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The Spy Wore Red
Wendy Rosnau
SHE HAD MOVES NO ONE COULD MATCHAnd that kept superspy Nadja Stefn alive on many an undercover assignment. Until one slip changed the game forever.It happened one icy cold night…two spies on the run, holing up together…the night Nadja wore red. They exchanged no names, and five years later Nadja still didn't know the identity of her child's father. Until she was chosen for a mission that paired her with her mystery lover.When the assassin they're after kidnaps their daughter, Nadja faces a terrible choice: A) deliver her daughter to this vicious criminal, or B) lose her child forever. But master game player Nadja might just go with option C….


EURO QUEST INTELLIGENCE AGENCY MISSION DOCUMENT
Agency location: Prague, Czech Republic
Specialty: Creating femme fatale spies—special women with killer instincts who can take their place in the world of global espionage.
Mission: Uncover the hideout of Holic “the Butcher” Reznik. Seize his future-kills file. Assassinate the assassin.
Recommended agent: Nadja Stefn, age 29, 5'9", brown eyes, blond hair. Code name: Q
Notes: Q’s sexy appearance is an asset for taking a quarry off guard. Her mental acuity and quickness are matched by a surprising tolerance for pain. A former Olympic skiing hopeful, Q spent three years in rehab after an accident that could have left her paralyzed. She recovered almost fully, but cold weather can affect her performance. However, her personal connection to this case—a connection she is not yet aware of—will give her an edge and determination that won’t allow for failure….
Dear Reader,
Silhouette Bombshell is dedicated to bringing you the best in savvy heroines, fast action, high stakes and chilling suspense. We’re raising the bar on action adventure to create an exhilarating reading experience that you’ll remember long after the final pages!
Take some personal time with Personal Enemy by Sylvie Kurtz. An executive bodyguard plans the perfect revenge against the man who helped to destroy her family—but when they’re both attacked, she’s forced to work for him before she can work against him!
Don’t miss Contact by Evelyn Vaughn, the latest adventure in the ATHENA FORCE continuity series. Faith Corbett uses her extrasenory skills to help the police solve crimes, but she’s always contacted them anonymously. Until a serial killer begins hunting psychics, and Faith must reveal herself to one disbelieving detective….
Meet the remarkable women of author Cindy Dees’s The Medusa Project. These Special Forces officers-in-training are set up to fail, but for team leader Vanessa Blake, quitting is not an option—especially when both international security and their tough-as-nails trainer’s life is at stake!
And provocative twists abound in The Spy Wore Red by Wendy Rosnau. Agent Nadja Stefn is hand-picked for a mission to terminate an assassin—but getting her man means working with a partner from whom she must hide a dangerous personal agenda….
Please send your comments to me c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.
Best wishes,


Natashya Wilson
Associate Senior Editor, Silhouette Bombshell

The Spy Wore Red
Wendy Rosnau

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

WENDY ROSNAU
resides on sixty secluded acres in Minnesota with her husband and their two children. She divides her time between her family-owned bookstore and writing romantic suspense.
Her first book, The Long Hot Summer, was a Romantic Times nominee for Best First Series Romance of 2000. Her third book, The Right Side of the Law, was a Romantic Times Top Pick. She received the Midwest Fiction Writers 2001 Rising Star Award.
Wendy loves to hear from her readers. Visit her Web site at www.wendyrosnau.com.

Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21

Chapter 1
Winter smog hung thick over the city of Prague, as well as a fresh layer of wet snow. Neither, however, could be blamed for Nadja Stefn being late. Twelve minutes, to be exact.
Red wool swirled around her as she dashed up the stone steps to the Vysehrad Museum and through the heavy mosaic front doors. Inside, she kept moving as routine and familiarity took over. She pulled off her black leather gloves, her calf-high boots clicking out a hurried tempo on the slate floor as she made a right down the corridor, then a left.
In a narrow passageway she stopped and faced a slender mirror next to an elevator. Once the retinal scanner identified her, the doors opened and she stepped inside and placed her right hand in the fingerprint recognition mold on the wall. An electronic charge tingled her fingertips. A computerized voice welcomed her by name, then the elevator took off, descending into the underworld beneath the museum.
Polax would be having a hairy cow by now, Nadja thought as she buried her gloves in the outer pocket of her slim black briefcase. He would be cursing her in ten languages for holding up his all-important morning meeting.
Today a Quest agent would be chosen to accompany an NSA Onyxx agent on a mission into Austria.
A milestone mission, Polax promised when he had called her yesterday with the news that she was one of the candidates being considered. He hadn’t offered her any particulars, and none would be shared unless she was the agent packing a bag at the end of the day and flying out of Praha Ruzyne Airport at midnight.
That’s how it worked at Quest: everything was done on a need-to-know basis.
Nadja’s technique set her apart from the other agents at Quest. She was ranked number one among sanctioned assassins—had been for the past four years. Then, too, it was hard to miss at point-blank range when you were straddling your victim.
Though she rarely did handstands to get noticed at Quest, the difference today was that she was eager to be chosen.
A week, or a month—the mission’s term didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding out what had happened to Ruger. Her last three letters had been returned unopened, and his had stopped altogether. She didn’t believe that he had left Austria. He would have told her if he had, and he certainly hadn’t changed professions. No, never. Ruger loved his work, which meant he would still be in residence at Wilten Parish in Innsbruck.
Still, something was wrong and she meant to find out what.
An uninterrupted hour with Father Ruger, that’s all she needed. A soul-searching session with her brother to assure her that all was well—that their secret was safe.
The elevator continued on its way into the underbelly of the Vysehrad Museum. That’s where EURO-Quest had been conducting its secret intelligence operations for the past ten years. Where femmes fatales such as herself were trained to their fullest potential according to their expertise.
She shrugged off her wool cape, and that’s when she saw the fat wrinkle blazing a path across the front of her thighs. How it had gotten there, she had no clue. She studied it for a moment and decided she looked like she’d slept on a bar stool all night.
She hadn’t.
She’d gone to bed on time.
Only she hadn’t fallen asleep right away. She’d gotten caught up in all the possible reasons why Ruger had stopped writing. She had succumbed to exhaustion, only to awaken hours later and realize she’d slept straight through her alarm.
Nadja slapped at the wrinkle, then swore when it sprang back into place as if it was spring-loaded. Facing the mirror that decorated one wall inside the elevator, she looked for a way to camouflage the wrinkle. If she dropped her hand just so, when she walked into the meeting room, maybe she could conceal it.
She went through the motions as she studied her white blouse and black jacket.
The blouse looked good.
Her jacket…was missing a gold button.
It suddenly occurred to her why this particular suit looked so awful. It was the one she’d intended to drop off at the cleaners.
“Shit.”
She dropped her cape to the floor, swearing three more times before pinching her briefcase between her knees to peel off her jacket. Briefcase back in hand, she draped the jacket over her arm to hide the wrinkle, then examined herself once more in the mirror.
“Better, but…”
She gathered her blond hair into one hand and pulled it back from her face. Wishing she hadn’t overslept, disgusted that she had no clip to make even a bare-bones improvement where her hair was concerned, she dropped her hand and shook out the mass.
Her hair wasn’t the worst of it. Her eyes were bloodshot. Glasses would disguise her lack of sleep and lack of makeup—there simply had been no time for eyelashes and lipstick.
Not even time to pee.
Again she pinched her briefcase between her knees in search of the reading glasses she kept in her jacket pocket. Of course they weren’t there—it was the wrong suit jacket. Angry with herself, she grabbed the briefcase unaware the metal clasp had caught on her silk stockings. When she felt the unmistakable tug, she glanced down to see a large hole circling her knee.
In a matter of minutes the elevator would stop, the doors would open and she would be greeted by two in-house agents. Kimball and Moor had squarish faces, pug noses and no sense of humor. But then, why would agent hopefuls who had fallen short be in a good mood? Ever.
The “butlers,” as Nadja called them, would flank her as she left the elevator and doggedly escort her to the conclave where Pasha Lenova and Casmir Balasi—the other two agents vying for the Austrian assignment—would already be waiting.
As stringent as Polax was about being punctual, he was twice as neurotic about professional neatness. Which meant arriving late looking like she’d been on an all-night bender would definitely get her a look, but not the job or a trip to Austria.
She would be skipped over in favor of Pasha’s promptness, or—she glanced down at the fat wrinkle tracking her thighs, then the hole that had targeted her knee—Casmir’s flair for always looking like she stepped off a Paris runway.
She dropped her briefcase to the floor, pulled off her boots and jerked her skirt high. It would take only a second to unhook her stockings from her garter belt. No one in the business could get in and out of their clothes faster than Quest’s bedroom assassin.
Nadja Stefn had the best hands in the business.

