The Spy Wore Red (9 page)

Nadja walked in, checking her leg before putting all her weight on it. She was not going to limp. That showed weakness, and she wasn’t weak.

No never.

“Once your
herr
gets a hot fire roaring you will like it,
Frau.
There is plenty of blankets and furs.” He motioned to the thick fur rug on the floor in front of the stone fireplace, and a stack of blankets folded on a wooden bench at the foot of the bed.

“The tub is
dere,
and wood outside by the door.”

“I saw,” Bjorn answered, making his presence known.

“If you get bored with each other…you can always read a book.” Rune chuckled as he motioned to the bookcase. He backed away. “Meals are served in the main lodge, or delivered as you like. The menu is over
dere
on the table. There’s a phone downstairs on the wall to place an order.
Guten Abend.
”

Bjorn nodded. “Good evening, and thanks.”

Once Rune was gone, Nadja eased down on the bench to remove her boots. She heard Bjorn mumble something about firewood but she didn’t look up as he left to get an armload. She rubbed her toes to circulate the blood, then went to run water into the tub. The only way she was going to get the circulation back in her leg was a hot bath. The doctors who had put her back together after the accident had clearly had their work cut out for them. The nerves had been severed in her left leg and the prognosis was that she would never walk again. But that had been unacceptable to her grandfather—after all, Kovar lived to watch her ski. To ski and win.

He had insisted they do whatever necessary for her to walk again. Walk and run, and ski—ski with the same grace and speed she once had.

Her leg felt numb now, and it hadn’t felt like that in a very long time. She wasn’t worried, however. No, she was healthy, and the leg was sound. She just needed to get the blood circulating again.

Bjorn came through the door and kicked it shut behind him. He crossed the room with an armload of kindling and began to build a fire while Nadja located a towel and dropped it on the floor near the deep porcelain tub.

She said, “You need to attend to your leg.”

“Later. I’m hungry.”

She watched him unbutton his coat and rested his hand on his hip. He looked tired, and yet as rugged and solid as a mountaintop, even with his injured leg so glaringly evident—the blood was frozen to his pants and it looked awful.

“They make deliveries,” he prompted. “I’ll call in something. What do you want?”

“Some soup and
mélange.
I need to warm up from the inside out.”

While he went down to order the food on the phone downstairs, Nadja stripped off her clothes and slipped into the tub.

Holic didn’t like the way Mady was acting. Something was wrong. If he had to ferret the truth out of her she was going to feel his anger instead of just hear it in his voice.

“What have you heard?” he demanded. “You’ve been as jumpy as a cat since you walked through that door. What’s going on downstairs? What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything. I’m just tired. It’s busy this time of year and we’re always shorthanded. Prisca has been on the run all afternoon.”

“That explains why she hasn’t come by this afternoon. She was supposed to come back after lunch to talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“Her future.”

He watched as Mady’s eyes turned wary.

“What do you have in mind for her future?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“I think you are sure. Tell me.”

“She says she’s been practicing every day. Her skills are improving.”

Mady shook her head. “No. I won’t let you make her into you. No!”

“Do not raise your voice at me, Mady. Pris is my daughter, and I’ll do with her as I like.”

“She is mine, too. Please, Holic. Please don’t do this.”

“My hand isn’t mending like it should. It may never. I need someone I can trust. Who better than my own flesh and blood? My Pris?”

“Please, no.”

“Forget about the food you brought, and come sit beside me. Come.”

He watched her come to him and sit on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were wide and she looked frightened.

“Lie down beside me,” he coaxed, tugging her forward.

“No, I don’t want to.”

“But I want you to. Lie down.”

She stretched out beside him, and he rolled to his side. He raised his bad hand above her head to keep it from being bumped, then slowly drew his wife to him with his good arm. Her blond hair was pulled back from her face, and he reached up and stroked the blue vein that was pulsing at her temple. Then he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. Trailed his knuckles over her jaw. Stroked his long fingers down her neck. Massaged each of her breasts.

Mady enjoyed his hands on her. Most women did. He knew how to trick them into thinking they were beyond special. Manipulation was one of his specialties. That, and being the best marksman in Europe.

He would say in the country, but Adolf Merrick held that title. The commander at Onyxx had been the best damn government assassin ever born. But like himself, Adolf was going to have to relinquish the spotlight before long because Pris was going to rise to the top very soon. As soon as everything was in place, and she understood what was at stake.

“Holic, about Prisca—”

“Shh…”

His hand slid back up over her left breast, over her collarbone. He curled his fingers around her neck, squeezed until it registered that he was through talking.

He said, “Hear me Mady, I say this for the last time. Pris is my daughter. I will do with her what I think is best. Whatever I like, and what I would like is my daughter taking over my business.” He squeezed tighter, enough to make Mady’s eyes grow even wider. “Now I want to know why you’re acting so jumpy. The truth this time. Has someone come looking for me?”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“Any inquiries by phone?”

