by Wendy Rosnau
“I can do that,” Jacy agreed, feeling eager now that he had a place to start.
Alun… It was an unusual name.
He had slipped into her room last night and watched her sleep. She had tossed and turned, mumbled more European phrases. She didn’t wear any rings, and she appeared too young to have a husband, but anything was possible.
“Did you hear me, Moon?”
“What?”
“I said, I’d like to talk to her. I’ve got some questions.”
“She’s not up yet. I’ll go wake her. Breakfast is ready anyway.”
Jacy left Billy and seconds later entered Prisca’s room after a solid rap. She was still sleeping, curled into a protective ball. He limped to the window and opened the curtains, then slid up the shade. She never moved.
“Alun,” he said softly, trying the name out, wondering if it would wake her. It didn’t.
He moved to the bed and sat down beside her. A few strands of hair were across her face and he brushed them aside.
“Hey, wake up.”
She blinked open her eyes, moaned, a moment of confusion on her face. “Moon?”
“It’s me. Billy’s here.”
“I’ll need to dress.”
“Can you manage?”
She tossed the sheet aside. She was again wearing his red flannel shirt. When she had changed, he didn’t know. Or why. It hung on her small shoulders and the top two buttons were open.
She had slight breasts—he remembered that and his eyes were drawn to the pale skin.
“I have a pair of jeans around here somewhere.”
He stood and searched out the jeans. She dropped her pretty legs over the side of the bed. Jeans in hand, he came back and bent down to slip her legs into the holes.
She was moving more slowly than yesterday and he worried about that.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“My muscles are so stiff.” She rubbed her neck. “I could soak in a hot bath for an hour.”
“After breakfast.”
“All right.
“You’ll have to help me stand.”
He leaned forward, put his hands on her slender waist. “Put your arms around my neck, and give me your weight.”
She looked down at her jeans. The legs were hiding her feet. “Are you sure?”
No, he wanted to say. The last thing I need is you against me, and my hands moving up your bare legs and sexy ass. But again he didn’t relay what was going on inside his head.
“We can do this,” he said, “trust me.”
She smiled, and he smiled back.
Slowly she slid her arms around his neck, and then he was standing and moving her jeans up her thighs and over her small butt as she dangled against him.
“You remember Billy?”
Pris nodded as Jacy carried her into the kitchen. She was nervous as to what she was going to hear, but she could and would get through this. To cause suspicion at this point would be a disaster.
“Yes, I remember,” she said and let go of Moon’s neck as he sat her on the kitchen chair across from the BLM supervisor.
Before she knew it a cup of tea was in front of her and Moon was back at the stove dishing up scrambled eggs.
Matwau stalked into the room, sniffed Billy, then came and sat next to Pris. She reached out and stroked his head and then said, “What did you come to ask me? Moon said you had some questions for me.”
“You still having a hard time remembering things.”
“Yes. I’m afraid so.”
“I did some research on a number of incoming flights into Missoula. Marty always worked out of there. The airport flight plan has his plane flying out at ten-twenty that night. I checked the passenger lists on the larger flights that came in. I went back two days prior. All the passengers were accounted for except for one.”
While Billy scratched the large bald spot on the top of his head, and munched on a piece of toast, Pris tried to remain calm, aware Moon’s eyes were on her now that he’d delivered breakfast to the table.
What was Billy about to tell her? She didn’t dare look worried. She should look hopeful. She went through the motions.
“The missing woman’s name is Alun Beltane. Does the name sound familiar? Ring any bells, darlin’?”
It certainly did, but confident that it was a name with no history, she said, “I don’t know. But if you say that’s my name, then it must be.”
Billy scratched his bald spot again, then took a sip of coffee. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s your name. Until we get our hands on concrete proof we’re not a hundred percent sure. But it feels right. You flew in from Edmonton.”
“Edmonton?”
“That’s in Canada.”
She nodded as if he was telling her something she didn’t know. She would play this out, feeling more confident now. It would be difficult to verify a name she had put together from two gravestones in an unkempt cemetery.
She’d spent three days in the city of Edmonton procuring a number of new identities. After money had changed hands, Prisca Reznik had become Alun Beltane, and three other people as well. She had learned the technique from a master. Otto had been able to get them in and out of every country in Europe. Whatever they had needed, he’d seen to it, and explained how it was done. Otto had once said, “When money is no object you can buy anything your heart desires.”
She knew how to play the game. After all she was her father’s daughter, and she’d read through his instructions countless times.
“Every head accounted for,” Billy was saying again. “I talked to a bunch, personally.”
“Are you saying I live in Canada?”
“Time will tell.”
What did that mean? Pris wondered. And what did that look that Billy had just given Moon mean?
“So that’s what I have so far. Now then, what do you remember about the crash? When you regained consciousness?”
In this Pris decided to tell the truth. If he thought she was Alun Beltane, that gave her time.
“When I was conscious, and I don’t know how long I was out, I couldn’t move. I was cold and I thought I was going to die. I lay there for hours while the plane burned. I should have tried to get the pilot out, but I couldn’t move.”