The sexy garter belt was red, the flat-screen monitors in Polax’s office recreational size.
After studying the first two Quest agents on the monitor as they entered the elevator, Bjorn Odell had slid his ass onto the corner of Polax’s desk to watch the third, and final, candidate. She was late, and Polax had pissed and moaned about that for the entire twelve minutes.
Arms crossed over his chest, Bjorn watched as the brown-eyed blond peeled off her silk stockings and dropped them to the floor next to her briefcase. He put to memory every detail of her performance. Studied every move she made, every article of clothing on the floor and left on her body.
The Italian-leather holster strapped to her thigh was also bad-girl red. Inside was the prettiest pearl-handled mini-compact .45 Springfield he’d ever seen. The Springfield was a dandy—a one-of-a-kind, just like the femme who owned it.
She had long thoroughbred legs and beautiful thighs.
Satin-smooth skin.
The sweetest ass in Prague—Bjorn would wager his own concealed 380 Beretta Cheetah on that.
“I know the deal is you get to choose from my top three operatives, but for this mission the logical choice would be Pasha Lenova. You really don’t want Stefn.”
Polax’s comment sent Bjorn’s eyes away from the monitor to where Quest’s slightly overweight, bald commander stood with his hands in his pockets.
“And why don’t I want her?”
“What I meant is that each of my agents have a specific talent. Pasha Lenova is our endurance agent. As you say in the U.S., she’s as tough as shoe leather.” Polax grinned. “She can match any man you’ve got. My personal favorite for a physical mission such as this. But if you’re set on a blonde my second choice would be Casmir Balasi. She’s our actress—slash model—but she wasn’t recruited just for her pretty face and amazing body. Her role-playing skills are flawless. As for Q, you can see—”
“Q?”
“That’s what I call Stefn because she’s Quest’s question mark.” Polax looked back to the monitor to all the clothes on the floor in the elevator. “As you can see she’s a bit scattered at times. But like cream, Q always seems to rise to the top. However, she’s not an endurance player—which is what you’ll need for this mission.”
Bjorn’s gaze returned to the monitor. Scattered was a good word for her, he thought. Polax’s “cream” had turned the elevator into her own private dressing room.
“Here at Quest we call Q our ‘candy queen,’” Polax continued. “She’s got a sweet body, and she’s not shy when it comes to sharing her sugar to disarm her target. I can assure you that every man who finds himself in Q’s bed ends up with one helluva toothache. But then, if my number was up and I had a choice, I’d elect to die high on sugar, wouldn’t you?”
With a hearty laugh, Polax pressed the zoom button on his remote and double-sized Nadja Stefn’s sweetness—making all her treats larger than life.
Without conscious thought, Bjorn fit people into three categories: the doers, the talkers and the assholes. Polax was of the asshole variety. He had an obsession for electronic gadgets, as well as super-sexy female spies.
The wall-size monitors had pulse-sonic sound and a state-of-the-art zoom feature that could find a grain of salt in a sugar bowl. And then there was Polax’s desk chair. The motorized yellow leather contraption was voice sensitive, and had been following him around the room for the past hour like a pet puppy. On the chance he felt like sitting on a second’s notice, all he had to do was plop.
He’d plopped twice since Bjorn and Merrick, his Onyxx commander, had arrived.
Bjorn glanced at his commander. Adolf Merrick was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His attention wasn’t on Q’s ass or show-stopper legs, however; he was staring directly at Bjorn—watching him with an intensity that would have made a lesser man squirm. Bjorn didn’t squirm. He didn’t even flinch. He turned back to the monitor at the exact moment Polax zeroed in on a chocolate-colored mole on the candy queen’s inner thigh.
The commander of EURO-Quest more than enjoyed the fringe benefits of his job. Bjorn had come to that conclusion an hour ago when he and Merrick had followed Polax as he paraded through the agency corridors like a sheik with a harem. A sheik with itchy fingers—he was now fiddling with the super-sensitive sound control, tuning into Nadja’s rapid breathing as she worked quickly to strip off her naughty little red garter belt.
Bjorn raised his eyebrows just as Polax looked over his shoulder.
“What’s wrong, Agent Odell? You did ask to examine the candidates. I thought a profile expert such as yourself would accept nothing less than a head-to-toe private audit of what we offer here at Quest.”
Bjorn kept his ass on the corner of Polax’s desk as he looked on. It was true he had requested a private viewing of each candidate before they actually met them. As a profiler he didn’t base decisions on file stats alone. He considered body language and mannerisms as well as data. He listened to voice tone, verbal communication and motor response. But more importantly, the silent communications that lay hidden under the surface.
“Our goal is to impress you with our product.” Polax sent his drab green eyes over Bjorn’s broad shoulders, down his solid chest and athletic long legs. Taking his measure, noting the obvious differences in size and height, and possibly the importance of keeping the bigger man happy, he added, “Speaking of impressed, I’ve read your profile, Odell. You’re a damn hard man to kill.”
“You say that as if it’s a flaw.”
“On the contrary. I respect any man who can survive seven years in the hot seat. But then, I’m not surprised. Only the best are commandeered to join Onyxx. And only a handful of those become rat fighters. Merrick’s elite are simply the best anywhere. That’s why I feel it’s important that we select the right partner to complement your consummate skills. My agents are also quite talented. Quest trains only the top two out of every hundred that make it to the evaluation stage. Stefn…” Polax motioned to the monitor. “I interviewed her as a favor to an old friend. I never believed for a minute she’d meet my criteria.”
“Meaning?”
“Her injuries automatically made her ineligible. That’s the reason I gave her the name Q. Once I read her profile… Well, the gift she’d been given was far too remarkable to ignore.”
“Gift?”
“Stefn has an incredible tolerance for pain. Both emotional and physical. As you know, one of the obstacles agencies face in finding suitable operatives is their ability to survive whatever comes their way. A tolerance for pain goes hand-in-hand with survival. Nadja is not only our candy queen, but she’s also the queen of pain. Her pain threshold is simply the best I’ve seen in all my thirty years in the business. That kind of discipline makes her a sought-after commodity in the intelligence world.”
Bjorn picked Q’s file off the desk and opened it. “It says here that she was born in Switzerland. That she was an Olympic gold medal hopeful. You mentioned injuries. What sort of injuries?”
“A skiing accident. It’s all there in her file, every surgery. The gory details. Her grandfather was a gold medalist. Q was supposed to follow in his footsteps. At age eighteen she was expected to win gold. Instead she crashed on a slope in Zurich doing sixty miles an hour. She broke damn near every bone in her body.”
Polax walked up to the monitor—his pet chair on his heels. He angled his head as if searching for something, then ran his hand over the screen, touching Q’s right knee. Slowly he moved his hand upward over the screen, stroking her leg like a man who knew her intimately. Or a man who had lain awake nights contemplating the idea.
“She has a tattoo that is quite spectacular.” Polax turned and looked at Merrick, then Bjorn, before he sat on his pet chair. As it took off and rounded his desk, he said, “It’s located in an area I call the ‘dead zone.’”
Bjorn ignored the comment and asked, “These old injuries—do they limit her in any way?”
“Not in her percentages. But only because I’ve tailored her missions. That’s what it’s all about, you know. Finding your agent’s gift and exploiting it. Right, Merrick? Isn’t that how you became so successful with your rat fighters?”
The commander of Onyxx only nodded. Adolf Merrick wasn’t known for inane conversation, or explaining his stratagem.
“If a femme wants to work at Quest,” Polax went on, “she’s got to have something special we can market.”
“And what is that something special that Agent Lenova has?” It was the first Merrick had spoken since they had cloistered themselves in Polax’s office to examine his agent lineup.
“Pasha’s durability is extraordinary—my rain-or-shine agent. Desert heat, or arctic cold, Lenova will match you every step of the way. Q’s something special is getting on top quick in the bedroom. Since this mission will be a chilly affair, you’re going to want an endurance player.”
“It says here Stefn trained for the biathlon.” Bjorn scanned the file for more data.
“That’s true, but Lenova is the true biathlon queen. She shoots ninety-eight percent,” Polax quoted from memory. “You’re going to need that, going up against Holic Reznik.”
It had been a month since Bjorn had apprehended Holic in Santorini, Greece. He’d managed to capture the country’s most wanted assassin during a hotel fire that had sent him and Holic off a crumbling balcony into a burning ballroom full of screaming people trying to escape the chaos.
Three days ago he’d learned that Holic had successfully slipped through the National Security Agency’s fingers and escaped his well-guarded prison cell. When he’d heard the news he’d been so angry he walked out of Merrick’s office.
Normally he was a good-tempered guy. Reasonable, even during upsetting times. And smart enough to know that Merrick wouldn’t listen to him if he was shouting and throwing furniture.
He’d spent an hour walking off his rage, then he’d returned to Merrick’s office to discuss what action the Agency intended to take now that Reznik was once again a free man.
Seated in front of his commander’s desk, he’d asked, “Has the Agency issued a new objective?”
“They have, and your name was mentioned for the assignment. It’s yours, if you want it. But there are conditions, and additions.”
“I’m not a field agent any longer.”
“Reinstatement would be a simple formality. You’ve studied Holic Reznik’s habits, know him better than anyone. That makes you the most qualified for this mission. I want you on the job, Bjorn. That is, if you’ll take it.”
It was true, he and Holic had a history. Bjorn had profiled the man nicknamed ‘the butcher’ as well as faced him in the field.
He listened while Merrick detailed the situation. Holic had been seriously injured falling thirty feet off that hotel balcony at Cupata. Because of Holic’s many injuries, the Agency believed he would return to his homeland of Austria to heal and grow strong again.
They hadn’t been able to pinpoint where he would go exactly, but they felt confident it would be someplace familiar to him. Someplace remote and isolated. Someplace hard to reach.
“We know that before the Chameleon died, he contracted Reznik and hired him to eliminate a list of his enemies. He was promised millions and—”
“Eva Creon as his mistress to sweeten the deal,” Bjorn interjected. “Yes, I know.”
“Since that part of the contract fell through when Holic was captured, and then since his recent escape, we’re not sure what he intends to do with the kill-file or how many of our agents have been targeted. The truth is Holic Reznik could start picking off our operatives at any time. So you see how important this is. If you should decide to take the assignment, your mission will be to infiltrate Austria, uncover Holic’s hideout, seize the kill-file, then assassinate the assassin—with one catch.”
“One catch?”
“The Agency wants to partner you with a female operative from EURO-Quest.”
Bjorn liked the new objective, except the part about a partner. Still, Holic was the most reliable killing machine on all seven continents. He had to be stopped.
When Bjorn resurfaced from his private musing, Polax was still tossing out reasons why Pasha Lenova was his choice for the mission. He listened to the Quest commander while watching Nadja Stefn slip her tall black boots back on her pretty feet.
When Merrick cleared his throat, he glanced at his boss. “You say something?”
“I asked you which one you’ve decided on. You know Reznik better than anyone—which one of these women would be your biggest asset?”
“The one with the sweetest ass,” Bjorn said, knowing that next to his obsession with killing, Holic’s second favorite pastime was enjoying beautiful women.
“The question you’ve got to ask yourself, Bjorn, is which one of these beauties do you want to share your days and nights with for the next few weeks?” Merrick said. “I don’t care who or why, as long as she can do the job. So do you fancy the rain-or-shine brunette, the angel-faced actress or the bedroom playmate with the candy-cane legs and cotton-candy ass?”
“My recommendation—” Polax began.
“We know.” Bjorn turned his piercing blue eyes on the Quest commander. “Your choice is Lenova. You’ve made that clear. A little too clear.”
Polax climbed out of his chair and puffed out his chest. “As I said before, my job is to match the mission with the best possible agent. For this one you need an all-around sexy ball-buster who chews ice cubes in place of gum, and that would be Lenova. Quest is still working on earning its stripes in the spy world. This agency can only survive if money changes hands. For that to happen, my femmes need to shine on every mission. With Pasha Lenova at your side in Austria, a win is inevitable for both of us.”
“What you’re forgetting is, it’s not your choice,” Bjorn reminded. “It’s my call.”
He glanced back at the monitor. The elevator had stopped and Q’s skirt was no longer hiked clean to her amazing ass. He watched the doors open, watched her greet the two men waiting for her. She handed her red cape to the shorter man. Then, like a resilient cat who had just landed on her feet, she started down the corridor. Her briefcase in one hand, and her jacket draped over the other so that the missing button and the wrinkle across her thigh were hidden from view.
The only evidence that something was amiss was one lone silk stocking left on the elevator floor.

