Читать книгу Merrick's Eleventh Hour - Wendy Rosnau - Страница 11

Cyrus had been home two days when he sailed with Erik on a short fishing trip. Callia was on her way downstairs when she met Zeta on her way up, her dark eyes red from crying.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve gotten some bad news.”

Cyrus and Erik hadn’t been gone two hours. Had something happened to them on the Starina?

“What news?”

Zeta glanced over her shoulder as Kipler walked past. “It’s personal. Can I speak to you privately?”

“Of course. Come with me.” Callia led the way back upstairs. Inside her bedroom with the door closed, she said, “What’s happened?”

“The hospital in Naxos called. My daughter’s been in an accident. The doctor says it’s serious, and I need to come right away.”

“I’m sorry.” Callia hugged Zeta. “I’ll tell Kipler and—”

Zeta pulled away. “No. He won’t let me go. I’m never to leave you.”

“This is an emergency.”

Zeta shook her head. “I need to go without anyone knowing I’ve left.”

“That’s impossible. Kipler has his orders. We’ll need his approval.”

“He’ll say no.”

Callia thought a moment. “I’ll tell him we’re going into Kerkyra to do some shopping. One of the guards can drive us. You can slip away once we’re in town and fly to Athens, then to Naxos. Once you’re gone, there won’t be much he can do about.”

“It might work.”

“Go get ready.”

Callia changed clothes, then went to the small safe in the study where Cyrus left money for her to use as she wished. She was standing at the window when a knock came on the door. “Come in,” she said.

“You wanted to see me Kiria Krizova?”

“I’m going into town with Zeta, Kipler. Could you have one of the guards drive us?”

“How soon do you want to leave?”

“Right away.”

Kipler nodded, and within the hour Callia and Zeta arrived in Kerkyra. Callia told Endre, the seasoned guard that often drove her to town, that she wanted to go to the market square. As he waited near the car, she and Zeta strolled the market. It was busy and that was a good thing. They quickly got lost in the crowd, and slipped into a cab. Halfway to the airport, Callia noticed that Zeta’s anxiety had escalated.

“I don’t think I can do this alone, Callia. I didn’t mention it before, but I’m afraid to fly.”

“You’ll do fine. Don’t worry.”

At the airport Zeta had a panic attack. She was shaking so badly Callia was afraid she would never be able to board the plane. “You have to do this, Zeta. For Sonya.”

“Come with me?”

“You know I can’t do that.”

Zeta collapsed in a chair. “I’m sorry. I know you can’t, but I don’t think I can do this alone.”

Callia glanced at her watch. The plane would leave the runway in a matter of minutes. She hurried to the counter. “I’d like to purchase another ticket to Athens, then one to Naxos, please.” When she returned to Zeta, she said, “Come on. I’ll take you to Naxos, then fly back once I get you to the hospital. Kipler is going to be furious, but I’ll call him once I’m on my way back from Naxos.”

“You will? You’ll come with me?” Tears streaming down her cheeks, Zeta jumped up and threw her arms around Callia and hugged her. “Efkharisto.”

“You don’t need to thank me. Not after all the years you’ve been so good to me. Come on.”

Zeta gripped Callia’s hand, and together they left Kerkyra. They changed planes in Athens at 1:00 p.m. and thirty minutes later they landed in Hora, the largest coastal city in Naxos.

“There’s a taxi.” Zeta pointed.

Callia led the way. The cabdriver opened the back door for them, and once they were inside and he was behind the wheel, Johanna said, “The hospital, please.”

“No aposkeves?” the driver asked.

“No luggage.”

He pulled away from the curb, and the car quickly slipped through the airport congestion. Callia said, “I wish I had time to see Sonya, but my plane leaves in a half hour to return to Corfu.” She squeezed Zeta’s hand. “You have my phone number and the extra money I gave you?”

“Ne.”

“Call me later and tell me how Sonya is. Tell her I’m praying for her recovery.”