She again shook her head, but this time she raised her hand and tried to pry his fingers away from her throat.

He released her, not in the least worried that she would scramble off the bed. She tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“Swallow,” he instructed. “That’s it. Again.”

He massaged her throat. Kissed her lips.

Finally, she whispered, “I read in the newspaper that a man in St. Anton was found in an alley with his throat slit. There’s an investigation going on to search for his killer. Are they searching for you, Holic? Did you kill that man in St. Anton?”

He should have expected as much. Mady was worried about him. He grinned. “Of course they are looking for me. I needed a disguise, the weather had turned sour, and I had a fever. Did you bring the paper so I could read the article?”

“Yes. It’s on the counter.”

“Good. Is that it? All that is bothering you? That useless drunk in St. Anton?”

“What if they track you to Groffen?”

“The knife I used to slit his throat is still in St. Anton, clear of any fingerprints.”

“But what if—”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “The men hunting me expect me to crawl into a hole atop a mountain like an animal. To hide in some desolate region with miserable conditions, but I have no intention of giving up my comfort while I convalesce. No. I will eat like a king and sleep in a sweet-smelling bed. Only a fool would hide out in a crowd, or a very smart man certain of himself. I am that man, Mady.”

She nodded. “If you say so.”

“I do. Now, then. I need you to do something for me.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to find Jakob and tell him to go to After Shock and bring me back a playmate.”

Mady stiffened.

Holic touched her cheek. “Now, don’t get upset. You should feel relieved that I don’t expect you to play my games, Mady. They degrade a woman of your sensitivities, and as my wife and the mother of my child, I would never want to do that. I have too much respect for you. Now, go to Jakob and tell him what I said. He’ll know what I expect.”

“Holic, please. Not here at the lodge. Pris is only a few doors away. What if—?”

“Go now.”

“I’ve never said anything about your appetite for variety, Holic. But please, this is where we live, and I can’t—”

“Enough, Mady! Go find Jakob, and give him my message.”

A half hour later Holic was visited by a smiling green-eyed long-legged blonde from After Shock, Groffen’s underground pleasure club. She had pierced nipples, a talented tongue and a gift for making a man feel reborn.

Chapter 9

“T
he food will be delivered in thirty minutes. We’re lucky, the kitchen’s open until midnight. We just made it, so—”

“So…” Caught naked, Nadja was just climbing out of the bathtub when Bjorn came through the door. He slowly closed it, continued to stare.

She did what any good bedroom assassin would do under the circumstances. She put her professional training into play and stood her ground.

True, this was Bjorn who had surprised her, not a would-be victim she’d been sent to seduce then kill. Nonetheless, her mastery of the game was second nature, no clutching her bosom or gasping like a caught virgin.

Virgin…
Nadja pushed the word from her mind. Virginity was overrated. Sexual knowledge was power, and it wasn’t exclusive to the male gender.

She towel-dried herself, then headed for the bench at the foot of the bed. There, she retrieved one of the soft blankets.

But she didn’t hurry. That wasn’t how it was done—a woman who knew her value, as well as the minds of men, didn’t hide her assets. She embraced the power and the knowledge.

She took the blanket on the top of the pile, a soft chenille in a powder blue, and unfolded it slowly. Slipping it around her shoulders, she didn’t look at him when she asked, “Did you remember to order my
mélange?
”

“We had to settle for the special, stew and dumplings, but your order for milky coffee is on its way. Like I said, it should be here in thirty minutes.”

He had been gone close to that while placing the order. Nadja questioned that. It certainly didn’t take that long to order stew and dumplings, and a couple of drinks.

She wrapped the blanket around her body and turned to face him. She couldn’t tell by looking at him what he was thinking, if he was hiding something from her. He was too skilled to let his feelings show unless he wanted them out in the open.

He didn’t trust her, that she knew for sure, and she couldn’t blame him. She had given him cause to doubt her. She didn’t trust him, either. They had both been in the espionage world too long to expect anyone to back them a hundred percent.

His eyes never wavered from her, hadn’t since he found her standing beside the tub naked. She wanted to hold his gaze but she found herself looking past him into the fire.

It was true this man disturbed her in a way that no man had. She had hoped it was just some bizarre once-in-a-lifetime meltdown—her surrender that night in Vienna—but it wasn’t. He had what she needed. Everything she needed. Everything she craved.

He was strong and smart, but it didn’t stop there. She liked his bulk, his thick shoulders and the breadth of his chest. He didn’t look capable of tenderness, not at all, but he was a master at turning a woman on. Skilled beyond what was normal, and she’d known a lot of normal.

