Perfect Assassin (13 page)

Prisca rented a room at the Mountain View Motel using another fake ID. The place was small but clean. She didn’t need much to be comfortable. All she needed was a place out of the weather.

She should never have left Otto in Vienna. That was probably her greatest regret. This would never have happened if she had stayed by his side and on schedule.

Jacy Madox’s name would have eventually come up on the list, and she would have made the hit without knowing the man behind the face. She would never have felt his breath on her cheek, or known how sexy his deep voice was when he made love. How gentle his hands could be. How his lips could make a woman melt. She would never have met his family or his animals.

Never let her heart override her duty.

“Damn you,” Pris whispered. “I’m Holic Reznik’s daughter. My mother didn’t deserve to die. I made a promise.”

She curled up on the bed, determined to fall asleep. She was exhausted, and she needed to forget for a while. When she woke up she would be able to make the right decision.

The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could drive to Canada and fly back to Otto, or she could stay in Montana and face the man who had broken her heart not once, but twice.

Jacy was on his way to Cut Bank when his cell phone rang. He flipped it open and put it to his ear.

Pierce said, “I got something for you. Otto checked out. His last name is Breit. He’s the son of Holic’s henchman. Jakob Breit was seen leaving the cabin on Glass Mountain with Prisca Reznik the night before Holic’s capture. He returned hours later and died on the mountain. You should have that in your file.”

Otto Breit.
The name meant nothing, but there was a connection and that’s all he needed.

“See if you can find him, and when you do, let me know. I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t the second shooter.”

“I’ve already checked out his last residency. He was living in Graz until a few months ago.”

“A few months ago? Does the time frame check out?”

“It does. He moved right after the incident on Glass Mountain. About the time Reznik’s daughter disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“That should be in the file, too. She was on Glass Mountain with Holic, and then Jakob Breit took her somewhere. Holic told his wife that she would never see their daughter again. We’ve been looking for her ever since.”

“What line of work is Otto Breit in?”

“He’s done everything from bar bouncer to hard labor. Odd stuff. Nothing that would single him out as an assassin.”

“Maybe that’s why his shots have been off their mark. He’s out of his element.”

“You really think he’s the one who’s been taking over for her while she’s been there?”

“Without his partner, he’s had to step up to the plate.”

“Should I call Merrick now?”

“Not yet.”

“But—”

“Wait a little longer.”

“Wait for what?”

“Until I have her. I need to talk to her.”

There was still a possibility that she didn’t know who she was. That the crash had caused memory loss. Maybe he just wanted to believe that to make himself feel better. To prove that last night was real.

It had damn well felt real.

“Find Otto Breit and bring him in. I’ll call you as soon as I have her.”

“All right. I’ll fly to Austria right away.”

Jacy disconnected, and pulled into Cut Bank twenty minutes later. He located the Star Motel, and entered the office. What he learned moments later cast a dark shadow on the chance that Prisca’s memory loss was genuine.

If her memory was really gone, why would she check out of her room less than an hour after she’d registered?

The town wasn’t all that big, and she’d be a fool to go anywhere on foot. And what Jacy had learned in the past six hours was that Prisca Reznik was no fool. More like a cunning little bitch.

He drove around town. There were no rental cars available, but there were two auto dealers. Wondering how she would pay for a car, Jacy entered Bickford Auto. But in a matter of minutes he learned that Ray Bickford hadn’t sold a car in ten days.

He left and minutes later pulled into Thomas Auto just as the open sign flicked off.

He went to the door and rapped hard. The man inside pointed to his watch, letting him know that he was closed. Jacy didn’t move.

There was a standoff for a long minute, then the lean man with a bad haircut opened the door. “I’m closed, young fella. If you’re looking to trade or sell, come back tomorrow.”

Jacy stepped around him and entered the small office. “I’m not here for either,” he said. “You sell any cars today?”

“Well, that would be my business.”

Jacy’s jaw jerked, and he eyed the man from beneath his weathered cowboy hat as the dealer rounded the counter.

“I’m here on official business. Answer the question.”

“Just how official? You don’t look like no lawman.”

“You want your legs broke off at the knees, or your ribs driven through your lungs? Or the special of the day?”

“Special?”

“Two for the price of one.”

