Take Me Home (9781455552078) (24 page)

But she hadn't been home.

Olivia's mother had quickly ushered him inside, offered him a bite to eat, and apologized for her daughter's decision to break their engagement. Elizabeth had argued that it was only cold feet, that Olivia would eventually come around if he'd just be patient; but then, she hadn't watched Olivia kiss another man in the middle of the street. When John had come home, he'd seemed sympathetic, shaking Billy's hand in a sort of commiseration, but only to a point. Grace had watched silently from across the room. When Elizabeth asked Billy if he wanted to stay for dinner, his discomfort had become so great that he'd turned down the invitation.

Instead, he had decided to wait around outside.

Billy glanced down at his watch; it was too dark for him to see it clearly, but he knew that hours had passed. For a while, the streets had been filled with those celebrating Germany's surrender. Earlier, he thought that he'd seen someone heading toward the house from the opposite direction, but he hadn't gotten a good look and no lights had come on in the house, so he figured that he'd been mistaken.

“Where is she?” he muttered to himself.

The more time that passed, the more frustrated Billy became. Earlier, he had considered giving up and going home, but his stubbornness kept him there, watching and waiting. Deep in his gut, he knew that with every passing moment, Olivia was slipping further away.

Is she still with
him
? She has to be…What are they doing?

The answer to that last question made Billy's stomach churn, so he quickly tried to put it out of his head, though he wasn't having much luck.

But then, Billy heard the unmistakable sound of footfalls.

Peering into the darkness, he saw her. It was Olivia…and it looked like she was running from something…

Or someone…

Right behind Olivia was Peter. Incredibly after what Billy had seen that afternoon, she didn't seem to want to be with him. It looked like she was crying. When Peter reached her, he grabbed her arm and refused to let go no matter how much she protested. Olivia was shouting, but she was faced away from Billy and he couldn't make out what she was saying.

Seeing her, his lifelong friend and the woman he'd loved for as long as he could remember, suffer, infuriated him. He felt the overwhelming urge to come to her aid, to protect her, to make her see how much she meant to him.

Staying to the shadows, he started to move closer. His eyes never left them. Billy's mind concocted all sorts of explanations for their behavior; he finally decided that Peter had made unwanted advances toward Olivia, that he was trying to take her against her will. Billy's hands clenched into fists. At any moment, he expected them to see him coming, but neither seemed to notice.

Billy sprang out from the darkness; his weight slammed into Peter hard enough to knock the man down. He threw a blind punch that connected and made his hand throb with pain. Through it all, he didn't say a word, determined to protect Olivia. Silently, Billy swore to himself that he would make this man pay for the trouble he had caused, not only for trying to steal Olivia's honor, but also for what he'd done to Billy's hopes and dreams, for leaving them in tatters.

P
ETER NEVER SAW
the attack coming. He had been so intent on Olivia, wondering what decision she was going to make, that he was completely unaware when a figure came roaring out of the darkness and crashed into him. The blow was enough to knock him down; he landed awkwardly on the sidewalk. Somewhere in there, a punch clipped his jaw; it wasn't solid, but it still stung.

What in the hell…?

His first thought was that it was Otto. Even with all that had happened the last couple of days, from his trip to the cabin, Germany's surrender, as well as making love with Olivia, he'd never stopped thinking about his fellow prisoner. If the brutal Nazi had been watching from the shadows, it was certainly possible, maybe even likely, that he had noticed his former cuffmate. Maybe he'd come for revenge on Peter for abandoning him.

But through the blizzard of wild, ineffectual punches, he soon understood that his assumption was wrong. It wasn't Otto but Billy Tate; Olivia's former fiancé had every reason to hate him and now seemed hell-bent on making his rival pay for stealing away his bride-to-be.

“Stay away from her!” Billy shouted, his eyes narrow and determined. “I won't let you hurt her any more than you have.”

Straddling Peter, Billy kept raining down punches, determined to hurt his opponent, but it was obvious that he'd never been in a fight before. It was more like he was throwing a fit, as if he was a child having a tantrum. It didn't help that he was so thin, almost gangly, and therefore had little weight behind his blows. Reaching out, Peter grabbed one of the other man's wrists and yanked him to the side; Billy fell off and both men scrambled to their feet.

“Billy, stop it!” Olivia shouted.

But her old friend wasn't listening. “I saw him forcing himself on you,” he answered. “He wouldn't let you go!”