Chapter 2
Bjorn was left alone in the office with his choice of water or gin to keep him company while Merrick followed Polax out into the hall to take a walk. When the door closed, he reached for the gin, ignoring the early hour.
He hitched his ass back on the desk, sipped the gin and spent the next twenty minutes cooling his heels, watching and waiting, and keeping his ears on what was being said inside the sterile boardroom between the curvy femmes.
He was conscious of his eyes going back to Nadja more often than the others. That was understandable—he liked natural blondes with long legs and cleavage.
Quest’s bedroom assassin had the winning three. There was no reason to argue that point, nor would he. Q’s body type, her voice and the way she moved had already been logged into his subconscious.
A profiler’s best friend was his database memory, and he had one. Onyxx had, however, refined his talent. They had polished his telephoto memory and added instant-recall capabilities.
Like Q, he was at the top of his game, although he was willing to bet she was enjoying her work far more than he was his.
It was a god-given gift, Merrick had told him—Bjorn’s so-called database genius. But there were times when it didn’t feel that way. With his talent came the price of remembering everything—good or bad—and never forgetting any of it. Not his youth, his first mission, every man he’d killed, or every woman he’d slept with. It was all there, every bit of it crystal clear.
As clear as the past five minutes.
His greatest challenge at Onyxx had been keeping all the data organized so he could remain focused. And right now he needed to do just that. He didn’t want any old memories messing up this assignment, or his goal. And that goal was to put a bullet through Holic Reznik’s black heart—after he recovered the kill-file, of course.
So the question was, which femme did he choose to assist him? Based on the facts, the task should be simple.
Polax was right, an endurance mission required an endurance player. But not when they were going after a man with a fetish for beautiful women. And it was a known fact that Holic was partial to cleavage and tangle-me-up-in-a-knot long legs.
When Merrick and Polax returned, it was Bjorn who took a walk with Merrick. They rode the elevator up to the main level, and as they stepped out and headed for the art gallery, Merrick said, “You want the bedroom beauty, yes?”
“What makes you say that?”
“The look on your face when she stepped into the elevator.”
“I like blondes.”
“Casmir Balasi is a blonde.”
“Then I should have said I like blondes and cleavage,” Bjorn amended. “Balasi is too petite for my taste.”
“I got the feeling there was more to it than that. For a moment I thought you recognized Stefn.”
“Every man recognizes the woman in his dreams. She’s got looks, a helluva body and a mind.”
“And she’s good in bed,” Merrick added. “So what’s the problem? If Polax’s candy queen appeals to you, then pick her. The nights in Austria are going to be damn chilly and I know how you hate cold weather.”
Bjorn glanced at his boss. “Advocating I use a Quest agent as a bed warmer, Merrick?”
“If that’s the only way you can keep an eye on her every move, yes. The goal is to get our hands on Holic’s kill-file. Whatever you have to do to achieve that goal is acceptable.”
“What’s Quest’s interest in Reznik?”
“The same as ours. They’re worried that some of their agents have been sanctioned. That’s why it’s so damn urgent that we get that file. Who knows who’s all on it?”
“If this is so urgent, my first thought is we’re two days off the pace. We know Holic flew to Austria, so stopping off in Prague to pick up—”
“—your partner—”
“—only puts me further behind.”
“I know that, but the Agency—”
“Is kissing Quest’s ass for some reason,” Bjorn said. “I sure would like to know why that is.”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that. They just feel this will be advantageous for a future mission.”
The “they” Merrick was referring to were the top brass in the upstairs office at Onyxx. The big boys who made the final decisions—right or wrong, smart or stupid.
“These spy games are never black and white, Bjorn. The Agency is still upset that the Chameleon’s death hasn’t slowed down the anarchy, and they’re feeling pressured to turn things around quickly.”
“Will we ever get rid of the Chameleon?” Bjorn mused out loud. “He’s dead, and yet he lives.”
“It’s certainly the truth. We have the son of a bitch’s corpse under lock and key in the Agency morgue and still we don’t know shit about who he is…was.”
“No confirmation yet?”
“No. And I’m told it’s going to be a while. We know the body underwent multiple plastic surgeries. His goal was to clone Paavo Creon. Our experts have even timelined those surgeries. But some things still don’t add up. We just have to be patient.”
Bjorn glanced at Merrick, noting the conviction in his commander’s voice. If anyone deserved peace of mind where the Chameleon was concerned, it was Adolf Merrick. The Chameleon had killed Merrick’s wife years ago. He’d strapped C-4 to her curvy body and sent her to hell while Merrick had watched it unfold on the computer screen in his office.
Bjorn suspected his commander still blamed himself for his wife’s death, and it was that blame that continued to drive him where the Chameleon was concerned. Even though his longtime enemy had been killed weeks ago, he wanted the man’s entire international operation wiped out.
“Then you believe everything Eva Creon said?” Bjorn asked.
“Yes, I do. She said the Chameleon admitted to her that he had purposely stolen her father’s face. He admitted to cloning Paavo Creon’s likeness surgically, and slipping into his life for the sole purpose of revenge.”
“A lot of trouble to go through for a little revenge.”
“My question is, who is he and why? There are days when I think he’s laughing at me from the grave,” Merrick admitted. “It’s not over yet. Hell, maybe it’ll never be over.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Something Sly McEwen said before he took off to go fishing.” Merrick stopped and looked at Bjorn. “McEwen said I shouldn’t put off my surgery. I should have the operation because I was going to need to be a hundred percent soon. I think he was hinting that when we get the identity on that body, all hell is going to break loose.”
“You think he knows who it is?”
Merrick shook his head. “If he does, he’s going to have a helluva a lot of explaining to do when he decides to surface with Eva.” He rubbed his jaw. “I’m tired of this shit. I’ve been playing this game with the Chameleon for fourteen years and I’m ready for it to be over. I want to bury it along with him, and his identity, whoever he turns out to be.”
“Have you decided to have the surgery?”
“Not yet, but…” Unconsciously Merrick moved his hand to his left temple. “I haven’t had a headache in a week. Maybe once this assignment is in the bag I can take a month off. But right now I can’t afford to be on my back while you’re in Austria. I’ve decided that I’ll be your controller on this one. While you’re in the field you’ll report directly to me instead of to one of the technicians in the Green Room. Anything you need, I’ll see that you get.”
Merrick had been diagnosed with a brain tumor and had put off his surgery too long, Bjorn thought. Bjorn had noticed certain things in the past week, the way his boss blinked more and squinted in bright light. The temple massaging.
It all added up to one thing—the tumor was growing, and putting pressure on the retinal nerves behind his eyes. To tolerate the pain he had started mixing pills and booze. That wasn’t smart, but there would be no convincing Merrick to have the surgery until he was ready.
They started to walk again. “Ordinarily I’d remind you that personal contact with an associate or suspect is frowned upon at Onyxx,” Merrick said, “but on this mission anything goes as long as we recover the file and Holic Reznik ends up on a slab next to the Chameleon. There is some concern that Holic might contract out the assassinations in that kill-file. That is, if he doesn’t get the use of his hand back. You’ve profiled him. What do you think?”
“If there’s killing to be done, and he’s capable of doing it, Holic’s going to be the one pulling the trigger. The question is, will his hand be up for it? Multiple fractures and nerve damage…” Bjorn shrugged. “It doesn’t sound good. If there’s a God upstairs, Holic’s assassination days are over. If not, at least his victims will be up against better odds. Holic’s MO is taking out his victims with one shot.”
“He could decide to contract the work out.”
They had been strolling through the museum, and so far neither had looked at a single painting. Bjorn, still matching Merrick’s steps, said, “That would mean he would have to trust someone. From what I know about him, Holic trusts damn few. That’s why he’s been so elusive.”
“Then if he doesn’t hire someone to pull the trigger, what do you think he’ll do? A useless hand isn’t going to get the job done.”
“He’ll retire. He’ll find a buyer for the kill-file, sell it for a few billion, then enjoy his money and his myriad of mistresses until he’s too old to find his zipper.”
Merrick stopped in his tracks. “Sell the file? You think that’s a possibility?”
“That’s what I’d do. Holic’s life revolves around two things, killing and women. If he can’t do one, then he’ll bury himself in the other. No pun intended. His reputation is flawless, and if that’s all he has left then he’ll want to preserve his legend status. He’s got a big ego.”
“Then the sooner we locate him the better, before he starts shopping for buyers and the perfect getaway. Which brings us back to the question of the hour. Which lucky lady is going to keep you warm in Austria? It doesn’t matter to me who goes, so make your choice.”
It would matter, Bjorn thought. If Merrick knew that he and Nadja Stefn had a history and he decided to take her along, there would be a dozen questions. Questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. He’d never mentioned her in his report five years ago when he’d gotten back from Vienna. She’d had no bearing on his mission while he was there, and he’d wanted to forget her.
But that had been impossible for a man with a telephoto memory and instant-recall capabilities.

