Perfect Assassin

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Perfect Assassin Page 15

by Wendy Rosnau


  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.


  Chapter 13

  “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?”

 

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