by Wendy Rosnau
Chapter 6
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.”
