a scowl on his face. He searched the dark corners and saw Tate seated at a booth off the end of the bar, a number of empties lining the table in front of him.
He slid into the seat opposite his brother, and just as he was about to speak, his phone rang for the second time that night. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the caller's ID. Grunting when he saw it was Merrick, he answered his phone with an edge to his voice.
"This better be important, it's the middle of the damn night out here, and remember I don't work for you anymore."
"I needed to talk to you."
"If it's about what we chatted about weeks ago---"
"Another agent fell today. One of ours."
"And he was on the list?"
"Yes. Tom Walrich."
Jacy didn't recognize the name, but that didn't mean much. There were hundreds of agents floating in and out of Onyxx headquarters.
"I just called to update you. Thought you should know."
Make me feel guilty for retiring and try to pull me back in, Jacy thought. But he wasn't going to take the bait. He would never be a hundred percent again, and that's what Onyxx agents were all about. He wasn't one of them anymore, and Merrick needed to accept that and forget about him.
"If you're not coming back in, watch your back out there. You're on the list. Retired or not, if and when your number's up, it's up. And right now we can't do a damn thing but watch and wait."
"Who's working on the case?"
"Pierce has agreed to step in, but if you come up with any ideas, I would appreciate it if you'd contact him or me. You still have a file on this one, right?"
"It's in my computer."
"And you've got both of our numbers?"
"You know I do."
"Good. Well, that's it, then."
"That's it."
There was a moment of silence as if Merrick wanted to say more, then the line went dead. When Jacy shoved the phone back in his pocket, Tate had finished his eighth beer and was starting on number nine.
Jacy asked, "Is the old woman really missing, or was the call just a ploy to get me here so I can take you home again after you pass out?"
Tate set down his bottle after chugging half. "It's true. Koko's gone."
"How can she be gone? Grandmother was up at my place raising hell all afternoon. She didn't mention she was going anywhere."
"When she got back from your place she made supper, then went and sat down in her rockin' chair. I never thought much about where she sat until she started to make those noises. You know the ones I'm talkin' about. She was seein' somethin' again."
Jacy swore, knowing where this was leading. "You're telling me she had another vision?"
"And this one put a burr under her real quick."
When Tate reached for his beer, Jacy knocked his hand away. "So where did she take off to?"
"I don't know. Don't think she really knew. Those pictures she sees never make too much sense in the beginnin'. You know that."
"So where is Koko now?"
"She said a bird was callin' to her in the mountains."
"Which mountain?"
"She never said. I don't think she knew."
"But you let her go anyway?"
"She took off before I had a chance to pull on my boots. When I got outside she was gone."
"No tracks to follow?"
"I didn't see any."
"You're an Indian. Tracks are supposed to be your specialty." Jacy's sarcasm was offered without a smile.
Tate leaned forward. "Not all of us are as gifted as you, little brother."
"Apparently not."
Tate swore. "I have a gift."
"High tolerance. And I'm not talking in reference to pain."
"I can straddle a Harley twin-V drunk on my ass going a hundred and keep it on the road."
"A useful talent when you got the police taking chase."
"You're damn right. A huckleberry picker, I'm not. Or a trapline savage. You've turned into a rude sonofabitch, Moon. You never used to be such an asshole."
"I've always been an asshole." Jacy shoved the beer bottle in Tate's direction. "Here, have a little more. You're obviously not drunk enough."
"Insultin' bastard."
"I call a turd a turd."
"You name-callin' me?"
"No."
"You're just still pissed off about that limp you got as a souvenir for services rendered. You should have done the time like me, and told that agency to go to hell. You'd have been out in a year."
Jacy ignored the jibe and went back to the reason Tate had called him. "You should have stopped Koko before she left the cabin."
"Stop the old woman? Like I could have done that. When she has her mind set, no one stops Koko. She would have cut me where I stood if I had gotten between her and the front door."
Tate was six foot and weighed two-eighty. Koko was all of ninety pounds, and that was with her pockets loaded down with rocks.
"And you know me and the woods don't like each other much."
Jacy rubbed his clean-shaven face, more than a little frustrated with his brother. But it was true. Tate could get turned around in his own backyard. Put him on his Harley cruising a freeway, though, and his brother could tell you which direction he was going by the smell of the wind he was bucking.
Still, he should have stopped the old woman. Koko was seventy-six and had no business taking off in the middle of the night to answer a damn vision on a mountain.
"She packed her rucksack. Took some food."
"Anything else?"
Tate scratched his chin. "Her medicine bag and a couple of blankets. That knife you gave her was on her hip."
"Dammit, Tate, we've been getting snow in the high country for a long week. What the hell were you thinking, letting her go?"
His brother pointed to a two-inch cut on his muscular arm. "Koko did that three months ago, remember? Took after me with that knife when I told her I wasn't goin' to haul her to Brownin'on the back of my Harley. I ended up bleedin' like a stuck pig all the way to town with her ridin' behind. That was the day she had that vision of Delsin Yellow Wolf. And it was the real deal, you know. He'd damn near cut his arm off in that meat saw. Koko saved him, like she did Pekono and Lucky years back. And Maggie and Earl's brother, Pinky."
Jacy glanced at the flesh wound on Tate's arm. "What I remember over that deal is you getting gut-sick over a damn scratch."
"I never got gut-sick."
"If you bled, you got gut sick. You never could stand the color red in liquid form unless alcohol was in the mix."
"You're an asshole, Moon, bringin' up a man's weakness in public."
"And you're an asshole for letting Koko take off in the dead of night."
The brothers stared a hole through each other for a long minute. Then Jacy stood. "Which way did she go?"
"Like I said, I couldn't tell."
"Did you even look for tracks?"
Tate stood, tipping his chair over. He hoisted his jeans over his beer belly, then tossed his head, sending his long Native-American hair rippling over his shoulders and down his back. "Insultin' me a second time is a mistake, little brother."
"You plan on taking me on drunk?"
"Like you said, I ain't that drunk yet."
"Meaning you're really going to get gut-sick when I pop you in the nose and blood starts flowing?"
"That's it, you got a fight comin' your way."
"Earl just got this place put back together from the last time we went head to head," Jacy reminded. "You got a problem with me, we'll settle it outside."
The all-night crowd headed outside the minute they saw the brothers on their feet. Tomorrow's news would keep the Sun Dance busy, and if you had seen the scrap firsthand chances are you would get offered a free drink or cup of coffee to tell your side of the story.
Tate knocked his shoulder into Jacy as he staggered past him, then out onto the front porch.
Jacy limped after him, his thoughts on his grandmother instead of the fight. He recalled that the morning news had reported fresh snow on Sinopah Mountain. He was trying to recall how much when he stepped out into the predawn crisp air and straight into Tate's fist.
Prisca liked to fly. The idea of traveling to places unknown had been exciting at first. But today she didn't like flying at all. The aircraft was too small, and the pilot almost as young as she was---that meant his experience was in question. He had also insisted that they leave the airport after dark.
The idea of flying into the unknown---the Montana mountains in the black of night---had made her nervous before she boarded the toy airplane. Still, she had few choices open to her, and so she'd climbed aboard wishing she had fortified her courage with a stiff drink. Too bad she wasn't a drinker.
She should be thankful that this particular independent pilot wasn't asking questions.
She had flown into Missoula after two unsuccessful weeks of hunting for Bjorn Odell. It was as if the Onyxx agent had disappeared off the face of the earth. Upset, but not giving up, she had decided to bypass number twelve on the list and concentrate on number twenty-one---the controller who had aided Bjorn Odell's mission from afar.
From what she knew of controllers, after having watched Otto in action, she understood that without one at the helm of a mission nothing was possible. Odell might be the person directly responsible for her mother's death, but Jacy Madox had put Odell on target.
She hoped the information in his profile was accurate and that he was still living in northern Montana somewhere near East Glacier. That is, unless he'd moved, as it appeared Odell had done.
The pilot, Marty, seemed to know the area she'd inquired about. She had taken that as a good sign. His plane, though small, looked seasoned, and he'd taken off with the experience of a pro.
But what was that noise she kept hearing?
Otto had been calling her cell phone since she'd left their flat in Vienna in the middle of the night. Of course she hadn't answered him---not even the dozens of text messages he'd left. He sounded more than a little upset, and that's why she hadn't told him her plan, and she didn't intend to speak to him until she'd done what she'd come to do. Not until her personal business was finished.
He wouldn't be able to follow. She had taken precautions---changed her name twice---careful not to leave a paper trail of any kind.
She nodded as the pilot pointed to the black shadowy peak ahead. She had told Marty that she was a wildlife photographer on an assignment. He seemed eager to buy into her story, had gladly accepted the cash she'd offered. She'd even brought a camera along. After all, a photographer without her equipment would look suspicious, and the equipment had made it easier to conceal her father's gun.
The aircraft gained altitude as it passed over a mountain range. Marty called it the Flathead Range. She had noticed a constant change in temperature since leaving Missoula. She shivered in her seat and instinctively pulled the black stocking cap further over her ears.
The airplane caught an air current, and she felt it in her stomach. More noise. A constant rattling now.
She snuggled into the seat, determined not to worry. Nothing was going to go wrong. It couldn't. She had a date with death, and she was the executioner.
Koko followed the mountain trail from memory. It was narrow and overgrown, a steady climb upward. It was pitch-black out and cold enough to see her breath. The scent of snow was in the air, but she paid no attention to the time of day or the weather conditions.
The vision was strong and she felt the urgency of it. That's why she hadn't questioned it, not even with the knowledge that she was racing toward something that hadn't happened yet. That was the case sometimes, and she knew there was a reason for it. Soon she would know what it was.
Her visions often came in bits and pieces, and she had to trust the process---believe. There was always a purpose to everything---what had passed and what was yet to be.
The higher she climbed the colder the air became. She stopped and buttoned up her faded blue coat, then pulled her pink wool scarf out of her pocket and covered her head. She tied the ragged ends under her wrinkly chin, then dug deeper in her pocket for a pair of finger-worn gloves.
She kept her aging eyes alert as she moved along the trail, concentrating on the vision and the heat that surrounded it. When she reached the southern slope of the mountain, she was halfway there. Breathing heavily, she kept the same dogged pace as she skirted rocks and the gangly lodgepole pines that were common to the Rockies. In some spots the animal trail went straight up, but Koko didn't turn back.
After two more hours, she reached a snow-covered ridge and looked across the ravine. That's when she saw it---the vision come to life. It was so clear this time that it knocked her to her knees.
She staggered back up, realizing it wasn't the vision that had put her to the ground. The picture was no longer inside her head. It had finally materialized into a living thing. She was witnessing some kind of catastrophe.
The explosion shook the ground and rose into the heavens in an orange and red fireball.
Jacy was standing at the bar nursing his swollen jaw and cursing Tate when he got the third call of the night. It was around one-thirty, and this one was from the Bureau of Land Management chief in charge of search and rescue in and around Glacier Park.
He was out of breath and talking fast into the phone, two things that set Jacy immediately on edge. Billy Mason Crow Feather wasn't easily upset.
"A small plane went down, Moon. Contact was lost around eleven-thirty."
"Do you know who it is?"
"Marty Stollen. He reported engine trouble around eleven-twenty, and then nothing. His location is vague on account of you know Marty and his equipment. That plane should have been junked two years ago."
"Passengers."
"No confirmation on that."
Jacy knew the plane in question and the owner. Marty's single-engine Cessna had been grounded for repairs dozens of times. A hunting guide, Marty lived on a shoe-string budget and baler twine.
"We think he went down on Sinopah, but he could have gone past and lost it near Rising Wolf. Can you lend a hand, Moon? Hell, you know both areas better than my men. If that's where he's at, he's damn near sitting in your backyard."
"I'm at the Sun Dance," Jacy said. "If I leave now I can meet you back at Two Medicine in an hour. Has anyone gone out yet?"
"No, and they won't if you agree to pinpoint the site before I call in a crew. I've got a bunch of trainees here that can't find their asses with both hands."
"I'll meet you at the cabin. Tell Vic to help you put together supplies for three days. Remember he's a city boy so his brain works on a different level than yours and mine. In other words, he's not going to saddle Pete. But he likes to eat, so he knows where things are in the kitchen."
"I'm leaving now, Moon. Need anything else I can get you?"
"A weather report for the next few days."
Jacy left immediately, after telling Tate what had happened. He drove hard over the curvy mountain roads, his thoughts on the evening's events. His gut was in a knot and long ago he'd learned that was a warning sign not to be ignored.
Had Koko seen Marty's lightweight airplane in her vision? Had she seen the crash in her mind?
Jacy didn't believe in coincidences. Hadn't when he was a Hell's Angel, nor later when he'd been recruited as a rebel agent for Onyxx.
He liked to believe that's why he was still alive. He had a suspicious mind, and tonight it was working overtime.
The voice was high-pitched. The incessant chanting---something between eerie and musical---entered Prisca's subconscious as she came awake. Awake but not fully lucid.
She was lying on her back, and the air around her was bitter cold. Her entire body was in pain.
She didn't want to open her eyes. She had closed them tight just before...before the airplane had crashed into the side of the mountain.
Oh, God, the plane had crashed, and she was...where?
Pris moaned, reliving the horror of knowing she was going to die.
Was she dead?
Was she in some limbo between heaven and hell?
"Open your eyes, sisttsi nan. You fell from the sky, but you're alive. Open your eyes so you can see I speak the truth."
Prisca heard the words and responded, opened her eyes to see an old woman bent over her. There was a fire crackling close by, and it lit up the woman's wrinkled brown face framed in pink wool.
"There you are, sisttsi nan. Such beautiful eyes."
"Where am I?"
"On Sinopah."
That explained nothing. Pris took a deep breath and moaned regretfully as a fiery pain shot throughout her body.
"I'm hurt."
"Yes. But I have stopped the bleeding. You will survive."
"Who are you?"
"Koko Blackkettle. And you, sisttsi nan, what is your name?"
"I'm..." Prisca hesitated. She didn't dare tell anyone who she was. "I...don't know," she lied. "I can't remember."
The old woman nodded, then reached out and touched Prisca's forehead. "Maybe a concussion. Don't worry, or think too hard. You will know what to remember when it is important enough to make a difference. The journey has begun."
"What journey?"
"Yours, of course. The vision tells me you're on a quest."
"I don't understand."
"You're alive, and you must trust that, and only that for a time. Your purpose must be strong to survive a disaster that could have so easily killed you."
"My purpose?"
"It's promised in the vision."
"What vision?"
"The vision that brought me to you."
Pris looked around, and that's when she saw the airplane. Or what was left of it---twisted metal scattered in all directions.
"The pilot---"
"His journey has taken him further. Do not think of him now." The old woman laid her hand on Prisca's chest. "Rest now."
Marty was dead. Pris closed her eyes and tried not to think about him. The old woman began to chant again, and in an odd way it was comforting. When she blinked her eyes open again, Koko was back at the fire, stirring something in a small kettle.
Pris tried to sit up and that's when she realized that her injuries were far more serious than she thought. She moved her hands over her body, and realized that she was wearing only her panties and nothing more beneath a layer of blankets.
"Where are my clothes? My phone?"
"I found no phone. Your clothes... I cut them off you with my knife." The old woman produced a knife from beneath her coat. "A gift from my grandson. There was much blood and I needed to know where it was coming from. Don't move or the bleeding will start again. Many cuts." Koko motioned to her legs. "Some of them are deep. You must stay quiet. Your ankle is swollen, too. No broken bones."
"How did you find me?"
"I saw you in the sky."
"How?"
"All that matters is that I came to you in time."
"Where is my luggage?"
"Did you have luggage?"
"Ah...I must have."
"The airplane still burns. If you brought bags with you, they are not here. You were lucky. You were thrown out of the plane."
"I hurt all over."
"I have brought something with me to ease the pain." The old woman brought Pris a brown bottle. "Drink. Two swallows."
Pris tipped back the bottle and drank the bitter liquid, and within ten minutes she started to see double. The woman had drugged her, she realized, as she slipped into a heavy sleep.
The next time Pris opened her eyes she didn't know where she was until she saw the old woman seated beside her. It was daylight and she stared at the surrounding wilderness with both awe and fear. There was no way that they would be rescued, she thought. No one would ever find them. Maybe no one even knew they were there.
She tried to move, and moaned with the effort.
"Be still, sisttsi nan."
"What does that mean?"
"It means pretty bird."
"And what language is it."
"My language. I am a Blackfeet Indian."
"Blackfoot?"
"No, Blackfeet. I have two." The old woman smiled, then stood. "I can see much pain in your eyes. I will bring you medicine."
"No. I want to stay awake."
"There will be time for that later." She produced the brown bottle again. "Here. Another day of sleep will prepare you for the journey. Drink."
"No, I don't want to pass out again."
"It is good to sleep. Our journey down the mountain will be long."
Pris accepted the bottle and drank. "What is this stuff anyway?"
"A special tonic."
"How will we get down the mountain without help?"
"Help is coming. Moon will be here soon."
"Moon?"
"My grandson."
"But how does he know where to look?"
"He is very smart. Like me, he also has a gift."
"He has visions, too?"
"No. He is smart and an expert tracker, and I have left a trail for him to follow."
"I don't think I can walk."
"You will ride." The old woman pointed to a pair of sticks with a blanket tied between them.
Pris handed the bottle of tonic back to Koko. "You're going to drag me?"
"Don't worry, sisttsi nan. I am old, but I am strong. I climbed the mountain for you, remember?"
"Yes, you came for me."
Prisca's eyes grew heavy again. She drifted off to sleep to the sound of the old woman making more strange sounds as she tended the fire.
When she woke next Pris found Koko talking to herself. The traveling bed had been moved closer.
The old woman must have eyes in the back of her head, Pris thought, because she turned around very suddenly.
"You're awake. Good. We must go, sisttsi nan. I wanted to wait here for my grandson, but a storm is coming and we need to leave. I was about to wake you. We need to get off the mountain before the snow comes."
"I need clothes."
"The blankets will be enough. Better for wounds, not to move too much." Koko picked up a second blanket and brought it to Prisca. "Keeping you warm is most important."
She spread one blanket on the travois, and then slowly helped Pris slide her body over and onto the portable bed. Once she was settled, Koko covered her with another blanket and tucked it around her, then tied a rope harness around her waist and hooked the long wooden sticks into two loops.
Then they were moving away from the crash site as gray clouds swelled overhead and the wind began to blow.
The horse's name was Pete, a black gelding who was used to shifting rocks and narrow trails. Jacy gave Pete his head, and let the long-legged animal negotiate the path at his own pace.
He'd wasted two days searching Rising Wolf Mountain for the downed plane with no luck, and his mood was about as sour as the weather. Clouds were moving into the area, and Sinopah Mountain was a dangerous place to be in a snowstorm.
The threatening weather turned his thoughts to his grandmother. He'd kept in contact with Tate, and Koko hadn't come home yet. Jacy was worried, but not angry with her. Koko's visions were real. They didn't always come at the most opportune time, but that wasn't something she could control.
He couldn't ignore the parallel between the crash and Koko's sudden late-night vision.
Billy had been convinced that the plane had tracked northeast, but after searching Rising Wolf, Jacy knew he should have followed his gut and headed straight to Sinopah. From the moment he'd arrived at the base of the mountain his gut had been churning---his seventy-six-year-old grandmother was here, and so was Marty and his airplane.
Billy was still waiting to hear from him, hoping it would be soon. The Bureau of Land Management dealt in facts, and so he hadn't mentioned Koko and her vision. The BLM was a lot like Merrick and the Onyxx Agency in that respect.
But he didn't need to worry about Merrick and the agency. He had retired, and they didn't own him any longer. And his association with the BLM was strictly on a volunteer basis, so he could do things any damn way he pleased.
Jacy shifted in the saddle and leaned into the mountain as Pete, as sure-footed as a goat, maneuvered the rocky trail.
The temperature was twenty degrees, with a three-inch base of snow on the ground. He pulled the collar up on his sheepskin jacket and tugged his brown Stetson lower. Another hour passed, then another.
It was late afternoon when he spied the familiar pink scarf---a dot of color against the mountain. The sight made him smile in relief, and he reined Pete to a stop.
Koko was moving slowly along the trail, negotiating the rugged terrain and a travois she was pulling behind her.
He had stopped questioning Koko's visions a long time ago. He'd learned about them one night seated around a campfire on the rez as his uncle had relayed to him the story of his birth: His mother Nola had been trying to get down the mountain. She was eight months pregnant and in labor.
Once again Koko was in her rocker when a vision came to her and she realized her daughter was in trouble. All of her visions came to her in the rocker. Tate had aptly named the rocker the "happening place," and it was true, it was the place where his grandmother's visions revealed themselves.
That stormy night she had seen Nola in labor. And, on a desolate trail bathed in moonlight, she had arrived in time to deliver Jacy into the world, then transport Nola and her child, via travois, to a road where she had flagged down a car for help.
Jacy dismounted Pete, and when he dropped onto the ground, his bad leg buckled. He swore, held on to the saddle horn, and rescued his pride and his balance before he dropped to his knees.
"Hello up there," he called out. "Koko, it's me."
She stopped and searched the rocks below. He waited until her eyes locked on him two hundred feet below her. When she saw him, she gave a hearty wave, and he knew behind the wave she was smiling.
He watched as she unhooked the wooden poles from a harness she had tied around her waist. Free of her burden, she called out to him.
"You're two days late, but I am happy to see you, my issohko."
"I'm happy to see you, too, Grandmother. What have you found?"
"A bird fell from the sky. A matsowa'p bird, and she is hurt."
A beautiful bird. A woman, not Marty.
Jacy wondered about that. Had Marty been transporting a passenger? It was true he flew hunters up into the mountains.
He searched the trail behind Koko, but saw no one else. "Was it Marty's plane in your vision?"
"Yes. But he has joined his father and mother."
Marty's parents were both dead. Jacy understood what Koko was saying. He tied Pete to a dogwood shrub and began to negotiate the rocky trail.
Pris strained her neck to see who owned the deep voice that had boomed up the mountain minutes ago, but in her prone position she saw only treetops and more mountains.
"Is it your grandson?" she asked.
"It is him, sisttsi nan. He has come as I said he would."
Pris didn't really care who it was, only that someone had found them. The old woman had been walking for hours without complaint, dragging her behind. The trail was rough and Koko had to be exhausted.
She asked, "Now what?"
"Now Moon will take you the rest of the way." Koko looked over her shoulder to where Prisca lay wrapped in the blankets. "Did I tell you that my grandson almost died last year? He should have, but his spirit would not allow it. It wasn't his time, just like it wasn't your time. I believe he is on a quest, like you."
Listening to Koko and the way she talked, Prisca felt as if she'd been transported back in time. Still, it didn't matter who or what this woman was, or what sort of a quest her grandson was on. What mattered was that she had been rescued from certain death.
She smiled back at Koko, relief in her own eyes. She would believe Koko and what she had said. It wasn't her time to die, and it was true. She had unfinished business to take care of. Yes, a quest for justice, and God wouldn't cheat her out of her revenge. Not when he knew how important it was to her.
She heard the shifting of rocks, and she looked past Koko again. This time she was rewarded by the sight of a man coming slowly up the trail.
He wore a heavy tan coat and jeans covering long athletic legs. His hair was visible around his collar, black and straight. She couldn't see his face. It was hidden in the shadow of a hat.
He was limping, and for a moment she questioned just how much help he would be. Then he stopped and tipped the brim of his hat back and what she saw set her heart pounding. Koko's grandson had the face of experience, with eyes as sharp as an eagle's. A man who had seen too much, been to hell and returned. She remembered the words from a poem she'd once read.
Prisca watched Koko hug her grandson. When he hugged her back, then kissed her forehead, her heart constricted. Her mother had always kissed her cheek. She touched her face, remembering. But there would be no more kisses. No more hugs.
The reminder brought her back to the reason she had climbed into that small airplane in Missoula. She collected her raw emotions, stuffed them away, then focused on what had brought her across the ocean. Bjorn Odell and Jacy Madox were the ones responsible for her lonely existence. But thanks to Koko and to her grandson, she would soon be back on her feet, able to resume the hunt.
When Koko stepped back to let her grandson kneel down beside her, Prisca said, "I owe my life to your grandmother. She is my miracle."
"And mine," he said. "How badly is she hurt, Koko?"
"The leg wound is deep. A few cuts and bruises. Maybe a sprained ankle."
Prisca again got caught up in his voice---so very low, but far more educated than he looked. It's what distracted her and cost her not only her pride, but her dignity when he reached out and stripped the double layer of blankets from her body.
Jacy's first thought was, where the hell are her clothes? His second thought was he hadn't seen anything this beautiful in a very long time. If ever.
He tried to keep his eyes off her breasts, but the air was cold and the two porcelain-perfect mounds were dressed with rosy nipples and he lost focus for a moment, then he went in search of her injuries. He mentally tallied up the damage, and at the same time couldn't ignore her narrow waist and shapely curves.
She had a superficial laceration on her thigh. He carefully removed the cloth bandage Koko had wrapped around the leg. The woman's most serious injuries---unless she had internal trauma---were a four-inch jagged cut below her left knee, and a badly swollen left ankle.
"What's your name?"
"I don't know."
He looked at her. "You don't know?"
"She can't remember, Moon. But I told her not to worry. It's probably temporary."
He rewrapped the leg, then examined the ankle.
"It doesn't appear to be broken."
Koko's words reminded Jacy that his grandmother was still standing close behind him. He tossed the blanket back over the young woman. "I don't like the look of that muscle tear on the front of her leg. She needs sutures."
"I could have done it," Koko said, "but I was afraid I would leave her scarred. My hands aren't as steady as they used to be."
It was true. Without proper medical equipment and sanitation they could make things worse.
"Vic can do it. We'll get her back to the cabin," Jacy said.
"That's where I was headed."
Jacy looked at the sky. "There's only an hour of daylight left."
"I don't think she should be out here another night, Moon. Take her and ride for the cabin as fast as you can."
The thought of leaving Koko behind brought Jacy to his feet. "There's no way I'm going to leave you out here with a storm moving in."
"The wind has shifted. The storm will go north. I'll be fine." She laid her hand on Jacy's arm and pulled him a short distance away from the young woman. "I have seen more than the little bird falling from the sky. My vision's telling me there is danger close by. It's not clear what kind of danger, but I trust the feelings. You must take her quickly away from here."
Jacy noticed his grandmother's tired eyes. "You're exhausted. These visions are too hard on you."
"My vision saved her life for a reason. We cannot question why. Go now."
"Two days ago I gave Tate hell for letting you take off alone. Now you want me to walk away after I've found you?"
"Yes, I do. The airplane is on the west slope. Tell Billy it is above Bottom Out Creek. I will be there waiting, issohko."
Jacy nodded. "I'll take her to the cabin and then come back up with Billy. Vic was getting ready to leave and head back to Washington, but I'll tell him he's going to have to delay that for a few days. He can take care of her until we get back."
Koko walked back to the young woman and knelt beside her. Tucking the blankets back around her, she said, "It is important that you get your leg tended to as soon as possible. I will see you in a few days, sisttsi nan."
"What? You're not coming?"
"Moon will take you down the mountain. He can go faster alone. You can trust my grandson. He knows these mountains as well as I do. He will take you to his cabin. There is help there."
Jacy went back down the trail for Pete. He gave his grandmother his supplies and the food he had left. Then he lifted the young woman and put her on Pete's back, carefully hooking her injured leg around the saddle horn.
A soft, but firm word to his horse to stand still, and Jacy mounted the long-legged gelding and pulled the young woman back and tucked her securely against him, then gathered up the reins.
"I'll be back for you," he told Koko, "with Billy and Tate."
"I will leave a trail for you to follow up the mountain, and keep a fire vigil at the crash site." She looked in Jacy's supply bag he'd given her. "There is enough food here for two days."
"I'll see you in the morning," Jacy promised. To the young woman seated in front of him, he said, "Put your arm around my waist and hang on tight. The ride will be rough."
"I've never ridden a horse before," she whispered against his chest.
"That you remember."
"Ja, that I remember."
He felt betrayed, but mostly he felt an overwhelming amount of guilt. He should have seen this coming. Her skills were flawless, but her heart....
Though she was Holic's daughter, and had his blood flowing through her veins, he had always felt she was more like her mother Mady, a gentle spirit. And it was that wholesome spirit that he had fallen in love with.
Da, he loved her. No one would ever know how much, or how much he needed to have her return that love.
Otto pulled up the collar on his leather coat, then brought the pale-gray scarf he'd given Prisca to his nose. Her sweet scent collected around him. It soothed him and made him anxious at the same time.
When he had found her gone, he had also found the cashmere scarf. He had vowed in that moment, as he'd slipped it around his neck, not to take it off until he found her and returned it to her.
Three months ago when Holic had given him the assignment as his daughter's keeper it had felt as though he'd been given the keys to the king's castle and all the golden eggs in the cellar. And with the gift, suddenly his life had purpose. Prisca was his purpose. To guide and protect, nurture and love.
That was the best part. His reward in return was to be close to the woman he loved. To enjoy a life where every minute of every day put him in her company.
He had loved Miss Pris forever, from the moment he had seen her at age ten. He'd been twenty and yet he had known that she was the one. He'd waited and kept his eye on her as she grew to become an adult, and in that time his love had grown, too.
Why had she left? Had she left the mission, or had she left him?
Their work was timely. It was critical that they stay on schedule. She knew that. Knew the importance of each kill. They had talked daily about their agenda. The kill-file was like a detailed map. If they followed the plan to the letter it would be as easy as shooting ducks out of the water at a summer carnival.
The only catch to the entire mission was to stay on schedule. One delay made the file useless.
He had called her phone when he'd realized she was gone. When she hadn't answered, he had left several messages. But she hadn't answered any of them.
Why? What had happened? Had she willingly left him?
The thought of her hurt made him crazy. He would never forgive himself if he had allowed harm to come to her.
Did she know how worried he was? How he hadn't been able to sleep since she had left?
He had been careful not to push her too hard in the work. He'd also been careful not to show his feelings too much. She was young, and he hadn't wanted to scare her. But he often wrestled with the idea of telling her.
Secrets were the seeds to unhappiness. That's what his father used to say. It would be good to share his feelings with her. It could bring them closer. Maybe she felt the same and she was just waiting for him to make the first move.
He needed her to love him as he loved her.
Otto walked past the flight schedule in the airport and saw a dozen delays. Thankful that none of them affected him, he headed for gate seven. His destination, Poland.
He raised the gray cashmere scarf and brushed it slowly across his cheek. Then brought it to his nose and inhaled sharply. Like a stiff snort of cocaine, the scent of sweet ginger and spice energized him and refueled his cause, as well as his love for Miss Pris.
