Free Perfect Assassin by Wendy Rosnau Page A

up?”
    “With the Hell’s Angels.”
    Prisca frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”
    He was looking at her as if she was crazy. “You’re serious?”
    It was obvious that whatever the Hell’s Angels were, they were notable enough to cross the ocean. But she’d lived in Austria all her life, and she knew nothing about angels who rode motorcycles.
    Still, she could see that she had made a mistake in the admission. She scrambled for an excuse. Said, “Do you think it might have to do with my memory loss?”
    “Maybe.”
    “So are you going to tell me what a Hell’s Angel does?”
    “It would bore you.”
    Nothing about this man could possibly be boring, Prisca decided. The private admission made her even more uncomfortable and angry with herself. She wanted to stay mad at him, to do whatever she needed to do to keep her distance. But as she looked at his lips once more, she suddenly wondered what it would be like to be kissed by this man. By a Hell’s Angel.

Chapter 6
    M oon’s log house was a mixture of different worlds and cultures. There were Native American pictures on the walls and colorful woven rugs on the floors, and yet each room had unusual objects, sculptures and furnishings from other parts of the world.
    Pris wondered about that. Had he been to all those places?
    At supper she had even noticed a large bookshelf in the kitchen with a cookbook collection that touched on ethnic cooking reaching from Greece to China, Germany and dozens of other places.
    It was all so different, and yet oddly comforting. Especially the mountains that surrounded this quiet place in the middle of nowhere.
    The weather and the mountains made her feel safe, which made no sense at all. She was far away from home, and there was no place that would ever make her feel as safe and comfortable as Austria. At least that’s what she’d always believed.
    Still she loved sitting close to this massive fireplace and hearing the wood crackling as it filled the room with its cozy warmth.
    The house was simple, and yet a work of art. Vic had told her that Moon had built it. That he had laid every stone in the fireplace and crafted every cupboard and door.
    The couch was soft brown leather, and there were two stuffed chairs. One looked old and in need of repairs, the other was a half-circle shape upholstered in a European tapestry displaying the Eiffel Tower.
    The smell of burning wood had her inhaling deeply as she snuggled on the couch. It was the middle of the night, but she hadn’t been able to sleep after Moon had changed her bandage and carried her into her room. She’d tried, but she simply had too many thoughts floating around in her head. Too many worries.
    And then there was the memory of Moon carefully changing her bandage. His head bent close as he’d tended to her leg with his big hands, his hands as soothing as his wood fire.
    But there was more on her mind, too. She worried about how quickly she would recover from her injuries, about the man named Billy, and what kind of questions he would ask when he came to discuss the airplane crash. How well she would do with her answers.
    Then there was Otto. Was he looking for her?
    And how was her father’s health? Did he know she was off the job? Was he angry?
    She felt terrible about losing his gun in the plane crash. It was the only thing she had of his, and now it was lost forever.
    It was time to rethink her strategy, she supposed. And that’s what she would focus on in the next few weeks as she recovered. She would replan her revenge on her mother’s killer, and find the man who had aided Bjorn Odell.
    Odell needed to die, and he would, but for now she would concentrate on the controller who had put Bjorn Odell on Glass Mountain. Jacy Madox was as guilty as anyone for her mother’s death, and he needed to pay with his life for what he’d taken from her, and she would make sure he did.
    “What are you doing out here?”
    Pris gasped in surprise, then turned to see