Charades (16 page)

     “So, that German stubbornness of hers wound up turning the tables on her own father.”

     Mercy nodded. “My parents were made for each other. Everyone said so.” Were she and Wulf made for each other like her parents? She doubted it. They were much too different.

     In some ways, he reminded her of her grandfather: rude, demanding, and authoritarian. In other ways he reminded her of her father: considerate, tender, and kind. Who was the real man and who wasn’t? Mercy didn’t believe for one minute that someone as sophisticated and complex as Wulf could love someone as naive and plain as she. It just didn’t jive.

     “Why are you so quiet?” he asked.

     “That’s my business,” she said.

     “The hell it is. Your business is my business at this moment. Until we find that damned money and turn it in, we’re going to be linked at the hip. Do you understand me?”

     Where did he get off being so overbearing?

     “The only thing linking us,” Mercy said, trying to sound blasé and indifferent, “is physical attraction.”

     “The hell you say! I
love
you!” he turned and glared at her.

     “Oh, that’s good, Wulf! If you yell loud enough I’ll
really
believe you.”

     What did he know about love? Love wasn’t about shouting and arguing. Love was about trusting and caring. And all he apparently cared about was sex. “What do you want from me?”

     “Damned if I know,” he answered, looking chagrined. “I’ve been caught in an honesty trap. A trap set by you, I might add.” He was quiet for several moments. “Or, maybe I’m just more honest than I thought I was.” He grinned at her.

     “Maybe,” she said doubtfully, “and maybe the earth is flat.” She gazed out the window. “I'm not sure of anything anymore.”

     “You honestly think it's just physical attraction between us? Is that all you feel for me?” Wulf demanded.

     “Physical attraction is definitely a big part of it.” Mercy's face grew warm.

     “The night I first kissed you I knew the attraction was more than physical,” he said. “It was the first time in my life I held something truly pure and good in my hands. I didn't understand it at first. All I remember is that suddenly I had to have more of it, and if I didn't, I'd starve.”

     Mercy swallowed. She couldn't let him deceive her again. She put her hand to her chest, covering the ache inside. Her heart had almost stopped the first day she'd seen him. And it seemed like it had been hurting ever since.

     “Maybe we're destined to be together,” he suggested, “like your parents.”

     “I don’t think I believe in fate.” She looked down at the engagement ring on her left hand. It still wouldn’t slip over her knuckle. She’d forgotten to take it off when she was in the shower earlier.

     Wulf clenched his fist as he watched Mercy try to pull off the engagement ring. It was ostentatious and garish, just like Hazel. How had he allowed Hazel to coerce him into a situation like this? He’d never felt so out of control in his life. Where was the emotionless, ruthless bastard that Anton always bragged about?

     “Nonsense? Not only am I in love for the first time in my life, but I’m also being shot at.” His voice rose a little when he thought about
that
. “And now I’m on the run from the law, and…” He loved her so damned much, and the fact that she didn’t believe him made Wulf mad as hell.

     He reached over and picked up her hand. “I love you, Mercedes Fuentes. I don’t know how or why, but I do. That’s why I’m here. I can
damn
sure promise you I wouldn’t do this for anyone
but
you.”

     Mercy stared at him for a long while before silently turning to watch the passing scenery.

* * *

     They parked a block away from the town square. Across the street from the square in the small industrial town of Lubbenau sat an interesting old church, near which sat a statue of some important hymnist from the 1500s. “It’s surprising that the communists didn’t pull that statue down when they took over. It must’ve been important to the town history or something.” Wulf looked at his watch and pointed to the corner cafe. “We’ll meet our contact over there.”

     “You know this man?”

     Wulf nodded. “He works for Anton.”

     “Wonderful.” Mercy smiled. “Another spy.”

     The bright canopy of cloudless blue sky radiated sunshine and cheer as they sat silently eating their food. Unfortunately, the sun didn’t improve either of their moods.

     Right before they finished their meal, a short, heavyset man came over to their table. “You can’t stay here,” the man said, without any preface. “Go to the Klingerhof Restaurant in Dresden and wait for more instructions.” He exchanged keys with Wulf, pointed to a car parked on the opposite side of the square and left.

