Charades (2 page)

     Mercy tended to avoid men like the plague, actually she thought of men more like a virus—if she wasn’t exposed, she couldn’t get sick. Suddenly she felt ill.

     Several inches over six feet, his height gave him a commanding, over-powering appearance. Neither his navy blue jacket nor his khaki pants could hide the width of his shoulders or the slimness of his hips. The light blue shirt, open at the throat, set off his tanned, incredibly handsome face.

     Damn virus. Her mouth went dry, her bones were suddenly soft, and a fever and chills began to set in.

     His large, tanned hand brushed rich dark hair back from his high, broad forehead. A nervous gesture? Not likely. Intelligent blue eyes, as dark as they were mesmerizing, pinned her with a penetrating gaze through dark-framed glasses. She noted how the angular bones of his face shaped a strong jaw and a determined chin. But it was his eyes that drew her.

     Mercy made herself breathe slowly through her nose as he broke into a wide smile that radiated openness and sincerity. She pulled her gaze from his face, catching only the last bit of Hazel’s sentence.

     “…is Wulfgar Rheinhart, your fiancé for the next week. Wulf, this is Mercedes Fuentes. You may call her Mercy. I understand you go by Wulf, is that right?” Hazel guided the introductions with her usual practiced ease.

     “That is my preference,” he agreed, nodding.

     His German accent charmed Mercy right away. It reminded her of her mother and the many German students she’d tutored. If only she could view him as just another student.

     “Fine,” Hazel continued. “Please sit down.” As Wulf sat down next to her, Mercy concentrated on her breathing. Her heart beat so erratically her head swam. She tried to keep her attention on what Hazel was saying, but failed miserably. She’d never felt so self-conscious and yet so fascinated. She glanced at him, trying to keep the look casual and found those incredible blue eyes gazing back.

     “Wulf, if you would,” Hazel said, turning to him, “please tell Mercy what you require.”

     “It is simple,” he began, captivating Mercy again with his mellow baritone voice, his charming accent, and his awkward syntax.

     “Mr. Ryder and his wife have been married many years. To them, marriage is stability.” He looked directly at Mercy. “I am unhappy to say because I have no plan to marry, I would not be considered stable to them. Steiger Oil is still the best company for the job,” he insisted.

     Mercy watched, fascinated, as he pushed his glasses up on his nose with a shaky hand.
Could
he be as nervous as she?

     “I did all analyses myself,” he maintained with a small smile of obvious pride.

     “I’m sure you did,” Hazel added, nodding encouragement.

     He looked so sincere, so serious, so earnest, Mercy’s heart went out to him. She frowned. He should have plenty of girlfriends with his looks. Maybe he
did
work too hard.

     “I must make Ryder believe,” Wulf continued, “I am in the process of marrying and will soon be as stable as he wants.”

     “Doesn’t it bother you that you’re being…” Mercy hesitated, not wanting to hurt his feelings, “just a little dishonest with him?”

     “Of course.” He stiffened though his gaze remained fastened on hers. “Do you think I like this? I am only trying to stop his, his…” He ran his fingers through his hair. “
Voreinggenommenheit
.”

     “His prejudice?”

     “
Ja
, prejudice! I must be married or engaged if I want to do business with him. Me, I just want business to be business.” Mercy smiled at his problem with vocabulary and phrasing, and at his candor. “Then you’re never planning to marry?” she teased.

     “When is time? I work very hard. I think some day I marry, maybe, if the right woman is there.”

     “I’m sorry if I’m being so inquisitive,” Mercy interjected. Had she hurt his feelings? “I’ve never done anything like this before. Nor have I ever been engaged.”

     “It
is
dishonest,” he said, looking glum. “I do not like it either.”

     The dejected sound in his voice made Mercy almost forget her own fear. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. He seemed perfectly harmless, just like the nerd she had hoped he would be.

     His posture was open, arms spread, and legs extended. Mercy frowned. She, on the other hand, sat all wrapped up, her legs crossed at the knees
and
the ankles, and her arms folded across her chest with her hands tucked into them. It wasn’t hard to tell who was the uncomfortable one here. No reason to be so wary, she decided, pulling her hands from her elbows and uncrossing her ankles. Even if she felt that way.

     “Are there any other questions, Mercy?” Hazel asked.