Normally Nadja wouldn’t have minded cooling her heels. She could use the time to pull herself together. But nature was calling and she needed to use the rest room because her morning routine had exploded into chaos the minute she’d opened her eyes and realized she had overslept.
She stood and glanced at Pasha Lenova across the room, then down at her friend, Casmir. “I’m going to the little girl’s room. If I’m still gone when our almighty commander decides to show himself, tell him I went for coffee. Still take two creams, Cass?”
“Two creams, no sugar. I don’t get paid for being super-sweet like you do. I’m the ruthless bitch, remember?”
Nadja smiled. Casmir was good at playing a ruthless bitch, just like all the other roles she had perfected in the name of Quest. But that’s not who she really was. Out of character, she had a beautiful smile, was extremely generous and had impeccable manners, thanks to her Russian mother, Ruza.
“I thought that was Pasha’s job,” Nadja teased. “Presenting attitude.”
Pasha blinked open her eyes and gave Nadja and Casmir the finger. “I do my talking behind a gun, that’s a fact. I don’t play dress-up, or straddle my victims. Being a hard case suits me just fine.”
Pasha’s words had Casmir on her feet and on the defensive. She was the slightest of the three, but fiery nonetheless.
Nadja stepped in front of her friend before she did something stupid—like knock Pasha off her chair. They were all friends, but sometimes the pressures of the job put Cass and Pasha at each other’s throat, and they took things too far.
If Polax walked in and found a monkey pile on the floor…again…they were all going to be sitting this one out.
She said, “Sit down, Cass. You two have already been caught fighting once this week.”
Casmir touched the faint bruise on her cheek, the last bit of evidence that there had been more than words exchanged with Pasha, then settled back in her chair. “Why aren’t you wearing your jacket? Polax is going to say something.”
“It’s missing a button.”
Nadja glanced at Casmir’s crisp white shirt beneath her immaculate black suit jacket, then at Pasha who was wearing a similar outfit. “If I’m lucky, he’ll be satisfied with seeing it. If he does say something, I’ll complain about being too hot.”
Casmir’s gaze shifted to Nadja’s chest. “I wish my blouse fit me half as good as yours fits you.” She made a show of sticking out her chest, her modest 32B no match for Nadja’s full-figured 34C. “Maybe I should have implants. What do you think?”
“Men like petite women.” Nadja pushed Cass’s long honey-colored hair off her shoulder and it rippled down her back to tease her waist. “You have gorgeous hair, and rescue-me-please eyes.” She fluttered her own to emphasize the fact. “Just look what that combination accomplished with Yurii Petrov, a man rumored to have no heart. He fell in love.”
“He wasn’t in love with me,” Casmir argued. “He was in lust. Anyway, I want to forget that mission. Him.”
“I’m sure you do, but he will never forget you. I’m sure of that.” Nadja pointed to the diamond-and-ruby ring on Casmir’s finger. “I see you’re still wearing the ring he gave you. Why is that? If you’re trying to forget—”
“I don’t ever want to forget.” Casmir held up her hand and studied the priceless bauble on her slender finger. “This reminds me of what can happen when you start to enjoy your work too much. Luckily I came to my senses in time. Yurii was not a nice man.”
“There are no nice men, Cass. They only exist in a weak woman’s mind.”
“I’m beginning to believe that. Who do you think will be going to Austria?” Casmir asked, changing the subject. “I hope it’s not me. I just got back from Munich and I’m still trying to catch up on my sleep.”
“Unlike you, I was hoping it would be me,” Nadja admitted. “But I overslept this morning, and you know how Polax feels about scheduled appointments. He’s probably already crossed me off the list for walking through the front door late.”
She gave Casmir an oh-well shrug, though in her heart she felt sick about the lost chance. She needed to be on that plane bound for Austria. It was the only way to find out what had happened to Ruger.
“I’ll be back with the coffee,” she said.

It had been five years since he’d seen her. But Bjorn remembered that night in Vienna like it was yesterday.
He’d been on Onyxx business, and Nadja was most likely on similar business for Quest. Although at the time, who she was or where she worked hadn’t been important. The only thing he had cared about when he’d seen her was celebrating the end of a long four-month field mission by getting laid.
He had gone out to a keller for a bite to eat and had just finished his meal when she’d entered the small restaurant wearing knee-high black boots, snowflakes in her wild blond hair.
She was breathless, her nose and cheeks as red as her wool cape. It wasn’t the same wool cape she was wearing when she stepped into the elevator today, but the similarities had been uncanny. So much so that it had put him back in Vienna in a blink of an eye.
That night she had made a quick search of the keller, located the rear exit, then left as quickly as she had appeared. He’d read the signs, knew she was on the run. He’d paid for his meal, then followed her, his plan self-serving. Help her out of her tight spot—whatever it was—then later, if she was willing, out of her clothes.
With that in mind, he’d stepped out the back door just as gunfire erupted in the alley. As bullets ricocheted off the brick walls, he had grabbed her hand and raced for cover.
On the run, she had pulled her .45 from her thigh holster and returned fire. Her smooth moves and unruffled response had assured him that she was no novice at dodging bullets and getting out of tight spots.
It had been cold as hell that night, and after they had eluded the gunman, he had hot-wired a car and driven them to an inn on the outskirts of the city. Inside a spartan room, safe from the outside world and the nasty weather, Nadja had expressed her gratitude as she had pulled the red cape from her shoulders.
He’d suggested a hot shower to warm her up—she was shivering—and when she’d agreed, he’d gone into the bathroom and turned on the water.
On his way out, and on her way in, she had given him a look. Her sexy soft-brown eyes…the door left ajar…
An invitation?
No man would have seen it differently.
From the bedroom he’d enjoyed the show as she removed her boots, then the custom-made Springfield along with the red leather holster strapped to her thigh. He’d watched her slip off her silk stockings and red garter belt. Then her panties and bra.
With each piece she dropped to the floor, his blood had surged hotter and hotter, until… Until he’d stashed his two .38’s under the mattress and entered the bathroom.
His plan of sweeping her off her feet hadn’t been necessary. He had stripped and stepped into the shower, and had been backed up against the wall immediately. She had put his cock inside her so damn quick that he hadn’t lasted three minutes the first time. But then, neither had she. She’d gone off like a firecracker.
The second time had been almost as quick.
But the third…
Polax was wrong about Nadja’s endurance.
Looking back on that night, she had never broken a sweat. Not while they had been on the run, or after an hour in the shower. When she’d stepped out, he’d stayed inside. He’d needed a minute to recover from the most amazing sex he’d ever experienced.
He’d shut the hot water off and stood under a blast of cold to clear his head, then emerged from the bathroom minutes later determined to start round two. But to his surprise and disappointment, she was gone. Gone but not forgotten.
With his gift for remembering details, the woman in red had been engraved in his memory for all eternity.
They continued to stroll the museum now, Bjorn in tailored navy blue pants and a navy Henley sweater, his flaxen hair brushing his shoulders. His look—that of a man who had seen more in his thirty-eight years than most men twice his age. Merrick was dressed in his usual all-black attire. A stark contrast to his silver hair and neatly trimmed steel-gray beard.
On the way back to the elevator, Bjorn stopped in front of a narrow window. There, overlooking the River Vltava, he silently considered the situation. He could think of a hundred places he’d rather be in January. It was snowing again, and the temperature was a bone-chilling twenty-two degrees. Austria would be no better.
He hated cold weather. As a kid in Copenhagen, he’d spent too many nights freezing his ass off in dark alleyways. Worse, he hated what those cold nights had forced him to become.
Still, this chilly trip had proven to be interesting. It really was good to see her again. To see that she was alive and looking so well.
He had never met a woman who could match his sexual appetite. But that night she had more than done so. She had driven him over the edge, and followed after him without any hesitation or reservations.
Normally he didn’t care about conversing with the women who fell into his bed. But over the years he had never been able to forget the lady in red and the wild, hot sex they had shared in that shower in Vienna. And often he had wondered what she would have said the next morning if she had stayed to wake up beside him.
They were in an elevator headed back into the underworld of the Vysehrad when Merrick said, “It’s settled then. We’ll tell Polax you’ve made your choice, and you want the—”
“Brunette,” Bjorn injected. “My choice is Pasha Lenova. Polax’s rain-or-shine femme.”

Chapter 3
Nadja left the conclave and walked to the end of the hall. She was just rounding the corner when she spied him standing next to a bank of elevators with his back to her. She knew it was him. Knew because there was no way she would ever forget that stance, or that ass—bare or otherwise.
In his sleek dark pants, he owned the stance. Solid and sure, his fair hair grazing his shoulders.
He was talking to a man dressed in black. The man was older, and she recognized him—who wouldn’t recognize the all-impressive Adolf Merrick, the legendary Isis from Onyxx?
Nadja slipped back around the corner and leaned against the wall, her thoughts completely suspended. After the initial shock waned, her brain began to toss out questions. The first being, what the hell was he doing here with Adolf Merrick? The second, did he know she was an agent here at Quest?
The memory of that night in Vienna and of him washed over her. He’d been amazingly resourceful. On the run together, he’d proven to be a quick thinker, and an even quicker man of action. And at the inn…
Nadja unconsciously licked her lips as her stomach did a flip. She was recalling him in the shower. The size of him and his performance, how she’d reacted to him.
She was suddenly short of breath, and her stomach was alive with butterflies. She hadn’t had that feeling since…him. Understandable, she reasoned. The man was not only gifted in that area, but he knew how to use what he’d been blessed with. As a result he’d become a professional player. It was the only explanation she had for how she’d responded to him. He could kiss like the devil. And the way he used his hands and fingers…
No man had ever touched her like that—touched to own and possess so completely.
It was true—he had easily owned her that night.
She glanced around the corner to make sure she was seeing everything clearly, but nothing had changed. Merrick was still there, and so was that amazing memorable ass, along with his cocksure stance. She flattened out against the wall once more as the world around her tilted, then plummeted.
Even though she was in shock, she forced herself to remember Vienna. He had come out of nowhere to help her that night. He’d faced exploding gunfire in a back alley and hadn’t flinched. Not once.
Of course he hadn’t, he was a professional—of another kind. One of Onyxx’s special weapons. One of Merrick’s rat fighters. Men who were on the left side of human, Polax had once said. Men who ate lead like candy and slept with both eyes open. Men with endless stamina.
Endless stamina.
The kind that could go on all night long…and he would have if she had stayed that night.
Truly shaken, Nadja sucked air slowly. It didn’t help. She was going to be physically sick.