“It wouldn’t have done much good. From what we can tell he died on impact. If you were in your seat belt you must have unhooked it and crawled out.”
“I don’t remember that.”
The fear of dying washed over her again, and she relived that frightful moment when she’d thought she was going to die. Something must have shown in her face because suddenly Moon was on his feet, his hand cupping her shoulder.
“That’s enough, Billy. She doesn’t remember, so let’s leave it alone for now.”
“But I got a report to write, Moon, and—”
“Start writing it from the information you have.”
His tone was hard-boiled, and the BLM supervisor clamped his mouth shut. Nodded. “Okay.”
“Now are you having a second helping of breakfast, or are you late for another appointment?”
“No, I got another stop to make. I want to talk to Koko, and if I time it right she’ll ask me to stay for lunch.”
“What do you need to talk to her about?” Jacy asked.
“There’s a few holes in her story I got to clear up.” He stood, his eyes locking with Prisca’s once more. “If you remember anything, darlin’, let me know.”
When Billy left, Jacy said, “You didn’t eat much.”
“Maybe later. I think I’d like to take that bath now.”
“You’ll have to keep your leg out of the water.”
“I think I can manage. Help me to the bathroom?”
And he did help her, carrying her as he had before, while Pris clung to him, trusting that if she needed more help, all she would have to do was call out his name.
Koko arrived at Moon’s cabin midafternoon. She brought with her a homemade pie, and a spec
ial basket for sisttsi nan. Her vision surrounding the young woman had continued, only she was on a different mission at the moment.
“How is our little bird today?”
Koko ignored her grandson’s scowl and stepped past him. She looked around and smiled at the clean home he lived in.
Issohko had become a very self-sufficient man over the years and her pride swelled. He’d been a wild and reckless young boy in his youth. Had seemed to seek out trouble on every corner. But the boy had grown into a man, and she’d given thanks in her prayers for the man named Merrick for that. He’d reached inside her grandson and pulled out the goodness. He’d seen the real Jacy Moon Madox behind the angry young half-breed, and she would forever be grateful.
Oh, her grandson wasn’t perfect, no one was. He still had a quick-trigger temper, and he embraced danger like an old friend—but in a different way now.
“What’s in the basket?”
She glanced at the covered basket. “It’s for sisttsi nan. Alun. Billy says that’s her name. A pretty name, but…”
“But what?”
Koko shrugged, then set down the basket on a narrow table by the door and removed her pink scarf. “Be a gentleman and help me off with my coat, issohko.”
Jacy did as she asked and hung it on the coat tree next to the table. When he reached for the basket, Koko snatched it and hooked it on her arm.
“The pie is yours. You’ll know what to do with that.”
“Well our bird went back to bed. I checked on her a few minutes ago and she’s curled up in a ball like she intends to hibernate the rest of the winter. I’m a little worried. Maybe she has internal injuries. Vic could have missed something.”
“She’ll be fine very soon.” Koko walked into the living room, noticed the fire glowing, and she moved toward it to warm up. “It feels good in here. I got a chill walking over.”
“You should have called. I would have come for you.”
“It’s good to walk. It keeps my old joints loosened up. My arthritis warns me that the storm that missed us yesterday will come tomorrow.”
“I’ll get her up,” Jacy said. “She’s been in bed long enough.”
“She will feel better in the morning.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Which room is she in?”
“What’s in the basket, Koko?”
“Nothing that would interest you. A few things. Things men don’t think about unless it’s affecting them and their own needs.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Think about it. You’re a smart boy.”
His eyebrows arched and Koko knew he understood what she was telling him without getting specific.
“And how the hell do you know she needs that? Come to you in the rocker this morning?”
“As a matter a fact, it did. Could account for why she’s been in bed hibernating all day, as you call it. Now, which room?”
“One door past mine.”
“Put the teapot on.” Koko pulled a bag of herb tea from her pocket and tossed it at him. “This will help her to feel better.” Then she headed down the hall.
She rapped on the door, then walked into the bedroom. As Moon had said, sisttsi nan lay on her side with her knees drawn up. But she wasn’t sleeping.
“I brought you a few things,” Koko said as she entered the room.
The girl rolled over and sat up slowly. “You did?”
Koko set the basket on the table next to the bed. She noticed that the young woman was wearing one of Moon’s shirts, and she smiled. It was the red plaid she’d given him for his birthday last year.
She flipped the cover open on the basket. “Oh, that’s where I put Moon’s mail. I made a run into Browning with Tate to pick up the mail after lunch, and I picked up his, too.” She tucked the envelopes into her sweater pocket. “Moon’s worried about you sleeping the day away, but it’s a fact that men don’t always understand a woman’s body, or how it works.”
“You know what’s wrong with me?”
“I do. That’s why I put together this survival kit.”
“Survival kit?”
“It’s a special kind of kit. A woman’s survival kit.”
