by Wendy Rosnau
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 thing
s 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 su
re.”
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.”