A THOUSAND KISSES DEEP Read online

  Either Merrick was drinking again, or he hadn't slept in several days. Maybe both.

  "You're absolutely sure it was Reznik?"

  "We met in Austria. He was the one who shot Bjorn Odell in the back a few years ago." Sly dismissed Reznik for the time being. "This informant … I'd like to talk to him."

  "That's not possible. If there's nothing else to report, this portion of our meeting is over." Merrick closed the file, its significance clear. "Again, I express my regret on the loss of a good agent. Sully will be hard to replace. Onyxx could have used him behind the scenes. Let's hope Jacy will be able to overcome his injuries. Now then, what about your reassignment? Have you given my offer consideration? The job as my assistant is perfect for you. Age-wise you couldn't do better."

  "Age-wise?"

  "You're thirty-four. One of the oldest field operatives we have."

  Sly studied his commander. His silver hair and beard put Adolf Merrick somewhere in his fifties. "And when do you retire … Icis? When does Onyxx consider the old legend, age-wise, over the hill?"

  "I've been asked to stay on for another term. But then I'm a military man with credentials. You are an ex-con who didn't finish high school. Sorry to be so blunt, but facts are facts, McEwen. So, what will it be?"

  Sly hadn't needed days to consider Merrick's offer. He'd known what his answer would be the minute he'd heard the words. "I've decided to retire."

  Merrick never blinked. He leaned back in his chair and said, "If you were anyone else, I'd try to change your mind. But I won't waste my breath. Over the years I've never known you to straddle the fence on one damn thing. But it won't be easy, returning to civilian life. After twelve years in prison, and seven spent here at Onyxx, what do you know about living free?"

  Not a damn thing, Sly thought. Not one damn thing. But then he hadn't known a damn thing about being an Onyxx agent seven years ago, either.

  "You're aware of our policy? Two hundred thousand will be deposited into your bank account within forty-eight hours. And of course, if trouble should come looking for you anytime in the future—"

  "Onyxx doesn't want to know about it."

  "That's the way it has to be, Sly, for security reasons."

  Even though they hadn't always seen eye to eye, when Merrick stood and held out his hand, Sly shook it. Surprised when his commander slipped a card into his palm, he asked, "What's this?"

  "My private number. Memorize it, then burn the card. In case you need to talk. Good luck, McEwen."

  When the door closed, Adolf Merrick sat down and opened his top drawer. He located a bottle of pills next to his laptop computer, took both out and placed them on his desk.

  He made a call on his private phone, left a one-word message, then opened the bottle of pills and shook out two white disks onto the desk. In his bottom drawer he kept a bottle of Glen Moray and he pulled it out. Uncorking it, he sent the pills to the back of his throat, then chased them down with a healthy swig of whiskey.

  The day progressed as usual. Four hours later, after Merrick had taken two more pills and finished the bottle of Glen Moray, and while resting his head against the leather chair, his private phone rang. Before the second ring, the phone was pressed to his ear.

  "Your information led my agents into a trap. What kind of game are you playing?"

  "A serious game. I told you it was one of the Chameleon's compounds. A compound is usually full of armed men."

  "There was no sign of the Chameleon."

  "Did I say he would be there?"

  "I don't tolerate half truths," Merrick warned.

  "I think you'll tolerate whatever will get you what you want. And what you want is the Chameleon. Am I right?"

  "I don't deny that he's become important to Onyxx."

  "We both know why he's important … to you."

  Merrick felt a chill along his spine. If his informant wasn't bluffing, then somehow there had been a breach in security at Onyxx. His own file was secure in the archives.

  "The information I gave you was hardly twenty-four hours old when you sent your rat fighters racing off to Greece. Maybe if you hadn't been in such a hurry, you would have been more successful. Maybe you should learn better how to play the game."

  "And maybe you should be concerned with what I do to informants who send me on wild-goose chases," Merrick snapped, wishing he hadn't revealed his frustration.