Zeta hugged Callia as the car pulled to a stop in front of the hospital. She got out of the cab, stood in the open door. “I’m sorry, Callia.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Call me in a few hours. I’ll be home by then.”

Zeta nodded, then with tears streaming down her cheeks, she closed the door and walked away.

“Back to the aerothromio,” Callia told the driver.

“The airport,” he repeated. “Amésos. Right away. No problem.”

On the ride back Callia noticed that they were taking a different route and the cabdriver was pushing the speed limit. “Piyene pio sigha.”

The driver didn’t slow down. She saw him pull his dark sunglasses off and toss them onto the seat. He ran his hand through his silver hair, and this time when he spoke his island accent was gone. The deep baritone voice sent a cold chill up her spine—the voice as recognizable as the piercing gray eyes that now stared at her in the mirror.

“Hello, Johanna. Or would you prefer I call you…Callia?”

She was two feet from him, and he could reach out and touch her. Merrick quelled the urge—the urge to turned around and wrap his hands around her neck.

From the moment Melita had told him Johanna was alive he hadn’t allowed himself to believe it entirely. Not until now.

“I’ll say one thing for your housekeeper, she knows how to follow instructions. Of course, I did give her incentive.”

“Zeta knew? Where’s Sonya?”

“The girl is waiting for her mother in the hospital lobby. I suppose you could say her accident was running into me. When I spoke to your housekeeper a few hours ago on the phone, I suggested that she take her daughter and disappear as quickly as possible once she’d delivered you to me. If she’s smart she’ll do it. Otherwise Cyrus will kill them both for betraying him.”

“He would never hurt Zeta and Sonya.”

Merrick glanced into the rearview mirror. Her delicate features were strained, her voice full of fear. A fear that was directed at him, not the threat of violence from Cyrus against the hired help.

He swung the taxi into a crowded parking lot at Hora’s busiest seaport and killed the engine. When he looked into the mirror again, he found Johanna’s fear still glaringly evident. Her anxiety had altered her breathing, and it reminded him that she was asthmatic.

“I always knew one day you would come,” she said. “Cyrus said you never give up on a mission.”

“What mission would that be?”

“I know it was you who tried to kill me in Washington. Cyrus told me everything.”

Those beautiful hazel-green eyes were as accusing as the tone in her voice. Sharp and on the attack. Whatever game she was playing, he was about to change the rules.

“I’m going to get out while you stay put. Move your ass into the center of the seat.” When she didn’t move, he said, “Rule number one. Never piss off the man who holds your life in his hands.”

She slid left a few inches, and he opened the car door, slipped his sunglasses back on, then climbed out. He was dressed in jeans and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up in the island heat. He tossed the keys onto the front seat, then opened the back left door and climbed in next to her.

He remembered everything about her, even the way she smelled. He found it ironic that she hadn’t changed even her perfume.

“Did you kill the taxi driver?”

“He’s taking a nap in a hotel room.” He took her purse from her, opened it and dumped it out in her lap—cell phone, wallet, one lipstick, asthma inhaler. The inhaler made him aware of the shortness of her breath. He glanced at her chest, her sunbaked cleavage as smooth as satin.

Another memory came blasting through his controlled anger and he looked away, pocketed her cell phone and opened her wallet. Money, a passport that claimed she was Callia Krizova, one picture—a group photo of her and Cyrus with a young boy, maybe sixteen. They looked very happy.

He handed her purse to her, kept her wallet. “Take the inhaler, that’s all you’ll need.” Then he reached up and jerked the clip from her hair releasing the thick knot. When she reached up in protest, he noticed the marble-size diamond ring on her finger.

She dropped the lipstick into her purse, set it in the seat next to her and kept the inhaler.

“Did you file for a divorce?”

She looked up. “What?”

“You heard me. Did you divorce me?”

She shook her head.

“Then that ring on your finger doesn’t belong there.” Merrick pulled the small envelope from his pocket. “Give it to me.”

She looked down at her hand, but she made no effort to take off Cyrus’s rock.

“I could cut off your finger. Should I?”