The middle-aged man took a step back from the counter. “Now listen here. I—”

Jacy tipped back his Stetson, then opened up his sheepskin coat to let the man see that he was packing heat in a shoulder holster—a Colt Pony Pocketlight .380.

“A man gets tired of repeating himself,” he said. “But in case you’re hard of hearing, I’ll ask one more time. You sell anything today?”

“I… Yes, I did. I had a ’92 Bronco in the lot. Sold it about two hours ago.”

“Man or woman?”

“A pretty young gal.” The salesman lifted his record book onto the counter and turned it.

Jacy dropped his jacket back into place and lowered his head to the record book. The old man had sold the car to a woman by the name of Denise Gordon.

“She paid in cash,” he added, suddenly looking worried. “Sixty-five hundred, plus tax.”

Jacy nodded, thanked the man for his time, then limped out and got in his pickup.

She had fake ID and a cash supply. Where the hell had she come up with those?

It all came down to one thing. His houseguest had known all along who she was. She’d been lying from day one. Which meant that last night was also a lie.

The taste of betrayal cut deep, and Jacy was in a completely different state of mind when he left Cut Bank than when he’d arrived.

Chapter 11

M
errick convinced his superiors to take a chance. They weren’t in the chance business, they reminded him, but if an operation on Holic’s hands would prompt him to call off his assassin, then they would authorize the surgery.

It was late when he left the meeting, too late to fly to Clume. Tomorrow he would pay a visit to Holic and give him the news. But for now he was going to spend the evening on the couch with his feet up and try not to think about work, and this no-win situation they found themselves in.

The assassin was still knocking off targets from the kill-file, the Chameleon was alive, and he wanted a drink so bad that he was ready to cave in and head out to buy a bottle.

He was about to do just that when his cell phone went off on the coffee table. Seated on the couch in his apartment, shirtless, he reached for the phone.

“Merrick here.”

“It’s Pierce. I know it’s late, and we usually do our business in the office, but can I stop by, or can we meet somewhere?”

“If it’s important you know I’ll meet you. I could use something to drink.”

“Okay.”

“There’s an all-night coffee shop around the corner. It’s called the All Nighter.”

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

Merrick pulled a black sweater from a drawer in his bedroom. As he dressed, he again questioned whether he was getting too old to be chasing ghosts, and working around the clock. Onyxx had offered him another seven-year contract. He was still in good shape for fifty, he’d been reminded.

It was true. He worked out, and six months ago he’d proven that he could keep up with his men even in the field. But how long would that last?

A year ago he’d believed he was going to die. His doctor had discovered a brain tumor after he’d begun to have headaches. He’d stalled having surgery as long as he could. Six weeks ago he’d had the damn thing cut out, and his doctor had assured him he would recover completely.

He felt good, no more headaches. It looked as if he’d been given his life back; but recently he’d been thinking about retirement. Hell, if Jacy could do it, so could he. He could start over somewhere.

And do what?

Merrick slipped on his black peacoat and headed out the door. He was alive, he reminded himself, and even though the cases they were working on seemed a long way from being solved, the one thing that was certain in his life was that he knew how to do his job.

Even though they had Holic behind bars, the kill-file was still missing. This was no time to walk away. It would be admitting that the Chameleon had won.

No, he couldn’t quit yet. He’d gotten a second chance at life, and a second chance to send the Chameleon to hell, personally. Quitting wasn’t an option.

The Chameleon was his, and they would face off one day. If he had to wait another year or two, even five, he would.

He’d made a promise to Johanna years ago, and he would keep it. He would kill the Chameleon. For Johanna he would not walk away, no matter how long it took.

Merrick walked to the corner coffee shop, the collar of his peacoat high and his hands in his pockets. He entered the All Nighter five minutes later and ordered black coffee, then found an out-of-the-way booth to wait for Pierce.

Ten minutes later Pierce arrived wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket. He stopped at the counter, ordered coffee, then slid into the booth.

“Damn, it’s cold out there tonight,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I thought it was supposed to warm up.”

“It’s winter. What do you expect?”

“A vacation somewhere warm,” was Pierce’s pat answer.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I think we’ve identified Holic’s shooter.”

“We?”

“Jacy and I.”

“Jacy?”

“He called. Gave me a name.”

“A name?”

“Otto Breit.”

“Breit?” Merrick recognized the name. “There was a Jakob Breit killed on Glass Mountain when Holic was captured. Any relation?”