“I’d like you to relay my decision,” Bjorn said. “I’ll wait in Polax’s office.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to meet Polax’s beauties before you make your final decision? Ask them a few questions?”
“No. I’ve made my choice.”
“What did I miss? I watched you watch the leggy blonde. You liked what you saw.”
“Like I said, I like blondes.”
“Most men do.”
“Not McEwen. Sly’s into redheads with green eyes. Heard from him and Eva?”
“No. Not yet, but I’m confident that when the final lab reports are in, and we’re able to confirm the Chameleon’s identity, Sly and Eva will suddenly surface from whatever Greek island they’re sunning themselves on.”
“They’re not fishing?”
Merrick snorted. “Would you be fishing if you were with a woman who looked like Eva Creon?”
“It’s true. Sly hooked a beautiful femme.”
“Are you sure you don’t want Q?”
“Like Eva, Nadja Stefn has it all. But that doesn’t mean I want to carry around a spring-loaded cock day and night on this mission.”
“I see your point. Still, I was sure you were going to choose Polax’s candy queen.”
Bjorn kept walking. This was for the best, he told himself. He needed to focus on Holic and the file.
“The brunette is Polax’s recommendation. She’s pretty,” he said as if saying it out loud would convince him that he’d made the right decision.
“Have you asked yourself why Polax wants Lenova on this mission? Or maybe a better question is, why does he want his cotton-candy queen left behind? He seemed awfully taken with his bedroom assassin. Maybe he’s got something going with her.”
“He’s not her type,” Bjorn said, then wished he hadn’t spoken so freely. “Uh, he’s too short, don’t you think?”
Merrick raised a gray eyebrow. “Short? What does that have to do with it?”
“You’re right, it doesn’t.”
“If Polax isn’t screwing her, he wants to.”
“We can’t fault him if he’s got a sweet tooth,” Bjorn said, using Polax’s own words.
“Someone else who has a sweet tooth is Holic Reznik. I can’t imagine Holic walking away from the candy queen. Q is definitely a better choice bait-wise.”
Bjorn couldn’t argue with that. Holic would be drooling. What man wouldn’t be? To deny that their night in Vienna haunted him would be a lie. And that’s why sharing a mission with the woman responsible for the picture-album of memories he’d been carrying around for five years would be crazy.
Emotional baggage had no place on a field mission. It was the quickest way he knew of to get your ass fried. And once it was fried, the mission usually ended up in the toilet being flushed, along with the agent assigned to it.
Being fried and flushed held no appeal. He had gotten used to certain things in his life—hot food, clean air to breathe and a bed of his own. The vital three is what he called them.
No room for error. Nadja was out and Pasha Lenova was in.
He needed a kick-ass partner with an ugly attitude, not a ball-handler with velvet-soft hands. A natural blonde, no less, with amazing breasts and hug-me-tight thoroughbred legs.
There was also that lie he had told in Vienna that needed to be skirted. He’d told her he was the owner of a shipping company in Denmark.
Not a complete lie. He had worked on the docks as a boy, and he had lived in Denmark. But as far as owning anything… He hadn’t owned more than the clothes on his back for the first eighteen years of his life.
As Merrick turned left and headed for the conclave, Bjorn turned right and started back to the Quest commander’s office. Over his shoulder, he said, “Tell Polax that Lenova better be everything he claims she is. Tell him I want her at the airport at midnight. And tell Agent Stefn, Bjorn Odell thanks her for the peep show. It was a pleasure.”

Bjorn was in Polax’s office staring at monitor C, wondering why the chair that Nadja had occupied minutes ago was now empty, when the door swung open. He turned, expecting to see one of Polax’s flunkies enter, but it was Nadja.
He’d just sat down, and now he eased back up and stood as she kicked the door closed and locked it. She had her Springfield in her hand and it was aimed at his chest.
He said, “This is a surprise.”
“Somehow I find that hard to believe, Agent Odell. Bjorn… Hmm… I never really thought you looked like a Lars.” She glanced at the wall monitors that could disappear into the wall at the flick of a switch. “Surveillance cameras in the elevator. I should have suspected as much.”
“With sound and zoom. If you’re curious, even in diffused elevator lighting your ass is still beautiful ten times its natural size.”
She digested his words, and Bjorn could tell she was going over in her mind her recent ride into the bowels of the Vysehrad. She had put on quite a show, and she knew it. “I’m not the enemy, Nadja. Put the gun away.”
“Why Pasha Lenova?”
She had heard him in the hall. That didn’t explain why she was there, but it did explain her question. “Polax says she’s top-notch.”
“And I’m…?”
“Not an endurance player. Polax’s words. He says he handpicks your missions.”
“So it’s all about endurance with you, then. Are you saying I lack stamina? Did I lag behind in Vienna…at any time?”
She never blinked—not a single eyelash fluttered—even though she knew that her question would require two separate answers.
He glanced back at monitor three. Merrick and Polax had joined the other two women, and Polax was asking Casmir Balasi where Q was.
Her answer was, out getting coffee.
Bjorn turned back to face her.
“It looks like you forgot the coffee.” He wondered how much of his conversation with Merrick she’d overheard.
“I heard enough,” she said, as if she had telepathic capabilities to go along with her long legs, sweet ass and memorable treasure chest.
“You’re a liar, Agent Odell. Either that, or you sold your shipping company in Denmark for more excitement playing spy games. Somehow I doubt that, though.”
“You would be right.”
“How long have you been working for Onyxx?”
“Long enough. You? How long with EURO-Quest?”
“Long enough to know that if you’re with Merrick you’re a rat fighter. A real tough guy, da?”
Her tone, as well as her quick on-and-off smile, mocked him. Speaking of tough, Bjorn thought, she had developed a crust of her own. And more curves.
She had to be close to thirty now, but the years had only made her more beautiful.
“Do you have an interest in this mission, or did you draw the short straw, Agent Odell?”
“I agreed to the mission.”
“So there was a choice? Which means you have a personal stake?”
Bjorn didn’t answer.
“Who’s the lucky pigeon?”
“The target is Holic Reznik.”
She offered no expression on hearing the name. “I read the transcript that came in on his capture in Greece. Were you there?”
“I was there,” Bjorn admitted, seeing no reason to elaborate on the subject, or the part he played in Holic’s capture.
“So now you’re hunting my fellow countryman again.”
Bjorn’s ears perked up. “Countryman. I thought you were born in Switzerland, not Austria.”
“I was, but I moved to Austria to live with my grandfather at the age of eight. At the time Kovar’s home was in Langenfeld. Do you know where Langenfeld is in relation to Holic’s home in Otz?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where Holic Reznik was born.”
“Holic is listed as an orphan. His birthplace has never been confirmed.”
She shrugged. “He knows much about Otz.”
“We know he lived there for a time.”
“Do you know where exactly?”
That was the question every agency hunting Holic wanted to find out, but no one knew the exact location of Holic’s hideout in the Otzal Alpine.
“I’ll take your silence as a no. That’s too bad. I could find that cabin in the dark, drunk.”
Bjorn studied her face, then her stance. He saw nothing alarming. Nothing to make him think she wasn’t telling the truth. Still, he asked, “What kind of game are you playing, Nadja? If you know so much about Holic, why isn’t that listed in your file?”
“Because no one’s ever requested the information.”
“I’ll ask again. What’s your game?”
“My game is simple. I want to be on that plane bound for Austria. What do you say? Why not grant me my heart’s desire, Lars…uh, Bjorn? Let’s say…for old times’ sake.”
She wanted to go with him. To be his partner. Why? What wasn’t she telling him?
“I’ve already made my choice.”
“The wrong choice.”
“Whether you think so or not. It’s my call.”
“In the end it will be your call. To your commander to tell him you’ve changed your mind.”
“But I haven’t.”
“Only a fool would leave behind the map to Holic Reznik’s mountain hideout, and I have it.” She tapped the side of her head. “It’s in here. Let’s see…he’s been on the run for two days. That should place him very close to his destination. He’s no doubt made a phone call already and asked to be picked up.”
“Holic trusts no one.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. He trusts someone, and that someone will see to it that he’s tucked into a warm bed very soon. He’ll be waited on, hand-fed, and within a week he’ll be back to his old self.”
“Not likely. His hand was seriously injured in Cupata. If Quest has information that can advance this mission, then Polax should forfeit it.”
“He can’t give up what he doesn’t know he has. Like I said, I’ve never shared this with anyone, until now.”
“But you’d share more with me if I chose you for the mission?”
“Grateful is what I would be, and grateful people can be generous.”
“And will you be?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you want on the mission so badly?”
“I’ve got a small personal matter in Innsbruck that I need to take care of. It won’t take long—a few hours is all.”
“Personal shit has no business on a mission.”
“I agree, but this can’t be helped. It won’t interfere with my work.”
“Back to Holic, how well do you know him? The truth.”
“He spent time at Groffen.”
“Groffen?”
“My grandfather’s ski lodge. You must not be much of a skier if you haven’t heard of Groffen. It’s powder paradise. Everyone dreams of skiing Groffen.”
“And Holic was there skiing? When?”
“He spent two winters at the lodge out of the four missing in his file.”
Bjorn went over the data on Holic that he’d stored in his memory bank. The assassin was an orphan, believed to have lived, at least for a time, in the Otzal Alpine. His file was full of holes, however, and if he remembered correctly—which he always did—the amount of time Nadja said he was missing fit.
“I suppose you’ve kept abreast of Holic’s exploits?”
“Of course. He’s listed on the top ten most wanted in the spy world. A legend to some, the devil’s son to many.”
“And to his wife,” Bjorn mused out loud. “I wonder how she feels about his murdering ways.”
“I don’t know. You would have to ask her.”
“And while I’m at it, I should ask her how she feels about her husband’s appetite for variety in the bedroom.”
She was too cool when she said, “Whatever you think relevant.”
“What kind of woman marries a man with no remorse or morals?”
“One who loves him, I suppose.”
“Or perhaps one who has been kept in the dark all these years. But then that would make her unbelievably stupid or very smart. Holic is a wealthy man. His debauchery affords her an excessive lifestyle.”
“She is neither stupid nor a woman who sanctions debauchery.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so.”
“Because you know her so well, right? If you say yes, you would be the only one. She’s as elusive as he is.” When she didn’t answer him, he said, “I wonder if love is worth it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You said she loves him.”
“No, I said maybe she loves him.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then his death could be a celebration.”
“And if she does love him?”
“The gift of freedom can be a wonderful present to an imprisoned soul.”
“You don’t believe in fate, then?”
“Living a life determined by fate is for passive dreamers who lack the confidence to embrace change and make healthy choices.”
“Is that your definition of Holic’s mystery wife?”
“Mady Reznik is not a dreamer. She’s a brave woman, caught in a storm of circumstance.”
Mady… Bjorn’s memory zeroed in on the name. In Reznik’s file there was no information on the woman he had married. Nothing, but that he had a wife and a child. He said, “They had a kid, right?”
“She was named Prisca after her grandmother. I’ve often wondered if she is fair and slight like her mother, or if she’s tall with hair as dark as her father’s black locks.”
The comment convinced Bjorn that Nadja knew things no one else knew. Why was that? Or maybe a better question to ask was, who was Nadja Stefn before she became Quest’s bedroom assassin?
She glanced at the third monitor, and her interest made Bjorn look, too. Merrick was telling Polax that they should start without Q because her presence wasn’t necessary to conclude the meeting.
Nadja motioned to the high-tech silver phone on Polax’s desk. “Pick it up, Agent Odell. Ring Polax. There’s a similar phone in the conclave. When he picks it up, ask to speak to your commander. Tell him you’ve changed your mind. Tell him you’ve decided on the blonde with the cotton-candy ass.”
Bjorn hated to admit it, but he’d be a fool not to take her with him. If she could pinpoint Holic Reznik’s hideout, then that would put him back on schedule. Possibly ahead of schedule.
“Pick up the phone, Bjorn. Tell your commander you’ve had a change of heart. Tell him you’ve decided to carry around a spring-loaded cock after all.” Her eyes found his crotch. “And here I was worried that you might have injured yourself in Vienna. It’s a relief to know there wasn’t any permanent damage.”
Merrick was standing now, clearing his throat to deliver Bjorn’s choice. Without further delay, Bjorn picked up the phone and pressed the red button on the panel labeled “Conclave.”
Polax’s voice sounded. “Yes, who is this?”
“It’s Bjorn Odell. Put Merrick on.”
“But we’re in the middle of—”
“I know what you’re in the middle of. I’m watching from a monitor in your office. Put Merrick on the phone.”
“A moment.”
When the phone was pressed to Merrick’s ear, Bjorn said, “The blonde is the better choice. Tell Polax to get Q ready to fly. Tell him—” Bjorn’s eyes locked with Nadja’s “—she’ll need plenty of wool panties to keep her sweet ass warm. The temperatures have been in the deep-freeze there in the past few days.”
The minute he hit the button and disconnected the call, she said, “Very good, Agent Odell. Now turn around and face the wall.”
“What?”
“Do it.” She aimed the Springfield at his heart. “Turn around and face the wall.”
He turned and faced the wall just as Merrick announced that Nadja Stefn would be joining the Onyxx mission to Austria. A second later the scent of Alpine heather told him she had come up behind him. She leaned in, and her full breasts pressed into his back. Her gun hand moved over his hip, then down his thigh, letting him feel the hard steel against his leg. She took her time, moved across his thigh and stroked his crotch with the short barrel of her pearl-handled .45—worked his cock until it was stiff.
“It’s chilly in the Alps,” she whispered close to his ear. “Wool panties are a good idea. Better pack an extra sock for yourself. You wouldn’t want to freeze off anything you can’t live without. The airport at midnight, then. Auf bald.”

