LITMIR.BIZ

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pulled it on. Callia was stilled curled up on the bed after he’d had her every way imaginable. The smile he wore as he left the room was that of a prevailing conqueror. The sex had been carnal, fueled by a rapturous hunger that would never be quenched.

      Sated temporarily, he focused on his game of cat-and-mouse with Merrick. Soon his old buddy would return to Greece and lead him to Sully and Melita.

      Melita’s latest escapade of rebellion had damn near cost him his life. His daughter had to know that he wouldn’t rest until he’d been compensated for that.

      Downstairs he phoned Holic Reznik. “Give me an update. Is Merrick on his way yet?”

      “He flew to Rome.”

      “Why Rome and not Athens?”

      “I don’t know. From Rome he took a flight to Crete.”

      “And?”

      There was a long pause.

      “Don’t tell me you lost him. Did he make you on the plane?”

      “I don’t know how he got out of that hotel in Iráklion without us seeing him.”

      “Idiots. He’s a damn master of disguises, that’s how. I warned you to expect anything, and overlook nothing.”

      “He never made me on the plane. I look damn good as a woman, better than I expected. I did find out that a boat was waiting for him in the harbor.”

      “How do you know that?”

      “I always find a way to make people talk, you know that. Before the fisherman choked on his own blood he told me a man left the harbor around midnight in an expensive little speed-demon cruiser.”

      “How do you know it was him?”

      “The fisherman said the old man was wobbling on a cane with two left feet, but that he had no need for the cane or the limp when he leapt on board and sent the cruiser out of the harbor at full throttle.”

      “That doesn’t help me now.”

      “I have the name of the cruiser.”

      “Did the fisherman say if someone picked him up? Paxton?”

      “No. The Aldora was empty when Merrick sailed her out of port.”

      “Find the cruiser, and find Merrick. I didn’t fly to Washington for nothing. Do it, Holic. I hold you responsible for my daughter’s escape from Despotiko. Redeem yourself, or I’ll have no reason to keep you around. You’ve been a disappointment lately, and you know what I do to men who disappoint me.”

      “Father?”

      Cyrus slid his phone into his pocket, then turned around to see his son wearing sweat-soaked fatigues and a muscle shirt. “Where have you been, Erik?”

      “I took a morning run.”

      “Your mother asked me to talk to you. She’s still asleep. Perhaps this would be a good time.”

      “She’s on the college kick again?”

      “If she asks, tell her we’ve talked and you’re considering it. Now come and fill me in on your progress.”

      His son followed him onto the veranda. Once they were seated, Cyrus studied Erik. The workouts over the past year were paying off. It was even more than he’d hoped for. It appeared Erik was putting his heart and soul into his work.

      “I looked over the file Kipler’s been keeping on you. It’s impressive.”

      “Kip says I’m a natural. I can nail my target eighteen out of twenty now.”

      Erik flexed his muscles, and Cyrus could see that Kipler had made good on his promise to turn his son into a fighting machine.

      Erik was staring at the fresh scars on his father’s chest. “What happened?”

      “An encounter with Merrick.”

      “Did you kill him?”

      Cyrus had shared certain secrets with Erik. One of those secrets had been his life as a betrayed Onyxx agent left for dead in Prague. “No. He’s as good as I am at cheating death. But the opportunity will come again. That’s why you need to continue to keep up with your training. I don’t want you vulnerable should he show up someday unannounced.”

      That would never happen. He’d made sure of that, but Erik needed to stay focused.

      He didn’t intend to tell Erik about Melita’s defection. He would eventually have to if he didn’t get her back in a timely manner, but for now Callia and his son would believe Melita was safe at Lesvago with Simon.

      Simon…He’d shared his eldest son’s death with Erik some time ago—a little fuel to ignite his hatred of Merrick, but there was no reason for Callia to know. Erik had proven his loyalty by keeping the secret. His son was a pleasant surprise, and Cyrus was rarely surprised by anything.

      Simon had been weak, a burden from the moment he’d been born. His headstrong daughter and albino son with a frail immune system had been blessed curses from the beginning.

      Weak, ungrateful children were a father’s worst nightmare. But Erik was loyal to the bone, and when the time came Erik would follow his father into hell without even blinking an eye. If only he had another just like him. Several. Still, one loyal son was better than none.

      He reached over and squeezed Erik’s shoulder. “I’d like to see for myself how well you’re honing your survival skills. We leave for the island day after tomorrow.”

      Erik’s eyes lit up. “What will we tell Mother?”

      “That we’re going fishing.”

      They shared a grin.

      The sun was up when Merrick returned to the Aldora. He went below deck, and to his surprise he found Melita waiting for him. She looked up on hearing him come down the companionway. Johanna’s picture was in her hand, and the question she asked a second later was as confusing as the look on her face.

      “Sully never mentioned that you knew Callia. How do you know my stepmother?”

      Merrick frowned. “Stepmother?”

      “You knew my father remarried after he killed my real mother. I don’t see Callia often, but I do think of her as my stepmother. She’s very—”

      “You’re mistaken. That’s a picture of Johanna.”

      “Your wife, Johanna?”

      “That’s the only Johanna I know. Yes, my wife.”

      “Sully told me that she died.”

      “Cyrus killed her,” Merrick clarified. “She was twenty-six in that picture. It was taken a month before her death. Are you telling me there’s a strong resemblance between Callia and my wife?”

      Melita looked at the picture again. “No. This is my stepmother.”

      Merrick tried to make sense out of what she was saying. “You know your father had extensive plastic surgery on his face. If there’s a close resemblance, then Callia must have had reconstructive surgery.”

      It was too bizarre to believe, but then he knew what Cyrus was capable of. After all, he’d had plastic surgery to clone Paavo Creon, their comrade. He’d gone so far as to have one of his fingers amputated to match Paavo’s hand. Nothing was beyond Cyrus’s twisted mind. It was an extreme concept, but Cyrus was an extremist in every facet of his life.

      “I never considered that.” Melita laid the photo on the table. “I can’t imagine why anyone would agree to that, but knowing my father, she probably didn’t have a choice. The likeness is uncanny. Sorry, if I—” She stopped in midsentence, then spun the picture toward Merrick and pointed to Johanna’s raised hand, holding her hair back from her face. “See this scar. Callia has one just like

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