She took off the ring. He opened his hand and she dropped it into his palm. He shook his ring out of the envelope—a two-karat emerald-cut diamond set on a white gold wedding band wrapped with more diamonds.

“Put it on.”

“Where did you get that?”

“Put it on.”

She took the ring and slid it onto her finger.

Merrick pulled the white card Cyrus had left at the cemetery from the envelope, then dropped his garish four-karat diamond inside and slid it into his pocket. He reached down inside his boot and came up with his Nightshade. When she saw the knife, she clutched her hands together as if anticipating losing her finger.

He had never once laid a hand on her, never hurt her in any way, and yet her fear of him was indisputable. He had more than one good reason to inflict pain on her, but that was Cyrus’s MO, not his. Not that he wasn’t angry enough to let his rage fly.

He did it now, raised his hand and drove the knife blade into the back of the driver’s seat. She cried out and tried to scoot away from him.

“Keep your ass nailed down.”

He saw her glance at the white card, silently mouth the words. Game on. Your move.

“What’s that?” Her voice hollow and full of trepidation.

“A gift from Cyrus. He left this and your ring in Washington for me a few days ago.”

“Washington?”

“Did he forget to mention it?”

She looked dumbfounded. Didn’t answer.

Merrick took her wallet, slid the white card inside and tucked the wallet into the hole he had sliced in the leather seat. Then he opened the door and climbed out. “Get out.”

“If you kill me, Cyrus will come after you. He’ll—”

“I didn’t come here to kill you, Johanna. I only learned that you were alive a couple of days ago.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us. I never expected you, of all people, would betray me. I’m usually a better judge of character. Now get your ass out of the car.”

She slid out and leaned against the back quarter panel of the cab. “You’re the one who tried to kill me, remember?”

“No more lies, Johanna. You helped Cyrus fake your death, then ran off with him.”

“I didn’t fake anything, and I ran to save my life from the men you sent to kill me.”

“That’s bull.”

She jerked away from the car. “I was there. I heard every word. Those men were acting on your orders.”

“I never sent anyone to kill you, Johanna. If I had wanted you dead, I would have done it myself. I could have blown your head off any day of the week. We shared a house for five years, remember? A house miles from the closest neighbor. I could have buried you in the backyard under a rosebush in broad daylight and no one would have been the wiser.”

That comment rendered her speechless for a moment. “If you’re not going to kill me, where are you taking me?”

“On a little boat trip.”

Her eyes shifted to the blue water and the harbor crowded with boats riding the tide.

Her hesitation made him say, “Rule number two. Never forget rule number one.”

He had no idea how close Cyrus was, and as much as he wanted to face the bastard, he wanted it on his terms. He motioned for her to start walking, and he followed three steps behind her down the pier where the Aldora waited. When they reached it, he said, “Get in and go below.”

He followed her down the companionway, swung the door open to the stateroom and, when she walked inside, he didn’t say another word, just pulled the door shut and locked her in.

As he headed back up the companionway he noticed his hands were shaking. For the first time in months he wanted a drink. If he had a bottle on board he would have broken rule number three: Never let your emotions navigate a mission. Getting stink-ass drunk wasn’t on his agenda, and he didn’t trust the man he might find at the bottom of a bottle. He’d never been an angry drunk, but there was always a first time for everything.

The morning he’d woke up at sea after leaving Amorgos, he’d gone over everything Melita had told him, and within an hour he’d arrived in Naxos on the hunt for Zeta Poulos’s daughter. Melita had said that Sonya wasn’t living in the house the last time she’d visited.

He’d used every resource available to track her down believing there was no reason why she would have changed her name. In the end he’d resorted to his old government assassin tricks to find her. It had taken him thirty-six hours.

Sonya was eighteen and enrolled in a private school in Hora. Dressed as a priest bringing bad news he had met with the girl. His roll as kidnapper came late that evening once he’d gotten her away from the school. She had been more than willing to go with him after he’d told her that her mother was on her deathbed.

