A Thousand Kisses Deep (7 page)

She pushed the upcoming party out of her head for the time being. Maybe by then
Merrick
's man would hand over the file, and maybe she'd get lucky and something in the file would spark her memory. If that happened there would truly be cause to celebrate.

She retrieved her skimpiest bikini from the closet and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. She shrugged out of her robe, then peeled her chemise off her shoulders. The pale tan line was barely noticeable in the mirror. From there she searched out the others along the swell of her breasts, and the line low on her hips.

I want every inch of you brown, sweet Eva. I have something spectacular in mind for you to wear to my birthday party. Sinfully spectacular.

Chapter 6

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^
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O
n
another small island south of
Mykonos
, the Chameleon stood at the window of the renovated monastery feeling more alive than he had in years.
Merrick
had actually surprised him this time. His unexpected siege on Castle Rock had killed six of his men, but the attempt had been a refreshing change. It meant
Merrick
was still sulking and nursing his wound—still interested in playing their game.

From the window he had a perfect view of his private lagoon. That is, if he was inclined to use the high-powered telescope that stood within reach as he often liked to do. Today he wasn't taking pleasure in the azure water lapping at his billion-dollar motor yacht he'd appropriately named, the
Pearl
.
No, today his pleasure was a bit more carnal. Today he was focused on the entertainment going on below the window in the private garden where two of his men were taking turns throwing punches at his latest prisoner.

A sturdy wooden post stood in the middle of the garden specifically for such amusing activities. The man had been tied to it to keep him upright. A lot of blood had been spilled so far, but the prisoner no longer objected to the force of the punches. He had long since stopped groaning, though he hadn't done much pleading for mercy to begin with.

This prisoner was a tough son of a bitch. He would be hard to crack, but there were few men he hadn't been able to break open … eventually. And those who had held out soon realized that there was no escape once the Chameleon had decided you were worth his trouble and patience.

Patience was a talent. There was something to be said for a man who had learned how to master the game of life to its fullest potential through patience.

He watched as his men continued to take turns flogging the hell out of his newest prisoner. He didn't believe that the man had lost his memory, though his head wound had been extensive and it had required surgery to keep him alive.

The Chameleon checked his watch to find that time had gotten away from him—he was always fascinated with the human body's ability to withstand pain, and he'd completely lost track of time. It was nearly dinner hour and his wife would be expecting him soon. He'd promised Callia that he would take her on a boat ride tonight, and he always kept his promises to his angel-faced wife.

He called down from the window, "He's had enough. Take him back to his cell and clean him up. See to his injuries and feed him."

"Yes, sir," the senior guard answered.

"If he dies, so will you," the Chameleon warned. He turned to gather up the papers at his desk when the phone rang. Recognizing the number, he picked it up quickly. "Are you here in
Greece
?"

"Yes. We're here."

"Are you well, Simon?"

"Well enough."

"And Evka, is she also well?"

"She is."

The Chameleon smiled pridefully. "Tell me, how does she look? Is she even more beautiful than last year?"

"More beautiful, yes. She has a changed look about her. I think you will be surprised."

"You know I don't like surprises, Simon. But I do like to hear good news. I'm anxious to see her, and I know that I told you I would meet you in
Naxos
early tomorrow, but there's been a change in plans and I will be delayed until afternoon. I'll see you then."

"Is there a problem? Some unpleasant business?"

"There is often unpleasantness in our line of work. Tomorrow we will discuss it."

Once he hung up the phone, the Chameleon reached for a cigar, ran it slowly beneath his nose and inhaled the rich expensive tobacco. Cutting off the end and discarding it, he lit the cigar with his silver lighter, then pocketed the shiny rectangle deep into his white linen trousers. He drew deeply on the cigar, holding it a bit awkwardly since the index finger on his right hand had been severed years ago.

A false wall moved at the touch of a button on his ornate watch and he followed the stairs to the passageway. Reaching the bottom, he walked past a number of cells.

Knowing the men behind the bars hated him and ached to kill him, he smiled at each one of them as he passed by, saying, "You can wish me dead, but it is you who are dead. None of you will see the light of day ever again. You breathe, yet you are dead to the world and your families."

He noticed that his newest prisoner, the one who had been beaten in the courtyard was sitting up watching him. He'd taken a helluva beating, and yet he was far stronger than the others. That wouldn't last long, he thought.

As he passed the guard, he said, "Beat that one every other day until he is ready to tell me his name."

The guard nodded, and the Chameleon followed a second stairway, stepping out into the warm sunny afternoon. As he puffed on his cigar and walked along the path, his thoughts returned to Evka. Simon said there had been a change in her, and he wondered about that. Maybe it meant she was ready, ready to fulfill his plan for her.

He walked along the flower-lined footpath, past the bloodstained terrace, not giving it a second's notice. He continued to puff on his cigar, letting the balmy breeze lift his white hair.

He looked older than his fifty-eight years, but he was as healthy and horny as a prized stallion, and with that his thoughts shifted to Callia. She would be dressing for dinner soon, and he wanted to be there to watch her as she left the bathroom. He wanted to be sprawled on the bed, relaxed with his hands behind his head, awaiting the sight of her magnificent naked body.

His own body hummed with the anticipation of seeing her curvy tanned flesh so flawless in the lamplight. He wet his lips, eager to taste her. She would lie down on the bed at his command and then he would stretch out beside her. Her scent would fill his head, and when she looked at him, he would smile knowing she could not resist him.

