Merrick's Eleventh Hour
Seductive memories of his beautiful wife Johanna haunted Adolf Merrick's every waking moment.Until the Onyxx operative came to Greece and discovered that the woman he'd loved, still loved–the woman who'd supposedly perished in an explosion–was very much alive. For twenty years, Johanna had buried memories of her life with Merrick.She'd become someone else–the only way she could survive. And now he'd found her. But how could she trust the former government assassin who'd so cruelly betrayed her? Yet once desire reignited, sweeping her back into harm's way, Johanna realized how much she'd risk for the man she'd never stopped loving….
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âItâs been twenty years,â Merrick said. âThe irony is you donât look a helluva lot different.â
Johanna looked away, then turned back and raised her chin. âPerhaps itâs the fugitive lifestyle that agrees with me. Or being pampered by lies, and deceived by rogue agents out for revenge on my husbââ She cut herself off.
âHusband?â
âNot for long.â
She had a right to be angry, but dammit, so did he. He tried not to notice how short her towel was. Tried unsuccessfully. He knew every inch of her body. Heâd dreamed of her so often he could envision every curve beneath that damn towel.
In that moment all he wanted to do was pick her up and claim his wife.
Dear Reader,
Iâd like to say Iâve saved the best for last in this seventh and final book in my SPY GAMES miniseries. And yet each book in this series has been special to me in so many ways. As I began to delve into Adolf Merrickâs character with all his trials and all his grief, I realized what a treasure he was. Once a government assassin, now the commander of the NSA Onyxx Agency, heâs a man who has truly survived hell.
They say survival is everything. That justice will come to those both good and evil. That the journey makes you or breaks you. I admit that the inception of this story was based on survival and justice, but as I joined Merrick in his eleventh hour, it became evident that his journey was a resurrection of heart and soul. For a manâs valor and redemption are weighed by his undying loyalty, honor, trust and his humanity to forgive.
Come with me on this final leg of SPY GAMES. My hope is that you fall in love with Merrick as I did. His broken heart has been waiting a long time to be set free. For even the deepest wounds can be healed by a miracle. So yes, perhaps I have saved the best for last. If you missed one of the previous SPY GAMES books, log on to www.wendyrosnau.com.
Until next time,
Wendy Rosnau
WENDY ROSNAU
resides on sixty secluded acres in Minnesota with her husband and their two children. She divides her time between her family-owned bookstore and writing romantic suspense. Her first book, The Long Hot Summer, was a Romantic Times BOOKreviews nominee for Best First Series Romance of 2000. Her third book, The Right Side of the Law, was a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Top Pick. She received the Midwest Fiction Writers 2001 Rising Star Award. Wendy loves to hear from her readers. Visit her Web site at www.wendyrosnau.com.
For Tyler and Jen. No mother could
be more blessed. You are my greatest fortune and priority.
A special thank-you to Joyce Alt
for her expertise on asthma. Any inaccuracies are mine alone.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Chapter 1
An amputee for twenty-two years, Peter Briggs had a certain routineâwork at eight, supper at seven, in bed by nine. But the flu had disrupted his staid life for the past week. At 10:30 p.m. he rolled his wheelchair out of the bathroom and into the bedroom for the third time that night.
Weak and nauseated, he reached for the bar that hung above his bed and hoisted himself onto the mattress. Snuggled beneath the blankets, conscious of his old routine, he slid his hand beneath the pillow, his fingers brushing the cool steel of a 9mm SIG. A grunt of assurance, a moan, then exhaustion sent Peter into a restless sleep.
An hour later he woke up shivering, his body racked with chills. He pulled the blanket up around his neck, and that was when he noticed how cold the air was. If he hadnât known better heâd have thought the heat had been shut off in his D.C. apartment.
Peter reached for the bar overhead and pulled himself up. He turned on the lamp, and found the source of his discomfort. The window was open, a stiff breeze whipping the lacy beige curtain into a ghostly dance, driving in the cold April rain all over the floor.
He was staring at the open window in a confused daze when he heard a noise in the living room. Instinct sent his hand under his pillow to retrieve the SIG, at the same time he reached out to his wheelchair.
No SIG.
No wheelchair.
As if his rising panic summoned his lifeline, the bedroom door opened and his wheelchair rolled slowly inside.
The smell of vomit and diarrhea was caustic. It had turned the small apartment into a war zone. Cyrus Krizova leaned back in the wheelchair and studied his old comrade on the narrow bed. The SIG in his lap, he said, âYou look like hell, Briggs. Rough week?â
âThe worst of my life.â
Cyrusâs dark eyes shifted to the lower half of the bed where Peterâs legs should have been. âI doubt that. I imagine youâve had plenty of dark days.â
Peter rubbed his eyes, rheumy from lack of sleep. âYou havenât left Greece in years. What brings you to Washington?â
âMerrick has uncovered our little secret.â
âThatâs impossible. Thereâs no data to prove it. Iâve been careful.â
