Perfect Assassin (6 page)

Chapter 5

P
risca had awakened early to sit by the window. She had walked carefully to the rocker on her sprained ankle, the bandage on the front of her leg reminding her that she was lucky to be alive. That she hadn’t lost a limb.

Outside, snow was falling, the mountains in the distance were capped, and the secluded lake was a solid white body of ice. Montana reminded her of Austria, the rugged mountains making her homesick.

She heard the door open, and she said, “Whose room is this? I think it could use some color.”

She turned expecting to see Vic Krandle, but to her surprise it was Koko’s grandson who stood in the doorway.

He stepped into the room and tossed one of her bags on the bed. She glanced at it, mentally drawing a picture of what was inside.

“To answer your question, it’s my room. What color?”

“Maybe some green, or blue.” She shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe all it needs is a bigger window to let in more light, and show off the view. In the summer the lake must be beautiful.”

“Are you staying until summer?”

He was very quick-witted—and intimidating. She hadn’t had any experience with other cultures. This man was an Indian. Koko had said they were Blackfeet.

This particular Indian had a square jaw, eyes a deeper brown than her own, and a flawless tan complexion.

He was
the man,
Vic had said. Sometimes ornery and always tough.

“How are you feeling?”

His eyes lowered to her legs. He studied the bandage, her wrapped swollen ankle, then his eyes started upward slowly taking in her bare knees and more.

She wore only his flannel shirt.

“Your friend stitched my leg.”

“I know. I stuck around, assisted and put you to bed afterward.”

She looked away, reminded that this stranger had seen her close to naked. She fidgeted in the rocking chair, feeling awkward.

To take her mind off her uncomfortable situation, she continued to talk. “Vic says I have twenty-four stitches and a sprained ankle. And of course, a mess of bruises. I feel every one of them, but I’m alive.”

“You were lucky.”

“Yes. A miracle.” The word brought her thoughts to Koko, and she looked past him expecting to see the old woman. “Where’s your grandmother?”

“Koko went home to sleep.”

“She doesn’t live here?”

“No.”

“I thought this was her home. She said something about living with her grandson.”

“She lives with Tate. They share a cabin across the lake.”

“Tate?”

“My brother.” He motioned to her bag. “I looked through your personal effects. There’s no ID. Do you remember anything yet? Your name.”

“No, I don’t remember anything…yet.”

“No one has come forward inquiring about a missing person, but it’s still early.”

“What are you telling me? That I have no one who cares about me?”

“I’m not telling you anything. Maybe no one expects you to check in yet. A family member or friend.” He shrugged out of his coat and she found herself scanning his body much as he had done hers moments ago. He was solid and muscular. Above average in height, there was substance to his shoulders. His thighs filled out his jeans, and when he turned to hang the heavy winter coat on the bedpost, she saw that he compensated for what appeared to be a stiff knee.

He removed his hat, and hooked it on the post over his coat. His hair was shiny and longer than she had imagined it would be. It complemented his sharp good looks and the comfortable style of his clothes. He looked like a free spirit, and a man of experience in the games of survival.

She had never imagined she would be one of those same people—a survivor. She’d been raised with little adversity in her life until a few months ago. But then tragedy had struck, and at age nineteen she’d been forced to step into her father’s shoes—her life suddenly mapped out in a way she would never have imagined. Not out of want, but out of survival, loyalty and love.

“Once the reports are made and the newspapers get their stories out, someone will come forward,” he said.

No one would come forward. Otto was the only person who would be looking for her, and he didn’t know where to start. But Pris nodded anyway, his comment needing some form of answer.

Otto had told her that she was perfect for this game. She realized now she would have to keep playing, and at the moment, the game required her to look innocent and vulnerable.

After all, she
had
lost her memory, right?

A young woman this beautiful certainly had someone somewhere worrying about her, Jacy thought. Parents expecting a call, or a close friend. A regular boyfriend to check in with.

“Like I said, I went through your bag looking for some kind of identification. I suppose that bag went up in flames.”