Bjorn left the Vysehrad Museum cursing his crystal-clear memory, and the snow that had gotten worse throughout the day. He hated winter. The cold shriveled your dick and made you aware of all your aches and pains. Reminded you of your vulnerability. It made him feel old, and then not old enough because he could still remember what it felt like to be alone and cold.
To be a hungry snot-nosed kid on the streets of Copenhagen.
Still, he didn’t hail a cab, opting to walk instead to his hotel in Old Town even though the chill in the air was bone deep. In his room he spent time at the window thinking about Holic, then thinking about Nadja. She had looked amazing today. Curvy and beautiful. So goddamn beautiful.
At six o’clock he joined Merrick in the dining room at the hotel and they shared an evening meal. When the waiter arrived, he ordered a gin martini while his commander requested his favored bottle of Glen Moray. Over food and drink they finalized the last details of the mission. Before Bjorn left the dining room to return to his room, he ordered a bottle of gin to take along with him.
It was nine when he arrived back in his hotel room. More time was spent at the window, more time remembering her, while he smoked half a pack of cigarettes.
He packed after that, and just before he zipped his duffel bag closed, he took a second look inside, his eyes lingering on his socks.
Better pack an extra sock for yourself. You wouldn’t want to freeze off anything you can’t live without.

Chapter 4
He was going to make it. But then, he had known he would. Holic Reznik smiled even though he felt like shit. But he would eventually feel better. By tomorrow he would be warm and safe, sleeping in a familiar bed, waking up to familiar surroundings.
He used the image of a crackling fire and sweet-smelling pillows to put one foot in front of the other as he came out of the alley. The black SUV had pulled to the curb and he could see the driver’s blond hair through the window.
Mady was on time.
The significance in that made his smile widen. His wife had never let him down. Not ever. Why would she? Mady loved him. Would forever love him, no matter what.
And because she loved him she would do whatever he asked of her.
That was why he had married her. Not because he had loved her above all else, or because she was curvy and had a nice ass and firm tits.
The real reason he’d married her was her loyalty. Loyalty was everything. He had only to snap his fingers and she would be there ready to give her life for his if he asked it of her. Even though she knew about his mistresses.
It hardly mattered, though. Her loyalty was not contingent on his. Mady knew her place in his life. Knew that it was a man’s privilege to take what he wanted—as much as he wanted, and as often as he felt like it.
Mady had known that from the beginning. Had known that he answered to no one but himself. Knew that whatever he desired, he would take.
Right now what he desired was to be out of the cold and in a hot bath, then a warm bed. He’d been on the run for three days and his hand hurt like a son of a bitch. He was hungry and tired, and anxious to have his wife tend to all of his needs, one at a time.
He pulled the drab gray stocking cap lower over his forehead as he left the alley behind. The dirty black coat he wore, he’d stolen only moments ago off the dead man who slumped against the brick building with his throat slit.
He didn’t hurry as he headed toward the SUV. The pain attacking his muscles made every step challenging, but then he’d always been up for a good challenge. Still, he was in bad shape. Possibly the worst he’d ever been in.
His body was on fire, burning up with fever. He steeled himself against the dizziness that threatened to knock him to his knees.
Four feet from the vehicle, the door swung open. He ducked his head and eased into the front seat. He bumped his useless hand and swore crudely.
The word useless filled him with a surge of rage, followed by the need for revenge. An assassin with a useless hand may as well turn the gun on himself—but he wasn’t going to. Instead he was going to find and kill the man responsible.
Bjorn Odell was going to die screaming. Die screaming while he cut him apart with a dull ice pick and fed him to a dog with a fork.
Mady reached across him and pulled the door shut. As she eased back behind the wheel, he caught the sweet scent of her. She smelled like lavender and a hint of lemon.
He studied her delicate features within the folds of her ugly brown scarf a shade darker than her wool coat. He had instructed her to dress warm, to borrow Jakob’s SUV, and to come alone. She had done all three.
For a woman of thirty-six, Mady still had a youthful pixie face, and the blond hair peeking out of her scarf held no signs of gray. It was still a natural honey color, and as silky smooth as the day he married her.
“Drive,” Holic demanded. Then he added, “You didn’t tell anyone I was back, did you?”
“Nein. Not even Prisca. She will be excited, though. For weeks she has been asking when you were going to come for a visit. Are you sure you want to go to Groffen?”
“I’m sure.”
She put the vehicle into drive. “We’re very busy. It’s the height of the season. What if—?”
“Someone sees me? You forget I can disguise myself easily if necessary.”
“Why did you want me to meet you here in St. Anton, then? Why not Kitzbuhel or—”
“I have my reasons. Did you ready my suite? The one I requested?”
“I did.”
“Then there is nothing to worry about. If I must flee, I will take flight. I always have a backup plan.”
“Prisca will be so happy to see you.”
“I do not want her to see me for a few days,” Holic grumbled. “Not until I’m better.”
“Your daughter will not care what shape you are in. Only that you have come home. And for once I think it will be good for her to see that you are human. You have filled her head with grand stories. She talks of you like you are a hero in a fairy tale.”
“There is nothing wrong with that. She will never know the truth.”
“I know the truth and I still love you.”
“You are a rare breed, Mady. Some would say stupid, others would say blindly loyal.”
“I’m neither stupid nor blind. You have seen to both. What I am is a woman cursed to love one man for all time.”
They left the town of St. Anton behind, and as they began to head toward Zell am See, Holic asked, “How is she? Is my daughter well?”
“Prisca has grown into a beautiful young woman. Otto Breit has come home from Graz often, and swears that one day he’ll take her away with him.”
“He is ten years older. Too old for my Pris.”
“She’s nineteen. I was seventeen when you took me.”
Holic scowled. “What are you saying, that Otto Breit is sleeping with my daughter?”
“Nein.”
“Good, ’cause if he is I will kill him, no matter if he is my friend’s son.”
“If you confine your daughter, she will grow restless. She must experience life. She is very smart and I trust her judgment. She needs something to nurture.”
“Not a babe.”
“No, I didn’t mean a child, but something that she can be proud of. A career of some kind. We could send her to school.”
“I will think on it. Speaking of nurturing, how is the runt? Is your brother’s bastard still amusing Kovar?”
“Her name is Alzbet, Holic. And, da, she is still at the lodge. Kovar is teaching her to ski. Though she suffers from a cold at the moment. But don’t worry, I will keep her away from you. You don’t need a cold to compound everything else. What is wrong with your hand? You never told me when you called.”
“A few broken bones is all. My hand will heal.” Holic set his jaw at the thought of his hand remaining useless. Bjorn Odell would pay either way.
He glanced out the window to the rugged countryside. He hadn’t been back in Austria for months, and he realized he had missed it.
“Did you get the package I sent you six weeks ago?”
“Da.”
“And did you follow my instructions?”
“I bought the computer, and the money is in the safe at Groffen, along with the canister.”
“Did you bring me a gun?”
“You know I hate guns.”
“Did you bring it?”
“Yes.”
Holic smiled. “Is it loaded?”
She glanced his way and frowned. “Of course it’s loaded. It would do you no good if it wasn’t.”
“My thoughts exactly. And just where might this gun be hiding, Mady?”
With his good arm, he reached across the seat and slid his hand into her coat. He saw her suck in her breath as his fingers brushed over her breasts, then moved low over her belly and between her legs.
“Bitte, Holic. Not while I’m driving. It is reckless and—”
“Shh… I will touch you whenever, Mady, and wherever. You know I will. Now drive and stay on the road.”
“The gun is in my coat pocket,” she offered, as if that was going to stop him from his intent.
“A good place for it, for now,” he said, finding the zipper on her jeans. Ten minutes later, he removed his hand from her underwear, pulled the dead man’s hat off his head and tossed it in the back seat.
His long hair hung limp and damp with fever, slightly diminishing his well-noted rugged handsomeness. But he was still a virile specimen of male masculinity and he knew it—after all, he had the look of a pirate and the reputation to go along with it.
He reclined the seat and relaxed, the scent of Mady and her spent climax hanging in the close quarters inside the vehicle. When a shiver took him, Mady flipped the switch on the heater and a blast of warm air filled the front seat.
He was just beginning to doze off when he felt her hand on his forehead. If he wasn’t mistaken, the SUV picked up speed after that, and he smiled again with the knowledge that she did love him no matter what he did.
As the miles came and went his thoughts turned to Groffen. They would arrive sometime tomorrow. Mady would get him there, he had no doubt. After all, she had taken a vow to obey her husband.
Loyalty then…it was the most powerful insurance a man could own. Mady was one of two people he could trust—she and Pris. Yes, his daughter loved him as much as Mady did. But unlike her mother, Pris wasn’t afraid of guns.
A smile touched his dry lips and suddenly he had the answer to his daughter’s dilemma, and possibly his own. Pris had the patience for it, and she valued perfection. Those were an assassin’s two best friends.

