Charades (27 page)

     Mercy smiled at him. “It hasn’t done either of us any harm.”

     Anton snorted. “If my mother’s looking down from heaven, she’s probably doing handstands and backward flips. Until today, I thought I was an atheist.” He stared at Mercy. “Wulf loves you, you know. I could tell from the first time he mentioned your name. You’re different from the other women he’s known.”

     She frowned. “I was under the impression Wulf hadn’t dated many women. He told me that all his life it was only study, study, study, work, work, work.”

     Anton let out a bark of laughter. “Not bloody likely!” Glancing at her face, he laughed again. “I’m sorry. The idea of Wulf not knowing many women is funny. He had to fight them off with a baseball bat!” He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, patting her hand. “I didn’t think anything could make me laugh on a day like today.”

     Mercy turned and looked out the window of the cab at the black night and the bright lights of Luxembourg. “Oh, Wulf,” she mumbled in a low voice, shaking her head. “You have so much to answer for, and I’m going to take you to task over every single thing.”

     By five the next morning Mercy and Anton were both in a taxi going back to the hospital. Before she went in for her visit, the nun told her in a soft voice, “Do not pay such strict attention to
Soeur
Philomena. Take a little longer if you wish. It probably does not hurt, and who knows, it just might help.”

     She glanced at the monitoring equipment, hearing the metallic pings and clangs in the background. Wulf’s position hadn’t changed, and he looked the same—still, silent.

     “Oh, Wulf,” she said, stroking the back of his hand. “I wish you’d quit frightening me. I wish you’d get up and get out of that bed right now, you great big oaf. Can’t you see you’re scaring me witless? Say something!”

     “I can’t.”

          Mercy’s knees buckled. She gripped the bed to keep from slumping to the floor.

     “Wulf! You’re awake!” she gasped in a raspy voice. She had to restrain herself from screaming in delight or grabbing him, hugging him, and jumping up and down.

     The effort of opening his eyes looked as though it wore on him. Closing them again, he took a long breath and let out a sigh. “You talk a lot,” he said, his voice sounding even raspier than hers.

     Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” She leaned over his bedside and smoothed the hair from his face. Just to touch him, to feel him! She groped for words as tears ran freely down her cheeks. She hastily brushed them away. Oh, God, she had been so worried for so long. “I’ll shut up if you want me to,” she said in a shaky voice, “but I’m just so glad you’re alive. I think I’ve aged ten years waiting for you to wake up.”

     “Keep talking,” he finally rasped out after several long minutes before falling back to sleep.

     Thank you, God!

* * *

     On the tenth day after Wulf had awakened from his coma, he decided since no one was there to dissuade him, he would get out of bed. He eased his legs over the edge of the bed and nearly passed out.

    
Soeur
Bernadette came in just then. “Put your head between your legs,” she ordered gruffly. Wulf barely heard her.

     “You deserve to faint for this,” she scolded him, roughly shoving his head down between his legs.

     He would rather die than admit she was right. He kept his head down until the lights flashing in the periphery of his vision slowly dimmed and then disappeared.

    
Soeur
Bernadette towered over him with her hands on her hips. “So, the patient thinks he knows better than the doctors.” Wulf raised his head, the dizziness not as bad. “Show me,
m’sieur
strong man,” she motioned with a sweeping gesture, “how you stand up and walk all by yourself.” She glared at him, daring him.

     Wulf gathered his energy, strength, and courage in hand and slowly stood up, rocking a little before he got his balance. More dizziness nearly floored him, but he resisted it.

     “Maybe I won’t walk yet,” he huffed. “Tomorrow, I’ll walk. See if I don’t,” he said, still swaying a bit.

    
Soeur
Bernadette smiled. “Already you defy your doctors and live,” she said with a shrug. “You will probably defy your doctors again and walk before you should. Who knows? Maybe it is not you but your guardian angel who is holding you up.”

     Wulf grinned widely at her.

     “Sit down, before you fall down,” she said in annoyance, waving him back to bed. “I don’t want to have to pick you up.”

     Wulf sat down feeling as though he had run a marathon.