     Wulf motioned to the waiter. “Let’s go,” he said, ushering Mercy out after taking care of the bill.

     They barreled down the old East German highway from Lubbenau to Dresden. None of this seemed real to her. It had to be a bad dream, like falling down the hole in
Alice in Wonderland
. Mercy giggled, then burst into laughter.

     “What in the hell are you laughing about?” he demanded, a reluctant grin growing on his face. “I’m going to stop this car and throw cold water on you if you don’t tell me.”

     “I saw this crazy scene in my head. We’re at the Mad Hatter’s tea party. I’m Alice, you see, and… and you’re the Mad Hatter!”

     She couldn’t stop the laughter once it began. It felt good to let the tension bubble forth into a good, full-bodied laugh.

     Wulf chuckled. “The Mad Hatter? Well, who’s the white rabbit then?”

     “Stratton!” Mercy said, holding her sides.

     “Wulf?” she asked after her laughter subsided. “Are you sure we shouldn’t turn ourselves in to the authorities? It seems to me…”

     “The police can’t be trusted right now. The only hope we have is to find the money. Once we get it and turn it over to the authorities, we’ll be home free.”

     “Is it only in Germany we’re in danger?”

     “I don’t know. All I can say is it would be better if you could remember everything you can about your parents and their families.”

     She nodded, turning away from him. Silence filled the car once more, but the heavy tension had disappeared. If she was ever to feel safe again, she had to make sure that the money was disposed of.

     Wulf noticed Mercy scratched her neck often. He’d read once that some people developed hives under pressure. He wondered if she did. After all, she had panic attacks, or at least she used to. It made him feel even more protective of her. It sounded crazy, but in the space of less than two weeks, she’d become more precious to him than his own life. Furthermore, his original reason for deceiving her—obtaining his father’s acceptance—had faded into the background. Jacob was no longer the over-riding factor in his life. Somewhere along the line, Wulf had lost the need for his approval. Maybe he’d finally grown up.

     “Are you okay?” he asked, seeing her scratch her neck again.

     “I’m fine,” Mercy answered, acting surprised. “Why do you ask?”

     “You keep scratching your neck. I thought it might be hives.”

     “Hives! No. I was just touching my mother’s locket—for good luck. It’s one of the few things I have left of her.” Mercy glanced at him. “Why do I keep getting the feeling there’s more you haven’t told me about yourself?” she asked.

     Wulf took a deep breath. He hadn’t told her a bunch of things, not the least of which was, he wasn’t who he said he was. But what if he told her all the truths at once? She might not rely on him when she needed him most. He would not let that happen. No, he’d tell her everything as soon as they were both finally safe. For right now, he would parcel out the truth. He switched to English for the first time since their arrival in Germany. “Okay. I faked that German accent for your benefit.”

     “My benefit?” she sputtered.

     “How else could I make you feel safe with me and accompany me to Germany? People say I’m too intimidating. Whether it’s my height or what, I don’t know. I worried you’d feel the same way.
Liebschen
,” he said, smiling and speaking in heavily accented English, “you know my accent enticed you. Admit it.”

     Mercy laughed. “I should hit you over the head with a baseball bat. Why did you do something so outrageous?”

     At least she didn’t have that vulnerable look any more. He glanced at her and switched easily back to German. “Even you have to admit you were charmed by my accent.”

     “It did
not
charm me,” Mercy retorted. “For one thing, I’m used to German accents. I tutor German students in English, you know, and my mother had a German accent.” She paused. “Why did you do it?”

     “If you need to ask why, then you should take a psychology refresher. What’s the first thing you do to disarm an opponent? You take away their defensiveness and put them at ease. You weren’t intimidated by me at all, were you?” he asked. “You probably thought I was a harmless, helpless nerd, didn’t you?”

     “You’re right,” she said, glaring at him. “I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

     “Tell me more about your father.” Wulf changed the subject. “What was it like being the daughter of Pedro Fuentes, ‘the Latin lover?’”

