Deep Waters by Jayne Ann Krentz Read Free Book Online Page A

front door of his new home. He paused, as Hayden had taught him, to allow his senses to absorb the essence of the small dwelling. All was well.
    He padded barefoot across the hardwood floor. There were no chairs in Hayden Stone's house. There wasn't much else in the way of furniture, either. Two cushions, a low table, and a sisal mat completed the living room decor. A wide, clear, heavy glass dish that was partially filled with water sat in the center of the table. The walls were bare.
    The only touch of color in the room was Crazy Otis. It was enough. The parrot's brilliant plumage was spectacular against the simple surroundings.
    Otis, perched on top of his open cage, bobbed Ms head in greeting and stretched his wings.
    "I'm going to take a shower, and then I'll fix us both some dinner, Otis."
    "Hen, heh, heh."
    Elias went into the single bedroom, which contained only a futon-style bed and a low, heavily carved wooden chest. The kitchen and bath were outfitted with the basic necessities of modern life, but basic was the operative word.
    Bicoastal interior designers and architects talked effusively about minimalist design, but Hayden Stone had created the real thing here in this small, spare house. Its simple lines held layers of complexity that only one skilled in the ways of Tal Kek Chara could detect.
    Elias's house in Seattle had been similar to this one. It had been located on the edge of Lake Washington. He had sold it shortly after the interview with Garrick Keyworth. He did not miss it. Tal Kek Chara had taught him not to become too attached to things. Or to people. Since his sixteenth year, Hayden had been the one exception. And now Hayden was gone.
    Elias went into the bathroom, stripped off his jeans, and stepped into the stall shower. Memories of Hay den flickered in his mind. For some reason he saw a scene from his sixteenth year, a scene that had occurred several months after his father had died.
    "Why do we have to sit on the floor when we eat our meals?" Elias asked as he folded his legs on the cushion in front of the low table.
    "To remind us that we don't need chairs." Hayden ate soba noodles with a strange, handmade implement that was part fork, part knife. It was both a sophisticated eating utensil and an equally useful weapon. "A man who learns that he can be comfortable without a chair will learn that he can be comfortable without a lot of other things, as well."
    "Did they teach you that in that monastery where you stayed after you got shot up?"
    "Among other things."
    Elias knew the story well. Hayden had been a mercenary until his thirty-fifth year, a man of violence who had sold his unique talents and pieces of his soul to anyone with the money to pay the price. In a world where small brushfire conflicts simmered in many regions of the globe, there was never a lack of buyers for the commodities that Hayden offered for sale.
    He had been badly wounded in the course of one such campaign, a small civil war that had been waged in a forgotten corner of the Pacific. He had been left for dead by his companions.
    Hayden had told Elias that he had fully expected to die there in the jungle. Not relishing the prospect of being gnawed on by some of the local wildlife while still alive, he'd readied a bullet for himself. He'd figured that he had just enough strength left to pull the trigger one last time.
    But he kept making excuses for putting off the inevitable.
    Hayden had told himself he would wait until night fall or until the pain became unbearable or until the first hungry scavenger appeared. His instinct for survival had been stronger than he had expected, how ever. Night came, the pain got worse, and he could hear the tell-tale rustle in the bushes. But still he could not bring himself to put a bullet in his brain. Some-thing stilled his hand
    The monks found him shortly after dawn.
    "How long were you at the monastery?" Elias asked as he fiddled with his noodles. He was getting the hang of the eating