The Minoan Cipher (A Matinicus “Matt” Hawkins Adventure Book 2) by Paul Kemprecos

her pretty head, and reached back into the case. This time she came out with what looked like a nose. She held it in the palm of her hand.
    “Ugh,” she said. “Is this real?”
    “It only looks real,” he said. “I’m an actor.”
    Still looking a bit disgusted by her find, she gingerly dropped the prosthetic and the wig back into the case, then came over to Leonidas. She stood close, undid the tie on his white terrycloth robe and kissed his naked chest.
    “That’s all right. The rest of you is very real.”
    She reached playfully for his hair and pulled. The brown wig slid off in her hand and she let out a loud gasp. His face ended at the top of his forehead as cleanly as if it had been cut away with a scalpel. Above the line of flesh, the bone-white dome of his head was covered with scar tissue. He removed the wig from her hand and placed it back on his head.
    “What happened to you?” she said.
    “I was in a bad accident years ago,” he said.
    The prostitute had said nothing when she’d seen the scar tissue on his body, but a sad look came into her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was surprised. Many of my clients have injuries. It’s nothing.” She pecked him on the lips. “Now I have to go. You make me tired.”
    She held her hand out for payment.
    “Sure, hon. But first, you gotta give me a real goodbye.”
    “That will cost you extra,” she said, giggling. Reaching up, she put her hands on each side of his head as if she were about to kiss him. He did the same, conscious that he could break her skinny neck with one violent twist. There would be a muffled snap, her eyes would roll back into her head and her body would go limp. Instead, ignoring the craving to kill, he let his fingers run through her long, dark hair as he stared at the beautiful face before him.
    Tucking a wad of bills into her bosom, he gave her a light slap on the backside, and said, “Get your butt out of here, darlin.”
    “You got my number?”
    “Oh yeah, babe. I got your number.”
    He proceeded to push her out of the room. Maybe it had been a mistake not killing her. The young woman had opened a small door to his secrets and, thus, should not be allowed to live. But Isabel was the only one he’d ever met who hadn’t been turned off by his disfigurement. Besides, he wanted to enjoy her services again. He’d have to be careful, though. The last thing he wanted was for her to make him feel human again. That would be bad for business.
    He picked up the leather case and carried it to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, he removed the wig and peeled off the olive skin. His face was a featureless mass of white scar tissue that looked as if it had melted and re-frozen in place. There were only nostrils where his nose should be. His ears were mere stubs. His lips non-existent. When he saw photos of his old self, it was like looking at a stranger. The hot-shot surfer dude, and later, the warrior in the Special Ops uniform, had been movie star handsome.
    He had been an exceptional soldier, excelling at languages, marksmanship and martial arts. At that time, classes at the UCLA acting school and marriage to his honey-blonde girlfriend were still in his future. So was an improvised explosive device in Iraq. The IED that exploded under his Humvee had killed everyone else in his squad. Goggles had saved his sight, but the blast of flames had completely eradicated his facial features.
    Later, while recuperating in a room at Walter Reed Hospital, he learned that the Hummer was one of the models that came with insufficient armor, one of many that had been thrown into the battle in the early days of the war. When his fiancée then came to visit him, he learned as well, after seeing the horrified expression on her face, that there were limits to love.
    The Army discharged him with his face swathed in bandages, like the Invisible Man in the H.G. Wells story. His face was a patchwork surgery job that used skin from his body