Prisca woke up in a warm bed, the smell of bacon heavy in the air. She woke up slowly, groggy, aware she was sharing her pillow with something furry.
She sat up, startling awake whatever was sleeping next to her. The fur pile jumped up with a growl, and Prisca screamed.
The door burst open and that startled her, too, and she clutched the blanket to her bare breasts as a stranger appeared with a metal spatula in hand.
"What the hell is wrong?"
"That's what's wrong," she hollered back, because he'd shouted the question at her.
"Weeko, dammit, Moon told you to stay out of here."
"Weeko? What's a weeko?"
"That's her name."
"What is she?"
"A raccoon. You've never seen one before?"
"No. Does it bite?"
"If she's cornered. I've been bitten a few times."
"Then get it out of here."
The stranger scooped the raccoon under his arm and started out the door.
"Wait."
He turned. "Yeah?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm Vic Krandle."
"Moon's friend?"
"That's right. I worked on your leg last night. You don't remember?"
"Vaguely."
"That's because I gave you a shot to put you out while I sutured your leg."
Moon's friend was average in weight and thin. He wore fashion jeans and a lemon-yellow sweater. He didn't look like anyone Koko's grandson would be friends with. He had a city flair about him, his hair short, and his hands looked as though they hadn't ever been dirty once.
"Where's Moon?"
"He left before dawn with the BLM to go back up to the crash site."
"BLM?"
"Bureau of Land Management."
Prisca stiffened. "They're investigating the crash?"
"That, and bringing down the remains of Marty Stollen."
Prisca looked away.
"Sorry. Billy mentioned he would be by to talk to you as soon as they got things settled on the mountain."
"Today?"
"No, I don't think so. Moon talked like he might not be back until tomorrow. But who knows. He said you don't remember your name. Any change this morning?"
"No."
Prisca turned and stared out the window, not wanting to remember anything about those terrifying minutes when she knew they were going to crash into the mountain.
"You all right?"
She looked back at Vic Krandle. "I'd like to get out of bed, but I need some clothes."
"You didn't come with clothes. I don't know if you remember that or not, but don't worry. We'll get you some eventually. But for now, Moon left you a shirt of his." He pointed to the red plaid flannel that hung on the log bedpost.
She eyed the shirt, then scowled at Vic. "That's all there is?"
"Your left ankle is pretty swollen. You won't be up and around for a while. Best to stay off it as much as possible."
"I would prefer a doctor's opinion on that."
Pris was anxious to get out of there. If they were investigating the crash they might find her missing bag. Depending on how thorough they were, they might discover her secret.
"I'm a doctor, of sorts. A physical therapist, actually. But I spent a year's internship in New York before I found my calling. There will be a scar on your leg, but I did my best." He started for the door. "Moon will be back with Koko before long. Just sit tight, and don't worry about anything. When the man gets back he'll work on finding out who you are."
"The man?"
He stopped and turned around. "Moon. I've learned over the months I've been here that there isn't much he can't do. Say, how old are you? You look pretty young."
"I'm... I don't remember."
This game was getting too hard to play. She needed to escape, only how and when? If she had her cell phone she would break down and call Otto. Maybe it was a good thing she didn't have it with her. What would she tell him?
"Where am I?"
"Montana." The raccoon started to squirm under his arm, and he dropped the animal outside the door and she scurried away.
"Yes, but where exactly?"
"On a lake called Two Medicine."
"That doesn't help much."
"I guess we're about a hundred miles south of the Canadian border."
Canada. She was close to Canada. The thought revived her. That's where she would escape to. Soon, very soon.
"I'm from D.C. I was planning on going home today. Moon showing up last night with you changed my plans. But I guess I don't mind. This place has started to grow on me. The man, too. He's ornery, but smarter than most, and tougher than anyone I've ever worked with."
"Worked with?"
"He wasn't ever supposed to walk again after his accident. I moved in to rehabilitate him."
"Is that why he limps?"
"He was in a wheelchair for months, but he beat the odds. No surprise. As I said, he's one tough sonofabitch. You hungry?"
"I could eat something."
"I'll bring you in a tray. Then we'll talk about your injuries and what you can expect in the next few days."
Jacy was relieved to see his grandmother at the crash site when he, Billy and Tate arrived with the BLM crew. They had followed the trail she had promised to leave for them.
He had been thinking about her, had worried all night---in between worrying about the woman who hadn't let go of him the entire trip down the mountain.
He understood her concern for the young woman---Koko was a caring soul. More generous than anyone he knew. She took on the problems of the world as if they were her own. But he was pretty sure she hadn't told him everything about her vision. She was keeping something to herself and he wanted to know why and what she was holding back.
He looked over the site. The plane was pretty much gone, scrap metal and charred ash smoldering in the crisp morning air. It would be hard to say what had caused the accident, but there would be a thorough investigation. The plane wasn't that old, but it had seen a lot of miles, with mostly thrift maintenance. Any number of things could have caused the aircraft to go down.
"His distress call was generic," Billy said. "He was losing altitude. Nothing more."
The crew started to go to work, and Jacy limped over to his grandmother who sat cross-legged in front of a small fire with her eyes closed. He crouched down next to her and touched her shoulder. She blinked open her eyes and when she looked up at him, she smiled.
"Good to see you, Grandson. Our little bird is safe?"
"She's at the cabin with Vic." He studied Koko's face, said, "So what's going on? What haven't you told me?"
"Things aren't clear yet. I'm still seeing pictures in my mind. But I'm sure it will all make sense soon enough."
"Yesterday you seemed anxious to return to the crash site."
"I did want to spend some time here, but sisttsi nan needed better care than I could give her, so I chose to start down the mountain. I didn't want to leave Marty. His spirit was troubled."
"Marty?"
"He was afraid at the end. I felt it. I have prayed for his spirit to take flight. For peace on his journey. He soars now with the eagles."
Jacy fastened his eyes on a backpack. "And that?"
"It's sisttsi nan's bag. I found it over there." Koko pointed a distance away from the airplane rubble. "It must have been thrown from the plane. Her personal things and clothes."
Jacy stood and went to the pack. "Any ID?"
"No."
Jacy unzipped the bag and rifled it. Koko was right, there was no identification.
"I searched the area after I found the bag, but I think everything else has been lost in the fire."
"Billy's crew will take over now. I've come to take you home if you're ready."
"Yes, I'm ready. And you're sure your city boy, Vic, is taking care of our little bird?"
Jacy grinned. His grandmother didn't think much of Vic Krandle, or his fancy equipment. The doctor turned sophisticated government physical therapist was smart, aggressive and not shy when it came to going head-to-head with Koko on modern medicine verses holistic alternatives.
"Vic says she's going to be fine, thanks to you."
Koko snorted. "At least he's an honest man. Arrogant, but honest."
She stood and pulled her thin coat around her, then retied her pink wool scarf. "We go home now. Marty's at peace. My work here is done." When she walked past Jacy, she touched his face. "Come, issohko. Take me home."
Prisca had awakened early to sit by the window. She had walked carefully to the rocker on her sprained ankle, the bandage on the front of her leg reminding her that she was lucky to be alive. That she hadn't lost a limb.
Outside, snow was falling, the mountains in the distance were capped, and the secluded lake was a solid white body of ice. Montana reminded her of Austria, the rugged mountains making her homesick.
She heard the door open, and she said, "Whose room is this? I think it could use some color."
She turned expecting to see Vic Krandle, but to her surprise it was Koko's grandson who stood in the doorway.
He stepped into the room and tossed one of her bags on the bed. She glanced at it, mentally drawing a picture of what was inside.
"To answer your question, it's my room. What color?"
"Maybe some green, or blue." She shrugged. "Maybe not. Maybe all it needs is a bigger window to let in more light, and show off the view. In the summer the lake must be beautiful."
"Are you staying until summer?"
He was very quick-witted---and intimidating. She hadn't had any experience with other cultures. This man was an Indian. Koko had said they were Blackfeet.
This particular Indian had a square jaw, eyes a deeper brown than her own, and a flawless tan complexion.
He was the man, Vic had said. Sometimes ornery and always tough.
"How are you feeling?"
His eyes lowered to her legs. He studied the bandage, her wrapped swollen ankle, then his eyes started upward slowly taking in her bare knees and more.
She wore only his flannel shirt.
"Your friend stitched my leg."
"I know. I stuck around, assisted and put you to bed afterward."
She looked away, reminded that this stranger had seen her close to naked. She fidgeted in the rocking chair, feeling awkward.
To take her mind off her uncomfortable situation, she continued to talk. "Vic says I have twenty-four stitches and a sprained ankle. And of course, a mess of bruises. I feel every one of them, but I'm alive."
"You were lucky."
"Yes. A miracle." The word brought her thoughts to Koko, and she looked past him expecting to see the old woman. "Where's your grandmother?"
"Koko went home to sleep."
"She doesn't live here?"
"No."
"I thought this was her home. She said something about living with her grandson."
"She lives with Tate. They share a cabin across the lake."
"Tate?"
"My brother." He motioned to her bag. "I looked through your personal effects. There's no ID. Do you remember anything yet? Your name."
"No, I don't remember anything...yet."
"No one has come forward inquiring about a missing person, but it's still early."
"What are you telling me? That I have no one who cares about me?"
"I'm not telling you anything. Maybe no one expects you to check in yet. A family member or friend." He shrugged out of his coat and she found herself scanning his body much as he had done hers moments ago. He was solid and muscular. Above average in height, there was substance to his shoulders. His thighs filled out his jeans, and when he turned to hang the heavy winter coat on the bedpost, she saw that he compensated for what appeared to be a stiff knee.
He removed his hat, and hooked it on the post over his coat. His hair was shiny and longer than she had imagined it would be. It complemented his sharp good looks and the comfortable style of his clothes. He looked like a free spirit, and a man of experience in the games of survival.
She had never imagined she would be one of those same people---a survivor. She'd been raised with little adversity in her life until a few months ago. But then tragedy had struck, and at age nineteen she'd been forced to step into her father's shoes---her life suddenly mapped out in a way she would never have imagined. Not out of want, but out of survival, loyalty and love.
"Once the reports are made and the newspapers get their stories out, someone will come forward," he said.
No one would come forward. Otto was the only person who would be looking for her, and he didn't know where to start. But Pris nodded anyway, his comment needing some form of answer.
Otto had told her that she was perfect for this game. She realized now she would have to keep playing, and at the moment, the game required her to look innocent and vulnerable.
After all, she had lost her memory, right?
A young woman this beautiful certainly had someone somewhere worrying about her, Jacy thought. Parents expecting a call, or a close friend. A regular boyfriend to check in with.
"Like I said, I went through your bag looking for some kind of identification. I suppose that bag went up in flames."
He turned to look at her, and she offered him an innocent expression. Why did he get the feeling she was holding something back?
"Vic said you didn't eat much for breakfast. You're not one of those vegetarians are you?"
"I wasn't overly hungry. Where is the closest town?"
"Going somewhere?"
"I'd like to."
"Why? You don't know who you are, or where you came from. Seems pointless at the moment to strike out on your own when you can't even walk."
She took offense to that. She sucked hard on the inside of her left cheek, turned to look out the window.
"I can walk," she said softly. "I got out of bed without falling on my face."
"Vic says you should stay off your feet as much as possible. At least for the next few days. That is if you don't want to pop those stitches. That cut on your leg was bone deep. Vic worked over an hour to minimize the scar."
She looked back at him. "I'm not your problem, or Vic's."
"I have plenty of room here."
"I don't want to intrude."
"I'll let you know when you are."
"You said this is your room. I couldn't put you out."
"You already have, and I don't look upset, do I? But I have two other bedrooms down the hall. I believe one has a green bedspread. I'll tell Vic to move you after lunch."
Jacy didn't let her argue. He walked out before another word could be exchanged. But not before he let his eyes drift over her slender figure. She certainly gave a man a lot to think about, and he wasn't talking about the crash or her memory loss.
He didn't like houseguests, and as far as women went, he could count on one hand how many had stayed overnight here. Some of them would have liked to put down roots, but he was worse than Tate when it came to being a rolling stone.
So why didn't he want her to leave? He could set her up in a motel in Browning and give her Billy's number.
No. He wouldn't do that because something wasn't right about this. He felt it, and he never ignored his gut instincts.
Like Koko's visions, his gut was seldom wrong.
While Vic was dancing around the kitchen making Koko's recipe for huckleberry pie, and moving their guest in to the room with the green bedspread, Jacy called Billy. He wanted to know if there had been any news about who the mystery woman was who had fallen out of the sky.
"Sorry, Moon, but I went through Marty's office paper by paper. I didn't find a thing. Not that I expected to. Marty was never much of a housekeeper, or a bookkeeper. His office needed an update as badly as his airplane. No records on flight plans, no receipts. Nothing."
Like Billy, Jacy had expected as much. "And no one has called about a missing relative or employee?"
"No. Got any ideas?"
"Not at the moment."
"She still brain-dead?"
Jacy heard Billy chuckle over the phone. "No memory yet."
"I'd like to question her. You think she'd be up to a few tonight?"
"I think so."
"After supper?"
"Seven?"
"I'll be there."
When Jacy hung up the phone, he saw Vic standing in the doorway of his office. "What's up?"
Vic walked in and sat on the leather sofa. "I got a call from headquarters. They want to know when I'll be back. I delayed leaving yesterday, but it seems they really need me in D.C. I told them I'd get back to them within the hour. What do you think?"
"I think you should take off." Jacy walked to the window to consider the weather. "It's not so bad that a chopper can't get in and pick you up. In fact this would be a good time. The forecast is predicting a measurable snowfall by this evening. If you wait you could be snowed in for a week."
"Your houseguest is going to be moving slow for the next few days, but she's strong. She'll recover. The biggest concern I have is keeping her leg clean and free from infection. The rest of her scratches and bruises are superficial. Like the sprain, it's just going to take some time. But give her a week and she'll be chasing you around the couch."
Jacy looked over his shoulder and gave Vic a set of raised eyebrows. "Was that supposed to be funny?"
"You have to admit she's a pretty young thing."
"Too young for you or me."
Vic shrugged. "Age is a state of mind."
"Too young, with no memory."
"You can still look and dream."
And he'd been doing plenty of that, Jacy mused. "Do you think she's playing us straight?"
"I don't have an answer to that. Amnesia isn't my area of expertise. But what reason could she have for lying?"
"A good question. Billy said he didn't find anything at Marty's office that would identify her. But then I'm not surprised, knowing how Marty managed his business."
"You seem moody. You feeling all right? How's the knee?"
"Stiff."
"Sorry about that. At least you're up and moving."
"Up and limping," Jacy corrected, trying not to sound bitter.
"Anything else you want to talk about?"
"I can't put my finger on anything specific." Jacy rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't going to go into what was really bothering him.
The bottom line was his houseguest was too young, too beautiful, and upsetting his disposition. She had the power to get to him too damn easily. Normally he could control his male urges, but he'd found out on the ride down the mountain with her seated in front of him that he wasn't infallible. To say he'd been hit hard below the belt line was an understatement. For a man who had believed he was always in control, he'd learned an important lesson two days ago---the words never and always didn't mean a damn.
Still he was a man who knew better than to mess with fire. Women were as dangerous as a live match tossed into a box of kindling. Knowing that---that they required a home, commitment and most often a monogamous relationship, why would any man with a brain want to play with matches?
Men were about open air and variety---and getting out of Dodge the minute they felt flames licking at their boots.
So if he was such a man---with a brain---how had this pretty young thing been able to raise so much havoc inside him so easily?
She was trouble, the kind of trouble he normally stayed away from. He was tired of fighting fires and trying to survive the games he'd been forced to play at Onyxx. All he wanted to do was hide out in his cabin, alone. If he had an urge to squelch, he was fine handling it himself. And when he felt like talking to someone, there was always Matwau and Weeko ready to listen. And Koko and Tate across the lake.
"So should I call Merrick and tell him to send someone to get me?"
Jacy nodded. "Call him. Someone could be here in two hours."
"You sure you don't want me to stay?"
"I'm sure."
"All right."
"I want to thank you for sticking it out when Merrick brought you here a few months back. I didn't make it easy."
"No, you didn't. But that's you. I knew what I was getting into. You're the man, a rat fighter used to kicking ass." Vic grinned.
Jacy grinned back, then stuck out his hand. "It's been good getting to know you, Vic."
"Same here. I've learned a lot. Of course I don't plan on adopting a wild animal any time soon, or entering a wood-splitting contest, but it's been an education I'll never forget."
"You take it easy, and stay in touch."
Jacy was as good a cook as any woman. That was because he liked to eat. He'd learned early that unless he wanted to go hungry, he had to learn his way around a kitchen.
Supper hot on the stove, he knocked on his houseguest's door, and when she didn't answer, he swung it open to find her curled up asleep on the bed, the green bedspread pulled over her. One bare foot peeked out, the taped ankle she'd sprained in the crash. Add a slender calf and a sexy knee to the picture, and Jacy was gifted with another unexpected urge that had him setting his jaw.
He wondered if he should wake her. She needed sleep, but she also needed food to keep up her strength. She'd skipped lunch and Vic had said she had sent back her breakfast half-eaten.
The Onyxx chopper had flown in an hour ago and picked up Vic. Jacy wasn't used to people underfoot, and it had taken him more than a little patience to adjust to Vic sharing his space the past three months. The place was his again---he would no longer be forced to share his bathroom, or his kitchen with Vic's culinary talents.
But possibly he had a bigger problem on his hands now.
He spotted Weeko curled up on the pillow. How the raccoon had gotten into the room, he didn't know. He'd rescued the animal from a steel trap a month back. In the spring the coon would leave. She would be a year old, give or take a few months, and nature would call her back to the wild. He was fine with that. He had never wanted to own anything, or anyone.
The thought sent his eyes to the sleeping beauty. He walked over to the bed and carefully laid a hand on her shoulder. The minute he touched her, she woke up with a start.
"Easy," he said. "Supper's ready."
She rolled onto her back, the bedspread falling away to expose her bare legs. His shirt was hiked and, unaware, she flashed him her narrow hips and a pair of blue bikini panties.
"What time is it?" she asked groggily.
"After five."
"I slept the day away?"
"Like a baby."
She sat up slowly, moaning and arching her back. The crash had knocked her around good. She had a dark bruise on her chin and one the size of a grapefruit on her thigh.
"I can bring you a tray."
"You don't have to wait on me. Besides, I'm not hungry."
"You have to eat." He saw her shiver and he bent down and scooped her up into his arms, taking the green bedspread along with her.
"Wait. I'm not dressed. I can't go out there like this."
"It's just you and me here. Vic's gone."
"Gone?"
"He was supposed to leave yesterday morning. But the plan got screwed up."
"By me."
"It worked out fine."
Jacy strolled out of the bedroom and started down the hall as she snuggled close and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her womanly scent filled his nostrils. She was light as a feather. Soft and lush. He told himself not to go there. But it was damn hard not to notice how sweet-smelling she was, or how easily her body could tease his into high gear.
He carried her through the living room, where a fire raged in the stone fireplace, through a wide archway into the kitchen.
"Let me know if you're not warm enough. I've got an endless supply of wood."
"I like fireplaces. When I---"
She stopped in midsentence. And as Jacy eased her onto a chair at the table, he said, "You remember where you live?"
"...no. But the fireplace... I must have lived where there was one. It's familiar to me."
She was explaining too much, and she had averted her eyes. He was sure she had remembered something, but he decided to let it slide for now.
"That's a good sign. Maybe you'll start remembering something real soon. Your folks will be relieved when they get a call."
"My folks?"
"There must be someone out there waiting to hear from you."
She didn't comment. He left her in the chair and limped to the stove. He had put together a beef stew. Nothing fancy, but he knew it would taste good. He didn't eat anything that was tasteless unless it was a matter of life or death.
He turned around with the pot of stew, then stopped when he saw her staring at the doorway with her eyes wide. Matwau the wolf dog that had befriended him ten years ago stood sniffing the air.
The animal stalked into the kitchen in his normal arrogant fashion, his steps light and predatory, his nose catching more than the scent of the stew.
Jacy hadn't explained to his houseguest about the animals---though Vic had said Weeko had paid her a visit yesterday scaring the hell out of her. But the coon, as unpredictable as she was, was far less intimidating than Matwau.
"He's normally easygoing. Just don't make any sudden moves and you'll be fine."
"You have an interesting family, Moon. I met your raccoon yesterday. And now a wolf?"
"He's only part wolf. I'm not really sure what all he's got in him. He's a mixed breed like me."
"Like you? Your grandmother said she was---"
"Blackfeet. So was my mother. But my father upset the genetic pool by being German and English. He was a forester for the park. That's how he met my mother."
"And do they live around here, too?"
"My father died not long after my mother. Koko claims he died of a broken heart."
"I believe that's possible. When you lose someone who means the world to you, a part of you dies with them. I know---"
Again she stopped without finishing the sentence.
"You know what?"
"That life is full of sorrow and unexpected tragedy. Look what happened to Marty. Did he have a family?"
"A father and a sister."
"I'm sorry for them."
The conversation lagged, and suddenly Matwau's curiosity put him next to her chair. He sniffed, then a low growl filled the kitchen.
"Is he going to bite me?" she asked. "Am I on his menu, or can I talk him into being friends?"
"Friends, I think."
"You think?"
"He would be taking a bite out of you by now if he didn't like how you smell."
"How I smell?"
Jacy smiled, not willing to admit that he liked how she smelled, too.
"Can I touch him?"
"Let him sniff your hand first. Then go ahead. Move slow."
She did as he told her and soon Matwau had relaxed on his haunches to accept the attention. Before long, he'd dropped his big head into her lap and closed his eyes.
Jacy set the stew in the middle of the table then went back to the counter. "Coffee, tea or milk?"
"Tea."
"Regular or flavored?"
"Green. Do you have it?"
"I do. With or without sugar?"
"Without."
"Done."
When Jacy finally sat across the table from her, he signaled Matwau to go lie down. The animal obeyed, but not before he'd circled the table and sniffed the stew.
Jacy dished up a plate of beef, potatoes and carrots, saying, "We need to come up with a name for you. Have any ideas?"
"It doesn't matter, does it. Do you think I look like a Mary, or maybe Ann?"
She didn't look like either. At a loss for words for what might be the first time in his life, Jacy said, sinking his fork into the meaty stew, "I think you look like you need to eat. A stiff wind could blow you over."
The stew was good, but the remark he'd made about her being a lightweight had frankly pissed her off. It was like saying she was shapeless and too skinny.
She didn't know why she cared, or why it should matter what he thought, but the remark had dampened her spirits. Not that they weren't already low---she hurt all over, had lost her father's gun and was stuck in a cabin with a stranger she felt oddly attracted to.
Her mother had been thin, but not her Aunt Nadja. Her aunt was bold and beautiful. Strong and confident. A real woman. When she'd met her aunt months ago she had secretly hoped as she got a little older she would grow into a few more curves and larger breasts.
What had happened to Nadja that day on Glass Mountain? Pris had often wondered about that. Had her aunt been there when her mother had died? Otto hadn't mentioned Nadja when he'd delivered the news about her mother. And when she'd asked, he'd said he didn't know. He just handed her a letter from her father, relaying the ugly details. Telling her that Bjorn Odell had killed her mother and that he'd been captured by the opposition. That he needed her to become his replacement, now more than ever.
He'd called on her loyalty to family and the cause, and she had felt both honored and trapped at the same time. She had wanted to do the right thing---would do the right thing. Her family had been taken from her. The right thing was to avenge them.
Replacing him had demanded she become an assassin, and with it came the hideous task of killing people. She had thought she could do it, but it was altogether different from shooting holes in a paper target.
But as Otto had said, government assassins were expected to make sacrifices. They had a job to do.
I think you need to eat. A stiff wind could blow you over.
"I'm small," Pris whispered, "but I'm strong in body and mind. You have no idea how strong."
"Did you say something?"
"No, nothing."
"I'll be in the kitchen cleaning up."
She didn't answer. After supper he had carried her to the couch near the stone fireplace. Pris drew the blanket up around her where she sat, wishing that earlier in the day she had struggled into a pair of jeans. But she'd been so weak and sore, all she had wanted to do was sleep.
She watched Matwau enter the living room. He stalked to the couch and boldly climbed up and settled beside her. She let him sniff her hand, then stroked his head. She closed her eyes, and suddenly she was drifting off to sleep again. She had no idea how long she slept until she got the overwhelming feeling that she was being watched. When she opened her eyes, Moon was sitting in a chair a few feet away.
"Vic says I need to change the bandage on your leg morning and night. We should do it before you go back to bed."
"I can change the bandage myself."
"But you don't need to because I'm here. I was the one Vic left the instructions with."
"It can't be that hard to change a bandage," she said, still angry with him over his comment about her size.
He stood and reached for the blanket wrapped around her. She grabbed it back, startling Matwau, and he came awake with a sudden growl.
"Don't ever move fast around wild animals."
"I'm not ready to leave the couch. And when I am, I'll change the bandage. It's my leg. And I'll get myself back to bed, too."
"Like I said, you don't need to. Did I say something wrong? Offend you?"
"You didn't," Pris insisted. "That would mean I care what you think of me, and I don't. I'll carry my own skinny ass to the bathroom, and anywhere else I need to go, thank you."
"Skinny ass?"
"Forget it. I appreciate the shelter and food, but you know nothing about me. Let's just keep it that way."
She had tried to insult him, to back him off, but it hadn't worked. Instead of backing away, he stood his ground, a small smile parting his lips. He motioned for Matwau to get off the couch, then quickly scooped her up along with the blanket before she could push his hands away.
In his strong arms once more, pressed against his chest, she endured being carried back down the hall. To keep her balance she was forced to wrap her arms around his neck.
"Billy was going to come by to talk to you tonight. We had set it up for seven. He must have gotten held up. Maybe he'll show tomorrow."
And maybe he won't, Prisca silently hoped, but she didn't voice her thoughts. She was still angry with Moon, and so she let that hurt color her words.
"Does my weight bother your weak leg?"
"No, why would it?"
"Vic said you had a bad accident, and now you're...what would be a good word? Disabled."
"What else did Vic say?"
He had stopped in the darkened hall, the soft living-room light backlighting him in a warm glow. She saw that her comment must have struck a nerve. His jaw was tight, his dark eyes narrowed.
Good. Let him see how it felt to be fit into a mold and labeled.
"I asked what did he tell you?"
"That your leg injury required surgery and physical therapy. I saw the wheelchair, and the picture in your bedroom yesterday. Is that how it happened? Were you in a motorcycle accident?"
"Why would you think that?"
"I don't know."
He was staring at her---at her mouth, and so she stared back at his. She didn't want to like him, especially not after he'd pointed out her flaw that she was too thin and shapeless. He probably liked big breasts, too.
"I used to ride that bike years ago."
"Who is the other man in the picture?"
"My brother, Tate. We joined up together. You'll probably meet him one of these days."
"Joined up?"
"With the Hell's Angels."
Prisca frowned. "I don't know what that means."
He was looking at her as if she was crazy. "You're serious?"
It was obvious that whatever the Hell's Angels were, they were notable enough to cross the ocean. But she'd lived in Austria all her life, and she knew nothing about angels who rode motorcycles.
Still, she could see that she had made a mistake in the admission. She scrambled for an excuse. Said, "Do you think it might have to do with my memory loss?"
"Maybe."
"So are you going to tell me what a Hell's Angel does?"
"It would bore you."
Nothing about this man could possibly be boring, Prisca decided. The private admission made her even more uncomfortable and angry with herself. She wanted to stay mad at him, to do whatever she needed to do to keep her distance. But as she looked at his lips once more, she suddenly wondered what it would be like to be kissed by this man. By a Hell's Angel.
Moon's log house was a mixture of different worlds and cultures. There were Native American pictures on the walls and colorful woven rugs on the floors, and yet each room had unusual objects, sculptures and furnishings from other parts of the world.
Pris wondered about that. Had he been to all those places?
At supper she had even noticed a large bookshelf in the kitchen with a cookbook collection that touched on ethnic cooking reaching from Greece to China, Germany and dozens of other places.
It was all so different, and yet oddly comforting. Especially the mountains that surrounded this quiet place in the middle of nowhere.
The weather and the mountains made her feel safe, which made no sense at all. She was far away from home, and there was no place that would ever make her feel as safe and comfortable as Austria. At least that's what she'd always believed.
Still she loved sitting close to this massive fireplace and hearing the wood crackling as it filled the room with its cozy warmth.
The house was simple, and yet a work of art. Vic had told her that Moon had built it. That he had laid every stone in the fireplace and crafted every cupboard and door.
The couch was soft brown leather, and there were two stuffed chairs. One looked old and in need of repairs, the other was a half-circle shape upholstered in a European tapestry displaying the Eiffel Tower.
The smell of burning wood had her inhaling deeply as she snuggled on the couch. It was the middle of the night, but she hadn't been able to sleep after Moon had changed her bandage and carried her into her room. She'd tried, but she simply had too many thoughts floating around in her head. Too many worries.
And then there was the memory of Moon carefully changing her bandage. His head bent close as he'd tended to her leg with his big hands, his hands as soothing as his wood fire.
But there was more on her mind, too. She worried about how quickly she would recover from her injuries, about the man named Billy, and what kind of questions he would ask when he came to discuss the airplane crash. How well she would do with her answers.
Then there was Otto. Was he looking for her?
And how was her father's health? Did he know she was off the job? Was he angry?
She felt terrible about losing his gun in the plane crash. It was the only thing she had of his, and now it was lost forever.
It was time to rethink her strategy, she supposed. And that's what she would focus on in the next few weeks as she recovered. She would replan her revenge on her mother's killer, and find the man who had aided Bjorn Odell.
Odell needed to die, and he would, but for now she would concentrate on the controller who had put Bjorn Odell on Glass Mountain. Jacy Madox was as guilty as anyone for her mother's death, and he needed to pay with his life for what he'd taken from her, and she would make sure he did.
"What are you doing out here?"
Pris gasped in surprise, then turned to see Moon standing behind the couch in a pair of worn jeans, his chest bare. She hadn't heard a single noise.
"Did I wake you? If I did, I'm sorry. I---"
"You're not supposed to be putting a lot of weight on that leg. A short trip to the bathroom, a few steps here and there, but---"
"It's fine. I was careful not to put too much weight on it. After all, how could I? I'm so light a stiff wind would blow me over."
"Is something wrong?"
"I couldn't sleep. That's all."
"Do you want something? A pain pill or maybe tea?"
"No."
"Warm milk?"
Pris wrinkled up her nose. "No."
"That's how I feel about it, too. Never could get a glass of milk down without a chocolate chip cookie. Cold or warm."
He went to the fire and opened the glass doors. Hunkering low, balancing on the balls of his bare feet, he tossed another log on the hot coals.
