A Thousand Kisses Deep (18 page)

She felt her heart slam into her chest, felt a wave of dizziness threaten her knees.

"Easy, sweet Eva." Simon grasped her arm to hold her upright. "Don't be frightened. He can't hurt you. Though I imagine he would like to slit your throat. I told him it was your idea to trap him on board the
Hector."

Eva couldn't speak. She shook off Simon, but it didn't last long. He gripped her wrist. Squeezed.

"Simon, please…"

With a deviant smile, he said, "Underestimating me was a mistake. I must say, you've been entertaining this past year. You're wrong, however. I am capable of love. Just because I can't show you physically, doesn't mean I don't love you."

"Simon, let go, you're going to break my wrist."

"I'm smarter than you gave me credit for. Smarter than all of you."

"Simon, please. My wrist…"

He let go. "I know everything. All your secrets. Dr. Fielding shared them with me."

If Eva thought seeing Sly on the pedestal was the worst thing that could happen, Simon's next admission drained every ounce of color from her face.

Eva stared into his demon eyes, and she could see he was telling the truth. He knew about Dr. Fielding.

"I believe it was on your third visit that I discovered your deception," he said. "Did you hear the recent news? The dear doctor is no longer seeing patients. So sad to hear that she overdosed on her own medication. A troubled woman in the business of psychiatry. Hmm … an irony, don't you think?"

Eva shook her head as tears clouded her vision.

"Not to worry, sweet Eva. I did the appropriate thing. You sent flowers to her distraught husband. I thought roses were fitting. Bloodred. Two dozen. That's how many pills I made her swallow."

He'd killed Dr. Fielding. Oh, God!

"I must tell you that I have barely slept a wink this past year. What with your running off to your shrink by day, and hacking into my computer at night, I've had to increase my vitamins."

He knew about the computer, too.

"As I have heard you say often enough, you are your father's daughter, determined to endure and survive. Well, sweet Eva, I am my father's son. And what that means is that a crazy genius should never be taken for a fool. Tonight all will see that Simon Parish may look like a freak of nature, but he knows how to play the game and win."

"Simon, please."

"Shh… You know begging disgusts me. Pull yourself together. The night is young and there are more surprises to come."

Sly watched Simon Parish lead Eva toward the table on the platform where Melita sat. He glared at her bare backside, hoping she could feel his eyes on her, feel his raging anger. But if she felt anything, she never acknowledged it, or him.

This wasn't exactly how he had planned to attend the party—as part of the festivities—but he certainly had the best view in the place.

Or did he? He shot a glance to the man high in the crow's nest, suspecting that the man wearing the red bird mask was most likely the elusive Chameleon.

He surveyed the ballroom, located the exits, counted the number of guards, where they were stationed, how fast he would have to scale the stairs to reach the Chameleon to avoid being shot in the back—that is if he could get free of the chains that kept him a prisoner.

A few minutes later, he was back watching Eva wondering if she had really set him up last night. He didn't want to believe it, but it was the most logical explanation for Simon boarding the
Hector
minutes after she had run out on him.

It had been a stretch from the beginning to believe she would turn over her father for a measly file. It made more sense that she had been working with the Chameleon from day one. He didn't know what that meant exactly. Had he been the target all along then? Or was he the bait?

As the music played out, the guests took their seats at the tables surrounding the pedestal. Then the lights dimmed.

Until now, Sly had pretty much ignored the man who stood across from him. He took a moment to study him now. Taking his measure in much the same way he had dissected the ballroom. The guy must be some poor cretin who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, he decided. The cretin's body was in shape, but not nearly as muscular as his. He wasn't nearly as broad, or as tall, and likely not as tough. Sly was determined to prove the latter the minute he got the chance.

After all, Eva was watching him and he wanted her to know just who she had betrayed. He wanted her to know what she would have to face later once he escaped the chains that kept him center stage like a trained animal waiting to perform for the crowd.

To confirm the irony of his thoughts, circus music filled the ballroom. Then a spotlight appeared overhead to showcase a man and a woman seated on a trapeze swing.

Chapter 13

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T
he trapeze artists performed overhead while Eva fidgeted in her chair. She couldn't have thought up a worse scenario than this one. She would gladly wear a snake scarf for a week if she could bring Dr. Fielding back to life. But that wasn't possible.

Her father had been wrong about Simon. He was far more dangerous than anyone imagined.

She glanced at Sly where he stood like an oak on the pedestal. At first she had thought that Simon had kidnapped him off the
Hector,
but she didn't believe that any longer. Sly had Dr. Fielding's tapes, Simon
knew about her sessions with the doctor. Did that mean Sly McEwen was working for Simon?