     Mercy bit her lip. “He was a typical macho, Mexican male. If he were alive today, he’d probably break your neck.” She smiled. “Everyone liked him, women especially, but he only truly loved Mama and me.”

     Wulf nodded, compressing his lips.

     “You know, although my father never mentioned a family, that doesn’t mean there’s no one left. If there are some relatives still around, maybe they have an idea about my grandmother and her money.”

     A memory tickled the back of Wulf’s mind. Hadn’t Hazel said something about Mercy having relatives in Mexico? He made a mental note to check on it.

     “Anything else you remember about your father?”

     “He was a flirt, of course, but he had a serious side too, particularly the way he treated my mother. He’d look at her across a room, and you’d know there was no one else for him but her. Maybe the flirting was a shield for him.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “You know, the great ‘Latin lover’ and all that? Mama and I kidded him about that nickname all the time. He once told me the only person who really saw him for himself was Mama. His good looks were too hard to get past for many people. Mama, however, loved him for who he was, not for how he looked.”

     Mercy grinned and blushed. “I remember going to my room about nine o’clock every night and staying there because I knew they wanted to be alone.” Her face grew serious. “I want someone like that someday.”

     “And you don’t think we have that?”

     “There’s too much between us, too much unsaid and too much distrust.”

     “Too much lust and not enough love?” Wulf asked, his voice husky.

     Mercy swallowed, her voice faltering. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

     “About your father again?” Wulf steered the conversation back to safe ground.

     “Papa was the gardener’s son, on my grandfather’s estate.” She paused a moment then continued.

     “There were little things he did and said that sometimes scared me. When he was angry, he became a different person altogether, menacing somehow.”

     “Go on.”

     “There was a man at the club once, a very wealthy man. One night, he acted more obnoxious and drunk than usual and made a pass at my mother. I remember Mama being very upset by it, perhaps because she knew what Papa would do. She went to the bathroom, but I followed Papa when he confronted the man outside the club. He shoved him up against a wall and put a knife to his privates. He told the man to never go near his wife again, that if he ever touched his wife or said a word to her, he’d kill him, then cut off his penis and balls and stuff them in his mouth.”

     Wulf whistled. “Were you frightened by that?”

     “I should’ve been, I guess, but I wasn’t. There was something very deadly and serious about my father in spite of how easygoing he was, something I never questioned or doubted.”

     “What happened after that?” 

     Mercy laughed. “The man gave us a very wide berth as you can imagine. It occurred to me much later,” she continued, “that if my father had been alive when I was raped back in college, that man might not be alive today.”

     Wulf nodded. “What about your mother? The old Nazi’s daughter fascinates me even more than your father and his reputation with the ladies.”

     With Wulf’s gentle prodding, Mercy found herself talking effortlessly about her parents. “Mama was very different from Papa. Everything was
mañana
for him, but Mama was efficient and exact. Papa called her stubborn.”

     “Not like anyone I know, huh?”

     Mercy shrugged. Efficient and exact maybe, but not stubborn. “Papa drove her mad with his purchases. Once, when I couldn’t choose between one dress or another, he insisted I get both. Mama was horrified! The value of money was very important to her. She handled the finances and was always after Papa about his expenses.”

     “You must’ve inherited that from her.”

     She looked down at her present outfit, shapeless and about five years out of date. “As I got older, I wondered why they’d been attracted to each other, coming from such disparate cultures and being such opposites.”

     “Did they ever say anything about it?”

     “Not really, although Papa said he’d been in love with Mama since the first moment he’d seen her, and Mama swore she’d had a crush on Papa since she was a little girl. They must’ve known each other a long time before they got married. It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? Mama was always so sure of herself.”

     Mercy swallowed, feeling a chill cut through her. “My mother looked like him, like Stratton. She had his chin and those ice-blue eyes.”

     “They’re totally different people. Don’t ever forget that.”

     She nodded. Now that she’d started talking about her parents, the memories flowed so easily she couldn’t stop. “I remember Mama’s eyes the most. They could freeze you where you stood. I never could lie to her when she gave me that look. It was like taking a lie detector test.”