He would cover her slowly. Enter her completely. Then the reckless hunger he felt for her would rise up and she would speak his name as he filled her. And with his claiming, she would know he loved her like no other.

He boarded the
Pearl
in a state of readiness—stone hard and anxious to put his hands on his wife. He motioned to his captain, and when they were underway, he went to stand at the railing.

His wife was forty-five, past her prime, but no other woman could match Callia's beauty. She was exquisite perfection. As flawless as the day he had met her. And she would remain that way. He would see to it. He'd spent millions to preserve her angel-like face, and he would spend millions more in the years to come to keep her exactly the way she had looked the first day he'd laid eyes on her.

The Chameleon spoke his feelings to the blue sea. "Yes, my longtime friend and eternal enemy, I am here, and you are still wondering where that is. It tortures you, and I rejoice in the knowledge that the wound I inflicted on you so long ago still pains you. But have no fear, we will meet again. We will come face-to-face when the time is right, and still, I will not kill you.

"Death will not be your escape, Adolf Merrick. Those who betray me can never escape me. They breathe, exist, yet they are dead."

Her bedroom had been ransacked. Eva stood in the doorway between her bedroom and private bathroom, the evidence staring her in the face. Her closet door stood open, and her vanity drawers were left in disarray. The intruder had even drunk her
kafe.

Wearing a brown crocheted bikini that left nothing to the imagination, she glanced around, then sniffed the air. She had an uncanny sense of smell and she picked up the scent of bay rum without half trying.

It was obvious he wanted her to know he'd been there. That he'd followed her, and knew where she was staying. Had he left her a note? Did he have the file and want to meet?

She checked the room, but there was no note. She was annoyed by his brashness, and yet she smiled. Once again he had successfully broken into another of Simon's heavily guarded homes without any trouble. He had slipped into Boxwood Estate after dark, wearing camouflage clothing and face paint. Here he'd chosen a sunny morning. Both estates were guarded by close to a dozen men.

After their encounter in the maze she had been curious which one of his men Merrick had sent to her. It had again prompted her to hack into Simon's computer and read the profiles on
Merrick
's current list of agents. With no pictures to aid her, she'd tried to pick
her
man from the list, wanting to put a name with the man whose smell lingered in her mind.

She'd formed a picture of him in the dark that night. Wanted a name to go along with that picture. And then she'd seen him on the plane. No, first she'd smelled him. She'd been already seated on the airplane when he'd walked past and the bay rum scent had alerted her that he was there. She had wanted to turn immediately, but she'd waited. Waited for over an hour.

The idea of using her mirror came to her by accident, but she'd immediately liked the concept. It was a way she could look without Simon getting suspicious, and guard herself at the same time. She was glad that she had. The picture she'd envisioned didn't do the man justice. Over six feet, he appeared to be in his midthirties, had bad-boy blue eyes, and nice ears.

She'd noticed his ears because he wore his black hair short, with a pair of sideburns that followed his square jawline in a neatly trimmed chin strap. Though his hair was shorter than she liked on any man, she had to admit it looked good on him.

His nose was sleek, his mouth attractive enough to distract her. No, there was nothing that had matched the picture she'd formed in her mind.

She blinked out of her muse and glanced at her image in the small mirror, then touched the faint line on her shoulder. "It's all going to work out," she whispered. "It has to. I've been at this too long. There has to be an end soon."

She had to believe that, but for now the order of the day was getting rid of her tan line and making sure everything was brown before Simon returned.

With that, she left the house and followed a footpath to the dock where a number of skiffs were tied. Lesvago had been built against a massive rock. It was rather like having a giant watching your back, Simon had once told her.

She glanced up at the rocky giant before stepping onto the dock. There were two ways to reach the house: either by rappelling down the peak, or slipping past the guards posted seaside. Both would require more than a little talent.
Merrick
's man was either an excellent swimmer, or part mountain goat.

She headed for a small skiff, nodding to the guard posted on the dock. "I'm going to the caverns," she told him.

"Endaxi,
Miss Eva," the guard replied. "I'll send four eyes to keep you safe."

With another nod, she tossed her small pack into the skiff. The guard quickly untied the rope and she climbed in. He shoved the boat away from the dock, then she started the motor with a push of a button and headed up the shoreline toward the caverns, while two guards scrambled for another skiff to follow her.

The
Cyclade
Islands
were some of the most beautiful in
Greece
, and Eva marveled at the sight as she sailed toward the caverns. The clear blue water, and the warm air had her tossing her head to catch the balmy breeze on her face. It felt good to be back, even though Simon's upcoming party hung over her head like a dark cloud. But today she wasn't going to think about what would happen by week's end. For now she would indulge her vagabond heart, and pray that
Merrick
's man would deliver her the file soon.

A stretch of sugar-sand beach and a number of colorful outcroppings later, Eva cut the motor and tossed out the anchor. Beyond the caverns, high into the side of a cliff, stood an abandoned monastery, stark white against the rocks that surrounded it on three sides.

Nemo had told her a story about the monk who had been exiled there to live out his life after he'd fallen in love with a beautiful village girl half his age. Nemo said after the monk's death his ghost still wandered the tower. He said, to this day, fishermen returning home spoke tales of seeing the monk's image high in the window of the tower.