The Spy Wore Red (8 page)

“You’re saying I have immoral bones?” She tried to push past him, but he deftly put her into the corner and leaned in.

“Easy, Q, your fangs are going to get in the way.”

“In the way for what?”

He stared at her lips, and it was obvious what he was thinking.

“Let me go.”

When he didn’t, she attempted to raise her knee, but he outmaneuvered her, dodged her firing range. Then he grabbed her arm and spun her around. She ended up facing the wall with Bjorn snug against her ass.

“I did what I said I would do. I gave you thirty minutes,” he whispered in her ear. “Now you’re going to do what you promised. We go back to work.”

“It’s obvious you don’t have any family or you’d understand my worry. I’ve sent Ruger letters for the past five years. He’s been a priest here at Wilten Parish longer than that. He couldn’t have done anything wrong to be asked to leave. And if he had, he would have written and told me.”

A door slammed out in the corridor. Bjorn swore, then he released Nadja and doused the flashlight. Together they hurried through an open archway looking for a place to hide.

In a corner stood a private confessional lit by a lone candle. Bjorn shoved Nadja into the space, then unhooked the drapes and let them fall. He spun around as Nadja blew out the candle.

She felt him next to her, and they came together quickly. He wrapped his arm around her and face-to-face, body to body, they both listened as the office door opened. There was a glow along the edge of the drape confirming that someone had entered the outer room and had turned on the desk lamp.

A chair squeaked.

A heavy sigh.

They waited, then waited some more—another thirty minutes—both breathing in a metamorphic state to keep from being heard.

Suddenly the chair squeaked again, and then the light went out. A door opened. Closed.

More minutes ticked by, but neither Bjorn nor Nadja moved. There was no reason not to. The danger had passed, yet they remained fused together, breathing together as one until it became awkward and Nadja whispered, “He’s gone.”

“And so are we,” Bjorn agreed. “In a minute.”

Then he kissed her.

The kiss lasted longer than a minute, and left Nadja wanting more—so much more.

Finally he released her and stepped back. “Before this mission is over, I’m going to have you in the shower, Nadja. That’s a promise. Now we’re out of here.”

He took hold of her arm and hurried her out of the office, then from the church. When they reached the SUV, he let her go and rounded the vehicle.

“Get in.”

Nadja debated her next move. She didn’t want to call Groffen, but what choice did she have? Nothing got past Kovar—he would know if something had happened to Ruger. She didn’t want to involve him in this, but maybe if she was careful not to raise suspicion…

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

She pulled her phone from her pocket just as Bjorn climbed into the SUV and turned over the engine. She opened the door and stuck her head inside. “I’m making a phone call. I’ll be just a minute.”

“Who are you calling?”

“No one you know” was all she said, then slammed the door closed and quickly dialed the number.

“Groffen Lodge. How can I help you?”

Nadja hesitated, not expecting to recognize the voice on the other end. She felt her heart slam against her chest, felt breathless and chilled at the same time. She glanced back at the SUV to make sure that Bjorn was still seated inside and hadn’t buzzed the window down again.

He was there behind the wheel, but he was watching her through the window.

She turned away. “Mady, is it really you?”

“Yes, this is Mady. Who’s calling, please?”

Nadja closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh, Mady,” she breathed, “it’s so good to hear your voice. What are you doing at Groffen?”

There was silence for several long seconds. Then the woman said, “Nadja?”

“Yes, Mady. It’s me. It’s your sister.”

Chapter 8

“Y
ou’re going to have to trust me,” Nadja said, not willing to give an inch.

Bjorn was out of the car, his hands on his hips, and he was furious. “Trust is earned, and you haven’t come close to earning a damn thing except a quick trip back to Prague. You said Holic would be in Otz. Now you want me to believe he’s in Zell am See. I don’t think you know where the hell he is.”

“I didn’t say he was in Zell am See. I said he was near there.”

He was going to strangle her. This time he would do it. He had cause.

