Charades (8 page)

     Wulf had warned her about jet lag and suggested she sleep on the flight, so Mercy put on her eye mask, snuggled down in her seat, leaned her head on his shoulder, and let out a sigh. The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind and she’d barely slept last night.

     The excitement still bubbled. She’d only been out of the state of Texas a few times, and never across an ocean to another continent. Hazel’s insistence that she get a passport in case she wanted to travel after completing her dissertation was a godsend.

     Germany! After having studied German literature for so long, she longed to visit all those places she’d read about in books. Her mother’s parents came from Germany, but she knew nothing about them. Her mother had never really talked about her parents, and she hadn’t been the most inquisitive of children. Her parents had not been interested in the past, only the future.

     Wulf’s family lived in Germany, though, and they’d be her family now. Mercy delighted in that, having missed the feeling of family since her parents’ deaths. Who would she meet? His father and mother, of course. But did he have any sisters or brothers? She’d ask him, but she was feeling wonderfully drowsy, warm, and secure sitting next to her future husband.

     Wulf watched Mercy sleep, his heart crumbling in his chest at the way she’d curled up like a kitten next to him. Her dark, glossy curls reached out, calling to him, begging him to twirl them around his fingers. Her face, serene as a Madonna, pleaded for his touch. He’d never seen such beautiful, clear skin, the light olive complexion showing just a hint of color in her cheeks. It still mesmerized him that she didn’t wear makeup except for a little lipstick and mascara. Her naturally animated looks came through in spite of her efforts to downplay them.

     Why hadn’t Hazel taken her in hand and gotten her to dress better? And somewhere in her past, she’d been hurt by a man, seriously hurt. Anyone who could harm someone like her had to be a real bastard. But wouldn’t he ultimately do the same thing? For the millionth time, Wulf wished he felt just good, old-fashioned lust. That would’ve been so much easier to deal with than this damnable twisting, stabbing feeling he experienced every time he looked at her. His tortured conscience pleaded silently for time to stop. Hell, until now he hadn’t even known he had a conscience.

     Even if he could go back, it wouldn’t help. He’d worked too long and too hard for his father’s acceptance to change anything, in spite of how he felt about Mercy. The money the Organization obtained for Israel would definitely better his relationship with his father. Wasn’t that what he’d always wanted?

     Mercy sighed in her sleep and rubbed her head against his shoulder. For the first time, Wulf found himself totally out of his element. She held all the high cards, and he held nothing. He, the consummate negotiator, had been defeated by a woman, one who held his heart in her hand and didn’t even know it.

     He wasn’t sure how the Organization planned to handle her once they reached Germany and before he knew her, he hadn’t cared. Knowing Hazel, she had probably arranged it so Mercy would feel guilty if she didn’t meet her grandfather and reveal whatever she learned from him to the Organization. He didn’t need to know the whole scenario, Wulf thought cynically. He just had to get her there. Now, he’d be damned if he was going to let them bully or intimidate her.

     Wulf settled himself in his seat, listening to the lulling hum of the powerful engines and the murmured conversations in the cabin. There was little hope that something, anything, would allow her to continue to love him the way she did now. Once she knew how he’d deceived her. Wulf swallowed his self-disgust and pulled Mercy closer, laying his cheek against her satin curls.

* * *

     After landing in the bustling Frankfurt airport and making it through German customs, they took a shuttle to Berlin, where Wulf hired a BMW sedan. They automatically slipped into speaking German. Mercy clearly reveled in the chance to use her language skills. Her fascination with all the new sights and sounds from the airport to downtown Berlin caused Wulf to chuckle in amusement. It was as though she was trying to visually gobble everything as quickly as possible.

     “You act like a little girl at the circus for the first time,” he told her.

     “I know. I’m so excited, I think I could burst.”

     “Wait until we get to the hotel, okay?”

     “When will I meet your family?” Mercy asked as soon as they’d registered at the small, but elegant, hotel off the Kurfurstendamm, the main boulevard in Berlin. “I want to make a good impression. Are you sure they’ll like me?”

     He had half a heart to turn her around and take her right back to America. “We’ll see them tomorrow in Potsdam. I wanted to have a little time alone with you first. Today we should just get out and do a little walking. Would you like that?”