"You warm enough?" He turned to look at her.
"Yes."
She had changed out of his shirt and was wearing a blue nightgown she had packed in her bag. It was more like a long T-shirt, but it covered her better than his shirt.
"Where is Matwau?" she asked.
"Outside. He likes to go out at night. Run around, and see..."
"His girlfriend?"
He smiled at that. "I guess you could call her that.
"Well, as long as you're up, I've got some work to do in my office. If you need anything give a holler."
"What kind of work do you do?"
"Computer research."
"I'm afraid I don't know anything about computers."
"That you remember."
"That I remember," she amended.
He left her sitting on the couch and walked back down the hall. She watched him go, saw that he went past her room to the closed door at the end of the hall. She shoved herself up, curious.
The pain in her leg slowed her progress, but she made it down the hall and peeked inside his office. The room was state-of-the-art, with not one computer, but four. And there were other electronic gadgets, too. Things she couldn't name, nor begin to understand.
She backed away before he saw her. But as she slowly made her way back to the couch, she wondered how a man like Moon had learned to operate all that fancy high-tech equipment.
Otto knew he was off his mark the minute he squeezed the trigger on the VSS Silent Sniper. Number three on the list went down, but it wasn't a clean shot.
Sonofabitch.
He pulled the gun from his shoulder and swore again. Then just as quickly he pulled the rifle back up and looked through the high-powered scope. The good news was his target had stayed down, and it didn't look like he was going to get back up.
A sigh of relief had him stepping back from the window on the tenth floor of the apartment complex. He disassembled his rifle, noting he was breathing heavily. Now he understood why Miss Pris had been so quiet after a kill.
He had thought she was a novice to the world of killing, and not the kind of person who would relish hurting anyone. But now he realized it was more than that. Making perfect shots was stressful, exhausting work.
Still, she had to be aware of her gift. No one except Holic could put a bullet on target every time. He'd just proven that and he was no novice.
Without a doubt, even with more practice, he would never be as good as Miss Pris. She had Holic's hands.
He would admit he had gotten an adrenalin rush pulling the trigger. Holic had once said it was as euphoric as good sex.
He'd killed before, only it had involved short distances with a handgun at close range. And there had been a few times when he'd used his bare hands.
He didn't see himself as a violent man, only a man who could follow instructions. His father Jakob had taught him that. Loyalty was everything. Loyalty and honor, and to take pride in doing the job as well as possible.
The man lying in the street ten floors below would argue with how well he'd done the job---Trikoff was still in the process of dying.
The kill had been less than perfect. But he would do better next time.
He had to.
Otto finished disassembling the rifle and slipped each piece into the proper slot in the black leather case. He had a week to get to Germany to make the next hit. If he was able to stay on schedule and knock off the next target, Holic would never have to know that his daughter had disappeared, or that the mission was in jeopardy.
If Holic knew that Otto had lost his daughter, how would he kill him? Otto supposed it really didn't matter how.
Dead was dead.
Merrick opened the file that had been placed on his desk an hour ago. He studied the report, sifted through the data and found the medical report. Cause of death, a single bullet. Entry, right cheek.
If this was the work of Holic's replacement, he had missed his mark. He checked the kill-file he had, and found the victim's name. Trikoff was on the scrambled list. Number thirty-two. But as Holic had said, they didn't own the master copy, so they would be forever two steps behind his replacement. That is if they didn't agree to play his game.
But how could they be sure the hit had been made by Holic's replacement? Had he simply had a bad day or did this mean something else?
He called Pierce and relayed the information. It would take his agent to Poland to investigate, but even then...Dammit, they were never going to catch this sonofabitch if they didn't get a break soon.
The only chance they had was if they met Holic's demands. And even then, that wouldn't guarantee that the killing would stop. Holic was about as trustworthy as a D.C. weatherman this time of year. It was snowing again and the damn forecast had predicted above normal temps and sunshine.
Once again Merrick found himself taking an unscheduled flight to Onyxx's top-secret maximum-security prison north of Washington. The flight took forty minutes to reach Clume, and then he was moving through a number of security stations, nodding to serious-faced armed guards wearing crisp black uniforms.
When Merrick reached Holic's cell, he had to look twice to recognize the assassin. Holic's legendary long black hair was gone. All of it. He'd had his head shaved.
"What brought on the new look?" He asked as he entered the cell and let the iron door slide back into place.
Holic looked over his shoulder. He had been staring out the narrow window that gave him a view of the prison exercise grounds.
"Maybe I'm afraid of bugs," he retorted. "I can't seem to get clean enough in here."
"I'll speak to the warden."
"Who you should be speaking to are your superiors. You want to end the killing, right?"
"Your deal was a hard sell. My superiors pointed out that a man with no conscience can't be trusted."
Holic shrugged. "It's your call."
"I've presented your deal, that's the best I can do."
"So then why are you here, Merrick? Another killing, perhaps?"
"Yes. Trikoff in Poland."
"And you're here to beg me to stop the next one from happening. Sorry, but my hands---" he held them out "---are useless in this matter."
He turned completely around and leaned against the gray wall. Crossing his arms over his chest, he let his bandaged hands dangle.
"Your replacement was off his mark yesterday," Merrick began, curious as to what kind of reaction the news would arrest.
Holic uncrossed his arms and straightened away from the wall, but he didn't seem upset. "Are you saying the target is still alive?"
"No. I'm saying it was a dirty shot, and that Trikoff died on his way to the hospital. The first two victims took one shot. Right temple. Either your man was up late drinking the night before, or he's losing his touch."
The news didn't seem upsetting to Holic.
"Some shots are difficult," Merrick prompted. "After all, you're the master. No one could duplicate your style indefinitely."
"Perfection replaced perfection three months ago. My replacement would never take a dirty shot. I'd say you have another problem on your hands, Merrick."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning my replacement didn't make that shot? A renegade assassin perhaps. Or maybe Trikoff pissed off the wrong associate. His MO was selling out those closest to him. If Onyxx is any good at what they do, you must have known that."
Jacy hung up the phone after agreeing to Merrick's request. He had just been informed that another agent had fallen. This one in Poland.
Merrick had been brief, relaying their dilemma. Holic had suggested the bogus kill-file had been systematically rearranged. Merrick wanted him to see if there was an order to it, and if so, if he could decode it.
For the past seven years he'd done extensive analysis work in the field for Onyxx. His expertise---decoding, and strike-force management.
Merrick had called it his gift.
So, if Holic had switched the kill-file in an orderly manner then Jacy would discover what it was. Maybe not in time to save the next target on the list, but he would give it his best shot.
In a way he was back working for Onyxx, unofficially that is. But this was something that didn't require a hundred percent from his body. As his houseguest had reminded him, he was disabled.
He had just set down the phone when she called out to him. Jacy jumped up and quickly entered the hall to find her slumped on the floor against the wall.
"What the hell happened?"
"I thought I could make it to the bedroom on my own, but I don't think I can."
He bent down and lifted her into his arms. "Dammit, could you ever just do what I say?"
She sucked in her breath and looked up at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you."
"Bother me next time, okay? If you split open those stitches I'm taking you to a hospital."
The warning seemed to surprise her. "No!"
"Then next time you feel adventurous, rethink it."
"Da. I will."
She was staring at his mouth again, and the distraction pulled him off course. So beautiful, he thought. So damn perfect.
She bent her head and rested it on his shoulder. Her cheek brushed his. In that moment he forgot himself and he turned his head to the side and touched her pretty nose with a gentle kiss.
Her heart was pounding, and so was his. She raised her head, her eyes bright.
"Sorry," he said, "that was...uncalled for. Don't get worried. I..." Her smile stopped him from explaining further. "It's late," he said. "You should be in bed."
She laid her head on his shoulder again, but this time, Jacy was bent on getting her to her room and out of his arms.
As he stepped into the room, she suddenly asked, "How old are you?"
"Why?"
"I was just curious."
"Too old to be taking advantage of a young girl with no memory and a lame leg." He stopped next to the bed. Looked at her. "How old are you?"
She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. "I don't know. But I know I'm not a girl."
He laid her down on the bed and pulled the bedding to her chin. "Go to sleep."
"You look twenty-five. Am I right?"
"No. Go to sleep."
"Thirty?"
"No." Jacy stopped in the doorway and turned around. She was smiling, and he shook his head, smiled back. "Need a pain pill to sleep?"
"No. I'm fine."
She certainly was fine. A fine-looking young gir...woman.
"Don't get up without my help."
"So if I call, you'll come running?"
"I'll come limping. Remember, I'm disabled."
"You were offended by that?"
He raised his eyebrows.
"Good, then you should be careful when you criticize someone else."
Jacy frowned. "I didn't do that."
"Yes, you did. You think I'm skinny."
"What?"
"You said at supper that a stiff wind would knock me over."
"That's not the same as skinny, honey. You're far from that. Fine-boned, not skinny."
Her smile got bigger. "Then you like how I look?"
"You're perfect. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Holic mentally made a list of the things he would attend to the minute he escaped from Clume: a hot bath, the hard-on between his legs and feeding his hungry belly with a rare steak. In that order.
And he would have all three very soon. The Chameleon had given him his promise.
But first he would make good on his promise. He still had a few cards up his prison-uniform sleeve, and he always finished the game.
After all, a man's word and his loyalty were his most prized possessions.
The Chameleon was a very smart man. He would not throw him to the wolves.
He unwrapped the bandages from his hands, and slowly moved his fingers. He was getting the feeling back. The pain was less every day. He smiled. Yes, very soon he would have his hands back and then...
Let Merrick and his doctors think he was finished. A useless turd in the bottom of the toilet. Soon they would realize they had made another deadly mistake.
Since he'd been caged like an animal his hands had begun to heal, the feeling slowly returning.
"Yes, Merrick, the game is far from over. In fact, a new game is on the horizon."
Holic picked up the bandages and wrapped his hands once again.
Billy Mason Crow Feather showed up two days later. He showed up hungry, inviting himself for breakfast.
He had prepared a list of questions, but he also had some news to share.
"Sorry I didn't get over here a few nights ago, Moon. I was in Missoula and didn't get back home until midnight. But I think I found out who she is."
The news had Moon stepping back and letting Billy rob a piece of bacon off the plate next to the stove. It was early and he was the only one up.
"Help yourself, Billy. You always do. Don't be shy." Jacy headed to the table with three plates and spun them into place.
Billy poured himself a cup of coffee, then made himself comfortable at the table after stealing another piece of bacon. He pulled out an airline passenger list.
"I checked all the folks on the flights into Missoula the day she took off with Marty. All are accounted for except one. Alun Beltane. She flew in from Canada: Edmonton, Alberta, to be exact. It'll take some time to search further, but for now that's what I've got. But if you want to take it from there, then I can concentrate on the crash itself. I'm up to my elbows in paperwork on this one. That plane should never have been allowed to take off."
"I can do that," Jacy agreed, feeling eager now that he had a place to start.
Alun... It was an unusual name.
He had slipped into her room last night and watched her sleep. She had tossed and turned, mumbled more European phrases. She didn't wear any rings, and she appeared too young to have a husband, but anything was possible.
"Did you hear me, Moon?"
"What?"
"I said, I'd like to talk to her. I've got some questions."
"She's not up yet. I'll go wake her. Breakfast is ready anyway."
Jacy left Billy and seconds later entered Prisca's room after a solid rap. She was still sleeping, curled into a protective ball. He limped to the window and opened the curtains, then slid up the shade. She never moved.
"Alun," he said softly, trying the name out, wondering if it would wake her. It didn't.
He moved to the bed and sat down beside her. A few strands of hair were across her face and he brushed them aside.
"Hey, wake up."
She blinked open her eyes, moaned, a moment of confusion on her face. "Moon?"
"It's me. Billy's here."
"I'll need to dress."
"Can you manage?"
She tossed the sheet aside. She was again wearing his red flannel shirt. When she had changed, he didn't know. Or why. It hung on her small shoulders and the top two buttons were open.
She had slight breasts---he remembered that and his eyes were drawn to the pale skin.
"I have a pair of jeans around here somewhere."
He stood and searched out the jeans. She dropped her pretty legs over the side of the bed. Jeans in hand, he came back and bent down to slip her legs into the holes.
She was moving more slowly than yesterday and he worried about that.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"My muscles are so stiff." She rubbed her neck. "I could soak in a hot bath for an hour."
"After breakfast."
"All right.
"You'll have to help me stand."
He leaned forward, put his hands on her slender waist. "Put your arms around my neck, and give me your weight."
She looked down at her jeans. The legs were hiding her feet. "Are you sure?"
No, he wanted to say. The last thing I need is you against me, and my hands moving up your bare legs and sexy ass. But again he didn't relay what was going on inside his head.
"We can do this," he said, "trust me."
She smiled, and he smiled back.
Slowly she slid her arms around his neck, and then he was standing and moving her jeans up her thighs and over her small butt as she dangled against him.
"You remember Billy?"
Pris nodded as Jacy carried her into the kitchen. She was nervous as to what she was going to hear, but she could and would get through this. To cause suspicion at this point would be a disaster.
"Yes, I remember," she said and let go of Moon's neck as he sat her on the kitchen chair across from the BLM supervisor.
Before she knew it a cup of tea was in front of her and Moon was back at the stove dishing up scrambled eggs.
Matwau stalked into the room, sniffed Billy, then came and sat next to Pris. She reached out and stroked his head and then said, "What did you come to ask me? Moon said you had some questions for me."
"You still having a hard time remembering things."
"Yes. I'm afraid so."
"I did some research on a number of incoming flights into Missoula. Marty always worked out of there. The airport flight plan has his plane flying out at ten-twenty that night. I checked the passenger lists on the larger flights that came in. I went back two days prior. All the passengers were accounted for except for one."
While Billy scratched the large bald spot on the top of his head, and munched on a piece of toast, Pris tried to remain calm, aware Moon's eyes were on her now that he'd delivered breakfast to the table.
What was Billy about to tell her? She didn't dare look worried. She should look hopeful. She went through the motions.
"The missing woman's name is Alun Beltane. Does the name sound familiar? Ring any bells, darlin'?"
It certainly did, but confident that it was a name with no history, she said, "I don't know. But if you say that's my name, then it must be."
Billy scratched his bald spot again, then took a sip of coffee. "Well, I'm pretty sure that's your name. Until we get our hands on concrete proof we're not a hundred percent sure. But it feels right. You flew in from Edmonton."
"Edmonton?"
"That's in Canada."
She nodded as if he was telling her something she didn't know. She would play this out, feeling more confident now. It would be difficult to verify a name she had put together from two gravestones in an unkempt cemetery.
She'd spent three days in the city of Edmonton procuring a number of new identities. After money had changed hands, Prisca Reznik had become Alun Beltane, and three other people as well. She had learned the technique from a master. Otto had been able to get them in and out of every country in Europe. Whatever they had needed, he'd seen to it, and explained how it was done. Otto had once said, "When money is no object you can buy anything your heart desires."
She knew how to play the game. After all she was her father's daughter, and she'd read through his instructions countless times.
"Every head accounted for," Billy was saying again. "I talked to a bunch, personally."
"Are you saying I live in Canada?"
"Time will tell."
What did that mean? Pris wondered. And what did that look that Billy had just given Moon mean?
"So that's what I have so far. Now then, what do you remember about the crash? When you regained consciousness?"
In this Pris decided to tell the truth. If he thought she was Alun Beltane, that gave her time.
"When I was conscious, and I don't know how long I was out, I couldn't move. I was cold and I thought I was going to die. I lay there for hours while the plane burned. I should have tried to get the pilot out, but I couldn't move."
"It wouldn't have done much good. From what we can tell he died on impact. If you were in your seat belt you must have unhooked it and crawled out."
"I don't remember that."
The fear of dying washed over her again, and she relived that frightful moment when she'd thought she was going to die. Something must have shown in her face because suddenly Moon was on his feet, his hand cupping her shoulder.
"That's enough, Billy. She doesn't remember, so let's leave it alone for now."
"But I got a report to write, Moon, and---"
"Start writing it from the information you have."
His tone was hard-boiled, and the BLM supervisor clamped his mouth shut. Nodded. "Okay."
"Now are you having a second helping of breakfast, or are you late for another appointment?"
"No, I got another stop to make. I want to talk to Koko, and if I time it right she'll ask me to stay for lunch."
"What do you need to talk to her about?" Jacy asked.
"There's a few holes in her story I got to clear up." He stood, his eyes locking with Prisca's once more. "If you remember anything, darlin', let me know."
When Billy left, Jacy said, "You didn't eat much."
"Maybe later. I think I'd like to take that bath now."
"You'll have to keep your leg out of the water."
"I think I can manage. Help me to the bathroom?"
And he did help her, carrying her as he had before, while Pris clung to him, trusting that if she needed more help, all she would have to do was call out his name.
Koko arrived at Moon's cabin midafternoon. She brought with her a homemade pie, and a special basket for sisttsi nan. Her vision surrounding the young woman had continued, only she was on a different mission at the moment.
"How is our little bird today?"
Koko ignored her grandson's scowl and stepped past him. She looked around and smiled at the clean home he lived in.
Issohko had become a very self-sufficient man over the years and her pride swelled. He'd been a wild and reckless young boy in his youth. Had seemed to seek out trouble on every corner. But the boy had grown into a man, and she'd given thanks in her prayers for the man named Merrick for that. He'd reached inside her grandson and pulled out the goodness. He'd seen the real Jacy Moon Madox behind the angry young half-breed, and she would forever be grateful.
Oh, her grandson wasn't perfect, no one was. He still had a quick-trigger temper, and he embraced danger like an old friend---but in a different way now.
"What's in the basket?"
She glanced at the covered basket. "It's for sisttsi nan. Alun. Billy says that's her name. A pretty name, but..."
"But what?"
Koko shrugged, then set down the basket on a narrow table by the door and removed her pink scarf. "Be a gentleman and help me off with my coat, issohko."
Jacy did as she asked and hung it on the coat tree next to the table. When he reached for the basket, Koko snatched it and hooked it on her arm.
"The pie is yours. You'll know what to do with that."
"Well our bird went back to bed. I checked on her a few minutes ago and she's curled up in a ball like she intends to hibernate the rest of the winter. I'm a little worried. Maybe she has internal injuries. Vic could have missed something."
"She'll be fine very soon." Koko walked into the living room, noticed the fire glowing, and she moved toward it to warm up. "It feels good in here. I got a chill walking over."
"You should have called. I would have come for you."
"It's good to walk. It keeps my old joints loosened up. My arthritis warns me that the storm that missed us yesterday will come tomorrow."
"I'll get her up," Jacy said. "She's been in bed long enough."
"She will feel better in the morning."
"And how would you know that?"
"Which room is she in?"
"What's in the basket, Koko?"
"Nothing that would interest you. A few things. Things men don't think about unless it's affecting them and their own needs."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Think about it. You're a smart boy."
His eyebrows arched and Koko knew he understood what she was telling him without getting specific.
"And how the hell do you know she needs that? Come to you in the rocker this morning?"
"As a matter a fact, it did. Could account for why she's been in bed hibernating all day, as you call it. Now, which room?"
"One door past mine."
"Put the teapot on." Koko pulled a bag of herb tea from her pocket and tossed it at him. "This will help her to feel better." Then she headed down the hall.
She rapped on the door, then walked into the bedroom. As Moon had said, sisttsi nan lay on her side with her knees drawn up. But she wasn't sleeping.
"I brought you a few things," Koko said as she entered the room.
The girl rolled over and sat up slowly. "You did?"
Koko set the basket on the table next to the bed. She noticed that the young woman was wearing one of Moon's shirts, and she smiled. It was the red plaid she'd given him for his birthday last year.
She flipped the cover open on the basket. "Oh, that's where I put Moon's mail. I made a run into Browning with Tate to pick up the mail after lunch, and I picked up his, too." She tucked the envelopes into her sweater pocket. "Moon's worried about you sleeping the day away, but it's a fact that men don't always understand a woman's body, or how it works."
"You know what's wrong with me?"
"I do. That's why I put together this survival kit."
"Survival kit?"
"It's a special kind of kit. A woman's survival kit."
She waited, watched as sisttsi nan peered inside the basket. A smile came seconds later.
She looked at Koko. "How did you know?"
"The same way I knew you needed me on the mountain. I see things." Koko rubbed her hands on her wool pants that she had cinched up around her waist with a leather belt Tate had tooled for her. "I'll check on Moon, and see how he's doing in the kitchen with the tea. Hungry for a piece of huckleberry pie? It helps if you eat something."
"I think pie sounds good."
"Then I'll have Moon set another plate." Koko patted her hand before she left. "Can you manage?"
"I can walk if I go slow. Thank you again."
Prisca went through the basket after Koko left. How the old woman had known she had her period was a mystery, but she was glad for the supplies inside the basket. Her cycles were always painful the first day, and she would have killed---no pun intended---for a bottle of ibuprofen, but Moon's medicine chest had consisted only of men's deodorant, a toothbrush and a few shaving items. He had mentioned pills once, but if he had some, he didn't keep them in the usual place.
She slipped from the bed. She needed to start exercising her muscles. She wasn't going to get better pampering herself.
Her father had been able to withstand enormous amounts of pain. It was all in the mind, he used to say. Train yourself to move past it.
Whispering the words, "Move past it," she took what she needed from the basket and headed for the door. As quietly as she could, she stepped into the hall, and using the wall to aid her, she made it to the bathroom, ignoring the fact that she was wearing nothing more than her underwear and Moon's shirt.
When she opened the door from the bathroom minutes later she ran into him coming down the hall.
"You should have said something," was all he said before he scooped her up into his arms. "Koko says you're feeling up to pie. I think you need a bowl of soup first. You turned down lunch, remember?"
"I can walk," she protested when he started back with her in the direction of the living room. "I'm going to have to start sometime. And I'm not dressed...again."
To satisfy her last protest, he grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and tossed it into her lap.
"Are you angry with me?" she asked.
"No, why would I be angry?"
"You seem angry."
"Not with you."
But he was angry. She wondered about that. Wondered if he'd learned something more about her that she should know.
"Is your grandmother still here?"
"Yes."
"It was very nice of her to bring me...the basket."
"That's Koko. On top of every problem. But next time, I'll get whatever it is you need. All you have to do is ask. I'm no mind reader."
The report came in while he was out having lunch. Merrick slipped behind his desk and opened the file. He read over the cover page, and immediately felt a chill wash over him. The lab reports had finally come in on the body at the morgue. The one they had recovered in Greece months ago. The one they had believed was the Chameleon.
The report claimed that the body in the morgue was Pavvo Creon. A man they had believed had died fifteen years ago had resurfaced.
Which meant what?
Was Pavvo the Chameleon, or was he still alive?
Merrick stood and went to the window. He didn't want to believe the report, but he'd personally handpicked every lab tech, and he had the utmost respect for each one of them. They were the best in the country.
Lev Polax's words came back to him. He's alive, Merrick. The bastard is alive.
But how could that be? How had the Chameleon escaped the explosion that had splintered his yacht into a million pieces? And if Pavvo Creon was laid out in the morgue, where had be been for fifteen years?
It was never going to end, Merrick decided. He'd waited years for this to be over. He'd tried to go on without Johanna, but every day he saw her face---even after he'd put away the pictures.
She was in the kitchen making breakfast, in the bathroom washing her hair. Seated by the fireplace laughing and teasing him out of his pants to make crazy reckless love on the rug.
Her laugh was throaty and deep for such a slight woman. Her beautiful hair was soft as silk, her eyes so full of love each time she looked at him. No one would ever look at him like that again.
She'd been his life, and he knew he had been hers. Until the Chameleon had turned their life into a nightmare.
He had lived each day to see the bastard dead, but now it looked as though he'd been robbed of even that. The Chameleon had slipped through his fingers again. But how? His yacht had blown sky high. He himself, and Sly McKwen, had almost been killed in the process.
That last thought gave Merrick pause. If they had survived, then it was possible that the Chameleon had escaped the explosion as well.
Another chill ran the length of his spine, and it told Merrick that his lab experts were right. Pavvo Creon was in the morgue and the Chameleon was still out there somewhere breathing and laughing.
And if he was alive then hell was about to revisit him and the agency before too long.
There were two ways to look at this, Merrick thought. He could consider the mission in Greece a failure, or decide that he'd been given a second chance to confront his enemy---to come face to face with the man who had stolen his life.
A second chance to kill the Chameleon for Johanna.
So maybe this unanswered prayer was a gift.
Jacy sat at his computer frustrated and in a sour mood. His daily routine was getting tiresome. He'd been searching for answers but hadn't come up with anything solid he could run with. Not one damn lead on Alun Beltane from Edmonton. And to top off his mood, he'd hit a brick wall with the kill-file Merrick was hoping he could decode.
He had the latest in equipment, knew how to hijack information from every resource across the country, and still he was no further ahead than he'd been weeks ago.
He had decided that Alun Beltane didn't exist, and that Holic had no system or order to the bogus kill-file he'd manufactured.
Both conclusions stunk.
Was he losing his touch, or was Billy wrong about the name? And was Merrick on a witch hunt?
Koko had said the name Alun didn't fit his houseguest. And he could count on one hand the number of times his grandmother had been wrong.
So where did that leave him?
No one had come forward looking for a missing person. Not one inquiry.
Jacy shut down the computer and left his office. He stepped into the hall, his eyes locking on the scene in the living room. She was in a tug of war with Matwau. He was growling playfully, and sisttsi nan was more than a little frustrated.
"Bitte geben Sie es mir, Matwau. Bitte!"
Jacy had become fluent in a number of languages working for Onyxx, and he knew German as well as French and Italian, and a dozen other languages. Now he was once again sorting out the words, wondering who the hell she was.
"What's going on?"
She looked up, frustration had colored her cheeks. "He took my sock and he won't give it back."
"I've heard you speak German before. Where do you suppose you learned that? You speak it like a native."
She let go of the sock and Matwau---thinking he'd won---hopped up on the couch, tucking his prize between his huge paws.
"I...don't know."
It was clear she was uncomfortable with the question. He'd caught her in a number of awkward situations in the past weeks since she'd been staying with him. And if she could lie about this, what else was she capable of lying about?
He heard his phone ring, and he stepped back in his office and closed the door.
Pierce was calling to discuss cold trails, more dead bodies, and the fact that Holic's replacement had managed to make the kills even though his shots were not perfect.
"More messy shots, taken in haste," Pierce was saying. "Merrick told me you've been working on the kill-file. That there might be a way to decode the pattern. Find anything?"
"No. And I don't think that I'm going to."
"Holic still claims someone else is shooting those agents," Pierce said. "He claims his replacement wouldn't take a bad shot."
"Those agents are dead," Jacy reminded. "I don't consider a shot that kills someone a bad shot. Do you?"
"No, but he still claims it's not his man. What do you think?"
"I've looked over the data you sent me on the first four kills. It's true the killer's shots have changed since the first two, but maybe there's a reason for it. Maybe this is part of Holic's game. Maybe his man was told to dirty things up a bit. Hell, I don't know."
"You sound stressed out. What's going on with you?"
Jacy hadn't told anyone about his houseguest. He said, "I've got a situation here. A woman staying with me."
"Is she pretty? Your type or mine?"
"She's too young for both of us."
"How old."
"Not old enough."
"Too vague."
"She went down in a plane in the mountains. She doesn't know her name or where's she's from."
"What's the hold-up? You're the detail man. You should be able to figure that out."
"That's just it. I've hit a roadblock at every turn. Someone has to be looking for her."
"Meaning she's pretty and you're frustrated."
Jacy set his jaw. "Like I said, she's too young and innocent for someone like me."
"Can I help?"
"You've got your hands full chasing after dead bodies. I'll work this out."
"If I get anything new on Holic's replacement, I'll give you a call."
"It's a date."
She would stay until the weekend and then disappear. She'd been at Moon's house almost a month and it was past time she move out. Her ankle had mended, and Moon had removed the stitches one night after he had made her drink three glasses of wine.
Prisca stepped out of the shower, glanced down at her leg. She would always have a scar, but Vic had done the best he could.
She needed to get back to her old life, back on the trail of Jacy Madox and Bjorn Odell. But it wouldn't be easy to leave Moon's cabin. She had slipped into a routine. She had become comfortable living with him. That sounded crazy, but the longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave.
She was more than attracted to him. Looked forward to seeing him each morning. Sharing kitchen duties, and caring for the animals. She'd even ventured out to the barn and had made friends with his horse, Pete.
It was infatuation, she told herself. Moon had become her lifeline, and he was as dependable as cement. She'd had that with Otto, too, but this was different.
Moon was different.
She dried off with a towel and then slipped on a pair of jeans and a black sweater. Towel-drying her hair, she opened the door. The smell of fresh bread told her that Moon was in the kitchen. She smiled in anticipation of seeing him, knowing how she would find him---he was as comfortable doing dishes as he was chopping wood for the fireplace.
He didn't look like the cooking type, but he had more skills than any man she knew, and more energy---he did more in one day than most people did in a week.
Weeko scurried by and disappeared into her bedroom. She followed, speaking to the raccoon like an old friend. That was the problem. She was getting too comfortable here. She was forgetting who she was, and in a frightening way it felt good.
The phone rang and she heard Moon's heavy voice as he answered it. She entered the hall again after slipping on shoes. She was still using the towel on her hair when she entered the kitchen.
He looked up, but he didn't smile. He was arguing with whoever had called.
"I don't think that's a good idea. I'll have to see. She wouldn't want to come. It's not the kind of place she would enjoy. Sure, I'll mention it, but I don't think you'll see us there."
When he hung up the phone, he swore.
Pris was about to ask who it was---rarely did he get any calls---but he answered her question before she asked it.
"That was Tate. It's his birthday today. He's having a party at the Sun Dance. He wants us to come."
Us...
"I told him you wouldn't want to go."
"Why wouldn't I?"
He frowned. "Because it's a bar. Loud music. Drinking. People acting crazy."
"You don't want to go?"
He hesitated.
"I've been in this house for weeks. It would be fun to get out."
"So you want to go?"
She had only met Tate twice. Both times he'd come to Moon's house, but he hadn't stayed long. He was a full-blooded Blackfeet Indian with a long braid down his back. Moon had explained that his mother had been married once before she'd married his father. That Tate's father had died in a hunting accident when Tate was a few years old.
He was looking at her, still waiting for an answer. "You can go by yourself if you don't want to take me."
That gave him pause. "Why wouldn't I want to take you? I just thought---"
"I wouldn't fit in. That's okay. I understand."
"You don't understand anything," he grumbled. "Would you let me finish?"
"Okay. What's the problem?"
"Tate's parties usually end up turning into a bar fight. I don't want you anywhere near that."
His answer surprised her. She recalled him telling her about his days with the Hell's Angels. About his wild brother Tate, and their even wilder escapades.