The glitch came after he had Sonya on board the Aldora. He’d revealed to her that her mother was very much alive and well, and what he wanted from her was the location of Krizova’s most recent hideout. But the girl didn’t know where Cyrus had moved his family after leaving Naxos—it was part of her agreement to be allowed to stay in Hora and go to school.

He’d told her that was unfortunate for her and, afraid for her life, she’d offered him a phone number where she could reach her mother in case of an emergency.

This was definitely an emergency, he had told her—a life-sustaining emergency, and she wouldn’t want to end up at the bottom of the sea.

Moments later Sonya called her mother. On speakerphone Merrick had waited for the concerned mother to take a breath, then he’d taken over the conversation, giving Zeta Poulos explicit instructions—her daughter would die by three o’clock if she didn’t follow them to the letter.

It was two o’clock when the plane from Athens had landed at Hora’s airport. Merrick had watched the passengers exit the plane. It was the first time in almost twenty years that he had seen Johanna, but he spotted her easily. She wore white pants and a green satin blouse, her hair, still as long as he remembered, twisted in a sexy knot.

He’d stood numb beside the taxi, his dark sunglasses shielding his eyes as she guided her housekeeper toward him. Melita was right. Johanna’s years in Greece had been kind to her. She looked far younger than forty-six.

Merrick climbed into the cockpit, and with a clear sky overhead and a million miles of azure sea to get lost in, the Aldora sped away from Hora recklessly.

It was his silver hair that signified the passing of time, but it was the handsome face and amazingly fit body, his voice and those penetrating gray eyes that had turned back the clock.

She should hate him. Most days she had convinced herself that she did. But that was a lie. What she hated most was that she didn’t hate him, and seeing him again only confirmed what a fool she still was.

She’d spent years in exile, hiding out like a criminal because of him. She had chosen a new life, or perhaps it had chosen her, but the memories of the old days with Adolf Merrick had continued to haunt her. They had spent five years together and she still couldn’t forget how happy she had been.

Curled up on the berth in the stateroom, Johanna forced herself to relive that day so long ago. In the beginning all she had wanted was for it to have been some kind of horrible mistake. For days she had rejected the idea that Adolf wanted her dead. Night after night she had prayed he would come for her. That he would explain it all away, but it had never happened.

Forced to accept Cyrus’s truth, her prayer had changed. She had prayed she would never see Adolf again and that the memories would die, as he had wanted her to die.

Please, God, kill the memories, and let me wake up hating him.

But God hadn’t been merciful. The memories were branded in her mind with visions of what might have been. And now he was here, reminding her of all the pain she’d lived through. He was here tearing her heart apart for the second time.

Unwilling to surrender to emotional suicide, Johanna wondered what the significance was behind the white card. Adolf said Cyrus had been in Washington a few days ago. She wanted to refute that, but she had recognized Cyrus’s handwriting on the card. At least it had looked like his.

Game on. Your move.

What did that mean?

She glanced down at the ring on her finger. The only person Adolf could have gotten the ring from was Cyrus. She’d worn it for weeks after her flight from Washington. The night she’d decided to take it off she was sitting on a veranda in Athens. Cyrus had come to sit with her, and after a long drought of silence, he’d said, “That ring on your finger belittles your intelligence. Why suffer the sight of Merrick’s betrayal any longer? Give me the ring and I’ll get rid of it.”

Had he sent the ring back to Adolf long ago, or was Adolf telling her the truth? Had Cyrus been in Washington days ago?

It made no sense for him to bait Merrick. They had been living in hiding for years to keep from being discovered. It would be like calling up the devil and inviting him to tea.

So who did she believe? The husband who had betrayed her years ago, or the husband who had kept her safe for twenty years?

Johanna heard the cruiser’s engine back off. She climbed off the berth and looked out the window. What she saw sent a cold chill up her spine—a crescent-shaped cove caged in by jagged rocks.

She had the answer to her question. Adolf was lying. This was where he was going to kill her.