He turned to look at her, and she offered him an innocent expression. Why did he get the feeling she was holding something back?

“Vic said you didn’t eat much for breakfast. You’re not one of those vegetarians are you?”

“I wasn’t overly hungry. Where is the closest town?”

“Going somewhere?”

“I’d like to.”

“Why? You don’t know who you are, or where you came from. Seems pointless at the moment to strike out on your own when you can’t even walk.”

She took offense to that. She sucked hard on the inside of her left cheek, turned to look out the window.

“I can walk,” she said softly. “I got out of bed without falling on my face.”

“Vic says you should stay off your feet as much as possible. At least for the next few days. That is if you don’t want to pop those stitches. That cut on your leg was bone deep. Vic worked over an hour to minimize the scar.”

She looked back at him. “I’m not your problem, or Vic’s.”

“I have plenty of room here.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“I’ll let you know when you are.”

“You said this is your room. I couldn’t put you out.”

“You already have, and I don’t look upset, do I? But I have two other bedrooms down the hall. I believe one has a green bedspread. I’ll tell Vic to move you after lunch.”

Jacy didn’t let her argue. He walked out before another word could be exchanged. But not before he let his eyes drift over her slender figure. She certainly gave a man a lot to think about, and he wasn’t talking about the crash or her memory loss.

He didn’t like houseguests, and as far as women went, he could count on one hand how many had stayed overnight here. Some of them would have liked to put down roots, but he was worse than Tate when it came to being a rolling stone.

So why didn’t he want her to leave? He could set her up in a motel in Browning and give her Billy’s number.

No. He wouldn’t do that because something wasn’t right about this. He felt it, and he never ignored his gut instincts.

Like Koko’s visions, his gut was seldom wrong.

While Vic was dancing around the kitchen making Koko’s recipe for huckleberry pie, and moving their guest in to the room with the green bedspread, Jacy called Billy. He wanted to know if there had been any news about who the mystery woman was who had fallen out of the sky.

“Sorry, Moon, but I went through Marty’s office paper by paper. I didn’t find a thing. Not that I expected to. Marty was never much of a housekeeper, or a bookkeeper. His office needed an update as badly as his airplane. No records on flight plans, no receipts. Nothing.”

Like Billy, Jacy had expected as much. “And no one has called about a missing relative or employee?”

“No. Got any ideas?”

“Not at the moment.”

“She still brain-dead?”

Jacy heard Billy chuckle over the phone. “No memory yet.”

“I’d like to question her. You think she’d be up to a few tonight?”

“I think so.”

“After supper?”

“Seven?”

“I’ll be there.”

When Jacy hung up the phone, he saw Vic standing in the doorway of his office. “What’s up?”

Vic walked in and sat on the leather sofa. “I got a call from headquarters. They want to know when I’ll be back. I delayed leaving yesterday, but it seems they really need me in D.C. I told them I’d get back to them within the hour. What do you think?”

“I think you should take off.” Jacy walked to the window to consider the weather. “It’s not so bad that a chopper can’t get in and pick you up. In fact this would be a good time. The forecast is predicting a measurable snowfall by this evening. If you wait you could be snowed in for a week.”

“Your houseguest is going to be moving slow for the next few days, but she’s strong. She’ll recover. The biggest concern I have is keeping her leg clean and free from infection. The rest of her scratches and bruises are superficial. Like the sprain, it’s just going to take some time. But give her a week and she’ll be chasing you around the couch.”

Jacy looked over his shoulder and gave Vic a set of raised eyebrows. “Was that supposed to be funny?”

“You have to admit she’s a pretty young thing.”

“Too young for you or me.”

Vic shrugged. “Age is a state of mind.”

“Too young, with no memory.”

“You can still look and dream.”

And he’d been doing plenty of that, Jacy mused. “Do you think she’s playing us straight?”

“I don’t have an answer to that. Amnesia isn’t my area of expertise. But what reason could she have for lying?”