     Mercy peeked around
Soeur
Bernadette’s large form. Although
Soeur
Bernadette looked none too pleased, she gave another shrug and left them alone.

     “You’re feeling much better, I see.”

     “Yes. I just stood up on my own.”

     “That’s great. Soon you’ll be walking.”

     “You’re damn right I will,” Wulf grinned at her. “Come here so I can kiss you. In fact,” he said as she flew across the room to him, “when are we going to be married so you can put me out of my misery?” He kissed her soundly, letting his lips tell her everything he wanted to say but so often couldn’t. It had to have been two whole weeks now since they had last made love. Maybe more! All he knew was he was damn tired of waking up ready for action with no Mercy to act upon.

     Mercy pushed back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Before we take that final step, Mr. Rheinhart, we have some unfinished business between us,” she said, “and you know it!”

     “Speaking of unfinished business, I can think of several interesting things I’d like to finish with you,” Wulf teased, a hungry leer on his face.

     She reached up and held his face with her two hands, gazing at him with determination. “We’re not doing anything until we resolve our differences.”

     “What differences?” he asked, his eyes gleaming at her as he reached for the palm of her hand and placed several nips on it. Mercy gasped and her eyes widened. Wulf pulled her close, her body half onto his bed.

     “Are we interrupting?” Hazel asked from the doorway as she floated into the room, followed by Anton.

     Mercy blushed as she tried to extricate herself. Wulf just grinned and held her firmly in place.

     “If you heard anything, you heard me tell Mercy I want to marry her as soon as I can walk a few steps. I think the end of this week should do.” He squeezed Mercy, wanting, no needing, to touch her all over. That was impossible given the present company, but he was nothing if not a very patient man.

     “You’ll need more strength than that,” Anton teased.

     Suddenly they heard a knock on the door.

     “Come in,” Wulf said, not taking his eyes off Mercy. When he realized how silent the room had become, he looked over her shoulder to see his father glowering in the doorway.

     “I heard you were at death’s door,” Jacob grumped, looking around.

     Wulf’s body tensed at his father’s voice. It always seemed to carry the distinctive mixture of disapproval and disdain.

     “Come in. I believe you know Anton and Hazel,” Wulf said. His stomach tightened. “And this is my fiancée, Mercy Fuentes.”

     “How do you do, Mr. Steinberg,” Mercy said, reaching out her hand.

     Jacob nodded at her indifferently, his gaze floating over to Hazel. Neither said a word to the other.

     “Why don’t we leave Wulf alone with his father?” Mercy suggested. “We’ll be in the family lounge if you need anything.” She kissed him and shooed Hazel and Anton out.

     “Saul says you almost died,” Jacob began, looking away.

     “That’s right,” Wulf said, nodding. He couldn’t imagine what Jacob wanted with him after all this time. It was odd. He didn’t seem to care anymore what Jacob thought.

     “I’m glad to see you’re all right.” Jacob’s eyes darted around again as if he couldn’t get comfortable.

     “I plan to be up and around by the end of this week,” Wulf informed him. “I have a wedding to attend. Mine.”

     “Oh? Your fiancée is Jewish, I presume.”

     “Technically, I guess she is, but she was raised Catholic. I haven’t discussed it all with her yet.” Wulf shrugged, “Maybe we’ll get a priest
and
a rabbi to officiate.”

     “How can she be Jewish and want a priest?”

     Wulf sighed, trying to be patient. “Her parents raised her Catholic. She only recently found out she was Jewish through her mother. Saul’s grandfather even made a locket for her great-great-grandmother when she was a baby. Small world, huh?”

     “I don’t understand,” Jacob persisted. “If she knows she’s Jewish, why would she still want a priest?”

     “I just assume she’ll want one. It doesn’t matter to me whether she wants one or not.”

     Jacob drew back, his body stiff and unyielding.

     “I made a mistake coming here.” Jacob scanned the room as though seeing it for the first time. “I should’ve left the past alone.” He shook his head, opened the door, and started to leave.

     For the first time since his father had turned his back on him, Wulf didn’t feel the familiar gut-wrenching loss. Hell, he actually felt sorry for his adopted mother. Imagine being married to someone as rigid and narrow-minded as Jacob Steinberg!