He’d known where to go first, and how long to linger. Where to go second. It was as if he had studied the female body at length, or maybe he’d been tutored in the art of seduction.

She could honestly say that night in Vienna was the first time she had really wanted a man inside her. The first time she’d wanted to surrender to the storm. The first time she had truly wanted to be taken.

If he had been tutored, the question was where and when? And by whom?

She clutched the blanket closer to her body and walked toward the fireplace, needing to distance herself from the memory he seemed to always resurrect when they were alone. Her leg was better now, but she continued to concentrate on keeping her gait even. Flawless.

You will not limp, do you hear me! Limping is for weaklings. Are you a weakling? Have you been defeated this time? No, you have not. Say it. Say, No, I have not. Say it loud. I can’t hear you, Nadja. Louder. Louder!

She curled up in front of the fireplace, content to wait for the stew and her coffee. The dry wood crackled and popped as it burned hot and warm—the smell pungent as the charred remains turned black, then glowed red.

She turned her face to accept the heat on her cheeks, then closed her eyes. She concentrated on the soon-to-come hot
mélange,
and it sent her down memory lane to the first time she’d tasted what was now her favorite drink. She’d been thirteen, and she was sitting with her sister at the
kaffeehaus
at Groffen. It was late afternoon, and Mady had taken her hand. She had started out with “Don’t be upset with what I’m about to tell you. You must hear me out first. I’m planning on leaving Groffen. I’m going to run off with someone. The handsome raven-haired skier I pointed out to you. You remember him. We were at his cabin in Otz once a year ago. Before Grandpa moved us to Groffen. We’re in love, Nad. He’s promised me an exciting life seeing the world. You wouldn’t want me to miss out, would you? Of course you wouldn’t, so you won’t tell Grandpa, will you. I’ll write a letter to him after I’m far away.”

And that was that. Mady had left with the raven-haired skier. And a year later she had married him.

She’d married Holic Reznik.

His leg was hurting like a son of a bitch. Still, he’d put off tending to it in favor of more important matters—like calling Jacy and ordering food from the main lodge.

Once he’d gotten Jacy on the phone, Bjorn had told his friend what he needed—everything Jacy could find out about Nadja. He wanted to know where she’d gone to school, who her friends were and how she’d been recruited into Quest. He’d informed Jacy about her skiing accident, explained what he knew, what was still in question. He wanted details, and he wanted them fast.

Now, waiting for the food to arrive, Bjorn stepped out of his pants to examine the three-inch flesh wound on his thigh. Like the one on his neck, this one wasn’t serious. And with its location he could stitch it up himself. He saw to it, while his belly was turning inside out with hunger.

When the food arrived, he went to the door in his sweater and underwear, then served Nadja where she sat by the fire. His own food, he carried to the window and ate looking out at the hell-storm that seemed to be getting worse by the hour. The food was tasty, and he ate it quickly, like he always did. It was hard to break old habits, and whenever his belly felt like it was touching his backbone, he was reminded of his past life and what he’d been forced to do to survive—garbage runs and moldy bread had been his diet for many years.

When he was finished with his stew he went in search of the bottle of Dutch gin he’d packed. Let Nadja have her milky coffee, he thought, he definitely needed something stronger to take the edge off.

The weather had crippled the mission, he’d been shot twice, and this room was too damn small—he couldn’t escape the scent of Nadja.

“We need to talk about Holic,” he said after half the gin was gone and he’d pulled on a pair of jeans from his duffel. He walked to where she sat curled up on her side. One leg peeked out, beautifully long and shapely in the glow of the fire.

“That phone call you made,” he asked. “Who did you call?”

She sat up slightly, the blanket parting enough for him to glimpse her amazing cleavage. He inhaled sharply, which was a mistake. Her scent climbed inside him.

“We can talk in the morning. I don’t feel like discussing it now. Did you need stitches?”

“
Ja,
I took care of it.”

“What’s the matter, don’t you trust me even with a needle?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You didn’t want me touching you.”

“That, too. Answer me. Who did you call?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s for their protection.”

That was bullshit, but he didn’t say that. He’d try patience and skirt the issue, and if that didn’t work he’d threaten to send her back to Prague…again.

“Out on the road you were limping.”

“I had a catch in my knee.”

“It didn’t look knee related. It wasn’t that kind of limp.”

“An expert in everything? Is that who and what you are, Bjorn?”

“You don’t want to know who I really am,” he said, thinking again about the bad years when he’d felt so damn helpless and worthless. “So you agree that you were limping, at least.”

“Why does it matter? Okay, yes, I was limping.”

“Then why did you lie?”

“Pride, I suppose. You’ve already questioned my endurance.”

“Let me have a look at your knee.”

He set his bottle down and crouched beside her. When he reached for her leg, she tried to scoot out of his reach. He snagged the edge of the blanket and it came off one shoulder. She scrambled to rescue it and while she was preoccupied, he locked his hand around one of her ankles to keep her from escaping him.