A storm at sea hadn’t been part of Merrick’s plan, but as he skirted the southern tip of Rhodes it was evident that one was brewing. Buffeted against the wind, he dropped anchor in the cove and went below deck. For the next two hours he worked at the table on the second stage of his plan and, when he was finished, he held the ring up to the light and smiled.

“Game on, Cyrus. I made my move, and now it’ll be your turn very soon.”

The ring back in his pocket, he debated calling Sully but quickly dismissed the idea. He sat at the table and stared at the door to the stateroom for another hour, then stood and unlocked it.

He found Johanna curled up on the berth, her long hair shielding her face, her inhaler next to her. He glanced around the room. She had rifled through his belongings. He’d slipped the picture of her into one of the drawers beneath the berth. It was now on the floor, and he bent down, picked it up and slipped it into his back pocket like a kid guarding his favorite baseball card.

“Wake up,” he said.

She stirred from sleep and sat up, sweeping her hair out of those beautiful eyes. She scooted back into the berth.

No, he needed her alive to make his plan work.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

“If that was the goal I would have popped you in the taxi, along with your housekeeper. Instead I bought her two tickets out of Greece.”

“So you say.”

“Where’s Cyrus?”

“I’m not going to play your game, Adolf.”

“Why not? You’ve been playing his for years. How long were you screwing him before the two of you decided to run off together?”

She looked confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I met Cyrus the day you gave the order to have me kidnapped from my car and killed in that warehouse. Your men drugged me, and when I woke up I was bound with explosives strapped to some kind of steel slab. Cyrus found me before the explosives were set to go off.”

“He just happened by at the right moment?” Merrick laughed. “They say timing is everything, but that’s a bit hard to swallow, honey.”

“I don’t care what you think. I know what happened. Cyrus saved my life.”

“So he’s your hero.”

“I’m alive because of him.”

“What reason did he give you that I wanted you dead?”

“Onyxx business. A conspiracy you believed I was involved in?”

“What conspiracy?”

“He told me that my boss at the art gallery was a Russian spy. That you’d been onto him for years. That’s why you married me. That you’d found evidence that I was working with him.”

“Were you ever working as a spy?”

“No.”

“Then how could I have found evidence that you were? There was no conspiracy, Johanna. If you were abducted, it was Cyrus who ordered it, not me.”

“You’re lying.”

She seemed so damn sure about what had happened. Adamant that he had tried to kill her. Had she met Cyrus for the first time in the warehouse? Suddenly he knew it was true. She was speaking the truth. At least her version of what she believed happened.

“I overheard those men talking when I came to in the warehouse. They were talking about how you wanted me to die.”

“They were Cyrus’s men, not mine. He’s an international criminal, Johanna. A rogue agent from Onyxx. He had you kidnapped and put in that warehouse.”

“No! It was you,” she screamed at him. “You wanted me dead. Go to hell, Adolf, and take your lies with you!”

“I’ve spent years in hell, Johanna. It’s familiar territory.” He reached out and pulled her off the berth and roughly hauled her to her feet. She cried out, and he let go of her before he could do something he would regret. “That you would think I could kill you is—”

“You’re no saint…Icis. That’s right. I know all about your days as an assassin. That part of your life you neglected to mention when you married me.” She had climbed back on the berth and wrapped her arms around herself. “I saw your file. Before Onyxx you were a hired killer.”

“It’s true, I was a government assassin. A mercenary for hire before that. Cyrus used that information to cast doubt so you would believe him, Johanna. He used you.”

“No.”

“Yes, and you doubled his reward by climbing into bed with him and giving him a son. That must have made him laugh all the harder.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Merrick pulled his phone from his pocket. He’d downloaded the e-mail he’d received years ago from Cyrus. He hit the keypad then grabbed her hand and placed the phone in it. “Take a look, Johanna. That’s what Cyrus sent me the day you disappeared…shopping. The day he let me believe he had killed you. That and four little words. Game on. Your move. I watched my wife die on a computer screen, and for twenty years until two days ago, I believed it was true. He did that. Your hero did that!”