As hard as she tried, she couldn't envision it. But she couldn't dismiss the possibility, either.

She glanced up to the crow's nest to where
her
father sat. To her surprise she saw that someone had joined him. The man was broad-shouldered like her father, and wore street clothing and a mask—a sleek black panther mask that hid his entire face, but not his long black hair.

When the trapeze act was over and the pair slid down a cable to land deftly on their feet in the middle of the ballroom, the crowd applauded. Bowing at Simon, then to the crowd, they skipped off toward an exit.

The evening progressed slowly. There was an act with a lion, a juggler and a ventriloquist, and then suddenly a circle of lights surrounding the pedestal in the center of the room flashed, signaling the grand finale. The circus music ended and a drumroll announced the fun was over and something a bit more eventful was about to take place.

The crowd immediately responded with a hush.

Simon stood. "For your entertainment tonight," he said, "I give you a test of strength versus experience. The object of this game is simple. The first beast to knock the other off the pedestal wins the round. Ten rounds win the game. At that time the winner will remove his opponent's hood, then his own. There are no rules. I champion the zebra, he wears my colors."

If Eva doubted that Sly was working for Simon, she doubted no more. She sat silent now, resigned, while the guests each selected a champion to cheer for.

The pedestal lowered and two men dressed as pirates entered the ballroom. One of the pirates carried two eight-foot-long
poles, the other a simple ring of keys. The one with the keys leaped onto the pedestal and stripped the shackles off Sly's wrists and ankles, then off the other man's. The second pirate then tossed each man a pole. As the pedestal began to rise, the pirate with the
keys leaped
off.

Once the pedestal stopped high above the crowd, colorful disco lights built into the lava walls began to flash; at the same time, music started up again. Only this time the music was loud, with a wild techno beat.

Eva had no idea what the poles would be used for until Sly immediately used his to support his weight as he kicked out and sent the man in the leopard pants flying off the pedestal.

The relief-cable attached to the wide belt around the man's waist sent him sailing out over the crowd. The crowd went wild. The man spun and flipped, then swung back to the pedestal.

A blonde dressed in purple stood on a smaller pedestal in the distance. She held a large score card which she raised. The zebra had won round one.

Sly stalked the man, his stick poised. But this time the leopard was prepared, and when Sly swung his pole, the leopard spun away, then struck with his stick, cracking it across Sly's back, knocking him off the pedestal.

As he flew over the cheering crowd, the blonde in purple held up the score card. Round two had gone to the leopard.

The guests who championed Sly shouted at him to tear the leopard's head off. The woman in purple put another win on his side when he ducked a blow, and used his fist to send his opponent into the air.

Eva watched while Sly won the next round, and the next. It looked like he would continue to win until the leopard jabbed his pole into Sly's injured side, and sent him swinging out over the crowd, passing her where she sat frozen in her chair.

When he returned to the pedestal, the bandage at his side was stained red—evidence that his gunshot wound from the night before had been ripped open.

Like an animal who had picked up the scent of blood, the leopard stalked Sly with more confidence. Using the pole, he tormented the wound twice more, both times successfully knocking Sly off the pedestal and into the air. Blood was flowing freely now, and the sight of it seeping into his waistband and down his muscular thigh seemed to fuel the crowd's need for more of the same. They began to call out for more, and the very idea made Eva look away.

Simon leaned close and said, "You will watch him bleed, sweet Eva. I will not ask again."

Forced to keep her eyes trained on the men exchanging vicious blows, she felt sick. The leopard was merciless now, driving the pole into Sly's side over and over again.

She wanted it to end, prayed that someone would stop it. She thought about pleading with her father to end the madness. To beg Simon for mercy. But she knew her father wouldn't interfere, just like she knew Simon wasn't capable of showing mercy.

The leopard was winning eight rounds to six when Sly knocked him off his feet. The man sprawled onto his back and appeared momentarily dazed.

The music stopped.

The crowd quieted.

Sly straddled his opponent and raised his fist.

"That fist can kill a man. You don't want to kill me, do you, McEwen?"

The words froze Sly's fist in midair, the familiar voice a solid punch to his own gut. "
Merrick
?"

"Christ, you can fight."

"Why are you here?"

"A couple of Parish's men picked me up in
Athens
when I got off the plane."

"Where's Bjorn?"

"Bjorn? I don't know. I haven't seen him since he took off for
Montana
with Jacy Madox."

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you in D.C. where you're supposed to be?"

"You didn't call. I thought you would call. That's why I gave you my private number."