"I have you to protect me, right?"
He just looked at her. She'd caught him doing that a lot. Studying her as if he was trying to see inside her head. Read her thoughts.
"This is a hard-party crowd."
"Maybe I'm a party girl."
He snorted. "I don't think so, honey."
Honey...
He'd called her that a few times over the past weeks, and like now, after he'd used the word, he was frowning.
"Call him back and tell him we're coming. And don't forget to ask what time." Pris headed past him toward the fresh bread on the counter, tossing the towel on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "Can I have a piece?"
"You know you don't have to ask. You can have whatever you want."
"And the peanut butter. What cupboard again?"
"Top right. You sure about this? You want to go to Tate's party?"
"I'm sure."
Prisca found the peanut butter, then sliced the heel off the bread. When she left Moon's home she would miss his fresh bread, and the wonderful smells that he created in his kitchen. She would miss his jeans hugging his hips, and the way his flannel shirts outlined his strong shoulders and sturdy back. But mostly she would miss his generosity and the way his deep voice always turned soft when he spoke to her. How he dragged out the word honey.
He said it as if she was important to him. As if he really cared about her.
Six hours later they were on the road headed for the Sun Dance Saloon. She had pulled her black hair back from her face, and put on a little makeup, which had gotten her a second look.
When they parked in front of the Sun Dance Saloon, she looked over the building. It was rustic, similar to Moon's log cabin. The parking lot was full, and she could hear music coming from inside.
They got out of Moon's black pickup. He ushered her up the steps and into a smoke-filled entry, then into a mix of partygoers. She had never been to a place where the stools lining the bar were made out of saddles. Where pool tables were as important as tables and chairs.
The crowd was laughing, all enjoying the music and the drink in their hands.
Moon was right. She was no party girl. She had lived a sheltered life with her mother, only seeing her father a few times a year. She'd never been allowed to go to bars, or parties with the local kids in her neighborhood. She'd only sneaked out a few times, but even then she'd never done anything that could be labeled as wild or reckless.
Even her travels with Otto had been structured and uneventful. Work trips had taken her to cities she had never seen before, except from a rooftop, or a ten-story window.
To say that she was excited about the evening was an understatement. The rowdy music made her smile and the anticipation of what the evening would bring made her forget about what would come in the days ahead.
A night of fun...what could it hurt?
When Tate saw them he dismounted a saddle at the bar. A beer in hand, he came toward them smiling.
"Hey, beautiful, I guess I owe you a dance for saying yes and getting my little brother to show up. Thought he was going to sit this one out."
Tate was thick-shouldered wearing jeans and cowboy boots, once again his hair braided halfway down his back. He was shorter than Moon, and not in as good shape---but there was a vague resemblance, even though Moon's features were softer, and his skin lighter.
If she had to choose between them she would pick Moon, but then she'd seen him in his home, and with his animals. It wasn't just his good looks that had attracted her to him.
He made her feel good, feel things she'd never felt before.
She reached for the beer Tate offered her, but before she could take it, Moon intercepted it. "She's not old enough to drink, Tate."
"You don't know that."
"I know," Moon insisted.
She wasn't, but the idea of having a drink was also exciting. She had liked the taste of the wine Moon had given her the night he had taken the stitches out of her leg.
"Maybe I'm old enough," she said.
"Or not." Moon gave her a look, then led her to the bar. He said to the man behind it, "Rusty, she'll have a soda. Anything else touches her lips, and you and I will be going head to head outside."
"Whatever you say, Moon."
Pris watched the grinning man behind the bar set a can of soda on the bar. Moon put his hands on Prisca's waist and picked her up and sat her astride a saddle while Tate's friends gathered around.
Pris assessed her surroundings. The log ceiling was low, lit by hanging lanterns. There were pictures of horses in rough wood frames hanging on the walls. The floor was covered in wood chips and peanut shells.
Tate sat beside her and leaned in, as Moon stood close behind her. He was hovering like a parent, one hand on the saddle a few inches from her butt.
"Well, honey, what do you think of our home away from home?" Tate asked.
Pris didn't understand at first.
"You know, my party palace."
"I like it. I've never seen a place like this."
"That you remember," Moon added, his voice lacking enthusiasm.
Tate emptied his beer bottle and flagged Rusty for another. While Pris sipped her soda, Moon slowly nursed his beer as though he had a sore throat. He had told her he used to drink a lot, but it looked like that had changed.
Suddenly Tate asked, "How about that dance, Alun?"
"She hasn't been walking on her ankle all that long, Tate, so I don't think---"
"I'd love to." Pris butted in, deciding if she was going to have any fun at all she was going to have to speak up.
She ignored the scowl Moon gave her as Tate stood and lifted her out of the saddle. He led her onto the dance floor while a fast dance was just ending. The next one was a slow song, a Western ballad, and to her surprise, Tate was as good at dancing as he was at drinking. She went into his arms willingly and worked to keep her body in time with the music. He whispered that she was pretty, thanked her for coming, and she smiled up at him.
They danced another slow dance and then the music changed and Tate was twirling her around and she was laughing and loving it.
Her ankle began to hurt, but she didn't want to stop. But then Moon appeared just as the song was ending. He said, "You're favoring your ankle."
"Just a little," she said, "but I'm okay."
"You won't be in the morning. Come on. Sit down a while."
"Hell, Moon, let her have a little fun. Who appointed you her daddy?"
"I did. You got a problem with that?"
"What crawled up your ass, Little Brother? Loosen up."
Pris felt the crowd's eyes on them and she knew she needed to do something. "I am a little tired, Tate. I'll sit for a while."
"Only if you want to. Don't do it for him."
"It's for me," she promised and headed off the dance floor to return to her seat at the bar.
Before she could climb back onto the saddle, Moon said, "I'll get Tate off your back. Stay put, I won't be long."
She opened her mouth to protest, but Moon was gone before she could say a word. She watched as he met his brother halfway between the dance floor and the bar. He grabbed Tate by the front of his shirt and pulled him toward the door and they walked out.
She was about to get up when Rusty said, "I'd do what Moon says, if I were you. He's got a trigger temper."
"No, he doesn't," she argued.
"Trust me, it's best if you stay put."
He winked and she decided to do what he said. She saw Moon's beer sitting on the bar, and she snatched it up and took a large swallow. She'd never had beer before, and she expected to like it as well as she had the wine. She didn't, but she took another gulp, then another. Determined to try again.
There was less than an inch in the bottom when Moon walked back through the door. She quickly slid the bottle to the side, and picked up her soda.
When he reached the bar, he again leaned in. He glanced at his beer. Then her.
"We're going."
"But we haven't even been here an hour."
"It's past your bedtime."
"Very funny."
"I'm not trying to be." He reached for her and she slapped his hand away.
"I don't want to go."
"I'm leaving, and I'm your ride."
"I'm sure your brother will bring me home if I ask."
He stared at her a moment, then said, "Have it your way."
She watched him back away. She didn't believe for one minute that he would leave her, but that's what he did, just stopping long enough to say a few more words to Tate, who stood in the entry with a scowl on his face.
She saw Tate look at her as Moon spoke to him, and then Moon left, not even looking back.
Pris scrambled off the stool and hurried to the door. She said happy birthday to Tate, kissed his cheek, then hurried out the door. The pickup was gone, and she scanned the parking lot. He was pulling out, headed for the stop sign to get back on the road. She cut across the lot, ran on her sore ankle to catch him before he drove off.
She darted in front of his headlights. Hands on her hips, she was determined not to move. As though they were in a standoff, he sat with the engine idling while she stood her ground. When she heard him put the vehicle in Park, she rounded the hood and climbed into the passenger side.
He didn't say anything, and neither did she. They drove home with him smoking one cigarette after the other, while she stared out the window.
He had acted like an overprotective jealous ass, and Jacy could count the number of times he'd played that role---damn few. And yet he'd played the role like a pro tonight.
He pulled into the driveway, knowing no amount of explaining would fix it. What would he say? You're mine, and I don't want any other man's hands on you?
The truth was, she wasn't his. Even though he'd come to think of her in that way over the past weeks, he would be the first to admit the feeling was unfounded.
She was ahead of him when they reached the house. He opened the door, and she stepped inside. The fire crackling in the living room gave off enough light to see, and she stopped behind the couch. So he didn't say or do something stupid and compound the problem, he headed past her, intending to go to bed.
"Wait a minute."
He turned but didn't say anything.
"You're just going to leave it like this?"
She had her hands on her narrow hips, her jeans outlining her curves. She was the most beautiful woman at the Sun Dance tonight, and he'd heard countless comments to that effect all night. He'd nodded and agreed, then had reminded one and all who she'd come with. Outside he'd told Tate to back off; that he was going to take his head off if he touched her again.
Tate had looked at him like he'd lost his mind, then said, "In the old days, Little Brother, we always shared everything."
"Not this one, we're not. So find a new dance partner," he'd said.
It was getting harder and harder to ignore his feelings for her, and still he had no intentions of doing anything about it, or putting her out of his house.
Hell, if she wanted to leave, he wouldn't let her. Where would she go?
He said, "It's been a long day, and it's late."
"I want an explanation. I want to know what happened. What did you say to Tate outside? Why did you change?"
"Change?"
"You know what I mean. I've never seen you that way before. You acted like... I have a father."
"If you do, where the hell is he? You've been here over a month, and no one's come looking. Not one inquiry."
"That doesn't give you the right to step into his shoes."
"You're right. It won't happen again." He turned to continue down the hall.
"That's it?"
"Go to bed. If something is still bothering you in the morning, we'll discuss it then."
"If it's still bothering me in the morning that would mean I didn't sleep. How fair is that?"
Jacy kept walking, ambling down the hall favoring his knee. He heard her coming after him. She bolted into his room ahead of him.
"Okay, I drank some of your beer, when you told me I couldn't have any. But---"
"Go to bed."
Instead of doing what he said, she crossed the room and made herself comfortable on his bed, propping his pillow, and scooting back up against the headboard. She crossed her arms.
"I like your brother. He's nice."
Jacy leaned against the doorjamb. "Then you should have stayed and partied with him. He agreed to bring you home."
"You asked him?"
"I thought that's what you wanted."
"He's a good dancer."
"Tate spends a lot of time enjoying life."
"But not you."
"At the end of our ride with the Hell's Angels we chose different, is all. I was sick of partying. It was time to move on."
"I'm sorry I ruined your evening. I should have stayed home."
Home... "It's getting late. Goodnight."
"Not really, but if you need your sleep, I guess I'll leave you to it." She scooted off the bed. "Goodnight, Moon."
She started past him. He should have let her go, but the look she'd given him when she'd said she was sorry doubled his guilt. He reached out and took hold of her arm to stop her. She looked up, her beautiful eyes reeling him in like a sucker on a hook, and that's all it took for him to forget the promise he'd made himself the first week she'd moved in.
"Was there something else you wanted to say?"
He pulled her close, then said, "After I kiss you, you're going to walk out of here and go to bed. Promise me?"
"I promise."
The kiss wasn't what she'd expected. It far surpassed anything she had imagined in her nightly dreams. Her insides turned to mush, and her head spun. Her heart raced, and her knees went weak.
Paralyzed in the moment, Prisca didn't move. She didn't raise her arms to touch him, or become a clinging vine, though all she wanted was to be swept up in his arms. She just stood and allowed him to take her mouth.
His lips were firm and warm. Experienced. But then she'd known they would be. He'd told her about the gang of bikers he used to ride with, had mentioned the names of women who had ridden on the back of his bike.
Da, she had wanted this kiss for a long time, even though she knew she shouldn't. She was only days away from leaving.
His arms went around her, and he pulled her against him. She went willingly, anxious now for the fantasy. She felt as if she was floating, lost and found at the same time.
He deepened the kiss and she parted her lips. He pressed for more intimacy, and his tongue moved past her teeth. She'd never been kissed this way before, but she wanted whatever he would give her. Wanted to be wanted in the way a man wants a woman.
His hands rubbed her back, slid to her backside. She shivered and wanted more. He was so wonderfully strong, and it felt so good to be there.
It was over with a sudden finality. He stopped kissing her at the same time he set her away from him.
"Now go to bed."
Pris wanted to protest, but she'd made a promise. If this was all there was going to be between them, she would have to accept that. Not happily, but she wasn't willing to play another kind of game with Moon. He was too important to her, and she'd been forced to lie to him too many times already. The kiss had been real, too wonderful to cheapen by using her body to trap him into more than he wanted to give.
She headed out the door, didn't look back. She walked down the hall, entered her room and closed the door. She leaned against it a moment and touched her tingling lips. After a time, she stripped off her clothes and found his flannel shirt. She would sleep in it tonight and pretend he was beside her. She would dream of the kiss and the feel of him. Dream that this was the beginning of something wonderful instead of the end.
Pris tossed and turned for more than an hour, but finally she fell asleep. Her dream came soon after, but it wasn't the kiss and Moon that filled her thoughts. It was Otto. He was standing in the doorway, his eyes judging her as he held a gun out to her and demanded that she come with him. Reminded her that they had a job to do. Reminded her of the promise she had made to him and her father.
She fought the dream, rejected it and Otto's demand. She told him no, that she would not come with him. But he wouldn't go away. His image lingered, his hand still holding the gun out to her.
Take it...take it, Miss Pris.
She woke up with a start, sitting up quickly. Feeling as though she was being choked, she clutched her throat as fear squeezed the breath out of her. She struggled to breathe. Blinked awake, panting.
She felt a presence in the room, saw her door was open.
The hall light was on and someone was standing in the doorway. Oh, God, Otto had come for her.
"No!"
He moved toward the bed, and she suddenly knew it wasn't Otto.
"Moon?"
"You were talking in your sleep. You all right?"
He was bare from the waist up, his jeans riding low, unzipped as if he'd pulled them on in a hurry.
"Yes...no."
"Which is it?"
"I'll be fine in a minute."
"A dream?"
"More like a nightmare."
"Remember something?"
Pris squeezed her eyes shut. "No."
"You sure?"
She nodded. Hugged herself.
He sat down beside her on the bed. "Cold?"
"A little."
"I'll get you another blanket."
"No, don't. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
He touched her cheek, brushed her hair away from her face. "Go back to sleep."
"I can't. Not yet."
"I can't sleep either."
"Why?"
"You know why."
She scooted closer, said softly, "I'm going to kiss you, and then I want you to leave and go back to your room. Promise me?"
But before he could open his mouth to answer, Pris leaned in and pressed her lips against his. She was a quick study, and she mimicked his moves from hours earlier, sending her tongue into his mouth to play and tease and drive him crazy as he'd done to her.
When she backed off, he stood slowly, said, "Goodnight."
"You don't have to leave. You didn't promise."
He angled his head, looked down at her. "You know what you're doing, right? Where this will lead if I stay?"
"I know."
"Then say it. Say what you're thinking. What you want."
"I want you to stay with me. Sleep with me. Kiss me, and wherever that leads...I want that, too."
"I'm not here looking to work off a hard-on. I didn't come in here to---"
"You were worried about me. Yes, I know. Because you care about me. I care about you, too. Tonight, while I was dancing with Tate, I wanted it to be you."
He didn't say anything for a long several seconds. "I wish I knew your age."
"I'm old enough to know that this feeling is real."
He sat back down on the bed. "I don't want you to regret this, honey."
"How could I regret something that I've been dreaming about for weeks?" she whispered, then leaned forward and kissed him again.
He moaned low in his throat, then answered the kiss with one of his own. The smoldering heat ignited, sealing both of their fates.
As more kisses were exchanged, Pris was careful not to make any promises that she couldn't keep. She still intended to leave at the end of the week.
She watched as Moon rose from the bed. For a moment she wasn't clear whether he was going to stay or leave. Then he said again, "You're sure this is what you want?"
"Da, it's what I want," she said.
Then, to assure him it was, she pulled off the shirt, making herself vulnerably naked.
Koko rose around midnight. She hadn't been able to sleep and so she had made a cup of tea, then went to sit in the rocker.
A vision visited her soon after, a vision unlike the others. She saw no danger, no one in trouble and in need of help. No reason for her to leave the cabin in the dead of night.
This vision was sweet. The scent of cinnamon from the tea filled her senses and she felt a strong poignant peace in the air.
She closed her eyes and let the vision strengthen and take shape. It circled her in warmth, and she smiled with the knowledge that something beautiful was on the horizon---two lost souls becoming one.
The vision set her heart at ease, and settled the burden of uncertainty that had been troubling her sleep for weeks.
She was always careful with the gift she'd been given. The creator knew what was best, and she had always believed her purpose on earth was to aid his will.
Koko sipped her tea as the vision drifted on the cool evening air within the cabin. When it began to fade, she went back to bed and slept better than she had in weeks.
She was beautifully naked, and he was on fire to touch her. He needed to go slow, she was young...and so damn hot he was afraid that slow wasn't going to be an option.
"Is something wrong?"
"What?"
She pulled the shirt back over her naked breasts. "You've seen me before. I thought--- Never mind. Go. I've changed my mind."
"No, you haven't." Jacy sat back down on the bed.
"Yes I have. Go away."
"This is about thinking you're too thin." He reached for her and she tried to pull away. He wouldn't let her. He jerked the shirt away from her and tossed it off the bed.
"Let me go."
He slid his hand around her neck, and forced her face close. "I want you, you have no idea how damn much. You're perfect, do you hear?"
Then he kissed her---kissed her as he pulled her against him. Her naked warmth touched his bare chest and he groaned. Pulled her tighter to him.
He let his hand glide over her, aching to touch every inch of her. He heard her suck in her breath, her own hands circling his back.
Jacy dragged in a ragged breath, moved his lips over her jaw to her smooth soft neck. "I've wanted to touch you for so long," he confessed, "for you to touch me."
He eased her down on the mattress. He knew nothing about her, not even her name, but it didn't matter. All he wanted was to hold her and make love to her. To satisfy the beast that had been raging inside him for weeks. The beast that had made him jealous of his own brother.
He stretched out beside her and drew her close, the contact sending his erection damn near out of his pants. He groaned again with the thought of burying himself inside her.
He cupped her bare ass, rolled her to the side to bring her fully against him. Her sweet lips touched his shoulder. Her hair brushed his cheek, pulled him further down the road of no return.
"You feel so damn good, honey. Make me feel so good."
"Are you sure you like the way I look?"
She had to be kidding. He pulled back to look at her. "Should I tell you what I first thought that day on the mountain when I saw you?"
"Yes."
"I thought you were perfect. The face of an angel with the most beautiful rosy nipples I'd ever seen. That day I had a hard time keeping my mind on your injuries."
"A confession of the soul," she whispered, smiling up at him. "I like that."
"You have anything to confess?"
"I do. It wasn't the cold that made me shiver all the way down the mountain riding on your horse. It was the feel of your arms around me. And each day since, I've imagined what it would be like to be kissed and touched by you."
Jacy grinned. "And here I thought you liked me because I can cook."
"That, too," she teased, biting his chin gently. "Tonight you stole my breath when you kissed me. Kiss me again, Moon."
Jacy let her go and got off the bed. He removed a condom from his back pocket and laid it on the nightstand, then shoved his jeans to the floor, knowing her eyes were watching him the entire time.
He had no idea how much experience she'd had with other men, and at the moment he didn't care. It would be just them in this bed. Not the past---hers or his.
He dropped his good knee to the bed and leaned forward. Another kiss, then he was pulling her beneath him.
She arched her back, accepted his kisses, then his weight. He slid down her body to admire her firm sweet breasts with his mouth. Then her flat stomach. He stroked her legs, then the junction of her thighs.
She drew in a breath and closed her eyes, arched her back.
"Are you cold? You're shaking," he asked.
"I'm shaking because I think I've waited a lifetime for this moment. Don't stop."
With that, Moon moved back up her body, brushing his bare chest against her breasts, teasing her mouth and coaxing her into kissing him back.
"Open your legs, honey," he urged as he rolled off her to touch her there.
She moaned, then relaxed her knees.
"Beautiful," he whispered, reaching for the condom, before fitting himself between her legs.
"Look at me," he said, as he slipped inside her, wanting to see the exact moment he lit her on fire.
She did as he asked, and he began to move within her as she curled her legs around his hips and clung to him.
"Moon..."
"Yes?"
"This feels perfect," she whispered. "I've never felt anything so wonderful."
She arched her hips and drove him deeper. He heard her moan, felt her body begin to spasm around him.
Reborn, was the word that came to mind, Jacy thought. To speak of love would be foolish. Reckless, and he'd stopped being a wild reckless Hell's Angel years ago. But something beyond his control had taken over his body and his mind. It was the only explanation he had for feeling the earth move when he climaxed inside sisttsi nan, and two lost souls became one.
When Pris woke up Moon was no longer beside her. It was early, but light was shining through the window. She climbed out of bed, picked up his flannel shirt off the floor where he'd tossed it the night before and slipped it on before she left the room.
In the hall she smelled bacon frying, and smiled on her way to the bathroom. Minutes later, feeling lighthearted, she entered the kitchen wearing only the red flannel shirt and a pair of baby-blue panties.
Moon was busy at the stove, and she sneaked up behind him, then wrapped her arms around his waist to hug him from behind.
There was no reaction of surprise. He simply covered her hands with one of his as he continued to scramble the eggs in the pan. "Careful, honey. I don't want you getting burnt."
"How did you know I was behind you?"
"I've got eyes in the back of my head." He removed the pan from the burner, then turned, his eyes searching hers as he pulled her against him. "Good morning. How do you feel?"
"I'm feeling...happy."
"Happy?"
"Da, happy. And how are you feeling?"
"Happy will do for me, too. A little tired. You kept me up half the night, and at six this morning Billy called."
"Billy called?"
"His crew turned up something at the crash site on the mountain. He wants me to drive over to his office in Kalispell. Want to come?"
Pris didn't know what to say. Moon's news felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped over her head---her happiness suddenly turning to worry.
She felt sick to her stomach, and she wiggled out of his arms and turned her back on him. "Did he say what they found?"
"No, but he talked as if it was significant. I'm anxious to get over there. I thought you'd like to ride along. I'll put breakfast out. How soon can you be ready?"
"I think I'll stay here." She turned back to face him. "I'm tired, too."
"Are you sure?"
Pris forced a smile. "I'm sure. It's okay, isn't it?"
"Who's Otto?"
"What?"
"You called out the name last night when you were dreaming."
"Did I?"
"Any idea?"
"None."
She hated lying to him, but she had no choice.
"What do you think about hypnosis?"
"Hypnosis? You want me to be hypnotized?"
"It can help sometimes."
Why was he suddenly pushing? Pris shook her head. "I don't think it'll work."
"We won't know if we don't try it."
"I said, no!" She had raised her voice, and now he was looking at her with a serious frown.
"Are you running from something or someone? Maybe Otto?"
"No."
"That was a pretty quick no. If you can't remember---"
"You think I'm lying?"
"What I think is that you don't seem too eager to find out who you are. As far as I can tell Alun Beltane doesn't exist. Which means you boarded in Edmonton with a fake ID."
"So now I'm a lying criminal?"
"I never said that. Come with me to Billy's office."
"No."
"Have you considered that maybe Otto is your boyfriend or husband? That you're on the run, and that's why you had a fake ID?"
"You think I'm married?"
"You're not a virgin, that was made clear last night, so maybe---"
"I'm not married."
"You know that, and yet you don't know your name, or who Otto is?"
She looked away.
"What are you afraid of?"
She started back out of the kitchen, tired of his questions. "I'm not afraid."
"Not good enough."
She spun around. "It was good enough last night when you were getting what you wanted." That said, she started to leave again.
"What about breakfast?"
"I'm not hungry. I'm going back to bed."
The minute Moon drove away, Pris pulled her bag from the closet. She had no idea what Billy had found on the mountain, but she wasn't going to stick around to find out.
She tossed the bag on the bed among the rumpled blankets and began to fill it with her lean wardrobe, all the while seeing the image of Moon lying on the bed with her. They were making love, and he was doing things to her that had never been done to her before.
It had all been so wonderful. Afterward they had talked into the night as she had snuggled close to him. He'd stroked her hair, his touch gentle, so sensitive to her needs that she had wanted to cry. He had made love to her twice more throughout the night, and each time had been as magical as the first.
She would have to leave it all behind her. After all, it was a fairy tale she'd known couldn't last.
Her leg and ankle were almost as strong as before the accident. There was no reason to stay. Billy's call had just reminded her of that.
As she carried her pack into the living room, Pris glanced around. She would miss this place. All the warm colors and cozy comfort. But most of all she would miss Moon.
It was natural, she supposed, to fall in love with him. She had spent every day with him for five weeks. She'd learned what made him laugh and what fueled his temper. How he liked his eggs, and, as of last night, what turned him on.
Prisca picked a green plaid flannel shirt off the back of the couch. It was the one he had been wearing in the kitchen while making breakfast. She brought it to her nose, sniffed. The shirt smelled of wood smoke, and Moon's aftershave. She unzipped her bag and stuffed the shirt inside, then walked into the kitchen. She brushed her fingers over the spines of his cookbooks, glanced around at the baskets hanging from the ceiling on iron hooks, and the colorful Indian rug in front of the stove.
With a heavy heart, she picked up the phone and dialed the Sun Dance Saloon inquiring as to where she might find Tate Youngblood. The waitress who answered seemed to know where she could find him. Pris relayed her message, and hoped Tate would respond quickly.
She didn't want to call Koko's cabin. The older woman was as cunning as Matwau, and as wise as an owl. If she sensed something was wrong, she would be knocking at the door within the hour.
Out of necessity she had spoken too many untruths. She wanted to avoid another lie to Moon's grandmother. Koko had saved her life. She owed her a debt of gratitude that could never be repaid.
Koko's kindness reminded her of her mother, and a wave of guilt washed over her. How could she forget her mother's fate so easily? How could she have been so self-serving these past weeks?
Yes, it was past time to leave the cabin and renew the search for the men responsible for cutting her mother's life short. No matter how much she wanted to stay here in Moon's arms, he was not the reason she had come to Montana.
She had come to find Jacy Madox and kill him.
Pris had rehearsed what she planned to say to Tate when he arrived. As he came through the front door, she opened her mouth, then hesitated when she saw that he was more than a little hung over. He'd buttoned his coat wrong, and his fly was open.
She asked, "The party went well?"
"It's still going on inside my gut. Does Moon have any tomato juice in the fridge?"
"I can check. Come in and sit down."
Tate followed her in the kitchen. "Where's he at? Noticed his pickup's gone."
"He had an errand to run in Kalispell."
Tate pulled out a chair at the table and eased into it with a solid groan. "What's this about you needing my help? With what?"
Prisca returned to the table with a glass of tomato juice and set it in front of him. "I have a favor to ask you, Tate."
He frowned, his expression one of confusion. But then this morning it wouldn't have taken much. His eyes were bloodshot, and, as he shrugged out of his coat, she saw that his sweater was on backward.
"What kind of favor?"
"I've come to care a lot about your brother."
"Moon cares for you, too. He almost kicked my ass last night for asking you to dance. It's been a while since I've seen him that pissed." Tate grinned. "So you really like him?"
"I do." Pris felt her cheeks grow warm.
"And this favor, is it going to put my ass in double jeopardy?"
It probably would, Pris thought. But Tate was an ex-Hell's Angel. He looked more than capable of taking care of himself.
"I think I need my own space. Just until I know who I am. It's the only fair thing to do. That's why I want you to help me leave here today."
Tate was taking another sip of juice. He set down the glass. "Leave?"
"Yes."
"I could see where you might think that would be best, but trust me, Moon wouldn't think so. Whatever happens down the road, he can handle it. What you've seen these past weeks is only the tip of what he's about."
"Still, I need to do this."
He didn't look like he was going to help her. He'd slumped over the table, and was making a noise that sounded very much like a dying animal. Pris used the words Moon had spoken earlier, hoping they would shock Tate into getting behind her.
"What if I have a husband out there somewhere? Children?"
The word husband jerked Tate upright, and he almost lost his balance and fell off the chair. "A husband? You got a husband and kids?"
"That's just it, I don't know. I don't know anything about who I am. I keep seeing a man's face in my dreams. I need to make sure he's no one important." More lies, Pris thought, but she forced herself to go on. She had to be gone before Moon got back. "So you'll help me, right? I just need to go somewhere and think this through. Not too far away."
He scratched his head. "When do you want to do this? Leave?"
"As soon as you finish your juice. I'm already packed."
"We missed it because the snow covered up the fresh dig," Billy said. "We would never have found it if I hadn't sent a couple of the boys up there with a metal detector."
There was a camera bag on Billy's desk, but it was the contents spread out around it that held Jacy's interest---a disassembled Austrian Steyr AUG. It wasn't the kind of gun you'd find down at Ronny's Gun Shop in Browning. This was an assault weapon used by armies, agencies and...assassins.
"You haven't reported this yet, right?"
"No. I called you first. Wanted to see what you made of it before I called in the authorities. I've never seen anything like it, have you?"
Jacy had seen similar snipers. And he knew the history behind this one. The initials engraved in the night-vision scope confirmed that.
"For now I'm going to have to confiscate this, Billy."
"You can't do that, Moon. I got a report to write, and---"
"Stall your report, and send your recovery team on vacation."
"What? You're not making any sense."
"I'll explain later, Billy." Jacy dropped the dismantled rifle and the camera gear back into the bag, then swung it onto his shoulder. Anxious to get back to the cabin, he said, "Not a word to anyone, or you could end up on a slab at the morgue."
"You threatening me, Moon?"
Jacy stopped in the doorway and looked back. "We're friends, Billy, and a man doesn't stab his friends in the back. And they don't send them off a cliff without a safety net, either. Your safety net is not having this in your office. And bury that report for now."
"So this is serious. You gonna call that big-time boss of yours in Washington?"
Bill was one of the few in the area who knew Jacy had worked for Onyxx.
"That's right. This is government business, and I'll handle it. So sit tight and play dumb. You don't know anything. Say it."
"I don't know anything."
Jacy drove back to East Glacier pushing the speed limit. The assassin they were looking for wasn't a man, it was a woman. She'd been under his nose the entire time. He'd been sharing his home with her. He'd been living with his enemy.
Worse, he'd slept with her. Been inside her...
He'd made love to Holic's replacement, and this morning when she'd entered the kitchen he'd been making plans for more of the same.
Merrick's warning the night Marty's plane had gone down resurfaced, and Jacy went over the conversation in his mind. Merrick had reminded him that he was on the kill-file list---a target whether he was retired or not.
What he didn't understand was how, with her injuries, she'd managed to bury the bag at the crash. Or why he was still alive, for that matter.