     “Oh, yes,” she breathed, her eyes sparkling. Her nervousness and clumsiness, he noticed, had decreased over the last week, and she’d stopped wearing her glasses except to read. The dazed look of wonder and love on her face, however, hadn’t disappeared yet. If only it never would!

     When the bellboy at the hotel showed them to their connecting rooms, Wulf insisted they switch. “My room is bigger and better than yours. You must take mine instead. I insist.”

     “If you say so,” Mercy agreed, pleased with the spare elegance of their rooms. “To be really fair, though, you should have the larger one. You’re much bigger than I am.”

     “No. I want you to have the better room,” he said as he smiled and closed the connecting door.

     Mercy unpacked in a frenzy, bursting to get out and see the fascinating city of Berlin. So much history contained in one small area! To her, only the Great Wall of China vied for supremacy with the famous Berlin Wall, even though it had almost all disappeared.

     Wulf opened the door when she knocked and pulled her into his arms. Oh, God, she loved the way he kissed. So passionate, yet so gentle; so hungry, yet so unhurried. When their lips parted, she had a hard time refocusing her thoughts. Would it always be like this? Mercy noticed him glancing at the bed. Was he thinking of seducing her? It wouldn’t be too hard to do at this point, she thought, feeling the flush of heat rise to her cheeks. If he suggested they anticipate their marriage vows, she knew she wouldn’t resist, in spite of her worries about her performance. She felt a vague disappointment when he pushed her away.

     “Let’s go,” Wulf said, his voice sounded hoarse even to his ears. He needed to leave. Now. Maybe they shouldn’t have adjoining rooms after all. How in the hell would he sleep knowing only a slim door separated them—an unlocked one at that?

     Outside on the sidewalk, Mercy spun around and said, “It’s a shame we can’t stay in Berlin a little longer before we leave for Potsdam. I’m dying to see everything, the Brandenburg Gate, the Reichstag, and all the other famous sights. Is there much left of the old wall?”

     He grinned, looking forward to seeing the sights through her unsophisticated eyes. “There are parts of the wall left in certain outlying areas. Don’t forget the wall measured well over a foot thick in some places and surrounded all of Berlin, miles and miles of it. It’s going to take a lot of jack-hammers a long time to tear it all down. I could probably find you an old Russian uniform or some Russian medals as souvenirs.”

     “No,” Mercy laughed. “I just want to absorb the mood, the smells, and the dazzle of Berlin. It’s a fascinating city, isn’t it?”

     Her eyes shone up at him. Damn! He wanted to give her anything and everything she could ever desire. Instead, Wulf tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and walked them past the up-scale fashion stores on the way to the burnt-out tower of the Kaiser Wilhelm Gedachtniskirche.

     He noticed her glancing back. “Would you like to go in one of the stores?” He’d like nothing better than to drown her in
haute couture
designer outfits that flattered instead of detracted.

     “No, not yet. There’s plenty of time for shopping. But soon, okay? I won’t buy anything. I just want to look.”

     “That’s right.
You
won’t buy anything.
I
will. Come on. I want to see that outfit on you.” He pointed to a moss green suit in the Escada window. He could just imagine what that color would do to her green eyes.

     “No, no,” Mercy protested, laughing and pointing at the old ruin. “That’s much higher on my list of to-do’s than shopping. Let’s go there first.”

     When they reached the monument she stood quiet, like thousands of others who had been overcome by the bleakness of the charred ruin, a fitting monument to the futility of war.

     “It makes me shiver with revulsion for those responsible and ache with pity for the innocent,” she finally said. “How do the people live here every day with this kind of memorial?”

     “They are used to it,” he said, shrugging. No one had ever asked him a question like that. He’d lived in Berlin for a year and had never thought about the monument.

     “Berliners are a breed apart from other Germans,” he tried to explain. “It comes from living in a city with a split-personality.”

     They spent nearly two hours at the monument, reading the inscriptions and visiting the nearby church and bell tower. Afterward, they walked past the
Zoogarten
on their way back to their hotel.

     After dinner, as he kissed her good night, Wulf again felt pressed beyond his limits. Such natural, trusting confidence made him want to gnash his teeth in frustration. Their long, slow kiss before he released her to go to her room set his pulses hammering and his nerves humming. If he didn’t watch himself, his control would reach its limit.