“Let go,” she ordered, her eyes flashing a warning.

“I only want to take a look.”

She tried to shake him off, but he hung on, slid his free hand up her calf and squeezed. She stopped fighting him. Called him an asshole again.

“It’s true Polax told me you were the wrong agent for this job. That your stamina was in question. If you’re having a problem, though, I should know about it.” He leaned over and forced her to fall onto her back.

He should let go of her, he thought. He was too close, and the blanket had completely fallen away now.

“Polax only told you I was questionable so that you would take a second look. Haven’t you ever heard of reverse psychology?”

Her words drew his eyes to her lovely breasts. “I don’t need Polax’s reverse psychology to take a second look, honey, or a third or a fourth.”

“If you had chosen Pasha you would both be in Otz right now,” she said, ignoring her naked body. “You’d be racing a dozen other agents up the mountain to an empty cabin.”

He was only half listening. Her scent had circled him, and her labored breathing was keeping his eyes fastened on her chest. She had the most extraordinary dark pink nipples he’d ever seen.

His eyes traveled to her smooth, flat stomach, then to the blond triangle between her legs. To the right, he spied the infamous tattoo, and it was such a surprise that he said, “What the hell.”

She wasn’t paying any attention to him, she was still trying to convince him that she was the best partner he could have chosen.

“I’ve saved you at least two weeks, you…”

He ignored what she was saying, his attention focused on the tattoo. It was a pair of angel wings that grew out of a small red heart. It was truly amazing, just as Polax had said. The detail in the wings sharp and feathery, colored angelic white around a delicate red heart. Amazing, but not what he’d expected from a bedroom assassin ranked number one in the country.

“We’ll discuss the mission later. For now I want to look at your leg.”

“Is that so? Then why are you looking everywhere else but at my leg?”

“Because a man enjoys looking at beautiful things,” Bjorn admitted. “And you are a beautiful thing, Nadja.”

She tried to pull away, tried to sit up and rescue the blanket. When he wouldn’t let her, she kicked out at him, the easy movement dispelling the catch in her knee. She kicked again, this time aiming for his crotch.

Bjorn deflected the blow. “Careful,” he said, then in a low voice that warned her he wasn’t used to losing a fight on any level, he said, “I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t make me.”

She stopped fighting him. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

“I don’t usually make deals, but I’m listening.”

“How badly would you like to know one of my secrets?”

When he didn’t answer right away, she lifted her chin, then pointed to the scar on her inner thigh, two inches above her knee. “I’ll tell you what’s in there if you promise me something.”

“In there?”

“Yes, inside my leg.”

“And what’s the something I would have to promise?”

“That you’ll help me locate Ruger after our mission is over. I said
after.
I’ll go forward with the mission without distraction. We’re close now. In a few days this should be over.”

Bjorn watched her eyes, checked her breathing. This time he didn’t believe she was lying.

“Is it a deal? Promise me that what I tell you stays between us, and that you’ll help me find Ruger once the mission is over, and my innermost secret is yours.”

He released her leg, and she gathered up the blanket and stood while Bjorn remained balanced on his haunches.

“This will be our secret, Bjorn,” she said, looking down at him. “Ours alone. It’s worth it. Promise me, and I’ll give you the inside story.”

She knew what she was doing. They had a past, and she was using the memory of what they’d shared to manipulate him. He wasn’t the kind to fall for such an obvious game, but he was damn curious. And it wouldn’t be hard to find her brother after this was over. A week’s work at the most. And maybe the inside story would shed some light on Nadja’s connection to Holic.

“It’s a deal,” he said, shoving to his feet. “Ruger will be found after we locate Holic.”

“Swear the secret will remain ours alone.”

“I swear.”

Nadja drew in a breath and let it out slowly. She had never imagined sharing this particular secret with Bjorn Odell.

There were only three people who shared the secret at present. Kovar had warned her never to speak of it to anyone. Polax had been included only because he had needed to cover up the truth where the files at Quest were concerned.

But if Ruger was truly missing, then she would need Bjorn’s help in finding him. And for that she was willing to share her secret—at least this one.

“You read my file?”

“Polax had it in his office along with the other two candidates’. Yes, I read all three of them.”

“Then you know about the accident I had in Zurich?”

“It was documented. You were nineteen. Suffered a skull fracture and concussion. Hospitalized for several months due to massive internal damage, broken bones and trauma, which led to multiple surgeries. Polax referred to you as the queen of pain. So what’s your secret?”

“Broken bones heal…eventually. But some things, if the damage is too great, can’t be fixed.”

“What are you saying? The file didn’t wave any red flags.”

“Of course not. Quest’s requirements and standards are quite high. No flaws are acceptable.”