If she wanted him dead, she'd had plenty of opportunity. Unless she was telling the truth about her memory loss. That would explain why he was still breathing and why a second assassin had taken over the kill-file mission for Holic. There were now six dead, but only the first two had had Holic's signature shot.
It was hard to believe that a young woman could own such a keen eye and steady aim, but today he'd learned that nothing was impossible.
He saw a pair of tire tracks in the driveway when he parked in front of the cabin. He got out and checked the tracks, recognized them immediately.
What the hell had Tate come by for? Knowing his brother's routine---Tate didn't get out of bed before three in the afternoon---Jacy felt suddenly uneasy. He returned to his pickup and snagged the camera bag, then the handgun he kept in the glove compartment.
He ignored the pain that shot through his knee and took the steps two at a time. When he opened the door with his gun drawn, he knew she was gone. There was no music playing, something that had been a constant since she'd found his CD collection. And Matwau was sprawled on the couch next to the blanket that she liked to curl up with in front of the fire.
He wished he hadn't told her that Billy had turned up something. The news had made her uncomfortable. He had noticed that right away.
Had it made her run?
If she was running then there was a good chance she'd lied about her memory loss.
He went through the house in a rush, searching every room. But the house was empty.
He entered his office and laid his gun and camera bag down on his desk. He flipped a number of switches on a computer, then sat down and punched in the code that would bring up the file he had on Holic Reznik. He scrolled down, and began to read, found the data on Holic's wife.
He scanned the material.
Holic and Mady Reznik had had one child. She was nineteen years old. She had black hair, brown eyes, weighed one hundred and ten pounds and stood five feet seven inches.
He pointed the blinking arrow to the first blank picture square and waited. When it came up, he saw Mady Reznik---a slight blond of average height. He moved on to the second picture, waited for it to materialize.
She was standing outside in the snow, wearing black pants and a black sweater, a black stocking cap pulled low over her ears and forehead. Tall black leather boots hugged her slender legs. She held a German PSG-1 Sniper, and behind her in the foreground of the Austrian Alps was a firing range.
"Bull's-eye," Jacy spoke, not particularly happy with his discovery, but resigned. "Prisca Reznik."
His houseguest finally had a name.
"I'm going to pull in to Browning and pick up the mail. You mind?"
Pris shook her head. She was just glad to be on the way. It had been harder to leave Moon's house than she had imagined it would be. She'd said goodbye to the animals with tears in her eyes.
"That's fine, Tate. Feeling better?"
"Not much, but you sure are pretty company for a sour belly."
She had explained to him that she wanted him to drive her farther north. A place where she could be alone to think. He'd suggested a place called Cut Bank.
He turned into the post-office lot. "This will only take a few minutes. Whoever's in town usually picks up the mail, and that's usually me, if I'm thinking straight."
He grinned, then pointed across the street to a small bar. Pris smiled back, remembering what Moon had said last night about the difference between him and his brother. Tate enjoys life. I chose different.
She wondered what he'd meant by that. It was true he was much more serious than his brother. In fact, he acted as though he was the older of the two.
"Whatever you have to do," she said, anxious to be on their way.
He got out of the pickup and went inside the post office, leaving his cell phone on the seat. Pris picked it up and shut it off, then laid it back down. She didn't want to take any chances. If Moon got back early he might try to call his brother before she was safely away.
A few minutes later Tate was back, climbing into the cab, tossing the mail on the dash. He backed out quickly, and as he pulled into the nearby gas station, the mail slid off the dash and onto the floor next to her feet. As he left to gas up the truck, she picked up the mail. She hadn't intended to snoop, but as she began to collect the mail she made a startling discovery. Two of the envelopes were addressed to J. M. Madox.
She checked the rest of the mail. Scanned the addresses. Koko Blackkettle and Tate Youngblood had the same post-office box, but the other two pieces of mail had been addressed to a separate box number.
Pris gripped her stomach as a sick wave of nausea washed over her. She tossed the mail back on the dash as if it had burned her, and sat there staring at it for a minute.
No, she thought. It can't be true. They couldn't be the same person. Moon couldn't be Jacy Madox. But if the letters J.M. weren't damning enough, why would Tate have access to Jacy Madox's post-office box?
Tate had gone inside to pay for the gas. Pris opened the pickup door. She couldn't breathe, and then she couldn't swallow. She was afraid she was going to pass out.
It had started to snow, and she climbed out into the weather on unsteady legs. Shaking, she doubled over and wretched.
Jacy arrived at Koko's cabin needing to speak to Tate. He'd called his brother's phone a dozen times, and damn it, Tate had his phone shut off. He had hoped to find him home, but as he pulled into the driveway he saw his brother's pickup was gone.
"I didn't expect to see you today," Koko said as she greeted him at the door.
"Where's Tate?"
"I don't know. He got a call earlier and left before noon. I think it was that cute waitress at the Sun Dance."
"And you haven't heard from him since?"
"No. But that's not unusual. What's wrong? You look like you've had your feet kicked out from under you. How about a cup of coffee?"
"I'll pass on the coffee, but I would like to talk to you about the vision."
His grandmother frowned. "Which one?"
"The plane crash. The night you left and went up on the mountain. Tell me what you saw. Everything."
"What is it, Moon? Have you learned something about sisttsi nan?"
"Sit down."
"All right." She sat at the table, and Moon pulled out the chair across from her. "Start at the beginning and don't leave out anything. From the time you saw the vision until the time you reached the plane."
"I don't see why this is important, but if---"
"It's important."
Koko got up and poured a cup of coffee, then tea for herself. "Here, you look like you could use this." When she was back in the chair, her thin sweater wrapped around her frail shoulders, she said, "I saw the fire first. A ball of flames on the mountain. It called to me and I packed a bag and left. I wasn't sure where to go, but I let the smell lead me."
"The smell?"
"I could smell it burning, and I knew it wasn't a wood fire. This was stronger, hotter. On the mountain I saw the flames."
"When you found her, was she conscious?"
"No."
"How far from the plane?"
"What is this all about, Moon?"
"Answer me."
"She was several yards from the wreckage. I could see where she'd crawled away."
If Prisca Reznik was able to crawl from the plane, then she could have buried her bag, Moon thought.
"And she was unconscious?" he asked again.
"Yes. Marty wasn't anywhere in sight, and for a time I couldn't get close to the burning airplane."
Moon took a sip of coffee. "What did you do first?"
"I checked sisttsi nan to make sure she was alive, though I knew she would be. That's why I was there. Why the vision came to me. I was sent to help her."
"So you saw to her injuries, and then?"
"I built a fire to keep her warm."
"When did she regain consciousness?"
"Hours later."
"And she never moved. She didn't get up?"
"No. Why?"
"Do you think she was capable of digging a hole?"
The question immediately made his grandmother uneasy, and suddenly Moon knew why.
He swore, then asked, "Did you dig a hole and bury her bag?"
"The vision---"
"Did you bury her bag?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because the vision was very clear at that moment."
"Meaning?"
"I was there to help sisttsi nan, and that included protecting her as well."
Jacy swore again then stood. "So you buried the bag. That means she believes the gun was lost in the crash."
"She did not see me bury the bag."
"At least that's something."
"She's on a journey, Moon. She's searching for her purpose. We must trust the vision, and where it leads her. I planned to tell you about the bag, I just wasn't clear on when that should be."
"She came here to kill someone," Moon disclosed. "That's her purpose."
"I don't believe that. She---"
Moon sat back down. "She came here to kill me."
This time it was Koko who stood. She wrapped the edges of her sweater around her and turned to the kitchen window. "I don't see evil around her."
"Do you see evil around me, Grandmother?"
She turned from the window. "Of course not."
"And yet you know I've killed many men."
Koko looked away. "I've been a foolish old woman, issohko. I ask your forgiveness."
"You know you have it. Is there anything else I should know?"
"Just that I believe sisttsi nan would never harm you."
"Her name is Prisca Reznik, Grandmother, and she's a trained assassin. She can shoot the eye out of an eagle in the middle of a nose dive."
"What do you plan to say to her?"
"That depends on how soon I can find her. She's taken off, and I think Tate's with her."
When Jacy returned home he went back to his office and called Pierce. It was time to tell his friend who he'd been spending his days and nights with for the past five weeks.
"We have to talk," Jacy began, and then he dropped the bomb about his houseguest and what Billy had uncovered. By the time he was finished his throat was dry, and his mood had bottomed out.
"There were signs," he admitted. "I should have seen them, but I was too busy looking at her from a man's point of view."
"I'm looking at her picture as we speak. She's a beauty, all right."
"That's no excuse. I guess it's true, I'm losing my edge."
"That's crap, and you know it."
"I don't know anything right now."
"Are you saying you did more than just look at our little assassin while she was staying with you?"
Jacy wasn't prepared to answer that, but he did anyway, in a roundabout way. "I've been up here over six months, Pierce. Over half of that time in a wheelchair. What do you think?"
"Enough said. So, do you think that seducing you was part of her game, or do you think she really doesn't know who she is? That the crash is responsible for her memory loss?"
"There was no seduction. As far as her memory goes, I'm not sure yet. What reason would she have to keep me alive if she came here to kill me?"
"So you're leaning toward memory loss?"
"I don't know. Hell, she's been living in my house for five weeks. She could have killed me at any time."
"What should I tell Merrick?"
"Nothing. Not yet, anyway."
"Want me to fly out there?"
"No. I'll handle it on this end. But you could do something for me."
"What's that?"
"She spoke the name Otto. See what you can do with that."
"Will do. Keep in touch."
Jacy hung up the phone, then left the cabin. He wasn't sure how long he would be gone so he called Koko on his cell and asked her to stop by and feed the animals tomorrow. Said he'd call her and check in if he had any news about Tate.
He headed toward Heart Butte. Koko had said that Stacy, the waitress at the Sun Dance, had called Tate that morning. He would start there.
He knew it was a gamble, heading for the Sun Dance, but when he saw Tate's pickup parked out front, he almost let out a victory cry.
He parked and went inside. Tate was seated at the bar, a beer in front of him, engaged in a conversation with Stacy.
He declined a drink when she offered, then said to his brother, "You were at the cabin this morning. What for?"
Tate hesitated, then said, "Don't get the wrong idea. I wasn't there to step on your toes. We just talked."
"Talked about what?"
"You. What happened last night? Whatever went on between the two of you really upset her."
Jacy raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"I think she's in love with you, bro. She's scared about her past, worried she's gonna hurt you."
"Hurt me?"
"You know, break your heart. Don't pretend you don't care about her. You got it bad, it's all over your face."
"Where is she?"
"She asked me to take her somewhere so she could think. Try to remember who she is."
"Where, Tate?"
"I promised her I wouldn't tell you. She said she needs time away from you. I think you should give her a few days."
"There's more here than I have time to explain. I need to know where she is."
Tate frowned. "You saying she could be in some kind of trouble?"
"She's in trouble, all right. Now where did you take her?"
"Cut Bank. The Star Hotel."
Jacy turned to leave.
"You want me to go with you?"
"No."
"Then what should I do?"
"Get drunk, climb in bed and stay there for a few days."
"I can do that."
"No surprise on this end."
She was in love with the man who had helped kill her mother. The irony behind that continued to make Pris sick. She should be thrilled that she'd finally found Jacy Madox, but instead she wished she had never come to Montana.
She needed to try to separate her emotions from who and what she was. Otto had told her that thinking too much got you in trouble. But he was wrong. It was all about feeling too much, and letting your emotions rule your actions and your heart.
She tried to picture Jacy Madox as a monster, but the man she'd come to know and love was no monster.
Still, Moon and Jacy Madox were one and the same. He was the controller at Onyxx. She knew that now. She'd been in his office at the cabin. She'd seen all the equipment that made it possible.
Tate enjoys life. I chose different.
And that choice had been to become an Onyxx agent.
She should hate him. She needed to hate him.
She had to hate him.
Before Pris checked out of the Star Hotel, she tore open the lining in her bag and retrieved several thousand dollars and one of the fake IDs she had purchased in Edmonton weeks ago. Locating a phone booth, she looked for a car dealership, then walked to the address.
Numb from the cold and blowing snow, she entered the office of Thomas Auto. The place was empty except for a man who sat at a desk behind a high counter. Pris cleared her throat at the counter and the elderly man looked up.
"Can I help you, young lady?"
"I'm interested in buying a car...today."
The word today brought him out of his chair.
"Ain't been selling too many cars. Weather and all, folks around here prefer pickups. You see something special out there you like? I got---"
"I guess I shouldn't have said car." Pris turned and pointed out the window to the blue SUV in the middle of the lot. "That's what I want."
"Financing shouldn't be a problem if---"
"I plan to pay cash."
"Well that'll do just fine. Parker Thomas at your service, young lady."
He stuck out his hand and Pris shook it.
"Want to take it for a test drive?"
"No."
Pris sat on the chair he pointed to, and when Parker Thomas pulled out the paperwork, Pris pulled out her fake ID. Within a half hour Denise Gordon drove off in a blue '92 Ford Bronco, and headed south, back to East Glacier to a small hotel she had passed on her way to Cut Bank with Tate.
She wasn't sure what she was going to do yet, but she knew it would have been a mistake to stay in Cut Bank. Knowing Moo---Jacy Madox, he would beat her location out of his brother if necessary.
She had no idea what Billy had found at the crash site, or what Jacy Madox would do with the information. He had experience on his side---years of experience. But she had memorized her father's do and don't list, had watched Otto in action over the past two months. She might be a novice, but she was also a fast study.
Prisca rented a room at the Mountain View Motel using another fake ID. The place was small but clean. She didn't need much to be comfortable. All she needed was a place out of the weather.
She should never have left Otto in Vienna. That was probably her greatest regret. This would never have happened if she had stayed by his side and on schedule.
Jacy Madox's name would have eventually come up on the list, and she would have made the hit without knowing the man behind the face. She would never have felt his breath on her cheek, or known how sexy his deep voice was when he made love. How gentle his hands could be. How his lips could make a woman melt. She would never have met his family or his animals.
Never let her heart override her duty.
"Damn you," Pris whispered. "I'm Holic Reznik's daughter. My mother didn't deserve to die. I made a promise."
She curled up on the bed, determined to fall asleep. She was exhausted, and she needed to forget for a while. When she woke up she would be able to make the right decision.
The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could drive to Canada and fly back to Otto, or she could stay in Montana and face the man who had broken her heart not once, but twice.
Jacy was on his way to Cut Bank when his cell phone rang. He flipped it open and put it to his ear.
Pierce said, "I got something for you. Otto checked out. His last name is Breit. He's the son of Holic's henchman. Jakob Breit was seen leaving the cabin on Glass Mountain with Prisca Reznik the night before Holic's capture. He returned hours later and died on the mountain. You should have that in your file."
Otto Breit. The name meant nothing, but there was a connection and that's all he needed.
"See if you can find him, and when you do, let me know. I wouldn't be surprised if he isn't the second shooter."
"I've already checked out his last residency. He was living in Graz until a few months ago."
"A few months ago? Does the time frame check out?"
"It does. He moved right after the incident on Glass Mountain. About the time Reznik's daughter disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"That should be in the file, too. She was on Glass Mountain with Holic, and then Jakob Breit took her somewhere. Holic told his wife that she would never see their daughter again. We've been looking for her ever since."
"What line of work is Otto Breit in?"
"He's done everything from bar bouncer to hard labor. Odd stuff. Nothing that would single him out as an assassin."
"Maybe that's why his shots have been off their mark. He's out of his element."
"You really think he's the one who's been taking over for her while she's been there?"
"Without his partner, he's had to step up to the plate."
"Should I call Merrick now?"
"Not yet."
"But---"
"Wait a little longer."
"Wait for what?"
"Until I have her. I need to talk to her."
There was still a possibility that she didn't know who she was. That the crash had caused memory loss. Maybe he just wanted to believe that to make himself feel better. To prove that last night was real.
It had damn well felt real.
"Find Otto Breit and bring him in. I'll call you as soon as I have her."
"All right. I'll fly to Austria right away."
Jacy disconnected, and pulled into Cut Bank twenty minutes later. He located the Star Motel, and entered the office. What he learned moments later cast a dark shadow on the chance that Prisca's memory loss was genuine.
If her memory was really gone, why would she check out of her room less than an hour after she'd registered?
The town wasn't all that big, and she'd be a fool to go anywhere on foot. And what Jacy had learned in the past six hours was that Prisca Reznik was no fool. More like a cunning little bitch.
He drove around town. There were no rental cars available, but there were two auto dealers. Wondering how she would pay for a car, Jacy entered Bickford Auto. But in a matter of minutes he learned that Ray Bickford hadn't sold a car in ten days.
He left and minutes later pulled into Thomas Auto just as the open sign flicked off.
He went to the door and rapped hard. The man inside pointed to his watch, letting him know that he was closed. Jacy didn't move.
There was a standoff for a long minute, then the lean man with a bad haircut opened the door. "I'm closed, young fella. If you're looking to trade or sell, come back tomorrow."
Jacy stepped around him and entered the small office. "I'm not here for either," he said. "You sell any cars today?"
"Well, that would be my business."
Jacy's jaw jerked, and he eyed the man from beneath his weathered cowboy hat as the dealer rounded the counter.
"I'm here on official business. Answer the question."
"Just how official? You don't look like no lawman."
"You want your legs broke off at the knees, or your ribs driven through your lungs? Or the special of the day?"
"Special?"
"Two for the price of one."
The middle-aged man took a step back from the counter. "Now listen here. I---"
Jacy tipped back his Stetson, then opened up his sheepskin coat to let the man see that he was packing heat in a shoulder holster---a Colt Pony Pocketlight .380.
"A man gets tired of repeating himself," he said. "But in case you're hard of hearing, I'll ask one more time. You sell anything today?"
"I... Yes, I did. I had a '92 Bronco in the lot. Sold it about two hours ago."
"Man or woman?"
"A pretty young gal." The salesman lifted his record book onto the counter and turned it.
Jacy dropped his jacket back into place and lowered his head to the record book. The old man had sold the car to a woman by the name of Denise Gordon.
"She paid in cash," he added, suddenly looking worried. "Sixty-five hundred, plus tax."
Jacy nodded, thanked the man for his time, then limped out and got in his pickup.
She had fake ID and a cash supply. Where the hell had she come up with those?
It all came down to one thing. His houseguest had known all along who she was. She'd been lying from day one. Which meant that last night was also a lie.
The taste of betrayal cut deep, and Jacy was in a completely different state of mind when he left Cut Bank than when he'd arrived.
Merrick convinced his superiors to take a chance. They weren't in the chance business, they reminded him, but if an operation on Holic's hands would prompt him to call off his assassin, then they would authorize the surgery.
It was late when he left the meeting, too late to fly to Clume. Tomorrow he would pay a visit to Holic and give him the news. But for now he was going to spend the evening on the couch with his feet up and try not to think about work, and this no-win situation they found themselves in.
The assassin was still knocking off targets from the kill-file, the Chameleon was alive, and he wanted a drink so bad that he was ready to cave in and head out to buy a bottle.
He was about to do just that when his cell phone went off on the coffee table. Seated on the couch in his apartment, shirtless, he reached for the phone.
"Merrick here."
"It's Pierce. I know it's late, and we usually do our business in the office, but can I stop by, or can we meet somewhere?"
"If it's important you know I'll meet you. I could use something to drink."
"Okay."
"There's an all-night coffee shop around the corner. It's called the All Nighter."
"I'll be there in thirty minutes."
Merrick pulled a black sweater from a drawer in his bedroom. As he dressed, he again questioned whether he was getting too old to be chasing ghosts, and working around the clock. Onyxx had offered him another seven-year contract. He was still in good shape for fifty, he'd been reminded.
It was true. He worked out, and six months ago he'd proven that he could keep up with his men even in the field. But how long would that last?
A year ago he'd believed he was going to die. His doctor had discovered a brain tumor after he'd begun to have headaches. He'd stalled having surgery as long as he could. Six weeks ago he'd had the damn thing cut out, and his doctor had assured him he would recover completely.
He felt good, no more headaches. It looked as if he'd been given his life back; but recently he'd been thinking about retirement. Hell, if Jacy could do it, so could he. He could start over somewhere.
And do what?
Merrick slipped on his black peacoat and headed out the door. He was alive, he reminded himself, and even though the cases they were working on seemed a long way from being solved, the one thing that was certain in his life was that he knew how to do his job.
Even though they had Holic behind bars, the kill-file was still missing. This was no time to walk away. It would be admitting that the Chameleon had won.
No, he couldn't quit yet. He'd gotten a second chance at life, and a second chance to send the Chameleon to hell, personally. Quitting wasn't an option.
The Chameleon was his, and they would face off one day. If he had to wait another year or two, even five, he would.
He'd made a promise to Johanna years ago, and he would keep it. He would kill the Chameleon. For Johanna he would not walk away, no matter how long it took.
Merrick walked to the corner coffee shop, the collar of his peacoat high and his hands in his pockets. He entered the All Nighter five minutes later and ordered black coffee, then found an out-of-the-way booth to wait for Pierce.
Ten minutes later Pierce arrived wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket. He stopped at the counter, ordered coffee, then slid into the booth.
"Damn, it's cold out there tonight," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. "I thought it was supposed to warm up."
"It's winter. What do you expect?"
"A vacation somewhere warm," was Pierce's pat answer.
"What did you want to talk about?"
"I think we've identified Holic's shooter."
"We?"
"Jacy and I."
"Jacy?"
"He called. Gave me a name."
"A name?"
"Otto Breit."
"Breit?" Merrick recognized the name. "There was a Jakob Breit killed on Glass Mountain when Holic was captured. Any relation?"
"His son."
Merrick raised an eyebrow. "How did Jacy come up with that?"
"He's...been doing a little work on this for us."
Merrick knew when one of his men was sidestepping a question. "I'd like to know more."
"And I'd like to tell you, but first I want to see if I can find Otto."
"And then?"
"I'll bring him back here and we can question him."
"Why do I get the feeling that you're only telling me half of what you know?"
Pierce warmed his hands around his coffee cup. "You've always trusted me in the past, Merrick. Trust me now. If things work out, this could be wrapped up in a matter of days."
Merrick sat back. "That definitely means you have more than you're sharing."
"Forty-eight hours. That should do it, I hope."
"All right. Actually your timing is good. My superiors okayed Holic's surgery, but I'll sit on that if you think this lead is legit."
"It's pretty solid."
"I don't think it's Otto Breit. Why would Holic trust him? Bjorn says he doesn't trust anyone. It doesn't fit."
"Maybe Otto is working with a partner."
Merrick was in the middle of taking a swallow of coffee. He set his cup down. "A partner? Jacy come up with that, too?"
"Actually, he did. Like I said---"
"Who would he be working with, Pierce? I need to know all of it."
"Jacy thinks it's Holic's daughter."
Merrick suddenly remembered what Holic had told him on one of his visits to Clume. He'd said perfection had replaced perfection.
Like fine wine, it's all in the fruit and how it's taken care of while it matures on the vine.
"Hell, he was talking about his daughter." Merrick swore. "Why didn't I pick that up?"
"Because only a sick bastard would turn his child into a killer? She's only nineteen."
"Remember the tape I recorded of his conversation with me weeks ago? He said perfection had replaced perfection. He's been grooming her for this."
"I agree with you. I went back over his file. After Bjorn was in Austria, and Holic was captured, we were able to get a few pictures of his family. One of them shows Prisca Reznik on a firing range."
"She's been missing for several months." Merrick started to put it together. "We haven't been able to find her."
"The time fits. If I can hunt down Otto Breit, we might be able to force him to talk."
"She could be with him."
When Pierce didn't agree on that possibility, Merrick knew there was more he wasn't saying.
"So I've got your go-ahead to pick up Breit, if I can find him?"
"Something tells me you already know where to look."
"I do, and a plane to catch."
"When do you leave?"
Pierce finished his coffee, then looked at his watch. "I fly in an hour."
Jacy was on the phone all night. He called every motel between Cut Bank and Heart Butte, with an extended fifty miles in all directions. Many of the resort hotels were closed in the off season, so it made his job a little easier. He had trimmed the list down to sixty-four.
He finally got lucky on number fifty-eight. The Circle R---damn near in his own backyard---had a guest with a '92 blue Bronco with a license number that matched the one he'd memorized off the paperwork at Thomas Auto. The only problem was the name on the registry wasn't Denise Gordon. It was Susan Croft.
How many damn fake IDs did she own? And where the hell had she kept them while she was in his house? He'd gone through her bag and every stitch of clothes before he'd given them to her.
Jacy headed for East Glacier at eight o'clock, praying she didn't make another move before he got there. He was dog-tired, but determined to find her. He pulled up across the street from the Circle R, a two-story motel with a view of the mountains.
He scanned the lot and saw the Bronco. Deciding his tenacity had finally paid off, he got out of his pickup and settled his hat on his head.
It had snowed all night, and he ignored the drifts as he crossed the street.
He pulled his Stetson low over his eyes when he entered the motel's office. A woman stood behind the counter, and when she looked up, she smiled.
Jacy said, "I'm looking for my wife. We were supposed to meet here last night but the weather held me up. The name's Croft."
The woman looked down at the registry. Jacy leaned into the counter and followed her finger as she ran it down the short column of names. He saw the name Susan Croft halfway down the page.
"She's in number eight." She looked up, met his eyes. "We don't get much business this time a year. Only got eleven sleepers in last night."
"Number eight," Jacy repeated, then tipped his hat. "Thanks." He winked.
Her smile spread, and he left, his limp substantial. He'd been on the move since early yesterday morning, pushing himself harder than he had in months. But he wasn't about to let her slip through his fingers again. If she was in number eight, the hunt was over.
It would have been easier getting into the room if he had asked for a key, but he didn't want to raise any suspicion. He didn't need the clerk making a call to the police on a harassment call, or giving number eight a call and a heads-up.
Let her think that his wife would be anxious to see him and would greet him with open arms at the door.
Pierce located Otto Breit thirteen hours after he flew out of D.C. He'd done his homework, cross-checked his references. It had only been a few days since the last hit had been made.
Their records showed there had been at least a week to ten days between hits. Otto had three current residences, Berlin, Vienna and London. Pierce had decided to stake out the flat in Vienna since the last hit had been made in Munich. If Otto was their shooter he would want to get out of the country after the hit.
He pulled a photo from a file he'd assembled on his target and studied it. The apartment complex wasn't busy, but he kept an eye on who came and went.
Otto Breit was six feet three, had a blond crew cut, and weighed two--thirty. Pierce sat for two hours before a man fitting the description appeared on the street and headed for the apartment building. He wore a black leather coat, a gray scarf around his neck, and a gray stocking cap. But the face... Pierce picked up the photo.
Otto Breit had a memorable face. Not a good thing in this line of work, Pierce thought, as he matched the photo to the man who disappeared into the building.
He sat tight, watched and waited, scanned the windows. Minutes later a light came on in a room on the fourth floor. Otto's room faced the street. Of course it would.
Pierce got out of his rental car.
When Prisca woke up she realized she had slept for over ten hours. She'd thought she wouldn't be able to sleep at all, but when her head had hit the pillow she had passed out hard. She climbed out of bed, went into the bathroom and stripped off her bra and panties. Turning on the shower, she stepped inside, eager to feel the warm blast of water.
Five minutes turned into ten, as Pris slowly began to wake up. She leaned against the shower and let the water beat down on her. Today she would make her decision. And if she decided to stay in Montana, she would need to move again and trade the Bronco.
Thirty minutes later, wrapped in a white towel, she stepped back into the bedroom and got the shock of her life. Jacy Madox was seated in the chair by the window.
She froze in surprise, never expecting that he would find her. She'd covered her tracks. Had changed her name twice in less than six hours.
"What are you doing here?" A stupid question to ask, but it was a place to start.
"I was worried about you... Susan. Or is it Denise?"
Pris decided to bluff. "I'm not sure. I just picked the names so that..."
"So that what? I couldn't find you? Where did you get the fake IDs?"
"I...I found them."
"And the money to buy the vehicle?"
"I stole it." Prisca decided to continue to play the amnesia game. What choice did she have? "Look, I don't know who I am. Actually, I'm afraid to find out. What if I'm a bad person?"
He was standing now, his eyes slowly going over her body, reminding her that she was wearing nothing but a towel.
"How could a sweet little thing like you be bad? No, I think you're confused is all. Come here."
He had opened his arms, and if she didn't go to him he would know she was lying. Still, if she let him touch her...
"I don't think it's a good idea for you to be around me."
He dropped his hands and started walking toward her. "That's crazy. You wouldn't hurt me. Why would you? Why would you want to?"
Because you helped destroy my father and kill my mother, Prisca wanted to say. Instead, she backed up until she felt the wall behind her. He kept coming, took off his hat and tossed it into the chair. His coat came off next, and he dropped it on the floor. He had a shoulder holster strapped to him and she suddenly realized that she was no longer in the company of the man she knew only as Moon. Since yesterday, he'd turned into Jacy Madox.
"I really was worried, honey. After all, we got so close."
There was a tone of sarcasm in his words.
If he touched her she would scream. She tried to dart past him. She didn't make it. He lifted her off her feet, then dropped her on the bed. He came down on her fast, straddling her between his thighs before she could roll away.
"What are you doing?" she panted.
"I'm going to ask you some questions. I want you to answer them. I want truthful answers this time."
"But I...can't remember."
He pulled something from his back pocket. He had her fake IDs she'd secured in Canada.
"I found these in your bag while you were in the shower. In the lining of your bag, along with forty thousand dollars. Explain it to me."
"I...can't."
She twisted and tried to throw him off her, but he was rock-solid, and there was no way she was going to get him to move unless he wanted to.
She couldn't let this happen. If he learned who she was, she would be dead, just like her mother.
She went limp, as if she was giving up. She turned her head away. "Why are you doing this?"
"You know why."
She turned and looked at him. "I wish I could remember, but I---"
"The game's over."
She shook her head.
"I'm afraid so, honey. The truth is, I don't want you to be the person you are, but I can't change that, any more than you can."
Her towel had slipped open, and she saw him glance down at her bare breasts. Then suddenly he leaned forward, as if he was going to kiss her. He didn't. Instead, he whispered, "He taught you well. You fooled me...almost."
"He?"
"Holic must be very proud of you. His daughter has turned out just like him." The minute the words were out, he climbed off her.
She started to sit up, to rescue the towel, but he reached out and grabbed her arm and propelled her off the bed.
"Get dressed."
She was a good little actress, Jacy thought. A good little liar, too. But not good enough.
He rejected the innocent look she gave him, and concentrated on all the lies as he watched her grab the towel off the bed and wrap it around herself.
"I have a question for you."
"Don't bother asking. You'll get nothing from me."
"Tell me, what makes a young woman hate so much that she can pull the trigger on a man she doesn't know? Why would she want to? A better question is, what would make her do it? What did daddy say to you to make you want to do his dirty work?"