“What kind of bullshit are you trying to feed me now? One minute you claim Holic’s at his hideout in Otz, and the next minute you’re saying he’s somewhere in Zell am See.”

“
Near
Zell am See.”

“Whatever!”

“I can’t explain this to you right now, Bjorn. I can only tell you that if you head to Otz it will be a mistake. It’s true yesterday I thought he would be at his mountain cabin in Otz, but I was wrong. You’re already mad at me for wasting precious time, but you’ll be wasting a lot more if we head to Otz. Holic didn’t go home. Trust me when I say that. But if you can’t, then go, but I’m not going with you.”

“Who did you call?”

“I can’t say.”

“But I should trust you anyway.”

“Yes.”

“Holic is near Zell am See?”

She nodded. “Enjoying the warmth and comfort of a soft bed. Once we get there, I’ll find out which bed exactly. While everyone else is looking for him in Otz, we’ll be back on schedule. That should make you happy.”

What would make him happy was if she would keep to one story and stop disappearing on him every time he turned his back on her.

He studied her, picking up vibes. The phone call she’d made had shaken her. Which meant it had netted her information she hadn’t expected. Was that information Holic’s true location, or was there something else she wasn’t telling him?

“If I’m lying this time you can send me back to Prague.”

“And don’t think I won’t,” Bjorn promised.

“You won’t need to, because this time I know exactly where Holic is.”

“This time?”

“I thought he would go home. He was ill and needed care. Care from his wife. Yesterday I believed home would be the hideout at Otz. Today I’ve learned that Mady and her daughter are no longer living in Otz.”

Again she referred to Holic’s wife with a strange kind of familiarity. Bjorn continued to wonder about that.

“They’re living near Zell am See.”

“Yes.”

“And you know where?”

“Groffen.”

“Let’s go.” Bjorn turned and started to round the front of the vehicle.

A second later a gunshot rocked the still night, then Bjorn, dropping him to his knees.

“The operation will take a minimum of three hours, Adolf. Is there someone you would like me to call? Someone you would like here waiting for you when you wake up from surgery?”

“No. Let’s just get it over with, Paul.”

Merrick turned from the window, his face pale and his head pounding. The headache he’d flown back from Prague with was back, attacking the walls inside his head like a jackhammer.

It was a good thing Jacy had agreed to walk with Bjorn. His brain was so scrambled he would never have trusted himself making coffee, let alone handle important data on a timeline.

Once Paul had left, Merrick made one phone call. Rubbing his temple, he called the corner flower shop he used and made arrangements with Sarah, the store owner.

“This is Adolf Merrick calling.”

“Adolf, uh…Mr. Merrick. Are you going out of town again?”

“No, but I won’t be available to deliver the rose to Johanna for a while. I was wondering if you could do it for me.”

“Of course I will. For how long?”

“Maybe two weeks, but it could be longer.”

“All right, I’ll bring Johanna the roses for two weeks, and if you need me longer you can let me know.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Is everything all right? You sound tired.”

“I’m not, just preoccupied.”

“Another headache?”

Merrick smiled through his pain. Sarah was perceptive, he would give her that. “As a matter a fact, yes, I do have a headache.”

“But through it I’ve made you smile.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can hear it in your voice.”

“I’ve decided to have the surgery, Sarah.” He had told her about the tumor. He didn’t usually open up to strangers, but Sarah was easy to talk to, and she had pulled it out of him.

“That’s wonderful Adolf…Mr. Merrick. That’s why you want me to see to Johanna’s roses.”

“If there’s a problem this time, I’ll—”

“There won’t be. Johanna will have her roses.”

“If the surgery doesn’t go well, and—”

“It will go fine, but if not, don’t worry. I’ll continue to see to the roses.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

“You’re welcome. Until you call me, two dozen long-stemmed apricot Loving Touch roses will be delivered to Johanna at Pleasant View Cemetery. I’ll be saying prayers for you, Mr. Merrick.”

“I’ll give you a number just in case.”

“All right, but I won’t need to use it. You’re going to be fine.”