     “I’d like to get clear on, uh, what we’re supposed to do to act like an engaged couple,” she explained, annoyed at the way the heat rose in her cheeks.

     “I think we keep it simple,” Wulf said, a frown creasing his forehead. “Maybe hold hands?” He shrugged, looking at Hazel. “Ms. Prendergast?”

     “That’s probably enough. Otherwise, just act as you normally would,” Hazel responded.

     Mercy turned to Wulf. “I’m sure Hazel told you that I’m not one of her regular employees, just a good friend doing her a big favor.”

     Hazel inclined her head like royalty.

     “Yes, Ms. Prendergast told me the circumstances and that you are the daughter of Pedro Fuentes. I think you are excellent for the job.”

     “Thank you,” she said, smiling.

     Wulf stroked his chin and nodded at her, his eyes gleaming with an unfamiliar look. “Yes. I think you are much better than a professional because of your, your…” He shook his head. “
Naturlichkeit
.”

     “My naturalness?” If it was one thing Mercy wasn’t feeling it was natural. “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

     In spite of his height and breadth, his sheer masculinity, he didn’t daunt her as much as he had when he’d first walked in. Actually, he didn’t frighten her at all now. He appeared to be just a nice guy, maybe a little too intense, but harmless.

     “I’m sure Wulf understands your misgivings,” Hazel told her. “I’ve already explained to him that you’re just a graduate student, not an actress.”

     Wulf nodded as Hazel talked, smiling at Mercy as though she was the answer to his prayers.

     “Shouldn’t we have some kind of story about how we met?” Mercy faltered, blushing again. He hadn’t mentioned anything about how they were supposed to have met or where or… Why was she the one trying to concoct a story? It wasn’t her problem, but he didn’t seem any better at pretense than she. She groaned. How were they going to ever pull this charade off?

     “I will be filling in Mr. Rheinhart on anything more he should know.” Helen volunteered. “By the way, my policy is for clients to meet here. Is nine in the morning okay?”

     “That’s fine,” Mercy agreed.

     Wulf smiled and nodded. “I will wait in the parking lot for you.”

     Hazel made quick work of the contracts and stood to signal the meeting was over.

     “Until tomorrow then,” Mercy said as she stood to leave. She wondered how this could be happening to her and when the panic would set in. Walking toward the door she tried to look self-assured, yet she felt as awkward as a newborn colt. She waved goodbye and left before she did anything klutzy.

* * *

     As the door closed behind Mercy, Wulf turned to Hazel giving her a wordless glare. Hazel arched her brows, saying nothing. He let the chilling moment of silence stretch out before he stood and strode to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

     He finally saw Mercy several stories down, walking to an old, shabby Mercedes coupe, no doubt a cast-off of Hazel’s.

     “She knows nothing, does she?” he demanded, dropping the accent and nervous gestures with relief. He was anything but nervous now. In fact, his growing sense of guilt added itself to the frustration at being coerced into Aunt Hazel’s newest scheme.

     He hated intrigue and Hazel’s dealings with the Organization had always seemed a bit cloak and dagger. He watched Mercy back the Mercedes out of its parking space, missing the fire hydrant by inches, and lurch out into the street. Mercedes Fuentes had a figure meant for a man’s exploring hands. She had eyes of such an unusual shade of green that a man could easily lose his soul in them.

     “How can I say anything when I’m not sure what the information will do to her?” Hazel shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong. She has her strengths, too. If she’s anything like her mother, she’s a lot stronger than she looks.”

     “I thought innocence went out with the Dark Ages. Is she really that naive?” he asked, walking back and sitting down with a sigh. He didn’t really expect an answer and Hazel didn’t offer one. “Go ahead. Fill me in,” he said. “I know you can’t wait.”

     Wulf held back a chuckle as Hazel made a big production of bringing out a large manila envelope and pulling a file from it. Old photographs and loose bits of paper added to the hodge-podge appearance.

     “Mercy’s grandfather is former SS General Erich Stratton, alias
der Buchhalter
,” she began. “He disappeared from Germany before the end of the war with an enormous cache of stolen gold, resurfacing in Mexico in the late 1950s under the name Suarte. The Organization traced him to his brother, Adolph Suarte, who still lives there. Unfortunately, we lost track of Stratton in the early 1970s, not long after his wife died.”