"I guess I'm just a heartless bitch."
No, as much as Jacy wanted to believe that, he didn't. He'd seen another side to her, and as many lies as she'd told, he still couldn't convict her. Not yet. There was something else going on, something he was missing.
And why did she have his shirt in her bag?
"I said, get dressed."
She picked up her pants and a sweater and started toward the bathroom.
"Right here."
"Check the bathroom. There's nothing in there."
"Right here."
She swore at him, then dropped the towel and pulled on her pants without underwear. Then the sweater.
He watched every move she made, remembering everything from two nights ago. How she'd reacted to him touching her. How she'd fallen asleep in his arms, her fingers splayed across his chest.
She turned around and looked at him. Glared.
She was wearing soft brown corduroy pants and a brown sweater. The style wasn't from around here, and he realized that was another mistake he'd made---her clothes were European in style.
He decided that in the beginning he was simply looking at the entire package and feeling what any man would feel when faced with a sexy young woman in need of help. A woman who had settled into his home as if she belonged there.
But she didn't belong there, he reminded himself. She'd come to kill him, it was the only explanation for why Prisca Reznik had traveled to Montana.
She'd played the amnesia card to get close to him and he'd bought it. But then, why hadn't she finished what she'd come to do?
He reached for his coat and pulled out a pair of handcuffs from the pocket. Looking at her, he said, "Come here."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to keep you from getting into any more trouble."
He cuffed her hands in front of her after he made her put on her coat. He packed her bag, slung it over his shoulder, then opened the door.
Prisca walked out into the crisp morning air, having no other choice. She glanced around, looking for a way to escape, but even if she could outrun him, the handcuffs were a problem.
Somehow he'd learned who she was, and that had to have happened yesterday when he'd gone to see Billy Mason Crow Feather. What had Billy told him? What had they found at the crash site?
There was only one incriminating piece of evidence that she'd been carrying with her. That had been her father's gun. Had the gun been tossed from the plane with her other bag?
If it had, it would have been buried under the snow---it had been snowing for weeks in the mountains. No, the gun was lost. Gone.
But then what had flagged his suspicions? Certainly not her leaving. Maybe the multiple identifications and the money, but she felt almost certain that he knew who she was before he'd entered the motel room. She had never seen any guns in his house. Never seen him carry one.
He helped her into his pickup and then climbed in and started the engine. He glanced her way and said, "So, Prisca, why don't you start at the beginning and tell me how you got into the business. Did you always want to follow in daddy's footsteps?"
"Go to hell."
"Where's the kill-file?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I've got your calling card. Billy recovered your camera bag."
He didn't need to say more. He had her gun. Somehow it had been recovered on the mountain.
She stared out the window. "Where are we going?"
"Home."
She turned and looked at him. "Home? And then what?"
"That depends on you."
She had no idea what he meant by that. No doubt he would turn her over to his agency. Or maybe they would just lock her up and throw away the key as they had done to her father.
There was still a chance that she could escape. A slim chance, but if she saw an opportunity she would take it. All she needed was for Jacy Madox to make a mistake. Just one.
She glanced down at his handcuffs locked around her wrists. "How long am I going to wear these?"
"Like I said. That depends on you. Feel like talking yet?"
She hadn't felt like talking, and the rest of the trip home was filled with silent tension. When they reached the cabin, he got out and came around to open her door. A blast of cold air entered the cab, reminding Pris that her own means of escape---the Bronco---was still parked at the motel.
He half lifted her out and propelled her toward the steps, never letting go of her. When he opened the door to the cabin, Matwau greeted them. He wagged his tail and nuzzled her leg, and that only made things more difficult. She had spent weeks getting to know the half-breed wolf, and now she bent down and spoke to him softly, stroked his head with both of her hands, still cuffed together. She heard the door slam shut behind her, then Jacy walked past her. He removed his coat and hat and hooked them on the coat tree.
Pris watched out of the corner of her eye. She had seen him put his pickup keys in his coat pocket, and made a mental note of it. He walked into the kitchen. The perfect place for him, she thought. If only her hands were free she would get the keys and dart back outside.
But she wasn't free. Not yet.
She looked toward the fire; glowing coals flickered behind the glass. An odd feeling came over her just then, as if she had come home. She pushed the crazy thought aside. Home was Austria. She might never see her homeland again---unless she escaped.
She thought of the small mountain cabin where she'd lived most of her life---she would always remember the happy times there. Where life was simple and she had laughed with her mother.
She stood slowly. "Can you remove the handcuffs now?"
No answer.
She stepped into the kitchen thinking he hadn't heard her. Held out her hands. "Get them off, they're rubbing my wrists raw."
He turned from the stove. "Sit down."
She thought about refusing, but she didn't. Maybe he would retrieve the key now.
She sat, but he never reached into his pocket for the handcuff keys. Instead he began to make lunch. She waited a half hour while he heated soup out of a can and made grilled cheese sandwiches.
To eat she would need the irons removed. At some point he would remove them, she thought, unless he planned to feed her. Or maybe his plan was to starve her into a confession while he ate.
He poured coffee for himself and tea for her. Then he brought it to the table with two bowls of soup and the sandwiches. Before he sat, he dug into his front jeans pocket for the key, unlocked the cuffs and laid them on the table with the key. Then he sat and began to eat.
He was trying to intimidate her. To let her know that she was his prisoner. She understood that, but what he didn't understand was that she had learned the art of patience. She had learned it on the rifle range in Austria as early as age ten. She knew how to sit tight and wait. Perfect timing was everything. Self-control could make a shot or steal it from you. Self-control was what she needed now. Patience.
She picked up her sandwich and took a bite. It tasted good, and she was past hungry. She sipped the tea, and used her napkin.
She caught him looking at her from time to time, his dark eyes studying her. She didn't smile, didn't speak, just ate what he had put in front of her.
Finally when he was finished, he shoved his chair away from the table and leaned back. He crossed his arms over his chest and directed all of his attention on her.
He said, "Your father is going to rot in prison. Holic will never be free again. He's locked up and that's where he's going to die. Justice for a cold-blooded killer."
She didn't know what she expected him to say, but certainly not that. Rage overtook her and she picked up the cup of tea and threw it at him. He didn't move until it was almost too late, but when he did it was quick, and, still seated, he swatted the cup away as if he had expected the reaction. The cup flew across the room and shattered on the floor.
"One thing you need to know about me, honey, is that I never give up. Not if it's something important."
"So important that you killed two innocent people on Glass Mountain? You stole my mother's life, and mine went with it."
"I didn't kill anyone on Glass Mountain. You've been misinformed."
"You were the controller. Without you, Bjorn Odell would never have been successful, and my mother wouldn't have died."
"I don't kill innocent people. That's Holic's MO, not mine. And yours if you continue to play your father's game."
"You're the one who kills. You, and the agency you work for."
"I don't deny there are casualties in this line of work. But I don't kill for blood money."
"So my mother was an unfortunate casualty?"
"She wasn't a casualty. You were told what your father wanted you to believe. Your father---"
"My father is a government assassin. He targets criminals and terrorists. He's a specialist. The people you work for support anarchy and corruption. My mother's blood is on your hands as well as Bjorn Odell's."
"Your father is lying. He's using you. He's twisted the truth to gain your loyalty."
"He didn't need to twist the truth to gain my loyalty. I love my father."
"And I'm sure he was more than happy to use that to convince you to stand beside him. But it's Holic who promotes anarchy, not the Onyxx Agency. Holic is nothing more than a hired assassin. A paid killer."
Again her anger took over and Pris spat at him across the table. "No one insults my father and lives."
"Why didn't you kill me weeks ago if you feel so strongly? If you came here to kill me, why am I still alive? You could have used a kitchen knife on me at any time."
"I had no reason to kill a man named Moon. You and your grandmother rescued me from an airplane crash. Until yesterday I had no idea that Moon was Jacy Madox."
"And how did you learn that?"
"Your brother. He was good enough to help me. He came and picked me up when I called him. He insisted on stopping at the post office to pick up the mail. You received two letters. When I saw the name---"
Pris stopped herself. She wasn't going to get emotional. She still felt sick. Seeing the name of her enemy on her lover's mail had devastated her.
She stood, and when she did, he came to his feet as well.
"You're wrong about everything," he said. "Your father has tricked you into doing his dirty work. You've been used, Prisca, and I can prove it."
"My father would never do something that cruel. He loves me."
"Your father has killed hundreds of people. He's been on the NSA's most-wanted list for years. He's not the man you think he is."
"My father is a government agent. He---"
"Your father works for anyone who will pay his price."
"You're the one who's lying."
"I don't lie. And I don't believe you're a killer. I don't think Holic's tainted blood runs through your veins as much as you think it does."
"I am my father's daughter. It's true, because right now, what I want most is to kill you."
Jacy locked Prisca in her room. She was a resourceful little thing and he wasn't about to lose her again. He considered putting the cuffs back on her, but instead, he had left her in the room with a warning that if she tried to escape he would put them back on her and chain her to the bed.
In his office he pulled his phone from his pocket and saw that he'd missed a call, it was from Pierce. He dialed his friend, and when Pierce answered, he said, "Prisca Reznik's mother is alive, right?"
"What?"
"Mady Reznik didn't die after Holic shot her, right? That's what I've got in the file. But I need to make sure she's still alive."
"She's alive. We didn't tell Holic, but she survived. She was wearing a safety vest on the mountain. Holic was taken from the cabin before she was. Why?"
"Because Prisca Reznik thinks her mother's dead, and that we're responsible."
"You found her?"
"She's back with me, and---"
"I've got Otto Breit. I'm just now en route back to D.C."
"Has he said much?"
"No. He's not talking yet. But when I get him back, I'll go at him. This is starting to shape up. Merrick will be glad to hear it. How soon can you make arrangements to fly her here?"
"I'm not flying anywhere yet. She's been used, Pierce. She thinks Holic works for a legitimate agency, and that the kill-file she's been working from was government-sanctioned."
"And you believe her?"
"She's nineteen years old. She thinks her mother's dead, and that it's our fault. If you were in her shoes, what would you have done?"
"I sympathize, but---"
"But the agency isn't going to care."
"So what do you propose?"
Jacy swore into the phone. "She's been living in my house for five weeks. I've seen another side of her. She's not a killer, Pierce. I can't hand her over to Merrick without some kind of guarantee."
"Guarantee?"
"I'm not going to let the agency crucify her. She's a victim in this."
"Something you should know. The lab reports came back on the Chameleon. Our body at the morgue is Pavvo Creon. Merrick believes the Chameleon is still alive. That means Holic could still be working for him. Merrick isn't going to give anyone any guarantee at this point. I'll fly out and pick her up. Take her off your hands, so you---"
"No. If you do, it'll be a wasted trip. Without a guarantee I'll take her and run."
"What the hell is wrong with you? If we find out that Otto Breit is her partner, then she took those first two shots. She's a---"
"If that's the case, she killed them under Holic's orders. She's not a killer."
"And yet two men are dead from bullets she planted in their skulls Holic-style. What guarantee do you have that if she had the chance she wouldn't do the same to you?"
"I want to tell her that her mother is alive."
"And you think she'll believe that? That it'll make a difference?"
"I need another favor."
Pierce groaned over the phone. "This is suicide, Jacy. Merrick already knows that I've been holding out on him."
"One more favor."
"Let's hear it."
Jacy relayed what he wanted, and this time it was Pierce's turn to swear. "Impossible. That's classified."
"Get me what I need and call me back."
"Do you know what you're asking?"
"Play this my way, Pierce. I know what I'm doing."
"This isn't like you. You're not thinking straight."
"You don't know her like I do."
"That's more than evident."
"It's my way or no way."
"Then I'll call you back when I get to headquarters. I'm five hours away."
Merrick entered the interrogation room where Otto Breit had been taken. Pierce had been going at him for an hour, and he'd been watching through a two-way mirror. Breit was unwilling to cooperate. He claimed he didn't know anything. That he had no idea what they were talking about.
It would be damn hard to hold him without more evidence, and the man knew it. Pierce had found nothing to incriminate Breit in the man's apartment in Vienna. But that would have been careless of him, and the man looked neither stupid nor careless. If he was working as an assassin, he wouldn't keep his equipment in his living quarters.
The thought of turning Breit loose made Merrick sick. If he was part of Holic's operation, he wanted him behind bars---after he told them where they could find Holic's daughter.
Merrick stepped into the interrogation room and closed the door. He wished he had something else to force Breit's hand. Anything.
"Mr. Breit, I'm Adolf Merrick. We need your cooperation. If you give it, I can assure you we'll go easier on you."
In a thick European accent, Breit said, "I told your dog, I don't know what you're talking about."
Merrick motioned to Pierce, then whispered. "Step out and call Jacy. Tell him you've picked up Otto. Relay the situation. Tell him we need something to crack him or we won't be able to hold him long."
Pierce nodded and walked out.
While he was gone, Merrick said, "We've got you, Mr. Breit, and unless you tell us what you know, you'll be prosecuted for six assassinations."
The man just sat there.
Merrick tried again. "Tell me where the kill-file is."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Holic gave you up," Merrick said as Pierce came back into the room. "He's made a deal with us."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You saying you don't know who Holic Reznik is? Your father worked for him," Merrick offered.
Breit never answered.
Pierce said, "We also have your partner. Prisca Reznik is in custody, and she's talking. Are you sure you don't want to tell your side of the story now?"
Merrick turned to look at his agent. If Pierce was bluffing it was a good bluff, but if he wasn't, he'd been kept in the dark. He didn't like being the last to know critical information.
Otto Breit didn't take the bait, and after another thirty minutes of getting nowhere, Pierce and Merrick left Breit in the interrogation room with a guard standing outside, and headed for Merrick's office.
Inside, Merrick asked, "Do we have Prisca Reznik?"
Pierce hesitated, then said, "No. But I know where she is."
"And where is that?"
"It's a long story."
"I'm listening."
"You better sit down."
Merrick raised a silver eyebrow, then sat behind his desk. He watched his agent walk to the window. He knew what that meant. When he had thinking to do, he always found himself at the window.
Pierce began, "This is complicated. You need to hear me out before you blow. Try to understand where Jacy is coming from."
"Jacy?"
Pierce turned around. "Prisca Reznik has been living in his house for five weeks."
"What?" Merrick couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Like I said, it's a long story. Pretty bizarre, actually."
"I've heard every kind of bizarre there is over the past twenty years. Get to it."
Pierce relayed the story, and then left soon after. It was for the best. Merrick needed to cool off---he had started to boil two minutes into the tale.
He took the elevator up to the Green Room where all the top-secret files were kept. He still needed to do what he'd promised Jacy he would do. It wasn't hard to get in. He was a familiar face, and he was an old card player. A master in the art of double talk, with a pair of slippery hands that had served him well in his younger days.
Twenty minutes later he left the Green Room, then made a call to Jacy. He gave up the info, then an update on Otto Breit. There wasn't much to tell.
Breit was a cold sonofabitch. A real tough character. The kind of man who wouldn't crack even if they used an ice pick.
Pris woke with a start. Locked in her room with nothing to do, she had paced for what seemed like hours, then curled up on the bed.
It was dark outside; she glanced out the window and then turned on the light next to the bed. The day was gone, and she wondered if it had started to snow again. How cold was it? Bad weather would be a factor if she had to escape on foot.
She opened the drawer on the nightstand and took out a jagged piece of mirror she'd broken away from the one that hung on the wall. Jacy would come soon and when he did, she was going to escape---one way or another.
There was a noise in the hall and she came off the bed quickly. She laid the broken mirror down, then shoved the two pillows under the bedding to form a body. Grabbing up the piece of mirror, she turned off the light and hid behind the door. When it opened light shone inside from the hall and onto the bed. Pris waited. There was no movement. Long seconds ticked by and then Jacy called her name.
Pris held her breath. The door opened wider and he stepped inside. It was at that moment that she made her move. She leapt out from behind the door with the jagged piece of mirror in her hand. He turned at the movement and she raised her hand and made a fast swipe at him, ripping his shirt and slashing his chest.
He swore crudely and staggered back. Seeing another chance to do damage, she kicked him hard in the crotch, then again---this time in his bad knee.
The minute he lost his balance and went to the floor, she darted past him. She'd almost reached the hall, but he rolled to his side and grabbed her leg.
"No!" Pris tried to shake him off, but he wouldn't let go, his grip like an iron trap. She fought him and lost her balance. The air whooshed out of her as she hit the hard wood. She dropped the jagged piece of mirror after it dug into her hand, cutting it open. She cried out in pain, but she didn't give up the fight. Again she kicked him, at the same time she clawed the floor with her hands to get away.
In a battle for survival, she turned into a wild cat. A chair was close by, and she grabbed a leg and pulled it over on him. He swore again and let go of her leg to bat the chair away.
This was her second chance, maybe her last. She scurried into the hall on all fours like an animal fleeing a trap.
Just as she got to her feet, Jacy called out to her, "I told you I had proof your father is a liar. I have a phone number."
She started down the hall not wanting to hear anything he had to say.
"Pris! You need to make the call. Pris! Call your mother. I have the number in my pocket."
She froze at the word mother. He was lying. A cruel trick.
"Pris. She wasn't killed on Glass Mountain. She survived."
The possibility was crazy. She would know if her mother was alive. Her father wouldn't have allowed her to believe she was dead. And yet...
Prisca turned around, and in the dim light she could see Jacy digging into his pocket. His chest was covered with blood, and his face was a grimace of pain. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and extended it to her with bloody fingers.
"You can use my cell phone. It's in my office. Or the phone in the kitchen. Make the call, Pris. Call your mother."
Otto strangled the guard that brought him his evening meal. He'd been placed in a holding cell. He'd never been locked up before and it made him feel like a caged animal. How Holic stood it, he didn't understand. It would drive him crazy.
He undressed the guard, left him near naked on the floor, then stripped off his own clothes and stepped into the blue uniform. It was a tight fit, but it would do. He took the man's identification. Before he left, he tucked Miss Pris's cashmere scarf inside the shirt, and buttoned the buttons to his neck.
All he could think about was that Onyxx had her and he needed to get her away from them. She was a novice at this life. She must be scared. He hated thinking about her frightened. Hated thinking about her in a cage like this one.
How they had captured her, he wasn't certain, but they wouldn't have her for long. He would find her and set her free at any cost.
He slipped into the hall and closed the door behind him. Walking down the corridor as if he belonged there, he looked for an exit. When he found it, he flashed the dead guard's ID and walked out of the agency.
A piece of cake, as the Americans would say, Otto mused.
They were fools. They thought he would betray Miss Pris. A man never betrayed a comrade, and never the woman he loved. Not even if he was facing a firing squad.
These Americans knew nothing about loyalty and honor. That was why he would win the fight against them.
Otto Breit disappeared into the busy streets of Washington, D.C., vowing that he would be back.
The Onyxx Agency hadn't seen the last of him.
Prisca stood a long minute in the hall staring at the piece of paper in Jacy Madox's hand. He was bleeding all over the floor, his shirt soaked.
"You're saying if I call that number my mother will answer?"
"If not her, then Nadja Stefn, and you can ask to speak to your mother. I got clearance."
"Clearance?"
"Just call the damn number," he swore, "before I bleed to death."
She moved quickly, snatching up the paper, afraid he would try to grab her again, then raced into the living room to dig his pickup keys from his coat and stuffed them in her pocket. In the kitchen she rushed to the phone that hung on the wall and dialed the number, not sure what she was expecting.
The woman who answered wasn't her mother, but she recognized the voice.
"Aunt Nadja?"
"Pris. Oh, honey, is it really you?"
"It's me."
"We've been so worried. Are you all right?"
"Is my mother there?" Heart racing, Prisca cried out the words. "Is she?"
"She's right here, honey. Hang on."
Prisca was shaking so badly she could hardly hold the phone.
"Pris?"
The sound of her mother's comforting voice brought Prisca to her knees. She crumpled to the kitchen floor and started to cry. "Mama..."
"My prayers have been answered. Sweetheart, where are you?"
"I'm...never mind. I thought you were dead. Father said Bjorn Odell shot you, and---"
"Pris, listen to me. It's true I was shot, but it wasn't by Bjorn Odell."
Pris closed her eyes. No, she thought. This can't be happening.
"It was your father who shot me. Holic...he---"
"No!"
"Pris, it's true. He lied to you, sweetheart. You can't trust what he's told you. Not one word."
"Then he doesn't work for a government agency?"
"No. I hate telling you this over the phone, but you must listen to me, Pris. Your father is a professional killer. I've kept his secret for many years. It was wrong of me. I know that now. I loved him."
Pris started to cry. "I'm so sorry, Mama."
"When we were on Glass Mountain, he thought I had betrayed him, and that's why he shot me."
"So it wasn't by mistake?"
"No. There's something else you must know. Your father killed your great grandfather, too."
"Grandpa Stefn is dead?"
"Yes."
"What does Aunt Nadja have to do with all of this?"
"It's complicated, sweetheart. When I see you I'll explain everything. I know this all sounds unbelievable, but it's true. After I was shot, Nadja and Bjorn Odell helped me go somewhere safe so your father wouldn't be able to hurt me again. I've been so worried about you, Pris. I've prayed every day that you would call. Until you can come to me, you must believe me and be careful. You must go to Washington and talk to a man named Merrick at the Onyxx Agency. He'll arrange to bring you to me. I'll give you his number so you can call him. The number is---"
"That won't be necessary. I know how to reach the Onyxx Agency."
"You do?"
"I'm with an agent from Onyxx right now. I'll be in touch soon, Mama."
"I love you, sweetheart. Thank God you're safe. I can't wait to see you."
"Me, too. Goodbye, Mama."
Pris disconnected, then dropped the phone. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed. Her mother was alive and she was so grateful, and at the same time she was heartsick. Her father was a stranger. A man who had used her love for his own purpose.
She didn't now how long she sat there. Suddenly she remembered Jacy Madox, and she jerked up from the floor and hurried back through the living room, wiping her eyes. When she reached the bedroom he was sitting up, his legs out in front of him. His bloody shirt was unbuttoned, and she saw the cut was at least eight inches long---a wicked gash across his heart.
She went into the bathroom and grabbed a towel, then returned and knelt beside him. She didn't say anything as she pressed the towel to his chest to slow the bleeding.
She would never forgive herself for what she'd done. Everything Jacy had said about her father was true.
"You make the call?"
She nodded, unable to speak.
Her hands started to shake, and she feared she would break down. She started to pull away, but he reached for her and drew her to him.
"You okay?"
He was the one who was hurt and he was asking her if she was okay?
"It'll be all right now, honey."
His voice was soothing and gentle, and she could no longer hold back the tears. She gulped air, let the tears flow. She felt his arm wrap around her tighter. She felt his lips on her forehead, soft and warm.
"I killed those men," she whispered against his neck. "I'm just like my father."
"No. He planned all of this. But it's over now. He's not going to win this one."
She looked up and shook her head. "Two men are dead because of me. I deserve the same as my father."
She cried harder, and while she cried, he held her close. In no rush to see to his injuries, he rested his head against the bed and began to rub her arm in a slow comforting motion that made her cling to him like a lifeline.
"What did your mother say?"
"I'll tell you while we clean you up."
She wiggled out of his arms, and this time Jacy let her go. "It can wait," he said.
She came to her knees and looked at him. "No, it can't. Get your shirt off and come into the bathroom. You can get up, ja?"
She stood and got up slowly. Holding the towel to his chest, he followed her into the hall. Her face was tearstained and she was a little shaky, but she hadn't totally shut down. She'd just learned two life-changing pieces of information at once---one good and one bad---and she was still on her feet. That, Jacy thought, was what set Pris apart from most young women her age. She was something extra-special, and he had sensed that weeks ago.
That's why it had been so easy to fall in love with her. She was like no other woman he had ever met, and why he couldn't blame her for lashing out at him. He'd boxed her in a corner, and as a survivor, she'd been forced to come at him with everything she had. And she'd done pretty damn good.
His balls hurt, his knee had probably taken a two-week setback, and he was wearing a red strip across his chest, but the truth was, he'd never felt better. He'd put her to the test and she'd come out swinging.
"How deep is it?" She asked as she headed into the bathroom.
They needed to talk about the phone call. He asked again, "Pris, what did your mother say?"
She turned and looked at him. He was leaning into the doorjamb. "What do you think she said? She said exactly what you knew she'd say. That my father is a criminal and that I shouldn't believe anything he says. Do you know where she's been living? I forgot to ask her that."
"I don't think it's a good idea for you to know that right now. Maybe in time."
"Do you think I would harm my mother?"
"No. But knowing the location puts you in even more danger than you are already."
"I don't understand."
"If your father learns that your mother is still alive, what do you think he'd do? He's already tried to kill her once."
"I would never tell him."
"He's a master game player, and very resourceful. Just be patient."
She looked at the towel. It had turned completely red. "We have to get the bleeding stopped."
He shrugged out of his shirt. "It's just a nasty scratch."
"A scratch? Then why is it still bleeding like I severed an artery? And why did you say you could bleed to death lying in there on the floor?"
"Motivation."
"And at that moment you thought I cared if you bled to death?"
"Yes, otherwise you would have gone for my throat."
"Sit down." She was irritated now, and she started opening up doors, even though he didn't think she even knew what she was looking for. "So how are we going to fix this? I'm not very good with blood."
"An assassin who hates the sight of blood. Now that's novel."
She shot him another irritated look. "That's not what I aspired to be, though I admit to years of practice. However, I never knew that there was a purpose behind all the hours I put in on the firing range. I did it to make my father proud of me and to get his attention. He wasn't home very much. Of course, now I know why."
Not all of it, Jacy thought. But she would know all of Holic's dirty secret eventually. She had to know everything. And as much as he would like to protect her from more pain, she needed to know what kind of parasite her father was.
"What was your ambition?" he asked.
"You would laugh."
"Try me."
"My mother loved to paint and she passed that desire on to me. I haven't done anything outstanding, but one watercolor was good enough to hang on a wall at the ski lodge. It's a mountain scene with Groffen in the foreground." Her eyes went to the bloody towel again. "I wish Vic was here. He would know what to do."
"I know what to do. A roll of duct tape and a pair of scissors can fix just about anything."
She looked totally confused.
"It's good stuff. You'll see."
He smiled, but she wouldn't give in to it. He saw blood on her hand and at first he thought it was from him and the towel. But it wasn't.
"You're cut."
She looked at her hand. "I don't care about my hand."
"How bad is it?"
"Would you stop worrying about me! You're the one who needs medical attention. Where do you keep this duct tape that's supposed to be so wonderful?"
"In the kitchen. I'll go get it."
Jacy left the bathroom, retrieved the tape and scissors, then returned.
When she saw what he'd brought back, she shook her head. "We're using that?"
"Yup. And a strip of gauze. Snip, snip, slap, slap, and we're done."
"Snip and slap. You're joking, ja?"
"Here, cut a ten-inch strip for me and a three-inch one for you. I'll get the gauze and get rid of some of this blood, then I'll show you. It'll put the palm of your hand back together with barely a scar."
Five minutes later Jacy was wearing a piece of silver duct tape across his chest, and Pris was wearing one on the palm of her hand.
"Good thing I don't have a hairy chest," he teased, making another attempt to get a smile out of her. Again, it didn't work.
"I thought you were an ex-Hell's Angel and intelligence agent. How could you let this happen? When I attacked you, why didn't you knock me down and snap my neck?"
"I was taught never to hit a woman." Jacy reached out and tried to touch her, but she shied away.
"You could have stopped me. Why didn't you?"
"You were too quick."
"That's crap. The truth. There's no reasons to lie anymore. Not for either one of us."
"Maybe I just wanted to see what Holic Reznik's daughter was made of. Like I said before, you could have slit my throat with the mirror. I could ask the same question of you. Why didn't you?"
She looked away.
"I'll tell you why. You didn't really want me dead." She didn't argue with him, and Jacy didn't press her for more. He said, "We're going to have to fly to D.C. Not tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow, but eventually. I've got a call to make."
"To Merrick? My mother mentioned him. Is he your boss?"
"Ex-boss. I retired a few months ago, but it looks like I'm back in the loop for now."
"I know I have to pay for what I did. Like father, like daughter. The only difference is, I'm not going to run."
That was damn brave of her, Jacy thought, considering the uncertainty of the situation, and what was hanging over her head back in Washington.
"I'm going to make that call."
He walked out of the bathroom and into his office. If there was a way to fix this for her, he was determined to do it. But in this case, duct tape and a pair of scissors wasn't going to mend the scar that Holic Reznik had left on his daughter's heart.
When Pierce picked up, Jacy asked, "You talk to Merrick?"
"I did, but he's not amicable to any deals. He wants you to bring her in as soon as possible."
"I won't do that. Not without some guarantees."
"Did she call her mother?"
"Yes. Thanks for getting me the number."
"How did it go?"
"It was a shock, but necessary. She wants to turn herself in."
"Then bring her in."
"And feed her to the wolves? No."
"I'll talk to Merrick again. Maybe he would recommend that we make a deal with her. Does she know where the master kill-file is right now?"
"I don't know."
"Find out. We might be able to use it as leverage."
"That's a good idea."
"You sound wiped out. Anything else you want to tell me?"
"I've been up for forty-eight hours. I need some sleep is all."
"You sure that's all?"
"It's been a rough couple of days. Call me in the morning."
When he hung up, Jacy left the office. He checked the bedroom, and found Pris had cleaned the blood and broken pieces of mirror off the floor. No easy task, he imagined, since she didn't do well with the sight of blood.
He left the room and went looking for her. She wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. She had said she wasn't going to run, but had she said that so he would let his guard down?
He hurried to the front door, turned on the yard light, then threw it open. On the deck, he stopped in his tracks, his eyes locking on her slender form where she stood out in the blowing snow, her arms wrapped around herself as she looked out over the frozen ice of Two Medicine Lake---her lightweight coat doing nothing to ward off the single-digit temperature.
He swore and limped off the deck.
"Pris?"
She turned, tears frozen on her cheeks.
"Dammit, you're going to turn into an ice chunk out here."
"Ja, what I deserve."
"You don't deserve any of this."
She held up her hand as he came toward her. "Nein, I do. I didn't tell my mother what I've done. About the men I killed. How could I tell her I've become my father?"
"You're not your father, honey." Jacy strode forward and scooped her up in his arms and started back to the house. "Don't keep comparing yourself to him. You're nothing like him."
"Put me down. Your chest will start bleeding."
"Let it bleed. If you haven't noticed, I'm made out of Montana granite. I have a hard head and can weather any storm that comes my way."
He walked back into the house with her and kicked the door shut. He set her down on the couch and removed her coat. Saw she was shaking.
"You're chilled to the bone. How long were you out there?"