Nadja stood below a spotlight a hundred yards from the Learjet that sat on the tarmac at Prague’s Praha Ruzyne Airport. It was almost midnight and what gear she had packed fit into a compact carry-on. Whatever else she required she would purchase once she arrived in Austria.
A sharp wind blew out of the west, carrying more snow. Nadja wrapped her red cashmere cape closer to her body.
The weather forecast had predicted a major snowstorm for the Alpine region. It would be good for the ski lodges, but not for much else. It could easily bring the mission to a halt for days at a time if the storm stalled out in the mountains.
“Our reputations, yours and mine, are riding on the success of this mission, Q. Do whatever is necessary to complete it as planned. Understand?”
“Da. Holic will die after the kill-file is recovered.”
Polax nodded. “This mission could be tougher than anything you’ve come up against so far. You’re working with one of Merrick’s best. Trust that, and his ability to back you up. He’s damn good.”
Yes he was, Nadja thought.
“What’s in the file?” she asked.
“Names of agents and powerful people the Chameleon wanted executed. So you see why we must retrieve it. Questions, Q? You look like there’s something on your mind. Ask it, so we can get this mission under way.”
“Are we concerned that Quest agents are on that list?”
“We know it’s likely, but not who or how many. Again I’ll say there is a lot at stake here, Q. This mission is going to demand more of you than rhythm, a little moaning and good aim.”
Nadja picked up on something in his voice and suddenly asked, “You wanted me on this mission, didn’t you?”
“Of course. Except for your adversity to cold weather, you are the best agent for this job.”
“But…”
“But why did I suggest Lenova over you? Men like Merrick and Odell don’t like being told what they need. They believe they already know.”
“It was a gamble,” she said, knowing if she hadn’t showed up in his office and faced Bjorn she wouldn’t be taking the trip.
“Not to worry, Q. I always have a backup plan. There are, however, risks. You don’t need to get caught in the middle of a storm, so don’t. Don’t forget your limitations. You know what they are and how vulnerable they can make you.” Polax pulled a phone out of his pocket. “This will make it possible to reach me if you have to, but only if it’s urgent. It’s my newest invention. No one knows about it yet, so it’ll be our little secret. It’s a phone, a computer and a little more.”
He showed her the miniature plastic explosives behind a hidden compartment. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that they’re too small to do the damage. One charge can put a six-foot hole in a wall ten seconds after detonation. Ingenious, yes?”
“Ingenious.” Nadja took Polax’s latest invention and slipped it into the inside pocket of her cape.
“I’ve loaded the necessary data you’ll need into the computer chip. It can be accessed by using your PIN number. The data includes information on your partner, and the target. There’s a high-frequency text messenger for fast communication with me. It’s useless to anyone who doesn’t know the codes, so if you lose the phone, Quest won’t be compromised. But at the cost of two million a phone, try not to lose it, Q.”
“No, sir.”
“One more thing. Normally I would tell you not to trifle with a man of Holic’s caliber, but as I said before, whatever it takes to recover the file is acceptable. Make the most of every opportunity. You’ve proven that there isn’t a man alive who can resist your charms. It’s your trademark, after all. Love ’em and leave ’em…dead, Q. Good luck.”
Polax remained beneath the glowing security lamp when Nadja started across the tarmac toward the Learjet. She boarded the jet with false composure, but no one would have been able to tell. Since seeing Bjorn in the corridor at Quest she’d started to play the what-if game. A deadly game she rarely indulged in. But truthfully, seeing Bjorn today had shaken her.
Luckily she’d been able to fall back on her professional training. She’d managed to play the aggressor in Polax’s office. She hadn’t dared to show any weakness.
Six years ago when she’d joined Quest, she’d had no idea what she was letting herself in for. But she’d soon accepted her role. What choice did she have? She’d become single-minded: do her job—cancel the man beneath her—then return to headquarters. She’d followed the rules without question in Vienna. The bedroom assassin had found her quarry, canceled her target, and was on her way out of the city—when she realized she was being followed.
That’s why she’d slipped into the keller, and Bjorn had come to her rescue in the alley.
She hadn’t needed him to save her. But he had saved her that night in a very private way, and damned her, too.
The truth was, he knew the level of her passion. He knew how she looked naked. How long her legs were and the shape of her breasts. And he knew where she liked to be touched most, and to what degree. He knew where his lips could do the most damage. Knew she had a secret spot on her body that could render her helpless.
But what he didn’t know was that all the other men who knew those same facts were dead. Every one of them. She had never had to look into their eyes after she’d given herself to them. Not an hour later, not a day or a year later.
Bjorn had changed the rules that night in Vienna. She hadn’t been able to confirm that he was an enemy, and then there was that technicality as to where they had sex—she could honestly say she’d never had a sexual encounter in the shower before that night.
She could say that’s what had altered the outcome of their night together—why she’d let him live—but she would be lying. From the very moment he had taken her hand and led her out of the alley, she had lost some of her ability to think rationally.
She hadn’t analyzed it at the time, but now, five years later, she knew what had made the difference, and she felt foolish—she’d been had by a professional, taken in by some of the most basic tricks a man could use on a woman—good old-fashioned experience.
She’d thought she was the one with all the experience, but Bjorn Odell was the master, his touch capable of lighting a thousand fires under a woman’s skin.
And the way he used his lips…
Even now the memory of him coaxing her into climax sent raw chills up her spine. Helpless in his arms—that was the only way to explain how she had felt. Helpless and willing to forfeit everything to feel what she had never felt with any other man.
No, she had never wanted to see him again, didn’t dare. Not after the way she had shattered in his arms. But that didn’t mean she would ever be able to forget the man with the hot hands and the sky-blue eyes.
She wanted to turn around and run from the airplane, but she wasn’t going to. She needed to visit Wilten Parish, and if Ruger wasn’t there… No, he would be there, and he would assure her that all was well—that their secret was safe.
Then he would prove it by saying the prayer that produced miracles and moved mountains. Ruger had saved her once before, and he would do it again.

