by Wendy Rosnau
“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 equipme
nt 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.
Chapter 11
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.