"I don't know," she said, her teeth chattering.
"I'll start the shower."
"Jacy?"
He stopped. It was the first time she'd called him that. "What is it?"
"You've been really...good to me. I don't understand why, but thank you."
"You're welcome."
"Why have you been...good to me?"
He smiled. "Some day you'll understand why. But for now, all that's important is getting you warmed up so you don't catch pneumonia."
Pris watched him walk away, his limp more noticeable than ever. Slowly she came to her feet. She pulled off her sweater, dropping it on the back of the couch before she came down the hall. While working the buttons free on her pants, she met him coming out of the bathroom. He stopped, and she saw his eyes drift over her.
It reminded her of the other night and she selfishly wished she could turn back the clock. But things had changed between them. How could they not? Now he knew she was Holic Reznik's daughter, and even though he'd said she was nothing like her father, Jacy's enemy had given her life.
She was almost past him when he reached out and touched her arm. "You all right?"
"My mother's alive. That means everything to me. It is the bright spot in all of this. Thank you for giving me that."
"When you're out of the shower, there's a file in my office I want you to read."
"About my father?"
"Yes. After you read it, we'll talk."
The shower did warm her up. Feeling a little better, Pris made her way to Jacy's office. He was there waiting for her. He stood, offered her his chair, gave her a quick computer lesson on his high-tech equipment, then left.
It took Pris a long thirty minutes to read all the data that the Onyxx Agency had compiled on her father. Holic Reznik had been a busy assassin. He'd even killed children.
Children.
A man with no morals, a thirst for blood, greed for money, with an insatiable hunger for beautiful women. It was believed he had over a dozen mistresses across the country.
Her father killed unconscionably, and cheated on her mother. This was not the man Prisca had grown up loving and adoring with all her heart and soul. But no more. With every line she'd read, her love had transformed into hate.
Sick inside, she wept for the father she'd once loved, then for the mother who had lived a life of lies with a man who neither loved her nor deserved her devotion. Then she wept for the two men she had killed in the belief that they were something they were not.
Her last thought was for Otto. Had he known the truth? Was he as ruthless as her father?
She wanted to believe that he had been tricked as she had been. If he had, that meant she hadn't been wrong about all the men in her life.
She had once thought she could survive anything, but now she wasn't so sure. But did she really deserve to survive this---after what she'd done?
Heartsick, Pris looked up when she heard the door open. Jacy stood with his hair wet, wearing only a pair of hip-hugging jeans, the duct tape blazing like an honorary badge of courage. He must have taken a shower, too.
"You all right?"
"I need to see my father. Afterward I'll tell you anything I know. Then you can lock me up and throw away the key."
"The only place you're going at the moment is to bed. You're exhausted both emotionally and physically. You need sleep."
"I can't sleep, not after reading that."
"I wish I could have softened the blow, but it's better this way. You needed to know why Onyxx has been chasing Holic for so long. Your father---"
She pointed to the computer. "That isn't the father I knew. Or maybe I should say the man he pretended to be around me. I was treated with what I thought was love. But he's incapable of love, I know that now. How am I going to tell my mother all of this?"
"You won't have to. She knows."
"Everything?"
"Yes."
Prisca closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Again, thank you. When do we leave for Washington?"
"Once I hear back from Pierce. He's the agent I've been working with on this. I trust him. He's negotiating with Merrick for me."
"Negotiating?"
"We've come this far together, I'm not going to abandon you now."
"But if you did, I would understand."
He started out the door. "Come on. I'll put you to bed."
"I don't want to sleep...alone."
He stopped and looked back. "Neither do I."
"You didn't have to keep the dinner date, Adolf. You could have canceled if you were busy."
Merrick ushered Sarah into the restaurant. "My phone is on twenty-four hours a day. If someone needs to reach me, they will."
"It was good of you to ask me out to dinner. And such a nice place, too."
Merrick finished seating Sarah in the chair at the Grover, then took the chair across from her. The upscale restaurant was quiet, and that's why he'd picked it. Sarah had dressed for the occasion and Merrick couldn't deny that the woman seated across from him was pretty. He'd known her for years standing behind the florist counter, but tonight she looked different. She was an attractive woman, and he wondered how he had missed that fact all these years.
A good sign, he told himself. Maybe he was finally able to see the beauty in other women without thinking of Johanna and making comparisons. Still, he felt a bit awkward tonight. He hadn't actually taken a woman to dinner in fifteen years.
"I've never been here," she said, looking around. "I know that sounds awful. I've lived in Washington all my life, and I've visited very few restaurants."
"I haven't been out much myself," Merrick admitted. "I don't count the fast-food places, of course. I don't cook much anymore. Johanna and I used to cook toge---"
He stopped himself. He'd planned to avoid speaking of her tonight. They hadn't been seated five minutes and here he was mentioning her name.
"I don't mind, you know."
"Mind?"
"If you speak of your wife. She was part of your life, Adolf. She was taken away from you suddenly. It would be foolish to expect that you wouldn't speak of her."
He smiled at her, then picked up the menu.
"Actually, I thought we might talk about her."
Merrick had just opened the menu, and now he looked over the top of it. "Excuse me?"
She glanced away, looked around the tables surrounding them. He realized that she was checking to see how much privacy they had. He had purposely asked to be seated in an intimate cove.
"You see, Adolf, I think it would be good to talk about the past. Maybe it would help."
"Help in what way, Sarah? Get over her?"
"No. It would help if you could share your pain, and maybe in doing so, I could help you make peace with yourself. I've done some reading about family grief since my mother passed away a few years ago. We were very close. I know it's not the same thing, but I had issues to come to terms with. I blamed my mother for being too protective. For not pushing me out of the nest years ago. Then she became ill, and I felt guilty that I never saw the signs until it was too late. I thought that---"
"You could have prevented her death."
"Yes. I don't know the details of Johanna's death, but I get the feeling that you have an enormous amount of guilt. As if you could have prevented her death, as well. That's why you can't let go of the pain."
Merrick sat back and studied Sarah's simple beauty. Her eyes were full of love for him and he suddenly realized that it had been there for a long time. How had he been so blind all these years?
"You're a very smart woman," he said, "and I'm humbled by the fact that you have given me and my situation so much thought."
"Well, you know me. I don't have much going on in my life. When I pray for release from my own guilt, Adolf, I also pray for yours."
They studied each other for a moment, then the menu. The waitress came and took their order, and over dinner Adolf Merrick opened his heart and his soul to Sarah Finny. He never went into his dangerous work, except to say that it was government-related. He didn't speak of Johanna being kidnapped, or admit that she'd been a casualty in one of the Chameleon's games, or tell how she'd died. Just the memory of seeing Johanna tied to that bed, her body wrapped in C4 explosives, to this day made him violently ill. But he did tell her that it was because of his job that Johanna had lost her life, and that...yes, he was swimming in guilt.
After dinner, Merrick reached for her hand and squeezed it. Sarah squeezed back.
It was while they were about to leave the restaurant that his phone rang. It was the agency hotline calling to tell him that one of their guards had been found strangled to death. That he'd been found in Otto Breit's holding cell, and that Breit had escaped.
Hours later Jacy lay on his back in bed, Pris curled up beside him. "Are you cold?"
"How could I be cold? You warmed me inside and out."
"The shower did the trick, then?"
"Da, the shower was a good beginning."
"Tired?"
"A little."
"Then go to sleep. We'll talk later."
"Maybe we should talk now. Tell me about the Onyxx Agency and what they do. You're a good guy, ja?"
The way she said it, the catch in her voice, told him she was still struggling with all that had been dumped on her in the past few hours.
She looked up at him, and he gave her a half smile. Then he said, "Onyxx is a specialized division of NSA Intelligence. The agents are picked according to their skills."
"And what kind of skills were you picked for?"
"In the beginning I don't think I had any except for the fact that I'd cheated death more times than I can count. Frankly, I think Merrick simply liked my bad-ass attitude. I insulted him the first time we met. I went in with dirty hands. I did some things I'm not too proud of. More since. But in this business things are not always black and white."
"And you've killed people?"
"Yes. It comes with the territory. I knew that going in. But I killed a man once before I joined Onyxx. It was in self-defense, but he died nonetheless."
"And you've been able to live with it?"
He caught the catch in her throat when she asked the question.
"Your father tricked you into killing those men, Pris. You can't be blamed for believing in a cause he convinced you was sanctioned. You trusted him and his judgment. He knew you would. He made sure of it before he asked you to replace him. You never would have done it if he hadn't told you all those lies."
"I would never have believed any of this if I hadn't heard my mother's voice on the phone. Heard her tell me it was my father who shot her. A part of me doesn't want to believe it. Even after I read that file, I thought maybe---"
Jacy cut her off. "He knew what he was doing. He believed she had betrayed him and given him up to Bjorn Odell and Nadja Stefn."
"My aunt?"
"She works for another intelligence agency."
"No. She's in international real estate."
"That was a cover. She's worked for Euro-Quest for six years."
"Quest?"
"It's like Onyxx. Your mother agreed to go to that cabin in the mountains knowing her life was at risk. She wore a bulletproof vest, but it was still dangerous. She did it because she knew it was the right thing to do. Your father had taken you from Groffen, along with Bjorn and Nadja's daughter Alzbet."
"Daughter? Alzbet is Nadja's daughter?"
"Yes. And Bjorn is her father."
"This just keeps getting more and more complicated."
"They're all safe now. Nadja and Alzbet are with your mother." He curled his arm around her and pulled her close. He kissed her forehead.
She sat up, the blanket falling away from her naked body. She was so damn beautiful. So innocent and vulnerable. How in the hell could Holic have consciously turned his daughter into an assassin? The man truly had no soul.
"Do you know where the kill-file is?"
"I know who has it."
"Otto Breit?"
"How do you know that?"
"I put two and two together. After I heard you say the name Otto I had Pierce do some checking. We picked him up but he's not talking. Not yet anyway. Tell me about him."
"What do you want to know?"
"What is he to you?" Jacy couldn't keep the possessive tone from creeping into his voice.
"I've known Otto for a long time, since I was a very young girl. His father Jakob was a friend of my father's. When Jakob flew me off Glass Mountain, he took me to Otto. I've lived with him since."
Jacy's face must have revealed his thoughts. She shook her head, then said, "Not like that. He's like a brother to me, even though..."
"Even though, what?"
"I know Otto cares for me. Would like more, but he's too old, and---"
"How old?"
"Thirty."
Jacy looked away, knowing he was coming up on that number fast. He decided not to continue to talk about Otto. The man wasn't for her, but maybe there was someone she was close to back home, and if there was, it might be for the best.
He'd never kidded himself about what they'd shared. They were from two different worlds, and he wasn't going to get caught up into thinking that he could ever give her what she needed in the future. Montana was where he belonged. After this was over, he wouldn't go back to Onyxx. He was done with that.
What he wanted for Pris was for her to get out of this mess and move on. Merrick could do that for her if he wanted to. Hell, his boss had been able to erase Jacy's entire criminal record. All he'd had to do was say yes to seven years at Onyxx and it had been done.
He would allow himself to feel possessive of her, and a whole lot more, but he would let her go when the time came. Peace of mind would come in knowing that she could start over, and in time she would forget all the ugliness surrounding her father. She was young. She would heal and grow stronger, and eventually be happy again.
He would settle for nothing less.
Matwau started barking just after midnight. It woke Jacy up and he rose quietly and pulled on his jeans. He glanced at Pris, she was deep in sleep---exhausted from their lovemaking.
He left her and closed his bedroom door behind him. In the hall, he retrieved the .38 that he kept in the linen closet under the clean sheets and crept into the living room, his steps Indian-quiet in the darkness.
He slipped on his coat, eased open the outside door and stepped onto the deck. It was still dark, a few hours before dawn. The sky was overcast, the surrounding trees hanging heavy with yesterday's snow.
Matwau bolted off the deck and started barking again. Jacy touched the safety off his gun and flattened himself against the hewn logs.
"Jacy, I know you're there. Call off the dog before he takes my leg off."
Jacy breathed, then lowered his gun. "Pierce."
"Call the dog off."
"Matwau, come."
The wolf-dog was back on the deck within seconds, and then Pierce Fourtier turned on a flashlight and started up the path to the cabin.
He said, "I parked down the road. I wasn't sure you'd be happy to see me."
"I'm not. You were supposed to stay in Washington. I expected a call from you or Merrick before noon."
"You got me worried. It's cold as hell out here," he said as he walked up the steps. He angled the flashlight in Jacy's face. "You look all right. A little thinner. It's good to see you on your feet, mon ami."
"Okay, so it's good to see you, too."
"I've been on the move all night to get here."
Jacy hesitated, then turned and opened the door and stepped inside. Matwau followed, and then Pierce.
Jacy flipped on a light switch that lit up the living room, casting a glow into the kitchen. He shed his coat and tossed it on the coat tree again.
Naked from the waist up, he turned and asked, "You talk to Merrick about her? Is that why you're here? To give me the bad news in person?"
Pierce pulled off his coat and stuck his flashlight in the pocket. He glanced at the four-legged animal that stood two feet away, and Jacy watched his friend's eyes widen.
"Hell, that's no dog."
"Because he comes from two worlds?" Jacy asked. "Does it make me any less a man because I do, too?"
"You know what I meant."
Jacy gave a nonchalant nod. "He's like me, an ornery sonofabitch when he's crossed. So out with it. What did Merrick say?"
"Nothing yet. I offered him the idea about the kill-file. You ask her about that?"
"I did."
"And?"
"Otto Breit has it."
"That's good news. We've got him locked up. Now if we could just get him to talk."
Jacy eyed his friend. He could see the wheels turning inside Pierce's crafty mind. He said out loud what he knew Pierce was thinking. "You think she could be the trump card. Convince Otto to talk."
"How well does she know him? Would it work?"
"It might. But I'm not going to let her do it without some guarantee she'll be rewarded for it."
"Isn't that her decision?"
Jacy didn't answer.
"I can take her in if it would make things easier for you."
"I don't care about making things easier for me. She's the one I'm worried about. When she flies to D.C., I'll be with her."
"You're not only ornery, you're a stubborn sonofabitch, too."
"That's why Merrick muscled me into the agency years ago. We all have a gift, remember? He was looking for all the right puzzle pieces when he put the rat fighters together. My gift was that I never back down no matter what the odds. Like it or not, I'm in this one to the end. If I hand her over, the agency will lock her up in the cell next to Holic and throw away the key. She's nineteen. She hasn't started to live yet."
"A nineteen-year-old who can shoot an Austrian Steyr as good as her old man. Perfection has replaced perfection. That's what Holic told Merrick."
"I know what the hell she is. And what she isn't. Holic no longer controls her thoughts or her actions."
"She's killed two agents. One of them was ours."
"I know that."
"And you told me she came here to kill you."
"Because she thought her mother was dead and that I was as much to blame as Bjorn. But as you can see, I'm not dead."
"What's with the duct tape?"
Jacy's jaw clenched. "A new fashion statement here in Montana. Like it?"
He headed into the living room, picked up the iron poker and stirred the hot coals in the fireplace.
"She tried something, didn't she? She tried to kill you."
"Before she made the phone call to her mother we had a little scuffle. But I handled it. She won't do anything like that again."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Then you trust her?"
Jacy looked over his shoulder. "Trust is a delicate matter, but yes, I trust her."
"And me? I haven't betrayed you, Jacy. You can still trust me. I'm worried about your choices in this situation, but I haven't sold you out. What I came here for was---"
"To change my mind. Not happening."
"If I move, is this damn animal going to castrate me?"
"No. He's keeping an eye on you because he can hear in my voice that I'm not happy with you right now, but he won't do anything unless I tell him to."
"That's comforting." Pierce slowly took a seat on a chair near the fireplace. Matwau followed and sat down on his haunches a few feet away to watch his every move. Pierce asked, "Where is she?"
"Asleep. And, no, I'm not going to wake her. She's exhausted. She's had a helluva day."
"Damn possessive, aren't you?"
"I won't deny it. She needs someone to stand beside her right now."
"And you've elected yourself that someone."
"I won't deny that either."
Jacy tossed a log into the fire. Taking a seat on the end of the couch, he said, "Holic lied to her. She's been a pawn in his game since he took her with him that night he left Groffen and headed for Glass Mountain. Actually, before that. He bought her a gun when she was ten and put her on a firing range. He may be in an iron cell, but he's still controlling things from the inside."
"I agree. And since we learned the Chameleon is still alive he's probably still on his payroll."
"I still don't understand that. How can the Chameleon still be alive?"
"The DNA work is complete. The body we have has been positively identified as Pavvo Creon."
"Creon's been dead for years."
"That's what we thought. Looks like we were wrong. Do you have any coffee? I've had a chill in my bones since I left D.C."
"It's that thin Southern skin of yours," Jacy remarked.
It was while Jacy was making coffee that Pierce got a phone call from Merrick.
Merrick sent Sarah home in a cab, then hurried to Onyxx headquarters. When he got there he immediately went to the holding block. It was true, Otto had strangled a guard and escaped. The building had been searched and the conclusion was that he'd walked out of the building wearing the guard's uniform.
How in the hell could that happen?
In his office Merrick gave Pierce a call. "I want you here right away. What? You're in Montana! What the hell are you doing there?"
"I came to talk to Jacy."
"To convince him to bring in the girl?"
"Oui, something like that."
"Jacy is more involved with this girl than you wanted to admit. Deny it."
"I can't. He's being stubborn."
"I like stubborn, when it's working for me, not against me. And my agents don't call the shots. I do. Did you talk to her?"
"Not yet. I just got here. But I've never seen Jacy like this. He's not going to hand her over without us cutting her a deal. He tells me she knows who has the kill-file."
"Who?"
"Otto Breit. If we can get him to talk---"
Merrick swore. "That's the reason I'm calling. Otto Breit escaped from his holding cell tonight. He strangled a guard and took his ID. We don't have any leads on where he's gone."
"When?"
"The guard was bringing him a meal tray. So my guess is six hours ago, but it hasn't been confirmed yet. I put a double guard on Holic at Clume, but hell, this is suddenly turning messy. Get back on a plane and make sure Jacy and Prisca Reznik get on it with you. Pronto. And tell Jacy it's damn hard to see where you're going with your head stuck up your ass, so pull the plug."
Holic lay on his bunk feeling smug and victorious. Let Merrick think he needed surgery to fix his hands. Let them think that he was vulnerable. Pathetic, even.
He was neither. He'd agreed to become the sacrificial lamb to twist the knife a little deeper, and for his loyalty he was going to be well paid.
The Chameleon had promised him a substantial bonus, far more than ever before to play this lock-up game. At first he'd thought it was a joke---hearing the Chameleon's voice on the phone months ago. After all, he'd believed, like everyone else, that the Chameleon had died in Greece. But it wasn't true. Onyxx had failed again.
Holic had heard the smug pleasure in the Chameleon's voice when he'd said the words. The game was never going to end, the Chameleon had promised, and Holic believed him. The man was a master criminal---the best in the business.
Holic rolled onto his side, ready to settle in for a restful sleep. He closed his eyes, and a vision of Prisca came to him.
"Oh, yes, perfection," he mused out loud. His daughter was his fruit, and he had taken great care in nurturing her, and watching her mature into a ripe beauty.
She loved him; her loyalty was unblemished. It was all part of the grand scheme that was going to set the intelligence world into a catastrophic tailspin. A conspiracy that would make him as rich as the master himself.
Prisca woke up cold. She stirred, rolled over on her back and pulled the blanket up to her chin. That was when she realized Jacy wasn't in bed with her any longer.
She sat up and blinked to focus in the darkness. The room was ice-cold, and she saw that the window was open. That Jacy was a shadow standing by the open window looking at her.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He came toward her, and she realized that he was no longer limping. That there was something different about his confident gait. His height... He seemed taller, and he was wearing a coat.
Then she caught the pungent scent of oranges drifting on the cold night air. She clutched the blanket as recognition dawned.
Otto had found her.
She pushed back the blankets and got out of bed. She was wearing one of Jacy's flannel shirts and a pair of underwear. As her feet came in contact with the wood floor a chill raced up her spine.
He motioned to her to be quiet and when he raised his hand, she saw that he had a gun. He glanced at the door, then he did something unexpected---he scooped her up in his arms and hugged her so tight that her breath caught.
"Oh, Miss Pris," he whispered close to her ear. "I've been so worried. I'm sorry I let this happen to you. But I'm here now, and you're going to be safe again."
He loosened his hold on her and when her feet were back on the floor, she looked up at him. Without warning he lowered his head and kissed her. It was solid, and rife with emotion---a blatant expression of his true feelings for her.
Da, he loved her. Loved her with his whole heart, in the same way she loved Jacy Moon Madox.
"Come, Miss Pris. I'll get you safely away, and then I'll come back."
Then I'll come back. He meant he would come back to the cabin and kill Jacy. There was no way she could let that happen.
"I've seen to everything," he said as he pulled a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her, then grabbed her hand and led her to the open window. "I'll carry you. It's not far. I've brought you everything you need," he promised as he climbed back out the window, then held his hands out to her.
In that moment Pris made a decision, and at the fore-front of that decision was Jacy's safety. She had no idea where he was at the moment, but Otto was definitely armed and it was evident that he meant to kill Jacy.
Quickly she slipped through the window and into Otto's arms.
Pierce had just shoved his phone into his pocket when the phone that hung on Jacy's kitchen wall rang. Jacy reached for it as he slid a cup of coffee to his friend.
It was probably Tate drunk somewhere and needing a ride. Well, this time he was going to have to get his ass back home on his own power. He didn't have time for Tate's nonsense at the moment.
"Hello."
"Issohko?"
"Yes, Grandmother. Why are you calling so late?"
"It's sisttsi nan. I've had a vision, and I fear she's in danger. I see a shadow hanging over her. He's come for her."
"Who, Grandmother?"
"The one who seeks her, Grandson. A shadow from the past."
"But she's fine. She's asleep."
The minute he said the words he heard Matwau growl, and he walked back into the living room to see the animal had left the room and was headed down the hall. Jacy swore, said, "We'll talk later," then hung up the phone.
He hurried through the living room and passed Matwau in the hall. He flung open his bedroom door, and a blast of winter air stopped him cold in his tracks. Koko's warning was real. Pris was gone.
The shadow from the past had already come and gone.
Jacy turned around and saw Pierce standing in the hall. He realized he was saying something, asking him what the hell was going on.
"She's gone," he heard himself say, and the words were hard to swallow---churning up bile in his gut.
"She's run off."
"No," Jacy said. "Someone came through the window and took her. Pris would never leave on her own."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I know, dammit!"
"Maybe she rethought things. She's Holic's daughter. Maybe she was playing you, and---"
Jacy spun around, "If you finish that sentence I'm going to break your jaw. She's not like Holic. Never was and never will be."
"Then I've led him to her," Pierce said.
"What?"
"When Merrick called just now he said Otto Breit escaped from his holding cell. What if he followed me here?"
That Otto had slipped into his house and taken Pris made Jacy livid. Right now he'd rather see her in the hands of the agency than in the hands of Breit---a man who cared for her beyond friendship.
Jacy left the house, with Pierce on his heels and Matwau out in front of him. They tracked the footprints through the snow---one set of man-size prints---concluding that Otto had taken Pris by force and was carrying her. The prints led them through the woods a mile to the road where they found tire tracks. A vehicle had parked, then turned around.
It was Breit, Jacy concluded. Who else would have followed Pierce? It all fit together too damn neatly.
He recalled how he'd left Pris in his bed. She'd been wearing one of his shirts and not much else. If Breit was in a hurry---and that made sense---then she'd been stolen right out of his bed with no shoes and no coat.
"Sonofabitch."
"What are you thinking?" Pierce asked.
"She couldn't get away from him if she wanted to. She was wearing damn little for clothing."
Jacy watched Pierce raise his eyebrows.
"I guess that means you two made up after she tried to kill you."
"It means I care about her more than my own life."
Pierce shook his head. "That explains why you've been acting like a grizzly bear since we found her gone."
"I don't need to hear a lecture on agency policy and personal involvement."
"I wasn't going there. As an old friend of mine used to say, the heart doesn't discriminate. Not by age or creed. It just feels what it feels. Like a homing pigeon."
"If you knew her like I do then... No, if you knew her the way I do, I'd have to kill you. Which is what I intend to do to Breit if he's harmed her in any way."
"After we get a confession from him and the kill-file," Pierce reminded.
Jacy hesitated, then said, "Otto isn't only Pris's partner. He's in love with her. What if he feels betrayed for finding her in my room? What if he's as cold a bastard as Holic? When you interrogated him, what did you think?"
"That he's not the kind of man to walk away from a fight. Personal or otherwise. He strangled a guard at the agency to escape. A bold act. He had no idea he could walk out without being stopped. That takes balls."
"Then we don't have a lot of time to find out where he's taken her."
"He won't go far. My guess is he's going to want to take us on. But first he's going to tuck her away somewhere safe."
"It would be for the best. I don't want her in the middle of this."
"Like it or not, Jacy, she's smack in the middle. She's been there from the moment she was born. We don't choose who our parents are. We get what we get, good or bad."
The comment reminded Jacy that Pierce had never spoken of his own family---only of an elderly man named Saber Lazie.
"So where would Otto Breit take her?" Pierce asked.
"He's driving an SUV judging by the tire treads. I guess I'm back checking motels in the area."
"You mean we are. I'm going with you."
Jacy headed into his office, and Pierce trailed after him. Jacy went to a steel safe in the corner and opened it with a combination from memory. He pulled out a rifle, and two handguns, then went back down the hall to Pris's bedroom. He quickly packed a pair of jeans and a sweater for her. Her brown soft leather boots. Then he grabbed her wool coat.
Pierce continued to trail him. "Where are we going first?"
"East Glacier, then Browning." Jacy dialed Koko, still speaking to Pierce. "If he does head back here I plan to have someone close by to give us a heads up."
Jacy told Koko what had happened, not in great detail, but enough to explain why he would be gone. "Tell Tate I want him to get over here. Tell him I want him sober and packing some heat. And I want him to stake out the house from the barn. He should be able to see the surrounding area and who comes and goes from the second story. Tell him I don't want him showing himself. This guy we're tracking is armed and dangerous. Tate is to stay put and give me a call if anyone shows up. That's all."
"Be careful, issohko. I've seen more in my vision. Sisttsi nan isn't the only one in danger. It walks with you, too."
Pris convinced Otto to stop at the Mountain View Motel in East Glacier. It was where Jacy had found her, and where her Bronco still sat.
Otto agreed, then rented a room under an alias. He took in their bags, and checked out the room while she sat and waited in his white SUV. On the ride, he had handed her a bag that had clothing in it. Inside she'd found jeans, sweaters, a pair of boots and socks. She had pulled on the jeans and footwear. He'd even bought her a new wool coat. She had noticed he was wearing the scarf he'd given her months ago, and on the ride, he had slipped it off his neck and handed it to her.
As always, as if nothing had changed, Otto had seen to every detail. He seemed to know what she needed in every area of her life. He'd even bought her a bag of oranges---his favorite, not hers, but he insisted she eat one a day because it was good for her.
He hadn't spoken much as he'd carried her from Jacy's cabin to his awaiting vehicle. Only how sorry he was that he'd allowed her to be captured.
What would he think if he knew she had left Vienna on her own? Pris decided not to tell him. He seemed different, more protective than ever, and more than anxious to deal with Jacy.
She couldn't let that happen.
Did Jacy know she was gone? Did he think she had run?
He no doubt did. He would come after her either way. That's why she needed to find out where the kill-file was as soon as possible, and where Otto stood in all of this.
Had her father taken him into his confidence? Did Otto know her mother was alive?
She had been aware while she'd dressed that he'd glanced her way more than once. That he'd stared at Jacy's shirt a long while once they had pulled into the motel. What had he been thinking? Did he know whose room she'd been sleeping in?
When they were inside, he said, "I bought you two sweaters in your favorite colors. There is no longer a need to wear that." He pointed to the flannel shirt as she took off the black coat he'd brought her.
She opened the bag that he'd packed for her and pulled out a soft blue cashmere V-neck, then entered the bathroom to put it on. It was dawn now and the day looked gray and threatening. More snow wasn't going to help her escape once she made her move.
When she came out Otto had taken off his black leather coat and was seated at the table peeling an orange.
"Sit down, Miss Pris. We need to talk."
"Da, we do," she said, then sat across from him. She wasn't sure how to begin to find out what she needed to know. Carefully, she asked, "How did you find me?"
"I followed the agent from Washington."
"What agent?"
"The Onyxx man named Pierce Fourtier."
She recognized the name. Jacy had talked about a man named Pierce, but he hadn't told her he was expecting him at the cabin.
"It's my fault," he said. "I was supposed to protect you. I never thought that you would be kidnapped. I don't know how Onyxx was able to locate us. The night they came and took you---what happened?"
"They came through a window, I guess, like you did tonight, then they took me from my bed," she lied.
"Why didn't they take me, too?"
"I don't know."
"Did you tell them anything?"
"No."
"Sehr gut."
"I have a question for you. Jacy Madox told me my father shot my mother." Pris watched closely as she asked the question she already knew the answer to. "Did he?"
"Of course not. He lies to trick you. Your mother died at the hands of Bjorn Odell."
Did he really believe that, or was he the one who was lying? Pris wondered.
"So you believe my father. He's confided in you?"
"Da. As my father trusted him, I also trust Holic. I am loyal to his cause. I owe your father my life, and I will give it if necessary to protect both of you. But I would prefer to live. To go on as we have been." He gave a curt nod. "We will go on, Miss Pris, as soon as I kill Madox and Fourtier."
"Do you have the kill-file with you?"
"Da. I've been worried about you, and yet I...I tried to stay on schedule, hoping I would hear from you each day. I can't shoot like you, but I managed to take out the next four targets on the list before..."
"Before what?"
"Before I was apprehended in Vienna and taken to Washington. I was interrogated at the Onyxx Agency. They asked me about the kill-file, and my relationship to your father. Of course, I disclosed nothing. Not even when they told me they had captured you. That's when I escaped and followed Fourtier here. I checked my files, saw that Jacy Madox was living in these mountains and thought, what a perfect out-of-the-way place to hide you. It was a gamble, but it paid off. You can't know the relief I felt when you sat up in bed and I saw it was you. Madox forced himself on you, didn't he?"
Prisca looked away. She had expected the question would come up considering the way she was dressed when he found her.
"I'm sorry. It's my fault. I'll kill him for touching you. I'll kill him for what he took from you. I make you that promise, Miss Pris."
If she told Otto he was wrong, he would think she was lying, then wonder why. For now she had to play along. Make him believe she was glad to be back with him. Back where she belonged until she recovered the kill-file. Then she would turn herself and the file over to Merrick at Onyxx.