  "You refused me two weeks ago. Do you still refuse me?"

  Merrick said nothing.

  "I want the file I requested two weeks ago. The one you told me I couldn't have. And in return I'll give you what you so desperately want."

  "You tricked me. You gave me false information to—"

  "I gave you a piece of correct information. Proof that I am in a better position than you are where the Chameleon is concerned."

  "You think I'll play your silly games again after this?"

  "I think you'll play on the chance that I know more than you. And if you play, you'll find out that I do. Did you do a background check on me like I suggested?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you know who I am. Who I really am."

  "There's evidence to substantiate your claim."

  "Damn right there is."

  "You said you know where the Chameleon is going to be in the near future. How do you know?"

  "I know, because I know where I'm going to be in the near future, and he's going to be with me."

  "Tell me what you're looking for in the file, and I'll—"

  "No. I need all of it."

  "If I decide to get you the file, how do I deliver it to you?"

  "I'm sure you already know where I'm at. Recruit someone you can trust to bring me the data. That is if you want to know what I know. I need the Agency's file on Paavo Creon before the first of November."

  When the phone went dead, Merrick disconnected and slid it into his inside pocket. For fourteen years Onyxx had been hunting for the Chameleon, with no luck. What was he supposed to do, ignore this unbelievable lead that had clearly come straight out of nowhere?

  No, of course not. He had remained at Onyxx because he was confident that someday a lead would put him on the scent of his old enemy, and that day had finally come.

  Behind him was a wall-size world map, and as Adolf stood, his bloodshot eyes scanned the Aegean Sea. Thousands of islands made up the Greek Isles. The Chameleon was there on one of them. Somewhere on a remote beach sipping wine, or in some plush hotel sprawled naked in a bed with his latest female conquest.

  The image of the latter had Merrick swearing violently. The sudden reaction snapped his head back and sent an explosion of fresh pain shooting behind his eyes. Inwardly he groaned as his right eye started to water. He became dizzy, and it was only then that he reached out to steady himself and keep from dropping to his knees.

  He closed his eyes, and for the first time in too many years, he began to pray. He prayed that it wasn't too late. Prayed that somehow his fate would be delayed long enough to find his enemy.

  Find him, face him and kill him.

  He would kill the Chameleon for Johanna. Kill him for the constant pain he'd lived with every day for the past fourteen years. Kill him for the wasted years. For the nights he'd sat frozen in front of the computer screen watching and waiting for a glimpse of Johanna's flawless face.

  Kill him for the years the Chameleon had deprived him the scent and feel of Johanna in the dark hours before dawn.

  Kill him for the children that would never be born.

  Kill him for the sheer pleasure of killing him and watching the life fade from his eyes.

  Yes, if Fate was kind, and God merciful, he would find the Chameleon before it was too late, and kill him for Johanna.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  "When the game is over and the predator has caught his prey, what are you thinking about, Eva?"

  "I really don't have time to talk today, Dr. Fielding. I'm running late."

/>   "You know the rules, Eva."

  "I'm thinking about survival, Dr. Fielding. Only survival. Living isn't for the weak, you know. It's for those who master the game. I really am running late."

  "Late for what?"

  "I'm off to Greece again. I have a million things to do before we leave."

  "We … meaning you and Simon?"

  "Yes."

  "For how long this time?"

  "At least a month."

  "Then I think this session is important, don't you?"

  "The pills are what's important, Dr. Fielding."

  "I planned to discuss your parents today. We haven't talked about them in a while."

  "We've discussed them at length many times. It hasn't changed anything. My father is still too busy to see me more than once a year, and Mother is still dead. That is unless you've found a way to resurrect her. In that case I'd like to buy shares in your company."

  "I'm sorry, my skills don't stretch that far."

  "Too bad. I miss her."

  "But not your father?"

  "I miss the way he used to be. Before Mother died."

  "Your mother died when you were nine, right?"

  "Old news."

