Undercover Nightingale (17 page)

W
hen the decoded data didn’t reach him, the Chameleon knew he’d been conned. How it had happened he would never know exactly. Filip had disappeared without a trace. And Nightingale… He’d lost contact with her, too. Which meant the tracker had been discovered and removed from inside her cheek.

He’d smelled a rat—an Onyxx rat. And he’d been right. Somehow Merrick had become involved with the SDECE, and together they had recovered the data.

Months of work flushed down the toilet.

He wasn’t used to losing. And in this particular situation Merrick’s interference had cost him billions. He should have leveled more than just his apartment building.

He would think on that. Perhaps it was time that his old friend knew the truth. After all, they had so much in common.

Perhaps it was time to end the game. Or at least raise the stakes.

The Chameleon pulled up his custom-made sniper, aimed the rifle over the rampart of the tower and looked through the scope. The movement in the rocks came into view seconds later and he squeezed the trigger.

His accuracy was as sharp and on-target as any assassin in the business. The goat dropped to its knees and was dead before it hit the ground.

He lowered the gun just as a scream was offered up to the heavens. He scanned the rocky terrain and saw Melita running down the uneven path toward the dead goat. She knelt beside the lifeless beast, then turned her head back to
Minare,
her eyes finding him standing in the tower.

“I hate you,” she screamed.

That was nothing new, he thought as he studied his little Joan of Arc.

When she got back to her feet, he called down to her. “Get a guard to clean up that mess. Tell him to save the meat.”

The look on her face was priceless.

“What did you think you’ve been eating this past year, beef?”

She screamed at him again, like a young child throwing a tantrum. This time he laughed at her, then turned and went back inside.

Now what to do with Barinski? Did Dr. Frankenstein start over with a new guinea pig, or did he rid himself of the freak that had failed him? It was rare that he let anyone live once they had disappointed him.

He was still considering Barinski’s fate when he met Melita in the hall, her face tear-stained and her hands covered in blood.

“Go clean yourself up. Dinner’s at seven.”

“I feel ill. I won’t be hungry.”

“I’m sure you’ll feel better in a few hours.”

Her eyes defied him, and then she raised her hands and smearing the goat’s blood on his white shirt. “You disgust me.”

He smiled down at her, enjoying her spirit. “Wear something pretty. One of the dresses Callia bought you in Naxos. I favor the blue one. Seven sharp.”

She walked off, and he knew she’d be late. That’s if she showed up at all.

Children. They did try a parent’s patience. She would join him, however, if he had to hunt her down and drag her from her room by her lovely hair.

That’s why he told the cook to serve the goat at eight.