Merrick gave Sarah the number of Jacy Madox’s mountain cabin, and when she asked him when he was having surgery he gave her the time, then disconnected.

He’d done all he could, and seen to all that was important to him. Bjorn had his back covered by Jacy, and Johanna would have her roses. Now he could have the surgery.

To Sarah, the roses for Johanna weren’t all that was important where Merrick was concerned. He needed someone at the hospital waiting for him when he woke up. Wanting to be that someone, she made arrangements to have her father come into the shop that afternoon, and arrived an hour before the scheduled surgery.

She made no fanfare as to who she was waiting for. She sat quietly in a corner chair in the surgery waiting room with her rosary in her hand, and her thoughts on the handsome gray-haired Adolf Merrick.

She sat mindful of what she’d allowed to happen—she’d fallen in love for the first time in her life. She was thirty-eight, too old to have let something like this happen, and yet unable to stop the feelings from growing each time she saw Adolf Merrick.

It was insane. She hardly knew him. Outside of his coming to the flower shop on Saturdays, she never visited him. Still, it was love that filled her, bittersweet love.

The heart never consulted the head in these matters, she reasoned. The heart loved who it loved, and she, Sarah Finny, loved a man who would forever be tied to his dead wife. A man whose love and loyalty ran deeper than an ocean.

Sarah waited six hours to learn the outcome of Merrick’s surgery. Although there had been some unforeseen complications that would keep him in the hospital longer than anticipated, Dr. Paul was optimistic.

Adolf Merrick would recover.

The weather turned to shit thirty miles from Kitzbuhel. And that wasn’t the worst of it. The gunshot that had torn a chunk of flesh out of Bjorn’s thigh had also damaged the radiator on the SUV. The result—Bjorn and Nadja were now on foot six miles from nowhere.

Two miles into the walk Bjorn sensed something was physically wrong with Nadja. His own leg was hurting like a son of a bitch, but he’d lived through worse, and would live through this. But his partner was struggling with what looked like a nasty limp.

The temperature was minus twenty, and the snow that had dropped hours earlier was now swirling wildly. Visibility was poor, and the poor conditions were magnified by subzero temperatures that brought with them the threat of frostbite.

“So what’s the problem?” he called out as they continued to follow the deserted road. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

“Nothing. What’s wrong with yours?”

“You know what’s wrong with mine. I was shot.”

“Not tickled?”

“Cute.”

“You should have let me look at it before we left Wilten.”

“There wasn’t time.” Bjorn glanced back to see Nadja tucking her cape closer to her body. She was wearing leather gloves, but she didn’t have a hat. “I’m not going to bleed to death.”

“No, but the chances are pretty good we could freeze to death.”

She was definitely limping. He said, “What’s up with the limp?”

“I’m not limping.”

To prove it, she lengthened her stride and passed him by. Bjorn let her, and took the opportunity to focus on her gait for the next fifty yards. He conceded that she was no longer limping, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been earlier.

He sped up and fell into step with her, his duffel slung over his shoulder. His thigh wound wasn’t serious, and it was true he wasn’t going to bleed to death, or need stitches, but he was damn uncomfortable. But mostly he was cold.

“How are you doing cold-wise?” he asked. “Can you feel your feet and hands?”

“Yes.”

“Nose?”

“It’s all good.”

She took the lead again, and that’s when he noticed the limp was back. This time he didn’t say anything. He just kept moving, and watched her try to cover up whatever was going on with her left leg.

Polax had boasted that Nadja was the queen of pain, and if that was true, then there was something seriously wrong.

An hour and a half later they came to a sign that read, Nordzum Ski Lodge. The secluded winter retreat resembled a small village nestled into a valley surrounded by lit-up powder-perfect ski runs.

Bjorn strode past Nadja and headed for the two-story main lodge. His feet were tingling, and Nadja’s limp had worsened, though he hadn’t verbally acknowledged his observation. But that didn’t mean he was ready to ignore it. As soon as they got settled he would contact Jacy and put him to work digging up everything that had been left out of Nadja’s file at Quest. And there sure as hell had been things left out.

