The Spy Wore Red. Wendy Rosnau

in such a small space.”

      “You’ll have to make it fit” was Merrick’s answer.

      “I heard he’s one of those loner types,” Tommy the technician said, pulling his stocking cap lower over his ears. “The kind of guy you don’t want to piss off or feed red dye number sixteen to.”

      Merrick glanced over his shoulder to the two men he’d brought with him to transform Jacy Madox’s mountain cabin into a high-tech information center. Thirty minutes ago they had landed the plane at the nearest airstrip, then climbed into a helicopter.

      Merrick was hopeful that this was going to work. Bjorn and Jacy were as close as brothers, and he intended to use that to his advantage. Even in a wheelchair Jacy was mentally up for the challenge. In fact it would be good for him—get him back into the swing of things.

      The last mission had left Jacy with his knee blown to bits. Five surgeries later the prognosis wasn’t outstanding, but he still had his leg.

      He’d called Jacy and told him he was flying in today to see him. He’d made it sound like it was a social call—his commander checking up on one of his rat fighters.

      “There, sir. I see it. Down there, in the trees.”

      They had just come over a mountain range of treetops covered in snow. Merrick saw Two Medicine Lake, the landmark Jacy had given him. The cabin was a hundred yards back from the frozen water. The area was surrounded by giant pine trees, and there was one lone road leading up to it. But it was the kind of road that only an all-terrain vehicle would be able to maneuver.

      The cabin was bigger than he had envisioned. It wasn’t anything elaborate, but it wasn’t a one-room shack with a couch that converted into a bed, either. Merrick smiled over that—the six boxes were going to fit just fine. A coil of smoke drifted from a rock chimney and there was a black pickup parked not far from the back door. He motioned for the pilot to take the helicopter down—there had to be a flat piece of ground somewhere.

      This is the middle of nowhere, sir,” Vic said.

      “Just the way Jacy likes it” was Merrick’s reply. “How’s he going to take us dropping in?” Tommy asked.

      “We’ll know soon enough.” Merrick noted the worried looks exchanged between the two men.

      “Maybe you should call him and tell him not to shoot us before he knows who we are.”

      “He knows I’m coming,” Merrick assured them.

      “But what about us?” Tommy asked. “Did you mention us?”

      Merrick grinned. “You’re part of my surprise. You and those six boxes of equipment.”

      “Shit,” Tommy said.

      “Double shit,” Vic Krandle muttered.

      He might be an asshole, but Nadja was being a royal bitch, Bjorn thought. She had refused to tell him the exact location of Holic’s hideout—the one she claimed she could find in the dark, drunk—her excuse being that once he knew the particulars he wouldn’t need her anymore and he’d ditch her.

      Not only had she refused to talk about Holic, but she had refused to talk to him altogether, saying that she was too exhausted at the moment to think clearly. That she hadn’t slept well the night before and could use a nap before they landed.

      She was either playing a game with him, or she’d lied through her teeth about where they would find Holic. He couldn’t believe she would lie to get on this mission, but he would never underestimate a woman who carried a custom-made .45 under her skirt.

      She had reclined her seat and closed her eyes soon after telling him he needed more patience. No, what he needed was to stop remembering how well they had fit together in that goddamn shower.