The Spy Wore Red (3 page)

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

N
adja 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.”