Again it made him suspect Polax. What was he hiding?

Nordzum Lodge was northwest of Zell am See, and had some of the best ski slopes in the Kitzbuheler Alpen. Nadja knew the place well. She’d skied there often—Kovar had insisted on it to mix up her routine at Groffen. The slopes weren’t as fast or as beautiful as those she’d grown up on, but she had enjoyed the change.

The main lodge was surrounded by six small chalets. It was more spread out than Groffen, but beautiful. Few ski lodges, however, compared to the size and grandeur of the famous Groffen.

Nadja followed Bjorn into the lobby and watched as he wrangled at the front desk with a young clerk. She suspected there would be no rooms available, so when the clerk summoned someone with more authority, she wasn’t surprised. After all, he was dealing with Bjorn Odell the asshole.

But what did surprise her was the man who slipped behind the desk moments later. Rune Stein had been the owner years ago, and it looked like he still was.

She was right. There were no rooms available within the main lodge, or the surrounding chalets, Rune acknowledged.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Larsen, we’re full. But I can see you need a place to stay. You came here on foot, you said?” He eyed Bjorn’s bloody pant leg. “Need a doctor?”

“No. It’s just a scratch.”

“You say it was car trouble that put you on foot?”

“That’s right,” Bjorn agreed. “Our vehicle broke down between here and Innsbruck.” He turned and pointed to Nadja. “My wife is exhausted. If not a room, how about a rental car to take us to the closest town?”

“The roads are closed. Should be open in the morning. I tell you what, I do have a loft above a storage site near the lift station. I’ve offered it before under emergency circumstances. You’re welcome to it at a reasonable rate.”

“We’ll take it,” Bjorn agreed.

Rune drove them to the site himself, and led them up a staircase inside the storage building. Once he opened the door, he stepped back, and Nadja got the first glimpse of a sparsely furnished but clean second-story room.

The good news was that the room had a double-wide bed, a fireplace, a table and two chairs, a large porcelain bathtub, a toilet and a bookshelf. The bad news was that everything, including the toilet, was in the same room—there was no divider and not an ounce of privacy. The toilet sat like a king’s throne in the corner, and the deep old-fashioned claw-foot tub sat on a raised platform.

Determined to make the best of it, Nadja turned to Rune. “
Danke,
Mr. Stein.”

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Larsen.”

Rune angled his head. “You look familiar to me. Guess it’s that pale hair of yours. It reminds me of this sweet gal that used to ski here years ago. You don’t see that color of hair very often. The girl was an excellent skier.”

“Was? What happened to her?” Nadja asked, glancing over Rune’s head to look at Bjorn.

“She had a ski accident that ended her skiing for good. Always thought her grandfather pushed too hard.”

Nadja closed her eyes for a moment, suddenly back on the slopes that chilly, horrible day in Zurich, setting her skis to take the corner at sixty miles an hour. Setting them, and knowing she wasn’t going to make it. She’d sailed off the course and hit the fence. When she came to, she had no idea what happened.

The memory of the pain shocked her back to the present and she blinked open her eyes. Her old life was over and she was now living a new one. And in this new life Ruger was missing, Mady and Prisca were at Groffen with Kovar, Holic was nearby, and she was going to be spending the night locked up in only one room with Bjorn.

She touched her lips, remembering the kiss he’d given her at Wilten Parish, remembering the promise he’d made her afterward.

No, she wasn’t going to let Bjorn get under her skin, or under anything else, for that matter. She was going to concentrate on Mady and what she was going to say to her when they saw each other.

She hadn’t seen her sister in fifteen years.

“What do you think,
Frau?
Will the room be adequate? I wish I could offer you and your husband something better, but—”

“It’s lovely. Clean and quiet.” She glanced at Bjorn. “We love it, don’t we.”

He lifted one eyebrow. Nodded. “Love it,” he mimicked. “Thank you.”