A THOUSAND KISSES DEEP Read online

  Your stay with Simon will teach you things you wouldn't be able to learn anywhere else. Priceless lessons on how to live in harmony with a demon and survive his madness. I have no doubt you will survive. After all, you are your father's daughter. Living is not for the weak of body and mind. Those who master the game, master their own fate. Make your father proud.

  A mad genius with a demon's heart. Or maybe a demon genius with an obsession for madness. Either way she had come to believe Simon was a pernicious package. An inventive sadist one minute, and a psychopathic child the next.

  Eva sent her long lashes low over her eyes, discreetly studying him. His features were small, ultrafeminine, his short white hair and colorless skin a shocking contrast against the fluorescent blue silk shirt he wore tonight.

  He owned a Bentley and a Porsche, three homes in the States, one in Venice and one on the island of Mykonos in the Greek Isles. His amassed wealth was displayed everywhere in his homes. Here in Atlanta there were priceless paintings hanging in a temperature-controlled gallery, and elaborate marble statues guarding the pool and pavilion in the backyard. His other homes were just as lavish.

  She had no idea how he made his money. They spent five months out of the year in Atlanta, and the other months divided between his homes in California, Florida and Venice, with a month spent in Greece.

  She loved Greece. In Greece everything was different. In Greece, Simon gave her space to breathe.

  Eva continued to study him beneath hooded lashes. Tonight he wore fitted black Gucci pants on his reed-thin hips, and black boots to his knees. His bright silk shirt was open to his waist, showcasing his hairless pale chest.

  His blood disorder had forced him to become a vegetarian, which had been the reason she had been introduced to the Tastes of Paradise—and two blocks away, Dr. Fielding.

  "We leave for Greece in a few days." His tone was low, one elbow braced on the table, his chin resting on his bony fist as he watched her eat. "Will you be ready?"

  Careful not to let her excitement touch her eyes, she said, "I'll be ready. Will Melita be there?"

  "Yes, my sister will be home when we arrive."

  Eva smiled … not too much. "Will you let me go exploring the water caverns with Nemo again?"

  "He tells me you're a natural in the water. He says you can hold your breath almost as long as he can."

  Eva went back to eating her salad.

  "I have a new toy and a new game. I can't wait to show you the gun and explain the rules."

  Eva's fork stalled an inch from her mouth.

  Slowly, Simon leaned back and stretched his long spiderlike arms out on the table, and that's when she saw his fingernails. They had been painted black. Black in celebration of tonight's game, and the madness she would soon be called upon to survive.

  He smiled as if he had read her thoughts. Flashing his painted nails, his fingers danced theatrically upward to slide through his shocking white hair.

  The display was well practiced. A show Eva had witnessed time and again. It was as much a warning as it was a promise. A prelude to the soon to come twisted game he'd thought up sometime during the afternoon.

  I have a new toy. I can't wait to show you the gun.

  She thought about her still-sore wrists from two days ago, and a renewed pain shot through them with the memory of how creative a madman could be with something as simple as a belt.

  She had wanted to die in the narrow clothes chute. Then she had wanted to live. To endure the unendurable.

  Living is not for the weak. Those who master the game, master their own fate.

  "Say it. Say the words, sweet Eva."

  She laid her fork down, the colorful pansies in her salad forgotten.

  "Say the words," he coaxed. "Wet your lovely lips with your wine and speak."

  Eva did as she was told and lifted the wineglass to her painted red lips. She drank deeply, then set the glass back on the table, while Simon's lizard eyes watched her in anticipation.

  "I'm your game, Simon," she began. "Whatever game it is you wish to play. I'm yours. Mind. Body. Breath. Soul."

  "And who will win the game tonight, sweet Eva?"

  "You will win, Simon."

  The rehearsed words delighted him further. Grinning openly, he stood. "Finish your salad. You're going to need your strength. Morris has pruned the boxwood. The maze is flawless. The sky is clear. The air … feverish. It's a perfect night for a fox hunt."