  "You were born here in Atlanta?"

  "More old news. Check your black book. I'm sure you'll find that information under Born and Raised. Born in Atlanta, raised by my father."

  "Don't you mean, raised by your father's house staff?"

  "Always a stickler for details, aren't you Dr. Fielding? Okay, raised by the minions. Feel better?"

  "My job is to make you feel better, not me. The staff was competent, yes?"

  "Fork on the left, knife on the right. Manners are as important as a good education. Always tell the truth when you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. And no screwing the gardener's son no matter how cute he is, or how good his ass looks in his jeans. Yes, the minions saw to all of the important stuff."

  "And did you have sex with the gardener's son?"

  "Yes. I was desperate to feel something for someone. Tony came, and I didn't. I thought something was wrong with me so I did it with him again a few days later. The results were just as disappointing. A few years later I read a book about sexuality. It said with some men it's all about them and that was certainly true about Tony. He was a greedy little bastard."

  "You mentioned you were desperate to feel."

  "I was sixteen. I had no friends, and I was never allowed to leave the house without one of the minions. There were days I felt my father had wished that I had died in the fire with my mother. I thought, he's pretending I'm dead, that's why he never comes to see me. I thought that a lot."

  "Where was your father during those desperate years? You've always avoided that question."

  "I don't avoid that question. I don't know where he was. Away at work. Always away."

  "Did you ever ask what kind of work kept him away?"

  "Once, I did. He joked that if he told me, he would have to kill me afterward."

  "Did he make jokes like that often?"

  "My father never cracked a smile after Mother died."

  "Was he kind to you when you saw him?"

  "Yes. But then it's not hard to be kind to someone when you see them only one day out of every year."

  "You felt deprived of love?"

  "Of course. Doesn't every kid believe their childhood is cruel and unusual?"

  "And in your case—"

  "Mommy's dead and Daddy's too busy, and the Easter Bunny and Santa don't give a damn, you know."

  "Yes, I believe I do. Define your relationship with the man you live with now."

  "You want me to tell you about Simon?"

  "Yes."

  "You already know he's unique, has an IQ off the charts, and no soul. What more can I say?"

  "Do you believe he loves you?"

  "No."

  "Does he tell you he loves you?"

  "No."

  "Do you love him?"

  "That would make me a masochist, Dr. Fielding. I endure Simon. That doesn't mean I like living with him, or enjoy what he does to me."

  "Love spins the cycle of life, Eva. To love and be loved, that's our heart's desire."

  "Haven't you been listening to anything I've said this past year? Survival, Dr. Fielding, that is my heart's desire."

  "I see bruises on your wrists today. How did that happen?"

  "It could be worse, you know. Simon could have a fetish for knives instead of ropes and belts. Actually, if you look at it that way, I'm lucky, don't you think?"

  "You make jokes to hide the pain."

  "Do I?"

  "You're making this complicated Eva. Unless you love him, it doesn't have to be."

  "It's not complicated, Dr. Fielding. You're looking through your anal telescope again. You don't have to love someone to live with them and endure their quirks. The word love is overused and overrated. Overused by a society that is trying to rationalize and legitimize our existence on an emotional level. What we should be concentrating on is our physical needs. That's what will keep us alive. Like the air we breathe. We can't exist without it, Dr. Fielding, and yet we continue to pollute it like it's a dumping ground."

  "Fascinating."

  "Yes, isn't it? Air is the magic pill. Breathe in with me and exhale, Dr. Fielding. In with the new and out with the old. Yes, that's it. Again."

  "Eva, please. Enough about the air. What I find fascinating is your analogy of love."

  "Love is a word men use when they find it necessary to shackle a woman into believing her hell is worthwhile. It keeps her buying into the myth."

  "Why are you whispering all of a sudden?"

  "Because I feel like it. Because maybe these walls have ears."

  "I assure you they do not. We are quite alone. Now then, tell me about this myth."