“A good question. Billy said he didn’t find anything at Marty’s office that would identify her. But then I’m not surprised, knowing how Marty managed his business.”

“You seem moody. You feeling all right? How’s the knee?”

“Stiff.”

“Sorry about that. At least you’re up and moving.”

“Up and limping,” Jacy corrected, trying not to sound bitter.

“Anything else you want to talk about?”

“I can’t put my finger on anything specific.” Jacy rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t going to go into what was really bothering him.

The bottom line was his houseguest was too young, too beautiful, and upsetting his disposition. She had the power to get to him too damn easily. Normally he could control his male urges, but he’d found out on the ride down the mountain with her seated in front of him that he wasn’t infallible. To say he’d been hit hard below the belt line was an understatement. For a man who had believed he was always in control, he’d learned an important lesson two days ago—the words
never
and
always
didn’t mean a damn.

Still he was a man who knew better than to mess with fire. Women were as dangerous as a live match tossed into a box of kindling. Knowing that—that they required a home, commitment and most often a monogamous relationship, why would any man with a brain want to play with matches?

Men were about open air and variety—and getting out of Dodge the minute they felt flames licking at their boots.

So if he was such a man—with a brain—how had this
pretty young thing
been able to raise so much havoc inside him so easily?

She was trouble, the kind of trouble he normally stayed away from. He was tired of fighting fires and trying to survive the games he’d been forced to play at Onyxx. All he wanted to do was hide out in his cabin, alone. If he had an urge to squelch, he was fine handling it himself. And when he felt like talking to someone, there was always Matwau and Weeko ready to listen. And Koko and Tate across the lake.

“So should I call Merrick and tell him to send someone to get me?”

Jacy nodded. “Call him. Someone could be here in two hours.”

“You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“I’m sure.”

“All right.”

“I want to thank you for sticking it out when Merrick brought you here a few months back. I didn’t make it easy.”

“No, you didn’t. But that’s you. I knew what I was getting into. You’re the man, a rat fighter used to kicking ass.” Vic grinned.

Jacy grinned back, then stuck out his hand. “It’s been good getting to know you, Vic.”

“Same here. I’ve learned a lot. Of course I don’t plan on adopting a wild animal any time soon, or entering a wood-splitting contest, but it’s been an education I’ll never forget.”

“You take it easy, and stay in touch.”

Jacy was as good a cook as any woman. That was because he liked to eat. He’d learned early that unless he wanted to go hungry, he had to learn his way around a kitchen.

Supper hot on the stove, he knocked on his houseguest’s door, and when she didn’t answer, he swung it open to find her curled up asleep on the bed, the green bedspread pulled over her. One bare foot peeked out, the taped ankle she’d sprained in the crash. Add a slender calf and a sexy knee to the picture, and Jacy was gifted with another unexpected urge that had him setting his jaw.

He wondered if he should wake her. She needed sleep, but she also needed food to keep up her strength. She’d skipped lunch and Vic had said she had sent back her breakfast half-eaten.

The Onyxx chopper had flown in an hour ago and picked up Vic. Jacy wasn’t used to people underfoot, and it had taken him more than a little patience to adjust to Vic sharing his space the past three months. The place was his again—he would no longer be forced to share his bathroom, or his kitchen with Vic’s culinary talents.

But possibly he had a bigger problem on his hands now.

He spotted Weeko curled up on the pillow. How the raccoon had gotten into the room, he didn’t know. He’d rescued the animal from a steel trap a month back. In the spring the coon would leave. She would be a year old, give or take a few months, and nature would call her back to the wild. He was fine with that. He had never wanted to own anything, or anyone.

The thought sent his eyes to the sleeping beauty. He walked over to the bed and carefully laid a hand on her shoulder. The minute he touched her, she woke up with a start.

“Easy,” he said. “Supper’s ready.”

She rolled onto her back, the bedspread falling away to expose her bare legs. His shirt was hiked and, unaware, she flashed him her narrow hips and a pair of blue bikini panties.

“What time is it?” she asked groggily.