Wendy Rosnau - Undercover Nightingale

“You’re looking well. Barinski tells me you’ve been helping him in the lab. That you have a quick mind and have become useful to him.”

“At least I’m useful to someone.”

“You could choose to be useful to me. If you agreed to a few simple requests, you could also be free to come and go without—”

“Guards on my heels?”

“They’re here to protect you.”

“From what, a handful of islanders and their goats?”

As if the goats had been summoned the Chameleon heard their annoying bleating, and he walked to the railing to see a half-dozen shaggy beasts picking the scrubby vegetation along a rocky path that led into the island’s treeless interior.

“I grow tired of your constant rebellion, Melita. This misplaced saccharine soul of yours is boring.”

“How could Lucifer give birth to anything but evil?”

“You’ve misinterpreted my motives.”

“Then murder and mayhem isn’t your passion?”

He faced her. “I prefer to call it revenge.”

“Your enemies are not mine.”

“They should be. We are more alike than you know. My blood is your blood.”

“I’m nothing like you. It’s one of the few comforts in my life. How is Simon?”

“Your brother is…resting comfortably.”

“Send him my love.”

“Of course. Choices, Melita. We all make choices, and must live with the consequences. Simon made his, and you made yours. You may think your punishment has been too harsh, but I demand loyalty and honesty. A year ago you failed at both.”

“A price must be paid for our sins. We are in agreement on that, Father. It’s what keeps me in constant prayer these days.”

“You pray for forgiveness?”

“I pray for justice. That’s why I have no intentions of slitting my wrists again, or jumping to my death.”

“And this justice you seek… What do you pray for exactly?”

“You killed the only man I will ever love.”

“You killed him, Melita. Your betrayal to me killed him.”

“The sin you committed that day damned you, as my choice to love Nemo destroyed him and has imprisoned me. What I pray for, Father, is your Armageddon. That it will be swift and final.”

Her words should have angered him, but there was fire in her eyes just now, and conviction in her voice. It was the first time he’d heard such determination, and it pleased him beyond words.

Perhaps she was more like him than she knew.

Justice was just another word for revenge. And on that score he understood her passion. The good news was, she no longer wanted to curl up and die.

He would use her craving for justice to bring her back to him. And if that didn’t work, then perhaps Barinski would have another guinea pig for his regeneration machine, and he would gain her loyalty without her ever knowing it had been lost.

“I think you deserve a holiday. I’m going home for a few days. I know Callia would love to see you. If you promise to follow the rules, I’ll let you come.”

“Leave the island?”

“For a few days. Follow the rules and enjoy a taste of freedom.”

She hesitated, knowing what that required. He waited, looked past the goats to the coastline while she contemplated the price.

“All right. I’ll follow the rules.”

The Chameleon refocused on his little Joan of Arc. “Of course you will, Melita, or another poor fool will end up dead, damning your sweet soul to eternal hell. I doubt that you could live through that a second time.”

Six months later

The yacht that had lulled her to sleep hours ago now jerked Allegra Nightingale awake. She sat up just as the yacht’s powerful twin engines shut down.

They were stopping.

Why?

She climbed out of bed and looked out the stateroom window. It was early morning and the sun was on the horizon. In the distance she saw a jet boat speeding toward the Stella di Mare.

Filip was about to get company.

Yesterday they had cruised through the Strait of Messina and headed up the coast of Italy. Filip hadn’t told her where they were going, and she hadn’t asked. He’d been in an unpredictable mood since their exodus from Nescosto.

The attack on the villa had been well-executed, the incursion swift. Nescosto was now a pile of rubble along the Amalfi Coast, and buried beneath it was Filip’s brother Yurii.

From the moment Filip had dragged her onto the yacht, she’d known no one else had survived. He’d ordered her below deck, and there she had remained while the Stella quickly sped away into the night.

For three days she had danced around him, trying to stay out of his way—feeling as insignificant as a barnacle stealing a ride on the yacht’s hull. But now a boat was arriving, and so she pulled on the black sweatpants and gray T-shirt Filip had issued her like a prison uniform on a slave ship.

She left the stateroom, headed through the companionway, and scaled the stairs to the deck. She heard voices and stopped to listen.

“I came as soon as you called.”

“You made good time, Lazlo. Is Matyash with you?”

“I’m here, Filip.”

Allegra appeared in the morning sunlight just as the man, Matyash, leapt onto the deck from the jet boat christened the Sera Vedette. He was a thin man who wore his dark hair long like Filip. His face, however, wasn’t nearly as handsome—a long scar cut deep into his cheek and curved into the side of his mouth.

He spied her and sent his eyes on a slow, very deliberate appraisal of her body. The smile that followed puckered his scar and made his appearance grotesque.

“You read my mind, Filip. A little entertainment to pass the days at sea will lighten our moods.”

Filip turned.

When his soulless eyes locked with hers, Allegra kept her face as expressionless as his. She had no idea what he would say or do.

Her training had taught her to never show weakness. But today Filip was in control. He had been since they’d fled Nescosto as it crumbled into the sea.

He could let these men take her, and they would use her as unconscionably as they used their guns. And if he chose to pass her from one to another, no amount of protesting would stop them.

If she was entertaining enough perhaps she would survive. If not, she could be tossed overboard.

Chin high, her backbone straight, Allegra waited for the ugly one to make his move, promising herself she would endure whatever ill plan he had for her.

“Leave her be. The woman is mine.”

Filip’s words were spoken with the same authority that made him such a dangerous adversary to his enemies, and a feeling of relief washed over Allegra.

He held out his hand to her. “Come, Allegra.”

He hadn’t touched her in three days, but now he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into the protection of his muscular body.

He was a head taller than her five-seven height—an Adonis with wild black hair, high cheekbones and a pair of dark eyes that were as unpredictable as his moods.

Lazlo pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. Allegra saw that it was a newspaper clipping. Filip dropped his arm from around her and took the paper.

“A little something to fuel the fire inside you,” Lazlo said.

Filip scanned the information, and as he did, Allegra craned her neck. It was from an Italian newspaper confirming the death of Yurii and the fall of Nescosto.

The photo was horrifying, the devastation catastrophic. More important the article revealed who had been responsible. The NSA was claiming victory for the insurgence.

Filip crumpled the paper in his hand and tossed it overboard. Allegra moved away from him and went to stand at the railing. Behind her she heard him exchange words with his comrades, and in a matter of minutes the two men returned to the jet boat.