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  Bjorn was right about the boxwood maze; it had to be seen to be appreciated. Sly stood perfectly still within the dense foliage labyrinth in Simon Parish's backyard dressed in camouflage, his face, hands and neck painted to match.

  He had slipped past the electronic gate an hour ago, and like a ghost in a cemetery, he had made his way unnoticed into the backyard—drawn by the sound of a man's voice chanting taunts too peculiar to ignore.

  Minutes later, hidden in a passageway of the maze, he'd gotten his first glimpse of Simon Parish. Dressed for a safari, he was outfitted with a headlamp strapped around the wide brim of his canvas hat. Thin as a blade of grass, he wore khaki shorts and a matching shirt. Add a silver holster cinched around his waist with an M26 Taser stun gun inside, and Sly was convinced Parish was further off his rocker than the tapes indicated.

  Star Wars meets Out Of Africa.

  Sly would have laughed if a hissing noise, followed by a woman's scream, hadn't stolen the humor out of the moment. Simon Parish might look like an idiot, but the games he played were very real.

  The M26 Taser was effective up to twenty feet with a steady aim. It was as potent as a bolt of lightning, and just as painful. The one major difference was that it wouldn't kill you. It would however, knock you on your ass quick enough, paralyzing you in an instant.

  Another scream went up, followed by a man's high-pitched laughter.

  A lunatic's laughter.

  "Like a fox, she runs looking for a place to hide. Run, little fox. Run and hide."

  More lunatic laughter followed his lyrical taunts.

  From what Sly could tell, Parish was herding his fox toward the center of the maze. There would be no escape if Eva became trapped at the heart of the boxwood. If she had played this game before—and Sly knew she had played similar versions from listening to the tapes—then she had to know her only chance was finding a hiding place, or an escape route altogether.

  Sly maneuvered his way through another narrow passage, ignoring the heat, and the way it made his clothes cling to his body. He had just slipped into another hiding place when light illuminated the trail he'd just vacated. For a moment he thought the moon had come out. But then he saw her. She was running, her dress hiked high above her knees, and she was barefoot.

  The dress was a beacon of light outlining every curve she owned. She wore an animal mask that concealed the upper half of her face. The mask had short erect ears and a long nose like a fox.

  Like a fox, she runs looking for a place to hide. Run, little fox. Run and hide.

  In an odd way the masked beauty did resemble a fox. Or maybe an exotic experiment that had stalled somewhere halfway between two worlds.

  "Where are you, sweet Eva? Where-oh-where have you gone?" Parish singsonged.

  She spun around releasing a desperate keening noise as she looked back the way she had come.

  Like a dog on a fresh scent, Parish's laughter filled the maze warning her that he'd spotted the neon glow of her dress through the dense foliage.

  "The game is, run until you drop, little fox. Don't stop. Run. Run fast. Run until you drop. Until I drop you."

  Her chest was heaving, exhaustion becoming a factor in the game. Run, dammit. Run, Sly silently urged.

  But she didn't run. She stood there while precious seconds ticked by.

  Parish's laughter came again. Closer this time with another creative limerick.

  "Run, dammit."

  This time Sly's thought
s became audible words, and her head snapped a quarter-turn to the left. Shit! In the seven years he'd been an Onyxx agent, he'd done some reckless things, but never something as flat-out stupid as speaking his thoughts.

  Sly held his breath as Eva searched the thick greenery that surrounded her. Instead of wasting her time looking for him, she should be hustling her ass out of there, he thought. Simon would be on her any minute.

  More laughter.

  Sly swore, then stepped out of his hiding place, grabbed Eva by the arm and pulled her into the hiding place with him. She tried to fight him, but he ignored her struggle, reached down and snagged the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head.

  Turning the dress inside out was like turning a light switch off—the threat of discovery gone in an instant.