She waited, watched as sisttsi nan peered inside the basket. A smile came seconds later.
She looked at Koko. “How did you know?”
“The same way I knew you needed me on the mountain. I see things.” Koko rubbed her hands on her wool pants that she had cinched up around her waist with a leather belt Tate had tooled for her. “I’ll check on Moon, and see how he’s doing in the kitchen with the tea. Hungry for a piece of huckleberry pie? It helps if you eat something.”
“I think pie sounds good.”
“Then I’ll have Moon set another plate.” Koko patted her hand before she left. “Can you manage?”
“I can walk if I go slow. Thank you again.”
Prisca went through the basket after Koko left. How the old woman had known she had her period was a mystery, but she was glad for the supplies inside the basket. Her cycles were always painful the first day, and she would have killed—no pun intended—for a bottle of ibuprofen, but Moon’s medicine chest had consisted only of men’s deodorant, a toothbrush and a few shaving items. He had mentioned pills once, but if he had some, he didn’t keep them in the usual place.
She slipped from the bed. She needed to start exercising her muscles. She wasn’t going to get better pampering herself.
Her father had been able to withstand enormous amounts of pain. It was all in the mind, he used to say. Train yourself to move past it.
Whispering the words, “Move past it,” she took what she needed from the basket and headed for the door. As quietly as she could, she stepped into the hall, and using the wall to aid her, she made it to the bathroom, ignoring the fact that she was wearing nothing more than her underwear and Moon’s shirt.
When she opened the door from the bathroom minutes later she ran into him coming down the hall.
“You should have said something,” was all he said before he scooped her up into his arms. “Koko says you’re feeling up to pie. I think you need a bowl of soup first. You turned down lunch, remember?”
“I can walk,” she protested when he started back with her in the direction of the living room. “I’m going to have to start sometime. And I’m not dressed…again.”
To satisfy her last protest, he grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and tossed it into her lap.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked.
“No, why would I be angry?”
“You seem angry.”
“Not with you.”
But he was angry. She wondered about that. Wondered if he’d learned something more about her that she should know.
“Is your grandmother still here?”
“Yes.”
“It was very nice of her to bring me…the basket.”
“That’s Koko. On top of every problem. But next time, I’ll get whatever it is you need. All you have to do is ask. I’m no mind reader.”
Chapter 7
The report came in while he was out having lunch. Merrick slipped behind his desk and opened the file. He read over the cover page, and immediately felt a chill wash over him. The lab reports had finally come in on the body at the morgue. The one they had recovered in Greece months ago. The one they had believed was the Chameleon.
The report claimed that the body in the morgue was Pavvo Creon. A man they had believed had died fifteen years ago had resurfaced.
Which meant what?
Was Pavvo the Chameleon, or was he still alive?
Merrick stood and went to the window. He didn’t want to believe the report, but he’d personally handpicked every lab tech, and he had the utmost respect for each one of them. They were the best in the country.
Lev Polax’s words came back to him. He’s alive, Merrick. The bastard is alive.
But how could that be? How had the Chameleon
escaped the explosion that had splintered his yacht into a million pieces? And if Pavvo Creon was laid out in the morgue, where had be been for fifteen years?
It was never going to end, Merrick decided. He’d waited years for this to be over. He’d tried to go on without Johanna, but every day he saw her face—even after he’d put away the pictures.
She was in the kitchen making breakfast, in the bathroom washing her hair. Seated by the fireplace laughing and teasing him out of his pants to make crazy reckless love on the rug.
Her laugh was throaty and deep for such a slight woman. Her beautiful hair was soft as silk, her eyes so full of love each time she looked at him. No one would ever look at him like that again.
She’d been his life, and he knew he had been hers. Until the Chameleon had turned their life into a nightmare.
He had lived each day to see the bastard dead, but now it looked as though he’d been robbed of even that. The Chameleon had slipped through his fingers again. But how? His yacht had blown sky high. He himself, and Sly McKwen, had almost been killed in the process.
That last thought gave Merrick pause. If they had survived, then it was possible that the Chameleon had escaped the explosion as well.
Another chill ran the length of his spine, and it told Merrick that his lab experts were right. Pavvo Creon was in the morgue and the Chameleon was still out there somewhere breathing and laughing.
And if he was alive then hell was about to revisit him and the agency before too long.
There were two ways to look at this, Merrick thought. He could consider the mission in Greece a failure, or decide that he’d been given a second chance to confront his enemy—to come face to face with the man who had stolen his life.
A second chance to kill the Chameleon for Johanna.
So maybe this unanswered prayer was a gift.
Jacy sat at his computer frustrated and in a sour mood. His daily routine was getting tiresome. He’d been searching for answers but hadn’t come up with anything solid he could run with. Not one damn lead on Alun Beltane from Edmonton. And to top off his mood, he’d hit a brick wall with the kill-file Merrick was hoping he could decode.
He had the latest in equipment, knew how to hijack information from every resource across the country, and still he was no further ahead than he’d been weeks ago.