The crowd was chanting,
Kill him, kill him.
They had become a bloodthirsty pack of wolves, Sly thought. He searched out Simon and saw that he'd come to his feet. To keep him from becoming suspicious, he sent his fist into
Merrick
's jaw with half his strength. "I should kill you, Merrick," he growled. "You set me up. Set us all up."

"Not intentionally," his commander admitted, spitting blood.

"Bullshit," Sly snarled.

"Don't go crazy on me now, McEwen. I have a damn good reason for what I did."

"I know about your reason," Sly said, driving another punch into
Merrick
's jaw.

Merrick
spit more blood. "We get out of this alive and catch the Chameleon, there'll be a bonus in it for you."

This time Sly drove his fist into
Merrick
's gut. "I don't work for you anymore."

"Sure you do. I tore up your resignation."

"You son of a bitch." Sly got to his feet, dragging
Merrick
along with him. He threw a right, then a left.

Suddenly,
Merrick
swore, then stepped back and kicked Sly in the crotch. The blow bent him over, and
Merrick
followed through with an uppercut.

Sly swore, swung at
Merrick
and missed. "I figured it out," he snarled. This time when he swung, he clipped
Merrick
on the shoulder and the older man staggered. Before he toppled off the pedestal, Sly reached out and hauled his commander back.

Black hood to black hood, he said, "I had Bjorn pull your file. I know everything. I know about your wife. Why you want the Chameleon's ass so badly."

"Then help me, McEwen. Help me catch him."

The raw emotion in his commander's voice gave Sly pause, then he said, "He's here. My guess is the Chameleon's the beak in the crow's nest."

When
Merrick
turned to search out the crow's nest, Sly drove his fist into his boss's abdomen doubling him over. "That's for ripping the hell out of my side." He grabbed
Merrick
by the belt and pulled him back, then drove his knee into his groin. "And that's for not staying in D.C. until Bjorn came to get you."

"What the hell are you talking about?"
Merrick
demanded, sucking air as he tried to fight the low blow.

"I'm going to kill you," Sly said, driving another right into
Merrick
's jaw, "so stay the hell down this time."

When he let go,
Merrick
dropped to his knees, then onto his back. Sly reached for one of the wooden poles that lay on the floor and broke it in two pieces. Dropping to his knees, he laid one of the shortened sticks across
Merrick
's windpipe. With one solid snap, he broke the stick a second time, making it look like he'd crushed the leopard's windpipe.

The crowd gasped, then went still again.

Sly muttered, "If you want to make it out of here alive, stay dead." Then he yanked off
Merrick
's hood.

As his commander's head fell heavy onto the floor, he glanced up to the crow's nest. The bird man was now on his feet, his fists clenched at his sides. Sly expected as much, but not what happened next.

A wild cry escaped the Chameleon, then he yelled, "
Merrick
! Don't you dare die! I'm not finished with you!"

Sly felt
Merrick
tense. He laid a hand on his commander's chest. "Don't move. It's him, and he's on his feet. He doesn't look happy that you're dead. Why do you suppose that is?"

Suddenly the pedestal began to lower. Sly scanned the room, saw one of the pirates weaving his way through the crowd toward them. He stood, pulled his own hood from his head. The pedestal stopped, and the pirate got on, then it began to rise again.

This pirate was taller than the other two, and when Sly saw the knife sheathed at his hip, he decided that the man had been sent to kill him.

Or maybe not. The sheathed knife that rode the man's hip wasn't familiar, but the man's sudden wicked smile was.

"You're damn lucky I saw
Merrick
get picked up in
Athens
, Sly, or I would have flown back to D.C. for nothing." Bjorn looked down at
Merrick
. "He's playing possum, I hope."

"He is. Pull that knife and let's get the hell out of here," Sly demanded.

Bjorn unsheathed the six-inch blade and when the crowd saw it, they gasped anew. He slashed through the belt at Sly's waist, saying, "I still haven't been to bed yet. You're going to owe me big for this so don't get yourself killed." Then he dropped to his knees and freed
Merrick
. Giving him a hand up, he said to his commander, "You look like shit, sir."

Sly grabbed one of the cables and swung himself off the pedestal and dropped down onto the ballroom floor. The guests had all gotten to their feet, dazed, they watched him as he charged toward the platform, upending tables as he went.

Simon had dragged Eva to her feet and was trying to escape with her in tow. She was fighting him, and Simon stopped long enough to slap her hard, then continued to drag her along with him. She renewed her fight, finally twisting free. Simon spun around, tried to stop her, but Eva dodged him and started to run.