Suddenly Otto picked up the chair he'd been sitting on and threw it against the wall. She had never seen him lose control, though she had always been convinced that the physical power he possessed was beyond human.
"Otto..."
He spun around. "You have to know how I feel about you. If you don't, then you're blind, Miss Pris. I have loved you since the day I saw you. I would die for you, Miss Pris."
"I'm not asking that of you."
He stared at her, and she decided that's not what he'd hoped to hear. He'd wanted her to declare her love as he had.
"We need to get back to work," she said. "We're off schedule. This vendetta against Jacy Madox only wastes more time."
"I can't dismiss what has happened, and you shouldn't want me to. It is my duty as your protector to take his life."
Prisca raised her chin. "I will handle my own revenge on those who have used me. When the time is right, I will strike, and justice will be mine. I am my father's daughter, Otto. I have been taught to show no mercy to those who betray or use me for their own gain. Now where is the kill-file? We need to make plans."
"It is right here."
She waited, and when Otto pulled his phone from his pocket and set it on the table, she had her answer to at least one question. He must have downloaded the kill-file into his cell phone. How and when, she didn't know, but it didn't matter. Now all she had to do was take it from him and escape.
"I am in no hurry to leave just yet. I must rest, and consider what you've said. We will talk again when I wake up."
Otto had been sleeping a long half hour when Pris made her move. She stole his keys from his coat pocket, then his phone off the table. She still didn't know where he stood in all of this. When they had talked earlier she had gotten the feeling that he knew more than he had admitted. That maybe he knew the truth about her mother.
She quietly opened the door, was halfway out.
"I wouldn't want to shoot you in the back, but it is a just death for a traitor."
Pris turned slowly. Otto sat on the edge of the bed, his SIG pointed at her.
"It was the shirt that gave you away. If Madox had taken you by force it would have been the first thing you would have wanted to get rid of, not the last. You have changed sides, Miss Pris. I do not know why, but it has happened. Ja?"
"My father lied, Otto. He tricked us. He's not who he claims to be. He doesn't work for the government. He's a professional assassin."
"Did Madox tell you that?"
"He offered proof."
"It could have been fabricated."
He was too calm. Otto knew what her father was about. He was part of it. Had been from the beginning.
"You've known all along, haven't you?"
"My father gave his life for your father's cause. He worked for Holic for years, and I supported him."
"There is no cause, only greed. He works for money and sells his expertise to whoever will pay his price."
"Come back inside and shut the door."
"Or you'll shoot me? I don't think so."
"Do not test my loyalty to your father."
"What about your loyalty to me? You said you love me."
"I do. It's unfortunate that you do not return my love."
"I do love you. I love you like a brother."
"And Jacy Madox with your whole heart?"
Pris wasn't sure how she should answer that, but she could see that her stalling had given Otto his answer.
"I know you, Miss Pris. I have watched you from afar since you were ten. You are wise beyond your years. If you went willingly to Madox's bed, then you must love him."
He spoke with sadness in his voice, but also with a reconciled finality.
Pris changed the subject. "I've killed two men, Otto. My father purposely turned me into an assassin. A criminal. He used me."
"Those men deserved---"
"If those men deserved to die, let someone else do it, not me. I hate my father for what he's turned me into, do you hear? I hate him for betraying me for his own personal gain."
"You are his daughter. You have his hands, and---"
"I am not like him."
"You are more like him than you know."
"No, I'm not. I intend to face what I've done and own up to it. If that means an iron cell beside him, I'm resigned to it. I'm not going to make excuses, even though I believed what I was doing was the right thing."
"You will not go to prison. We have a job to do and we will do it. You don't have a choice in this, and I will not let Onyxx take you. I am bound to protect you one way or another."
"Onyxx never kidnapped me in Vienna," Pris confessed. "I left on my own. I realize now that it was destiny intervening, or I would have eight deaths on my conscience instead of two. I left with plans to hunt down Bjorn Odell and kill him for taking my mother from me, and when I couldn't find him, I went after the controller, Jacy Madox. On my way here the plane crashed in the mountains. The pilot died, but I survived. Jacy Madox nursed me back to health. I spent weeks in his home, and during that time I got to know him. He is a good man."
"I will thank Madox for his hospitality before I kill him."
Pris shook her head. "You will not kill him."
"There is no room for free will in this business. Because I understand what loyalty means, I am required to terminate the problem you created by following your heart."
"I will not go back with you."
He stood, laid the SIG on the nightstand. "You have no choice. Put my keys and phone on the table, then go take a shower. Scrub very hard, Miss Pris. I do not want to smell Madox on you anywhere when you are finished."
It was as Jacy was on 49 headed for East Glacier that Pierce spied the white SUV with Otto behind the wheel.
"That's him," he said.
The vehicle was past before Jacy got a look at the driver. "You sure?"
"I'm sure. Big guy. Blond crew cut."
"You see Pris?"
"No."
Jacy slammed on the brakes and did a one-eighty in the middle of the road. The moment he did, the SUV took off, doubling its speed.
"He's spotted us," Pierce said.
Jacy increased his speed to keep from losing sight of the vehicle. "He was on his way back to the cabin," he said.
"Makes sense. He's probably stashed Pris somewhere."
Highway 49 had been aptly named Looking Glass because it was a scenic, winding road, crowded by rugged high peaks and towering lodgepole and ponderosa pine. The snow that had been hitting the area for the past week had compacted the road and made it treacherous. It was snowing again, not heavily, but enough to compound the problem.
The pickup fishtailed as it hit a patch of snow-covered ice.
"Hell, this road is a suicide run," Pierce said. "Give me a bayou full of snakes any day."
Jacy ignored Pierce's grumbling and increased his speed as Otto disappeared around the corner. "I'm going to try to run him off the road before we get too high."
"Too high?"
"This is a mountain pass. There's a narrow trail up ahead. If we cut him off, he'll have to take it. He won't be able to go far before he's forced to stop. Maybe a quarter mile. He'll have to stand and fight, or go on foot. He's mine then."
Jacy floored the pickup, and before long he was on Otto's ass. With expert timing, he pulled out into the passing lane and turned into the SUV. Metal collided with metal and both vehicles jerked and bucked. Tires squealed.
Otto sped up and pulled away as Jacy's pickup nearly went over the side. He swore, then put the pedal to the floor and rammed the SUV again, forcing it into the granite rocks.
Otto struggled to pull the vehicle back on the road, then turned on the narrow trail.
"He bit," Pierce said.
"Like a nervous dog," Jacy said just as his pickup hit a slippery patch on the road. They went into a skid, and he tried to hold the wheel, tried to keep them from going over the side. Momentum pulled him off the road and suddenly they were airborne just before they crashed into a tree.
The impact put Pierce into the windshield and split his head open. Jacy felt the steering wheel dig into his rib, and it knocked the air out of his lungs.
For a moment time stood still, then Jacy shook off the pain and looked over at Pierce. "You all right?"
"Do I look all right?" Pierce wiped the blood out of his eyes. "That sonofabitch is starting to piss me off. Let's go get him."
They got out of the pickup and climbed the rocky bank, crossed the highway and headed down the trail Otto had taken. Jacy saw Pierce glance more than once at his leg---his limp was always more obvious when he hurried---and he knew what his friend was thinking.
"I don't walk pretty anymore, but I'm still an ornery sonofabitch either way. You worry about keeping up with me."
Pierce grinned. "Now that's the old Jacy I used to know. Welcome back, bro."
Jacy pulled his gun from inside his sheepskin coat, then followed the tracks Otto's SUV had left. They found the vehicle abandoned fifteen minutes later.
When he saw two sets of footprints leaving the vehicle, he said, "Pris is with him."
"He must have had her tied up in the back," Pierce agreed, examining the prints.
"Her prints are in the lead. Looks like he doesn't have a willing partner any longer."
"Then you were right. He took her from the cabin."
That was no surprise to Jacy. Pris was no longer playing her father's game. If she'd gone with Otto Breit it had been by force, or she'd had a damn good reason.
Pris stumbled and before she went down, Otto hauled her back up. Her hands were bound together at her wrists and it was hard to maintain her balance in the deep snow.
"Keep moving, or I will carry you like a sack over my shoulder."
Pris said nothing. Otto had outsmarted her at the motel, and since then he'd been on a single-minded mission---kill Jacy Madox.
She'd showered as he had told her to do, and when she had come out of the bathroom, he had sniffed her hair, and the side of her neck. He'd nodded his approval, then handed her coat to her.
He'd packed their bags while she was in the shower, and shredded the sheet. Then he'd used a strip to tie her wrists together and walked her out to the SUV, demanding that she lie down in the back seat. He'd tied her ankles with another piece of the sheet so she couldn't run away.
But he was the one on the run now. Jacy was not far behind---she believed that---even though Otto had smugly told her that his pickup had gone off the road and crashed.
Even if it had, Jacy wouldn't give up---he'd told her that once. Otto had no idea who he was dealing with. The man, as Vic had called Jacy, was half Blackfeet Indian, and an ex-Hell's Angel---and she was no longer stupid about what that meant. Jacy had been recruited into Onyxx because he knew how to survive. He had fought his way out of a wheelchair against the odds, to stand on his own two feet.
No, Otto had no idea who he would be facing very soon. It would be for the best if she could convince him to surrender.
"You need to give yourself up, Otto. I don't want you to die."
He snorted, and shoved her forward to keep moving. "Never. If today is my day to die I will not be a coward. I will embrace it. But I promise you, I will not die alone."
He jerked her off the road and into the knee-deep snow. "This way."
"Where are we going?"
"Back to the highway."
Feeling braver, she said, "Running is just another form of surrender."
He pulled her to a stop and spun her around. She thought he would hit her then; he looked angry enough to do it, but he didn't.
"You have acquired a backbone these past weeks, Miss Pris. Maybe there is still hope for you in this business."
"I will never shoot a gun again. I promise you my days as an assassin are over."
"Not with your talent." He pushed her to get moving again, and ten minutes later they were standing on a rocky cliff overlooking the road thirty feet below them.
Otto swore, then searched their surroundings, looking for a way down. He pointed to a number of rocks. "There is a footpath. We will go slow." He pulled a knife from his pocket and cut her wrists free. "Don't be foolish and think you can escape me."
Pris turned, intending to do just that, but there was no need. Jacy and another man---it had to be Pierce Fourtier---stood twenty feet away, each with a handgun drawn. She froze---a mistake, she realized, the minute Otto grabbed her high around the chest and dragged her back against him. Using her as a shield, he pulled his SIG from his pocket and brought it to her temple.
"Throw down your weapon, Otto. This is the end of the road for you."
"It appears to be true. Unfortunate for all of us." Otto lowered his head while keeping his eyes on Jacy and Pierce. He whispered close to Pris's ear, "I have always loved you. Whatever happens, know nothing has changed."
"Otto, please put down the gun."
"I do not know how to do that, Miss Pris. I am bound by loyalty. I gave my word to your father to keep the kill-file out of the hands of the enemy. I made a promise to protect you with my life, or be willing to take it should it come to that. My promise to you is that it will be quick and painless."
Jacy didn't know what Otto said to Pris, but it drained the color from her face.
Pierce asked, "What's going on, Jacy?"
"I don't know, but I don't like it."
"She can never be yours, Madox," Otto called out. "To be labeled a traitor is worse than death. She goes with me. She dies loyal to her father. We die loyal together."
Jacy saw Otto step back. "No! Don't do it."
But there was no reasoning with a man who had been brainwashed by Holic. Otto took another step and backed off the cliff, taking Pris with him.
Jacy heard Pris scream, and he raced forward expecting to see her dead, smashed among the rocks. He saw Otto's lifeless body, contorted and twisted, but Pris was nowhere in sight.
He scanned the ledge, saw her clinging to a rock twenty feet below him. "Pris!"
"Jacy...help me."
From behind him, Pierce said, "She's alive."
"And she's going to stay that way." Jacy started over the edge. "Don't let go, honey. I'm coming."
He had maneuvered the rocks like a mountain goat to save her. Pris clung to the image as she had clung to the rock ledge, remembering the moment he had pulled her to safety. It had felt so good to be in his arms, and she had known in that moment that everything was going to be all right. Jacy would make it all right.
She stood at the bedroom window at the cabin, still numb hours later. She wanted to forget the sight of Otto broken and bleeding among the rocks, but she would never forget him or the sacrifice he had made for his loyalty to her father---a man who deserved to rot in hell for the rest of his life.
When they got back to the highway, she'd told Jacy she wanted a moment alone with Otto. She had loved him in her own way---she hadn't lied about that, she had loved him like a brother. She'd touched his cheek, and kissed his lifeless lips. Said a silent prayer in hopes that his soul would be set free, then removed his cell phone from his pocket and placed it in hers.
She heard the door open and turned from the window to see Jacy with a tray.
"I brought you some soup. It'll warm you up and help you sleep."
"I'm sorry I've been so much trouble."
"You know me," he smiled, "we Hell's Angels gravitate to trouble."
She tried to smile; it was hard. She watched him set the tray on the nightstand, let her eyes drift over him, loving every inch of who and what he was. She left the window, and when his hands were free, she stepped into his arms and hugged him.
He lifted her chin and kissed her nose, then her lips. She savored the kiss, melted into it...into him. It was going to be so hard leaving him.
Suddenly, he asked, "Did Otto tell you where he kept the kill-file?"
"It was programmed into the cell phone he was carrying."
"And he was carrying it on him when he went off the ledge?"
"Yes."
"I'll check it out." He kissed her again. "Eat, then get some sleep. We might be flying to D.C. tomorrow."
When he left the room, Pris listened at the door until she heard his voice in the kitchen talking to Pierce and Tate. Quietly she left the room and entered his office to make two phone calls. Back in the bedroom, she slipped on her coat, checked to make sure Otto's phone was still in her pocket, then went out the window.
Pris had only been to Koko's cabin twice, and both times it had been with Jacy. They had driven over in the pickup. This time she was on foot, following the frozen trail that skirted Two Medicine Lake.
Thirty minutes later Koko met her at the door.
"Are you sure this is how it has to be, sisttsi nan?"
"It's time I take responsibility for what I've done. Jacy has been wonderful, but I can't lean on him forever."
"From what I have seen, my grandson enjoys your leaning. He will be upset with both of us when he finds you gone."
"Tell him I forced you to give me Tate's keys."
"I will not. I will tell him the truth."
"And that is?"
"That you need to face the past before you can make a future with him."
Pris lowered her head. "I don't think I'll be coming back."
"I will pray that you do. You are good medicine for my grandson."
"He is good medicine for me, too."
"Remember that healing takes time, sisttsi nan, and that the best place to heal is in the arms of the one who loves you."
Jacy had never told her he loved her, though he had certainly proven that he cared about her. She wished he had spoken the words, but then she hadn't said them either.
Pris took Tate's keys from Koko's bony hand, then a map.
"I have marked the route. Go to East Glacier, then Essex. Stay on number 2 past Coram and Hungry Horse. Take highway 40, then turn south on 93. I've marked the map and made all the arrangements you asked for."
When Koko hugged her, Pris clung to her reed-thin body, then whispered, "Take care of him for me." When she stepped back she was crying. "I will never forget you."
"And I you, little bird."
Five hours later Prisca stood in the airport lobby in Washington, D.C. and watched as a gray-haired man dressed in black walked toward her.
When she had called Adolf Merrick, she had told him she had the kill-file, and that she would turn it over, and herself, as soon as she was allowed to see her father.
"Prisca Reznik?"
"Da, I'm Prisca."
"I'm Merrick. I have a car waiting."
She nodded, and allowed him to guide her through the crowded airport. They moved quickly, and she was aware that two men had suddenly appeared to follow behind them.
"I'm not going to run," she assured.
"I don't believe you are," Merrick said. "My men are here to protect you. You have the kill-file, right?"
"I do."
"Then let's get out of here. I have a plane waiting to take us to Clume. You're sure you want to visit your father?"
"I wouldn't call it a visit. I just want a word with him. It won't take long."
He motioned to his men to close in around them, and an hour later she was walking through a series of iron gates, then down a hollow-sounding corridor at Clume.
"I don't think it's a good idea for you to see him alone," Merrick said as they stopped outside an iron door.
"But that was the deal," Pris said.
He studied her a minute, then nodded. "I'll wait for you here."
Merrick pressed a button, and Pris stepped into the cell to find her father standing at a narrow window. She hardly recognized him with his head shaved, but she knew it was him---she saw herself in his eyes when he turned around.
"Hello, Father."
"Pris, what are you doing here?"
"I've come to tell you that I know the truth of who you are. That I know about all the lies and the tricks. About the other women in your life, and the abuse my mother endured living with you. I came to tell you that Otto is dead, and that he died loyal to you, though he wasn't able to take me with him when he jumped to his death. He made it clear that you had made him promise to kill me if I ever faced capture. Such a caring father."
"What are you talking about?"
"I plan to give the kill-file to Adolf Merrick. I took it from Otto after he was dead. I'm also turning myself in, confessing to everything I've done. I'm here to tell you that your daughter is about to betray you as you betrayed me."
"I didn't betray you, Pris. You've been lied to."
"Da, I have. By you, Father. Only by you."
His face contorted. "You're just like your mother."
"I hope so. I don't want to be like you. I don't want to be Holic Reznik's daughter anymore. That's all I came to say." Pris turned to leave.
"If you do this I will hunt you down, daughter. You will never be free of me. Do you hear! Never!"
Pris pressed the button next to the door to signal Merrick that she was finished. When the door opened, she stepped out into the sterile hall as her father continued to shout threats at her, damning her to eternal hell.
Merrick flew her back to D.C. and escorted her to his office. There, Pris handed over Otto's cell phone and told the Onyxx commander that he would find the kill-file there. She confessed to killing Alton Bromly and Thomas Walrich, then waited for him to lock her up.
"I understand now why Jacy was so determined to help you. You're not only beautiful, you're a brave young woman, Miss Reznik. I could have told Jacy this days ago, but I wanted to meet Holic Reznik's daughter.
"So this is how it is, Miss Reznik. The two men you killed were double agents. Bromly had been on Euro-Quest's hit list for over a year, and our own agent, Thomas Walrich, had been on ours for six months after stealing confidential material and selling it to the KGB. I've spoken to my superiors, and we all agree that you've done us a service. In the report I intend to file tomorrow it will state that you were working undercover for us. With the job complete, you'll be moved to a safe location. I took the liberty of choosing that locale for you. You will be reunited with your mother. Your plane leaves within the hour."
Jacy walked into Merrick's office early the next morning after spending the night pacing the Glacier International Airport in Kalispell---Montana was getting one helluva winter storm. He had his Stetson pulled low over his eyes and his sheepskin coat tucked under his arm.
He looked like a wild Indian on the warpath.
"Where is she?"
Merrick looked up from his paperwork. "You made good time considering the weather report. It's supposed to head this way. Hell, I hope not. Sit down."
"I'll stand."
"If you want to have this conversation, you'll sit."
Jacy tossed the black camera bag on Merrick's desk before taking a seat. He had been livid when he'd learned that Koko had given Pris the keys to Tate's pickup and had made flight reservations for her. He'd driven straight to Kalispell hoping to catch her, but she'd managed to fly out ahead of the storm. Unfortunately, he hadn't been so lucky. He'd had to cool his heels overnight while ten inches of fresh snow paralyzed the airport.
"Last time I saw you, you were in a wheelchair. You're looking fit. Ready to take on the entire agency, as a matter a fact."
Jacy ignored the small talk. "She doesn't deserve to be hung for this. She was only doing---"
"---what she was told. Yes, I know. The perfect pawn in another one of Holic's games. Using his daughter was quite ingenious. I agree, however, to hang her would be a miscarriage of justice."
Jacy hadn't expected to hear that. He sat back, a little less hostile, but still determined to be heard. "What will it take to pardon her?"
"What are you offering?"
Jacy pointed to the bag. "For starters, Holic's gun. And if you want me back at Onyxx, I'll agree, but only if Pris walks away a free woman. Her record swept clean."
"An interesting exchange. I rather like the setup we created at the cabin. A communication and research base away from headquarters has proven useful. You could work from your home as you did on the Austrian mission. You were invaluable to our success there."
"Then we agree. I'll come back, and she'll be set free? A full pardon."
"Agreed."
That was too easy. Jacy asked, "What do you know that I don't?"
"I know that you're a pretty damn good judge of character. Prisca Reznik is an amazing young woman. Courageous, smart...beautiful. Want to tell me what happened in Montana?"
"I'll send you a report. Pierce is on his way back with Otto Breit's body. He went over the side of a cliff. It'll be in the report. We couldn't find the kill-file."
"No need to worry about that any longer. I have it. Pris delivered it personally."
Jacy was surprised to hear that. Why hadn't she told him she had it?
"And where is she now?"
"I have your word you'll return to Onyxx, work as a controller?"
"You have my word. Where is she?"
Merrick checked his watch, then stood. "Walk with me, I'm going to be late for a meeting, and there's a few more things you need to know."
As they left the office, Jacy keeping stride with his commander, Merrick said, "First off, she's safe. I've reunited her with her mother."
The Azores would have been the perfect place to heal if Pris could stop thinking about Jacy. It was a magical place with water as blue as the sky, and balmy ocean breezes that warmed her face the moment she stepped outside.
Pris strolled the beach, hand in hand with her mother. She wore white shorts and a yellow tank, and carried her sandals. The baked sand warmed her feet, and it was the first time in her life that she'd had a suntan.
Her mother seemed to thrive here. She looked younger, rested and most of all, happy. She wore free-flowing sun-dresses and fussed with her silky blond hair. She was also painting again, something Pris hadn't seen her mother do in years.
They had spent hours talking about the past, both the good and the bad. They'd shared tears, but there had been happy moments, too---confessions of the soul exchanged. It had only served to bring them closer together. They had always been close, but over the past two months they had been inseparable.
Pris had been afraid to tell her mother about the two men she'd killed, but Mady had surprised her. There was no repulsion or disappointment in her blue eyes when she looked at her daughter. Only sympathy and understanding.
Your father is the master of deceit. Don't blame yourself for succumbing to his experience and silver tongue. I was fooled for years.
Then she had divulged her own secrets---when she'd first learned the truth about Holic the Butcher Reznik, she hadn't been strong enough to leave him.
If I had left him, none of this would have happened. Your great grandpa would still be alive, Holic would never have taught you how to shoot a gun, and you would not be suffering now about something you had no control over. I live with that guilt every day. I could have prevented so much if I hadn't been such a coward.
The word coward had settled around Pris---it was what she had been weeks ago when she'd slipped out the bedroom window of Jacy's cabin for the last time. She hadn't wanted to say goodbye, and so she hadn't.
It had been a cowardly act.
"You're quiet again today," Mady said.
"I'm just tired."
"I think it's more than that. All week you've been in a mood. Nadja has noticed it, too." Mady pulled Pris to a stop. "Can I help?"
Pris had avoided talking about Jacy to her mother. It simply hurt too much. If he'd cared at all, he would at least have called. She didn't want to be a pathetic nineteen-year-old. Why would a man like Jacy Madox be interested in someone who had ruined her life the way she had? Someone who was too much of a coward even to say goodbye?
Still, she knew she couldn't stay on the island. She had to make a life for herself, and not in this safe box.
"I love being here with you, Mama. You know I do. But I feel lost since I've come here. I'm probably just being impatient, wanting to feel normal again, when that's never going to happen. Each day I walk the beach hoping to feel better, but I just keep feeling worse. Lost."
"Perhaps you need something to do."
Exactly, Pris thought. Something to take her mind off the past...and Jacy Madox.
"I thought about taking up painting. You seem to enjoy it, and I used to, but..."
"I was thinking more along the lines of a job," Mady said. "After dinner why don't you talk to Bjorn? He's made some connections here on the island."
"You like him."
"Yes, I like him, and I trust him, too."
"Do you think he'll ever marry Aunt Nadja?"
"Yes, I think he will. When the time is right."
"Alzbet adores them both."
"And they are very proud of her, as I am of you. In a few months there will be a new addition to the family. We're all excited about that. Nadja thinks it's going to be a boy. Don't tell Bjorn."
Throughout the day Pris considered what kind of job she would be good at. But she quickly realized that her skills were limited. Not exactly limited, more of a specialized nature. She knew guns, how to acquire a fake ID, and how to disappear off a rooftop within minutes. But those skills wouldn't get her a job on the island.
She approached Bjorn after dinner, found him on the veranda leaning against the railing looking out over the water. The first time she had met Bjorn, he had intimidated her much like Jacy had when she'd first met him. He was bigger than she'd expected---this man she had once believed had killed her mother. But she knew now that he wasn't capable of such an act. Like Jacy, Bjorn Odell was a good man.
He wore his blond hair as long as Jacy's, but that was the only similarity. He was broader-shouldered, with blue eyes that matched his daughter's. He was from Denmark and almost forty---that information had come from Aunt Nadja.
"Could I talk to you?"
He turned from the railing. "Sure. What do you need?"
"I need a job. Something to keep me busy. I have too much time to think."
"And what, or should I ask, who are you thinking about?"
Pris hesitated, then came out with what she was thinking at that exact moment. "Have you talked to Jacy?"
"Ja, he's called."
"He has?"
"You sound surprised."
Pris shrugged.
"Jacy and I have been through a lot together. He's a good friend. Merrick's got him on two assignments at the moment, and he's keeping busy."
"I thought he'd retired."
Bjorn rested his lower back against the railing and stuck his thumbs in his jean pockets. "He did, but then he agreed to go back. He's still working out of the cabin." He smiled. "Go ahead and ask."
"Ask what?"
"You want to know if he's asked about you, right?"
Pris looked off toward the ocean. "Has he?"
"Every time he calls."
Bjorn's answer turned Pris's head. "And what does he ask?"
"If you're happy. How you're doing."
"And what do you tell him?"
"That he should come for a visit and see for himself. I got the feeling from him, and now you, that there's some unfinished business between the two of you."
Pris changed the subject. "About that job..."
"So what are you good at?"
"I thought about that after Mama and I talked this morning, and I've decided that the only thing I'm good at is shooting a gun and deviant behavior. I don't think that will look too good on a job résumé."
Bjorn chuckled. "I'll make a few calls, and see what I can come up with."
Jacy watched the Onyxx chopper land from the other side of the lake. It had been three months since he'd had any visitors, although he was on the phone to Merrick more than ever.
He followed the trail, Matwau bounding ahead of him. His knee felt better today. The weather was changing, spring was in the air.
When he reached the cabin, he saw no one on the deck waiting for him. If Merrick had come to talk to him about the last job he was working on, fine. But if he was there to dump another research mission on him, he was going to tell him to get someone else. He was spending his days and nights in his office.
He opened the door, ready to plead his case, but it wasn't Merrick who had come in the chopper. It was Bjorn.
He grinned, then said, "Damn, it's good to see you."
"I heard you were walking, and I had to come see for myself."
"I didn't expect you. Nadja's about ready to have the baby. I thought she would be keeping you close to home."
"A month away. I don't plan on staying. I just dropped in to bring you a present. Merrick says you've been working your ass off and could use some help."
"It's true, he's been keeping me pretty busy."
It was then that Jacy saw the luggage in the hall. "He didn't send me Tommy the tech, did he? Hell, I---"
"No, not Tommy. Polax and Merrick were talking the other day about this off-base tech support you've been doing for Onyxx and Polax has offered his new Quest agent to come on board."
"You're kidding, right? Merrick thinks I'm going to let a stranger move in here with me?"
"She's not exactly a stranger."
"She?"
Bjorn glanced at his watch. "I'm going to have to take off. I just came to see how you were doing and to drop off your personal assistant."
"Wait a minute, Bjorn. What the hell are you talking about---"
"Pris, honey," Bjorn called out, "I'm taking off. You want me to carry your luggage into your room before I go?"
"That's okay. I can manage."
Jacy had longed to hear her soft voice, thought about what he would say to her if he got the chance. He'd wanted to fly to the island to see her that first week. Then he'd decided she needed time with her mother. Then he'd talked himself into a corner---she'd made the choice to leave, and if she wanted to see him again, she would make the choice to return.
Is that what she'd done?
He glanced at Bjorn. He was wearing a wide grin. He suddenly remembered what his friend had said a minute ago. "Did I hear you right? She's working for Quest?"
"Polax never did fill Nadja's position."
"Wait just a damn minute."
"Hold on, Pris isn't going to be put in the field. She's going to be here, helping you out."
"In what capacity?"
"Her specialty is deviant minds. ID fraud. Weaponry. You could use an extra pair of hands, right?" Bjorn wiggled his eyebrows. Chuckled. "Why don't you go say hello, while I see myself out."
"She's nineteen years old. Polax should be shot for---"
"I'm twenty now. I had a birthday."
Jacy looked past Bjorn. Pris stood beside her luggage with her hands on her trim hips. She was wearing jeans and a red fitted flannel shirt that cupped her breasts and showed off her little waist.
Bjorn smacked him on the back, said he'd call in a few days, then went out the door.
After a long minute, she said, "If you're really opposed to the idea, I can catch Bjorn."
She struck a sexy pose, sucked on her lower lip. The memory of what it felt like to kiss her sent his body into hard drive. He shook his head. "No, ah...it's all right. I guess we can give it a try."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
Jacy removed his hat, shrugged out of his coat. "How have you been?"
"Fine, except for one thing."
"What's that?"
"I missed this place."
"It was your choice to leave...out the window."
"I did that because I didn't want to say goodbye."
Jacy dropped his coat and hat on the couch. He couldn't believe she was standing there.
"How long are you going to stare? Shouldn't I at least get a welcome kiss, or something?"
He reached her in three strides and lifted her off her feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him.
"I've missed you, Pris."
He slid her down the front of him, and when her feet were back on the floor, he cupped her face and kissed her.
Suddenly she squirmed out of his arms. "I see you've made some changes around here. The new window in your bedroom lets in more light."
Jacy grinned. "Someone told me once that it would give me a better view of the lake."
"Was she right?"
"Why don't you see for yourself? Now you don't even have to get out of bed to enjoy the view."
"It's a little early for bed."
"I wasn't planning on sleeping." He scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom. Setting her down in front of the oversized window, he stroked her cheek, kissed her again.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you, too. Koko told me this was a good place to heal. She was right. I'm starting to feel better already."
"Smart woman, my grandmother."
"Should we call her and tell her I'm back?"
Jacy turned Pris to the window and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Somehow I think she already knows. Look across the lake."
And there, on the far shore stood Koko wrapped in her worn coat, her pink scarf tied around her head. She raised her arm high as if she knew they saw her, and slowly she waved her hand side to side welcoming sisttsi nan home.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-6735-4
PERFECT ASSASSIN
Copyright © 2005 by Wendy Rosnau
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