* * *

     It was the sound that woke him, the muffled ping so close to his ear. Wulf half sat up and glanced at the pillow next to him. Where his head should have been—would have been a moment earlier if he hadn’t been so restless—was a hole. A bullet hole.

     Quickly, Wulf rolled from the bed to the floor and scanned the room. Nothing. Whoever had shot at him was gone, melting into the night as if he had never been. But the hole was still there. He glanced at the clock—two a. m. What time was it back in the states? Hell, who cared? Wulf grabbed the phone, dialed a number, and stared at the hole. Who wanted him dead? His stomach clenched as he almost dropped the phone. No one wanted him dead. Mercy was supposed to be in this room.

     A sleepy voice answered the persistent ringing.

     “Anton?” Wulf took a deep breath, his fingers shaking. “Anton. It’s me, Wulf. Hang on just a minute.” He set down the phone and went to the connecting door, opening it just wide enough to see Mercy still sleeping. As he watched, she muttered something and turned on her side. He went back to the phone. “Anton? You still there?”

     Wulf sat down on the chair beside his bed. He wished he smoked. He needed a cigarette. One with no filter and a harsh, biting tobacco.

     “What’s going on?” Anton demanded in a sleepy voice.

     “Someone just tried to kill me.” The words sounded unreal. But the bullet hole in the pillow beside him was no dream.

     “Are you okay?” his boss and mentor asked, all evidence of sleep gone.

     “Whoever it was is gone now. Damn, I wished I smoked. I think a cigarette would stop me from shaking,” he said, letting out his breath.

     Anton snorted. “I had a bad feeling about this stupid charade.”

     “I know, I know, you told me,” Wulf gritted out, “but Hazel never said it would be dangerous. Damn it, it’s not even me they’re trying to kill. The bullet was meant for Mercy, Stratton’s granddaughter.”

     “Well,” Anton reminded him, “maybe next time you’ll listen to me and tell Hazel to shove it.”

     “That doesn’t matter now, damn it!” He heard the fear in his voice and strained to quell it. Hell! This was the first time he’d ever been shot at; he had a right to feel shaky.

     “The question you should be asking yourself is who and why?” Anton asked.

     “What are you saying?”

     “Who’s trying to kill her and, more importantly, why?”

     “You’re right. Why, indeed?” He thought it over for several moments. Hazel had assured him this venture would be perfectly harmless.

     “Well, whatever this is about, it’s the Organization’s problem, not yours.”

     Wulf took a deep breath, trying to untie the knots in his stomach. “You don’t understand. I think I’m in love with her. Aw, hell! I
am
in love with her.” The truth felt like a slap in the face with a cold, wet towel.

     Anton whistled. “When did
that
happen?”

     “Damned if I know.” Wulf ran his fingers through his hair.

     “Does she know?”

     “Yes, I’ve told her. Of course, I didn’t mean it at the time. Hell, I didn’t even know it was the truth until just now. Can you believe that?” He laughed without humor, and looked again at the bullet hole. “By God, I’ll kill the pig who did this if I ever find out who he was.”

     “Take it easy,” Anton chortled. “Never wrestle with a pig. You both get dirty, and the pig is the only one who enjoys it.”

     Wulf took another deep breath, the frantic pounding of his heart beginning to lessen. “Yeah, well, a brush with death has a way of narrowing one’s enjoyment of life, let me tell you.”

     “Okay, I hear you. The way I look at it, you’ve got two choices. One, tell Hazel to go to hell and bring Mercy back to the States, or two, find out who the bastard is and kill him. Believe me, number one is a whole lot easier than number two.”

     Talking with Anton had a way of focusing Wulf ’s thoughts. Yes, Anton was hard-bitten and could often be crude, but the man definitely had a way of putting things in perspective, no matter whether he was acting as mentor, friend, or boss.

     “Isn’t Stratton supposed to be sitting on a lot of money?” Anton asked. “There’s your reason right there. Money.”

     “But why try to kill Mercy?”

     “Didn’t you tell me she’s the only known link to Stratton? Maybe there’s another ‘link’ that wants to remove her from the picture.”