     “And where does Mercy fit into all this?”

     “I’m getting to that. Stratton’s daughter, Lisa, eloped with Pedro Fuentes. Stratton didn’t approve and disowned her. He didn’t know until now they had a child.”

     “Go on,” Wulf said impatiently.

     “Mercy’s father, Pedro Fuentes, a remarkably handsome man, as you might remember, was on the pro golf circuit and played for several years. Lisa and he eloped when he came back from his last winning tour. He had a lot of money and a good job in Dallas by then.”

     “Why is that important?”

     “Everything is important. If you—”

     “Leave it,” he interrupted. “Just finish the story.” 

     Hazel cleared her throat. “They named Mercy after her grandmother. Lisa always said she got to know her mother better through Mercy.” 

     “Why did she say that?”

     “As Mercy grew older, it became obvious she could almost pass for her grandmother’s twin.” Hazel shook her head. “This is Mercy’s grandmother, Merci Bisieux. Here.” She shoved an old black and white photo at him depicting a woman with dark hair like Mercy’s done up in a 1940s pompadour.

     “I understand she even had green eyes like Mercy’s,” Hazel continued. “The similarity is incredible. Your mother and I looked a lot alike, but not like this.”

     “Didn’t Mercy’s mother work for you for more than ten years? Did you just now connect her with Stratton?”

     “Lisa was like a second sister to me after all those years.” Hazel shook her head. “But I had no idea of her relation to Erich Stratton when I hired her. When she died three years ago I helped Mercy with all the arrangements for the funeral. I nearly had a stroke when I saw Lisa’s birth certificate. Do you know how long we’ve been hunting Stratton? It absolutely boggles the mind, particularly since I was so close to her.”

     “Why didn’t you just go after him then?”

     “It took this long to find him.”

     Wulf took a deep breath. “Why do you need me and how does this affect Mercy?”

     “Stratton demands to see his granddaughter before he’ll give us any information about the gold. At least with Mercy looking so much like his late wife, there’ll be no doubt of her identity.”

     “So, after Texas we head for Germany—why Germany? Didn’t you say you found him in Mexico?”

     “Have you ever tried to work with the Mexican government?”

     “Yes,” he admitted. “Worse than an Arab sultanate.”

     “You can see then how expensive it would be to pay all those bribes. Germany was willing to handle Stratton without cost. Besides,” Hazel continued. “Mercy has family in Mexico, if you can call them that. There’s only two decent people in the whole lot, and one of them is working for us.”

     “Okay, so what’s a few thousand miles? But why the charade? Why didn’t you just ask her to meet her grandfather in Germany and convince him to say where the gold is?”

     “Her grandfather is a notorious criminal, you know. Why would she go? And what would we do if she refused? Kidnap her?” Hazel shook her head. “You must get her to fall in love with you, then take her to Germany to meet her relatives and voila. The Organization does the rest.”

     “So,” he said, growing tired of Hazel’s intrigues, “you lie to her and get me to go along with it! …What?” he asked, noting the odd look on her face.

     Hazel sighed. “Mercy has been struggling to complete her doctorate, even taking part-time jobs and laying out a semester or two to make money. I wanted to do it this way so I could help her out and not make her feel as though it was charity.”

     “How’s she going to react when she finds out you used her? She may never forgive you.”

     Hazel was silent for a moment as she blinked up at him. “I guess I’ll just have to take that chance. Some things are worth a sacrifice.” She paused. “I’ve done it before.” He remained silent, unimpressed.

     “Well,” she said, shrugging, “if you can think of a better way to do it, I’m open to suggestions. Now it’s up to you to smooth the way between Stratton and Mercy so we can get that money.”

     Wulf took his time going over the scheme in his head.

     He took a deep breath, got up, and walked over to the plate-glass windows again. “I can’t think of a better way either. I get my oil deal and the Organization gets its gold.” He paused, turning back to Hazel and frowning.

     “Is she really as naive and innocent as she looks?” He knew how to handle women, but felt distinctly uncomfortable around such a babe-in-the-woods, even such an attractive one. His fingers itched to run through that dark, curly hair and see it spread out on a pillow. Even the glasses she pulled out when they signed the documents didn’t detract from her beauty, but served to frame her exotic green eyes.