She came aboard wearing red wool and snowflakes, and the memory it evoked tightened Bjorn’s gut. He watched her slip off the cape and toss it on a seat opposite him.
She was dressed all in black under the cape, and he sized her up. Her sweater moved along her curves as if it had been painted on. Her pants, too, fit like a sleek pair of expensive leather gloves. His eyes shifted to her narrow waist, then traveled to the flare of her hips. Then to the junction of her thighs.
He had boarded the Learjet ten minutes early. He had wanted to be seated, waiting for her when she arrived. He was glad he had; the memories of Vienna were making his pants damn uncomfortable.
She took the seat across from him. It required her to step over his legs sprawled in the aisle. He didn’t move, but he did inhale the scent of her as she stowed her carry-on beneath her seat. The Alpine heather hijacked another hot memory, and he cursed it and her.
She avoided looking at him, finding something out the window to focus on. That amused him and he shifted in his seat to scan the airport for what had caught her attention. He saw Lev Polax standing in a long coat and flambeau hat below a spotlight. He lingered for only a minute longer, then jerked his hat low over his eyes to battle the nasty weather and walked away.
Still staring out the window, she asked, “When and where do we land?”
“Vienna, in one hour, thirty-six minutes.”
His answer pulled her gaze from the window to look at him directly. He held his arrogant, relaxed posture, his legs angled and his ankles crossed, taking up the walkway.
He still wore what he’d had on earlier—his blue pants and sweater. In the seat across the aisle next to her red cape was his navy blue peacoat and a tan wool scarf. His elbow was propped on the arm of the seat, and his chin rested comfortably between his thumb and forefinger.
“Why Vienna?” Her voice sounded flat, and she directed her eyes back out the window.
“I thought it would be a nice way to start off the mission…on familiar ground.”
Her head jerked back around. “Is this the way it’s going to be with us the entire trip? At each other’s throat?”
Bjorn shrugged for lack of an answer. He didn’t know why he was pissed. Yes, he did. She had walked out on him that night, and he still felt cheated.
It was true that every man wants what he can’t have. That night what he had wanted was more time with Nadja Stefn. More touching and tasting. More holding her and hearing those unforgettable moans that she made.
“Let’s try to keep our minds on the mission,” she said. “We’ll be more effective that way. And for the record there will be no—”
“Heavy breathing? No moaning? No, ‘right there, yes…there. Don’t stop.’” Bjorn let the words roll off his tongue in his Danish lilt. The very words she’d breathlessly recited to him over and over again.
He’d played with those words in his mind a thousand times.
“Dreams are free,” he said.
Her nose lifted, bringing her chin up. She tucked a strand of pale-blond hair behind her ear. She was a true blonde. He knew that because he’d been privy to seeing her naked. He hadn’t been shy, no never. A shy man had regrets.
Polax mentioned a tattoo. He hadn’t seen it that night in Vienna, and that didn’t make sense to him—he’d touched every inch of her body…looked hard at everything. Remembered everything.
The memory of her body moving against his caught and held him, sending more blood pumping through his veins—through his phallus. They had been tangled in a knot of lust in that narrow shower, and he hadn’t ever been a part of anything that damn powerful in his life.
The plane’s engine began to sing, and then they were taxiing onto the runway. The snow was blowing like hell and the temperature was steadily dropping.
He had been listening to the weather reports while waiting for her to come on board. It looked like they would be flying into a level-ten storm. That’s the real reason he had altered their flight plan and decided to land in Vienna. The airports in and around Innsbruck were all closed.
Once they landed, he would check out the weather reports and see if any flights had opened up. If not, they’d rent a vehicle and drive to Otz.
“In Polax’s office you said that you knew where Holic Reznik would head. Enlighten me.”
She had heard him, but instead of answering him, she dodged the question and asked, “Are you sure we should be leaving in this weather?”
“I’ve flown in worse. We’ll make it.”
He said the words with confidence, though he didn’t like the weather outside, or the fact that they could be flying into worse. He wasn’t much on flying anyway, although he had done his fair share over the past seven years.
The plane’s engine grew louder, and the reminder to fasten seat belts flashed overhead. Bjorn straightened and buckled up as the jet rolled out and headed down the runway. They turned, the plane’s engines winding up, and suddenly they were racing down the runway.
Bjorn closed his eyes, hating that someone else was in control at that moment. That was what it was all about for him—giving over his control to someone he didn’t know or trust, someone who might be having a bad day or just didn’t give a shit if he lived or died at that moment.
The minute the plane was airborne, he opened his eyes and caught Nadja studying him. Their eyes locked briefly and he held her gaze openly.
“You’re staring,” she said. “Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s not polite?”
“I never had a mother.”
She raised her eyes. “Everyone has a mother.”
“It takes more than giving birth to earn that label” was all he said, and all he was going to say on the subject.
Once the plane leveled off, Bjorn unfastened his belt and stood. “I’m going to have a chat with our pilot. When I get back, we’ll talk.” He paused, gave her a warning look that his comrades had named the “gutted glare.” “If you lied to me about knowing where Holic’s hideout is, I’ll ship you back to Polax the minute we land in Vienna.”

Chapter 5
The headache came on halfway back to Washington. He hadn’t had one for an entire week. Merrick pressed his fingers into his temples, the pain so severe he felt dizzy. He had taken a handful of prescription pain relievers, but it hadn’t touched the shooting pain. It was a good thing he was sitting down.
He was on his third bottle of Glen Moray, but all that was doing was making him see double on top of everything else. But he continued to drink until the plane landed.
Because he was too drunk to drive, he took a cab to his apartment in Washington. He collapsed once he got inside, and ten hours later woke up on the floor to the aftereffects of too much whiskey and the tail end of the worst headache he’d had since he’d been diagnosed five months ago with a brain tumor.
The first thing on his agenda when he picked himself up off the floor was to phone his doctor. Paul was a personal friend, as well as a damn good surgeon.
“Sorry, Adolf, you’re not going to want to hear this, but your time is up.”
“Can’t you give me something for a few more weeks? I’m in the middle of a—”
“You’re always in the middle of something, Adolf. You’ve stalled long enough. You’re gambling with your life and I can’t be a party to that any longer.”
“But—”
“I’m admitting you today.”
“Not today.”
“Then tomorrow.”
“Give me two days.”
“Two days, then. Get your affairs in order, Adolf. Then I’ll expect to see you in my office at nine o’clock Thursday morning. If you don’t show, I’m washing my hands of you. Those headaches are a warning. And they’ll keep getting worse. You said this one was bad, but it’ll seem like a walk in the park compared to the next and the next.”
Feeling worse was hard to imagine. “All right, Paul. Day after tomorrow. Nine o’clock, your office.”
When he hung up, he sat down and made a list of what had to be done before he admitted himself into the hospital. Sly was somewhere in the Greek Isles with Eva, and couldn’t be reached.
I’ll be found when I want to be found, Merrick. When there’s a good enough reason to come back.
For the time being there was no reason for Sly to return to Washington. Pierce was in Hungary and Ash in Mexico. That left Jacy. The half Blackfoot Indian was recuperating in the mountains in Montana. But while he was sitting on his ass drinking green tea there was no reason why he couldn’t become Bjorn’s controller.
His decision made, he headed for his office to see to the details, and by late afternoon, he was in the air again, his plane headed for Big Sky country.
“Are you sure that Jacy Madox is going to let us bring all this equipment into his house? I heard he’s kind of funny about people trespassing on his turf. Heard he was once in the Hells Angels or something like that.”
“They call it territorial,” said Vic Krandle, dusting a piece of lint off his dress pants. He was one of Onyxx’s top physical therapists, but he was also a connoisseur of fashion. “And up here they don’t call what he lives in a house. It’s a log cabin, right, Merrick? Most likely a twelve-by-twelve with an outhouse out back. Which brings up the question of how we’re going to fit all this equipment in such a small space.”
“You’ll have to make it fit” was Merrick’s answer.
“I heard he’s one of those loner types,” Tommy the technician said, pulling his stocking cap lower over his ears. “The kind of guy you don’t want to piss off or feed red dye number sixteen to.”
Merrick glanced over his shoulder to the two men he’d brought with him to transform Jacy Madox’s mountain cabin into a high-tech information center. Thirty minutes ago they had landed the plane at the nearest airstrip, then climbed into a helicopter.
Merrick was hopeful that this was going to work. Bjorn and Jacy were as close as brothers, and he intended to use that to his advantage. Even in a wheelchair Jacy was mentally up for the challenge. In fact it would be good for him—get him back into the swing of things.
The last mission had left Jacy with his knee blown to bits. Five surgeries later the prognosis wasn’t outstanding, but he still had his leg.
He’d called Jacy and told him he was flying in today to see him. He’d made it sound like it was a social call—his commander checking up on one of his rat fighters.
“There, sir. I see it. Down there, in the trees.”
They had just come over a mountain range of treetops covered in snow. Merrick saw Two Medicine Lake, the landmark Jacy had given him. The cabin was a hundred yards back from the frozen water. The area was surrounded by giant pine trees, and there was one lone road leading up to it. But it was the kind of road that only an all-terrain vehicle would be able to maneuver.
The cabin was bigger than he had envisioned. It wasn’t anything elaborate, but it wasn’t a one-room shack with a couch that converted into a bed, either. Merrick smiled over that—the six boxes were going to fit just fine. A coil of smoke drifted from a rock chimney and there was a black pickup parked not far from the back door. He motioned for the pilot to take the helicopter down—there had to be a flat piece of ground somewhere.
This is the middle of nowhere, sir,” Vic said.
“Just the way Jacy likes it” was Merrick’s reply. “How’s he going to take us dropping in?” Tommy asked.
“We’ll know soon enough.” Merrick noted the worried looks exchanged between the two men.
“Maybe you should call him and tell him not to shoot us before he knows who we are.”
“He knows I’m coming,” Merrick assured them.
“But what about us?” Tommy asked. “Did you mention us?”
Merrick grinned. “You’re part of my surprise. You and those six boxes of equipment.”
“Shit,” Tommy said.
“Double shit,” Vic Krandle muttered.

He might be an asshole, but Nadja was being a royal bitch, Bjorn thought. She had refused to tell him the exact location of Holic’s hideout—the one she claimed she could find in the dark, drunk—her excuse being that once he knew the particulars he wouldn’t need her anymore and he’d ditch her.
Not only had she refused to talk about Holic, but she had refused to talk to him altogether, saying that she was too exhausted at the moment to think clearly. That she hadn’t slept well the night before and could use a nap before they landed.
She was either playing a game with him, or she’d lied through her teeth about where they would find Holic. He couldn’t believe she would lie to get on this mission, but he would never underestimate a woman who carried a custom-made .45 under her skirt.
She had reclined her seat and closed her eyes soon after telling him he needed more patience. No, what he needed was to stop remembering how well they had fit together in that goddamn shower.

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