     Jacob turned around to look at him before he left, as if expecting Wulf to beg him to stay or apologize for his words.

     “Good-bye,” Wulf said quietly. He watched Jacob turn and leave, the door closing behind him.

     Well, that was that, Wulf thought, taking a deep breath. Or was it? Who the hell is my real father? He picked up his phone. “Find Hazel Prendergast and tell her to get back in this room,” he told the nurse. “Immediately!”

          What an idiot he was! If anyone knew what or how his mother had adopted him, Hazel would. Had he been so determined to get Jacob’s love and approval he had ignored the obvious? He shook his head in dismay.

     Hazel came into the room looking so unsure of herself he almost laughed. His normally flamboyant, outspoken aunt looking uncertain was a comical sight.

     “Relax, Hazel. I just have some questions. What do you know about my adoption? Do you know who my real father is?”

     Hazel sighed. “Anton is.”

     “Anton!” Wulf grabbed the railing of the bed.

     “I’m sorry I never told you before,” she rushed to say before he could complete his thought. “You were so determined to reach out to Jacob, I was afraid to tell you the truth. After Juliette’s death I did everything I could to get you and Anton together. I thought you two would at least like each other if nothing else.”

     Hazel looking apologetic was as funny as Hazel looking uncertain. Wulf would have laughed out loud, but he enjoyed having the upper hand with his wily aunt for the first time in a long time.

     “Even you have to admit you two work great together,” she said with a hint of defensiveness.

     He shook his head. “God, Hazel. I don’t know whether to kill you or thank you.” He looked intently at her. “You’re sure?”

     “Positive.” She smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Has no one ever mentioned how much you two resemble each other?”

     “No. Never. Oh, sure, our personalities have been compared before, but never our looks.”

     “Your personalities are nothing alike,” Hazel insisted, sniffing haughtily. “Anton is a tyrant. You’re just devious.”

     “Thanks for the back-handed compliment, I think. You know,” Wulf reflected, “now that I think about it, we are about the same height and build,” he laughed suddenly. “And for sure, Anton has me beat by at least a pound or two.”

     “A pound or two! He’s almost
fat
. You should’ve seen him in the old days when he was lifting weights and dodging bullets. He was gorgeous! Well, at least I thought so,” she amended. “I was an operative of his in London and Poland. I suppose I was always fascinated by espionage because of my own father.”

     “Your father? What do you mean?”

     “Don’t you remember once saying I was worse than the famous Sir Reginald Hartring?”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Sir Reginald Hartring, the great spymaster during World War II, was your grandfather.”

     “You mean my real mother was one of his daughters?”

     “Yes. He was
our
father, Juliette’s and mine.”

     “But Juliette adopted me, didn’t she?” It took a few moments for the implication to sink in. “Then you… You’re not my aunt,” Wulf said looking at her in astonishment. “You’re my mother. Well, I’ll be damned!”

     “Please don’t hate me,” Hazel pleaded. “Juliette was a wonderful mother to you, the best mother anyone could’ve ever had. I would have been abysmal. You can see that, can’t you?”

     He slowly nodded. “This is a lot to take in.” He whistled in wonder, shaking his head, “Sir Reginald Hartring. So my deviousness is an inherited trait, isn’t it?” He smiled, then finally laughed out loud as Hazel gazed at him, her smile luminous with relief. As he laughed, the wariness and uncertainty slipped from Hazel’s face, replaced by the familiar pride and haughtiness.

     She continued. “After I became pregnant with you, I had to stop my work with Anton. Fortunately, there were others I knew who could help me further my career. Anton had already taught me the basics. He was the best in those days. I felt very lucky to know him. He became disgusted with the espionage business before the cold war finally ended and went into private business. Industrial espionage can be just as exciting as governmental espionage, you know. There’s all the usual stuff, sabotage, infiltration, and demolition.”

     “Industrial espionage?”

     “There’s a reason why Anton is so security conscious.” Hazel’s eyebrow raised meaningfully.

     Wulf flushed. They had the best damn security setup he’d ever seen, no expense barred.

     “Anton never knew about you until now, you know.”