  Simon's dulcet voice came again, telling them that he was close by. "Where are you, my little fox? Where-oh-where have you gone, sweet Eva? Answer me."

  She stopped fighting him. Froze.

  A bright beam of light appeared on the path, and Sly motioned for Eva to remain quiet. Parish soon walked past, stalking his prey in true hunter fashion.

  After he had turned down another path, Eva whispered, "Is it you?"

  Sly had listened to the tapes a dozen times, yet her smoke-filled husky voice gave him pause. It was like a slow-working sedative on his body.

  "Who do you think I am?" he asked, countering her question with one of his own.

  She studied his shadow in the dark. "You look too tall to be him," she whispered. "Who are you?"

  "Would you believe a lost neighbor hunting for a way out of here?"

  She angled her head as if considering the notion, then reached up and touched his face. Her fingers came away with paint on them, and she wiped them on his shirt. "He sent you, didn't he? Is there a message? Do you have the file?"

  When Sly didn't answer, she tried to slip away from him, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. "It's safer here than out there."

  "I have only your word on that. The word of a stranger lost on private property." She brought her nose close to his chest, sniffed. "Bay rum. A stranger who spends money on soap and takes time to use it. Hmm…"

  "Do you know the way out of here?" Sly asked.

  "And will I be rewarded for my generosity if I show you the way? Do you have the Onyxx file? Do you?"

  Her hands were suddenly on his hips, moving downward over his thighs. When she slipped them into his pockets to find them empty, she said, "Another game player, I see."

  Sly had no idea what she was talking about, but she had used the word Onyxx, and that was good enough for him to play along.

  He said, "I didn't bring the file with me, but let's get out of here so we can talk about it."

  "And so the fox put her trust in the stranger and shared with him the secret passageway out of the labyrinth. And when they had finally escaped, the fox eager for her reward, did receive her recompense. She became the stranger's supper, and he gobbled her up in one fast bite."

  When Sly, again, said nothing, she added, "Have you read them?"

  "Read what?"

  "Aesop's Fables? Have you read them?"

  "No."

  Sly tried again. "Come on, let's go."

  "Come, little fox. Come to me and I will take pity on thee."

  The nearness of Parish's poetry confirmed that he was circling back.

  Sly had been on his way out of the boxwood with Eva in tow. Now he stepped back, pulling her, once again, against him.

  She laid a hand on his chest, whispered, "There is no escape for a fox in this maze. Here, there is only survival by surrender. I have no desire to escape."

  Sly swore softly. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to be hit with an electrical current?"

  "I imagine it's quite painful."

  "If you enjoy playing games, I'll play with you, and I promise it won't be near as painful," he offered.

  "Sorry, but tonight my game is with Simon. If you wish to play with me, when next we meet, bring the file."

  With that, she scooped up her dress and stepped out onto the trail. Before Sly could stop her she was standing in the beam of light coming from Simon Parish's headlamp.

  The minute Parish saw her, he began to laugh. He drew the Taser from his silver Star Wars holster. "You've run out of places to hide, little fox. Say it. Surrender to me."

  "You've won the game, Simon. You've outwitted the fox. I ask you to take pity on me."

  Laughing, Simon Parish aimed the Taser at Eva's stomach. "Request denied, little fox." Then he pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  "I hear the voices, Dr. Fielding."

  "What are they saying?"

  "They're arguing. Yelling."

  "Is your father there? Do you hear his voice?"

  "Yes."

  "What else? I've opened the door, Eva. Look inside. What do you see?"

  "Mother is dead, and there are flames around her. Our house is burning."

  "You said you hear two voices. Do you recognize the other voice?"

  "No. He's no one I want to know. He's a monster. He's… No, no one!"

  "Take it easy. I'm bringing you out now, Eva. Five, four, three, two—"

  Sly watched from his seat on the airplane as Eva rubbed her temples. He was listening to tape number eight. Bjorn had titled it "H is for Hypnosis and Hell."