“His son.”

Merrick raised an eyebrow. “How did Jacy come up with that?”

“He’s…been doing a little work on this for us.”

Merrick knew when one of his men was sidestepping a question. “I’d like to know more.”

“And I’d like to tell you, but first I want to see if I can find Otto.”

“And then?”

“I’ll bring him back here and we can question him.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re only telling me half of what you know?”

Pierce warmed his hands around his coffee cup. “You’ve always trusted me in the past, Merrick. Trust me now. If things work out, this could be wrapped up in a matter of days.”

Merrick sat back. “That definitely means you have more than you’re sharing.”

“Forty-eight hours. That should do it, I hope.”

“All right. Actually your timing is good. My superiors okayed Holic’s surgery, but I’ll sit on that if you think this lead is legit.”

“It’s pretty solid.”

“I don’t think it’s Otto Breit. Why would Holic trust him? Bjorn says he doesn’t trust anyone. It doesn’t fit.”

“Maybe Otto is working with a partner.”

Merrick was in the middle of taking a swallow of coffee. He set his cup down. “A partner? Jacy come up with that, too?”

“Actually, he did. Like I said—”

“Who would he be working with, Pierce? I need to know all of it.”

“Jacy thinks it’s Holic’s daughter.”

Merrick suddenly remembered what Holic had told him on one of his visits to Clume. He’d said perfection had replaced perfection.

Like fine wine, it’s all in the fruit and how it’s taken care of while it matures on the vine.

“Hell, he was talking about his daughter.” Merrick swore. “Why didn’t I pick that up?”

“Because only a sick bastard would turn his child into a killer? She’s only nineteen.”

“Remember the tape I recorded of his conversation with me weeks ago? He said perfection had replaced perfection. He’s been grooming her for this.”

“I agree with you. I went back over his file. After Bjorn was in Austria, and Holic was captured, we were able to get a few pictures of his family. One of them shows Prisca Reznik on a firing range.”

“She’s been missing for several months.” Merrick started to put it together. “We haven’t been able to find her.”

“The time fits. If I can hunt down Otto Breit, we might be able to force him to talk.”

“She could be with him.”

When Pierce didn’t agree on that possibility, Merrick knew there was more he wasn’t saying.

“So I’ve got your go-ahead to pick up Breit, if I can find him?”

“Something tells me you already know where to look.”

“I do, and a plane to catch.”

“When do you leave?”

Pierce finished his coffee, then looked at his watch. “I fly in an hour.”

Jacy was on the phone all night. He called every motel between Cut Bank and Heart Butte, with an extended fifty miles in all directions. Many of the resort hotels were closed in the off season, so it made his job a little easier. He had trimmed the list down to sixty-four.

He finally got lucky on number fifty-eight. The Circle R—damn near in his own backyard—had a guest with a ’92 blue Bronco with a license number that matched the one he’d memorized off the paperwork at Thomas Auto. The only problem was the name on the registry wasn’t Denise Gordon. It was Susan Croft.

How many damn fake IDs did she own? And where the hell had she kept them while she was in his house? He’d gone through her bag and every stitch of clothes before he’d given them to her.

Jacy headed for East Glacier at eight o’clock, praying she didn’t make another move before he got there. He was dog-tired, but determined to find her. He pulled up across the street from the Circle R, a two-story motel with a view of the mountains.

He scanned the lot and saw the Bronco. Deciding his tenacity had finally paid off, he got out of his pickup and settled his hat on his head.

It had snowed all night, and he ignored the drifts as he crossed the street.

He pulled his Stetson low over his eyes when he entered the motel’s office. A woman stood behind the counter, and when she looked up, she smiled.

Jacy said, “I’m looking for my wife. We were supposed to meet here last night but the weather held me up. The name’s Croft.”

The woman looked down at the registry. Jacy leaned into the counter and followed her finger as she ran it down the short column of names. He saw the name Susan Croft halfway down the page.

“She’s in number eight.” She looked up, met his eyes. “We don’t get much business this time a year. Only got eleven sleepers in last night.”

“Number eight,” Jacy repeated, then tipped his hat. “Thanks.” He winked.

Her smile spread, and he left, his limp substantial. He’d been on the move since early yesterday morning, pushing himself harder than he had in months. But he wasn’t about to let her slip through his fingers again. If she was in number eight, the hunt was over.