  "It's an evil myth. And it's not going to save you, or me. Only mastering the game will do that. It's the air we should be having a love affair with. Shall we breathe again together?"

  "Eva, please. No more about the air. Tell me how love shackles a woman."

  "A woman's happiness should be exclusive unto herself. Not reliant on acceptance and approval by society's standards. By a man's standards. But that's not what we're taught, is it? We're taught that being loved by a man is the ultimate happiness. That offering love in return will set us free. It won't, you know. Only mastering the game will free us."

  "Free us from what?"

  "The shackles, Dr. Fielding. The goddamn shackles!"

  "You seem especially agitated today, Eva. More than usual. Has something happened since our last session?"

  "A lot has happened. A lot of the same, Dr. Fielding. Ten minutes of talking should be worth the prescription, with refills, don't you think? I really do have to run."

  "I don't approve of giving my patients medication without supervision, Eva. You know I like to—"

  "You created the headaches. I never had them before the hypnosis. Now you're going to have to help me get rid of them."

  "But—"

  "If I was going to kill myself with those pills, I would have done it months ago. The pills save me. You want to save me, don't you, Dr. Fielding? That's your job, right?"

  "I thought that's what I was doing when I suggested the hypnosis. Maybe if we tried another session before you left for Greece. Maybe if we—"

  "Breathe, Dr. Fielding. You look pale. Is it your love life? Feeling shackled by your husband?"

  "We're discussing you, Eva, not me. I still believe you're suppressing something from your childhood. Something painful that wants to surface. But you're fighting it, and the headaches are a result."

  "I'm not fighting it any longer."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "There's no time to explain. I'm off to Greece."

  "Will you see your father?"

  "He'll be at Simon's birthday party. That's one of the reasons we go this time of year."

  "You say that wit
h a look of dread. Why? Is it the party, or seeing your father?"

  "Simon's parties are memorable. Last year the party was in a reptile garden, and I wore a five-foot python around my neck like a fashion scarf. Do you have any idea what it's like to be draped in a live snake skin for an entire evening if you have a snake phobia?"

  "Oh, dear God. Let's change the subject."

  "Yes, let's."

  "Let's talk more about Simon."

  "Let's not."

  "You were nineteen when you met him, right?"

  "Yes, on Simon's twenty-first birthday."

  "Here in Atlanta?"

  "Yes."

  "Tell me about that night."

  "For the prescription?"

  "Yes. For the prescription, plus refills."

  "All right. My father took me with him to the party. It was at Boxwood Estate."

  "You're frowning. Was it unusual for your father to take you with him?"

  "Yes. Usually I was taken to meet him. But that day he came to the house to pick me up."

  "And what happened at Simon's party?"

  "If I told you what happened, you wouldn't believe me. And if you did, I would have to kill you. Can I get the prescriptions now? I really have to run."

  Sly McEwen heard the tape recorder click off and he turned from the window. "Why did you shut off the tape, Bjorn?"

  "Because that's it. The doc writes the prescriptions, and Eva Parish leaves. And she does run, by the way. Two blocks."

  Sly moved back to the couch in his motel room and sat. It had been three weeks since he had turned down Merrick's offer and left Onyxx. Bjorn Odell, on the other hand, had agreed to be reassigned within the Agency as a profiler—a job that matched his skills.

  The oldest of the rat fighters at thirty-eight, Bjorn was a close match in height, but where Sly's black hair was worn short, the man from Denmark looked like a long-haired blond Viking straight out of the history books.

  "So what did you find out?" Sly prompted.

  Bjorn hooked his ass on the motel desk and flipped open his log book. "If I go by the information you gave me, our Eva is the daughter of Muriel and Paavo Creon. The couple was married in Boston and moved to Atlanta a year later. Paavo Creon was a career military man. They had one daughter, Evka Amara Creon. The police reports state that the entire family died in a house fire fourteen years ago. No survivors, though we can't confirm that. The fire cremated the bodies."