  They were cruising at forty-two thousand feet. The sun was out, and the airplane had been in the air an hour. From his aisle seat in the sixth row, four behind Eva and across the aisle, he continued to observe her. They had left Atlanta at 1:30 p.m. Destination, Athens, Greece.

  Eva hadn't recognized him in the terminal, but then why would she? He was in jeans and a gray shirt, not fatigues and face paint. Likewise, she was no longer wearing a fox mask and sequins, but a pale-blue shift and matching sandals.

  Simon Parish sat beside her. He looked nothing like a safari hunter, either. He wore black pants, a lemon-yellow shirt, a black hat pulled low over his face, and tinted shades to conceal his unnatural eyes.

  He looked sane. Sly knew different. The man was a lunatic.

  Another hour in the air and Eva pressed the flight attendant button, then reached beneath the seat in front of her for her carry-on bag. The attendant arrived, Eva relayed a message, and a short time later the attendant returned with a bottle of water.

  Eva popped a pill, maybe more than one, then sipped the water until the bottle was empty. She dozed after that while Parish read, and Sly listened to another tape. This one Bjorn had named "C is for Closet."

  When Eva woke up an hour later, she stood and walked past him to use the rest room. She returned a little while later, and once she was seated, she went digging in her bag again. This time she produced a compact mirror and a gold tube of lipstick. She checked her reflection, pushed her shaggy bangs out of her eyes, then opened the lipstick and angled the compact.

  Sly saw her mouth pucker up in the mirror's reflection. Watched as she painted her beautiful lips a shade of red. Her lipstick tube tucked away, she angled the mirror a little more to the right and puckered up again, this time blowing a kiss into the compact mirror. A second later, she turned her head and looked straight at him and mouthed the words, bay rum.

  Sly changed tapes thirty minutes later. Flipping through the tapes once more, he spied one that he hadn't listened to yet and popped it into the cassette tape, then adjusted his headset.

  This tape Bjorn had given the title "P is for Parish, Prick, Pecker, and Penance."

  Eva stretched, then climbed out of bed to stare out the window. The sun was bright, the morning warm and the sight and smell of the sea elevated her mood.

  They had landed in Athens two days ago, and immediately flown to Mykonos. She had fought a headache the entire way, and once they had reached Simon's estate, Lesvago, she had gone straight to bed. She had slept most of the next day, still battling th
e headache.

  "Finally you're up. You look much better than yesterday. Do you feel better?"

  She turned to see Simon standing in the open doorway to her bedroom. It took everything she had not to jump for joy when she saw him wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a long-sleeved shirt—he was going out.

  "I feel better," she agreed. "The headache left me sometime during the night. Thank you for tending to me," she said respectfully, meaning it. Simon had ordered cool compresses for her head every half hour. It was rare for him to be gentle, but not unheard of. Last night he had offered her his human side, a rarity she was grateful for, considering she had felt so poorly.

  "Good, then I'll be on my way. Nemo is taking me to Naxos. I have business there. I've asked Melita to join me. She's agreed only if Nemo brings her back late tonight. She says you shouldn't be alone in case your headache returns. If you take a skiff out, I've instructed two of the men to follow for your protection."

  "Enjoy your trip," she managed to say, trying not to sound too eager to see him go. "Not too much sun."

  He smiled. "Like a wife, she worries about me. I think I like that. I'll be back the end of the week, in time to finalize the arrangements for my birthday party. I've decided to keep the location a secret to the end this time. It'll make it more of a mystery. Maybe even keep you up nights wondering, hmm?"

  Worrying, he meant. Eva kept her voice mellow when she asked, "Have you spoken to my father? He's coming, isn't he?"

  "Of course he's coming."

  Simon stepped forward and took Eva's hand. "Now then," he said, examining the black-and-blue marks on her wrist, "I want you to do something for me while I'm gone." She was wearing a white chemise, and with his free hand, he peeled the narrow strap off her shoulder to expose a faint tan line.