It would have been easier getting into the room if he had asked for a key, but he didn’t want to raise any suspicion. He didn’t need the clerk making a call to the police on a harassment call, or giving number eight a call and a heads-up.

Let her think that his
wife
would be anxious to see him and would greet him with open arms at the door.

Pierce located Otto Breit thirteen hours after he flew out of D.C. He’d done his homework, cross-checked his references. It had only been a few days since the last hit had been made.

Their records showed there had been at least a week to ten days between hits. Otto had three current residences, Berlin, Vienna and London. Pierce had decided to stake out the flat in Vienna since the last hit had been made in Munich. If Otto was their shooter he would want to get out of the country after the hit.

He pulled a photo from a file he’d assembled on his target and studied it. The apartment complex wasn’t busy, but he kept an eye on who came and went.

Otto Breit was six feet three, had a blond crew cut, and weighed two–thirty. Pierce sat for two hours before a man fitting the description appeared on the street and headed for the apartment building. He wore a black leather coat, a gray scarf around his neck, and a gray stocking cap. But the face… Pierce picked up the photo.

Otto Breit had a memorable face. Not a good thing in this line of work, Pierce thought, as he matched the photo to the man who disappeared into the building.

He sat tight, watched and waited, scanned the windows. Minutes later a light came on in a room on the fourth floor. Otto’s room faced the street. Of course it would.

Pierce got out of his rental car.

When Prisca woke up she realized she had slept for over ten hours. She’d thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, but when her head had hit the pillow she had passed out hard. She climbed out of bed, went into the bathroom and stripped off her bra and panties. Turning on the shower, she stepped inside, eager to feel the warm blast of water.

Five minutes turned into ten, as Pris slowly began to wake up. She leaned against the shower and let the water beat down on her. Today she would make her decision. And if she decided to stay in Montana, she would need to move again and trade the Bronco.

Thirty minutes later, wrapped in a white towel, she stepped back into the bedroom and got the shock of her life. Jacy Madox was seated in the chair by the window.

She froze in surprise, never expecting that he would find her. She’d covered her tracks. Had changed her name twice in less than six hours.

“What are you doing here?” A stupid question to ask, but it was a place to start.

“I was worried about you… Susan. Or is it Denise?”

Pris decided to bluff. “I’m not sure. I just picked the names so that…”

“So that what? I couldn’t find you? Where did you get the fake IDs?”

“I…I found them.”

“And the money to buy the vehicle?”

“I stole it.” Prisca decided to continue to play the amnesia game. What choice did she have? “Look, I don’t know who I am. Actually, I’m afraid to find out. What if I’m a bad person?”

He was standing now, his eyes slowly going over her body, reminding her that she was wearing nothing but a towel.

“How could a sweet little thing like you be bad? No, I think you’re confused is all. Come here.”

He had opened his arms, and if she didn’t go to him he would know she was lying. Still, if she let him touch her…

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be around me.”

He dropped his hands and started walking toward her. “That’s crazy. You wouldn’t hurt me. Why would you? Why would you want to?”

Because you helped destroy my father and kill my mother, Prisca wanted to say. Instead, she backed up until she felt the wall behind her. He kept coming, took off his hat and tossed it into the chair. His coat came off next, and he dropped it on the floor. He had a shoulder holster strapped to him and she suddenly realized that she was no longer in the company of the man she knew only as Moon. Since yesterday, he’d turned into Jacy Madox.

“I really was worried, honey. After all, we got so close.”

There was a tone of sarcasm in his words.

If he touched her she would scream. She tried to dart past him. She didn’t make it. He lifted her off her feet, then dropped her on the bed. He came down on her fast, straddling her between his thighs before she could roll away.

“What are you doing?” she panted.

“I’m going to ask you some questions. I want you to answer them. I want truthful answers this time.”

“But I…can’t remember.”

He pulled something from his back pocket. He had her fake IDs she’d secured in Canada.

“I found these in your bag while you were in the shower. In the lining of your bag, along with forty thousand dollars. Explain it to me.”

“I…can’t.”

She twisted and tried to throw him off her, but he was rock-solid, and there was no way she was going to get him to move unless he wanted to.

She couldn’t let this happen. If he learned who she was, she would be dead, just like her mother.

She went limp, as if she was giving up. She turned her head away. “Why are you doing this?”