Before Olivia could respond, Billy was back on the attack. One after the other, Peter swatted away his punches, but never fought back. The sad truth was that he pitied the man. Even if Olivia had accepted Billy's proposal in error, that didn't mean that his pain wasn't genuine; no one, man or woman, wanted his or her love to be rejected. Knowing how much Olivia still cared for Billy, the last thing Peter wanted was to hurt him.

Billy was doing enough of that on his own.

Olivia could not believe what she was seeing. Moments before, she'd been struggling to decide what to do about the revelation that Peter was an escaped German prisoner of war. The love she felt for him was beginning to overwhelm her sense of duty to tell her father, but just as she was about to admit to her doubts, Billy had rushed out of the darkness and begun attacking Peter. No matter how much she yelled at him to stop, he seemed intent on a fight.

But Peter had no such interest.

Every time Billy threw a punch, Peter pushed it away. He kept moving backward and to the side, trying to stay out of range. Olivia could see that it wasn't cowardice, but rather a conscious choice not to fight back. Even when Billy landed a lucky punch, the blow striking high on Peter's chest, he didn't react as might have been expected. He didn't sneer or spit out a curse. His hands never balled into fists. Though Olivia knew that Peter could have easily bested Billy, he chose not to; instead, he kept looking over at her, his eyes imploring.

It was up to her to stop this.

“Billy!” she shouted, stepping forward. “Stop this! Stop!”

Olivia grabbed Billy's shoulder, but he was so intent on gaining his revenge that he didn't notice her. When he reared back to throw yet another ineffectual punch, his elbow struck her arm. Olivia wobbled and was certain that she was going to fall. But then, just as she began to tip over, a pair of hands grabbed her, and held her up. Only when she'd regained her balance did Olivia realize that
both
Peter and Billy had come to her rescue.

“Let go of her,” Billy demanded of Peter, looking as if he meant for the one-sided brawl to start again.

But Olivia was having none of it. Pulling herself free from both men's grasp, she stepped between them, her attention focused on Billy. “What were you thinking? You don't just start hitting someone like that!” she snapped, a finger rising in rebuke; with each word, she kept coming forward, forcing Billy to retreat. “Have you completely lost your senses?!”

“But…but he was hurting you…” Billy stammered. “I saw you running from him, heard you shouting…I wanted to protect you…”

“We were having a disagreement, that's all,” Olivia explained, though she knew that the truth was much more complicated.

Quickly, she glanced at Peter; from the look on his face, she understood that he expected her to tell Billy who he really was. Olivia knew it would be easy to do just that. Still, she didn't reveal his secret. It made her wonder if she hadn't already made her decision.

“That's not what it looked like to me,” Billy argued, a little defensively. “I thought that you were trying to get away and that he wouldn't let you go.”

The sincerity in her friend's voice, how badly he wanted to protect her, made Olivia feel terrible. She couldn't help but think about all the pain she'd caused him. The worst part was knowing that there was more; she had chosen to make love, for the first time in her life, to another man.

“Billy…” she soothed, wanting to calm him, to take away his anger. “I wasn't in any danger. Peter would never hurt me.”

“You don't know that,” he corrected her. “Like I told you before, you don't know anything about him.” Billy stared daggers at Peter, his words full of accusation. “Why is every­thing about him so secretive? I doubt that he's anything like who he claims to be.”

You have no idea how right you are…

But then, just as Olivia was trying to figure out how to respond, not wanting to lie but unsure what else she could do, Peter suddenly shouted, “Dear God!”

She was shocked to find that he wasn't even looking at her and Billy, but staring past them. Turning around, Olivia screamed.

Her house was on fire.

Otto heard the woman's scream and smiled in the darkness. He had been watching Peter Becker and the two people with him for a few moments, pausing as he retreated from the now-burning home. He wondered if his old compatriot understood how much danger he was in, that his death was coming, a moment as inevitable as the train crash that had bought them both their freedom.

Behind him, flames began to consume the home. They licked hungrily, their colors shifting with the intensity of their heat, climbing higher, their desire for consumption nearly unquenchable. Thick, black smoke began to billow up into the night sky, blotting out the moon and stars, carried away on the wind.

To Otto, it was beautiful.

Ever since he had discovered Becker living among the Amerikaners, pretending that he was one of them, Otto had kept a close eye on the man. It had been risky to move about in broad daylight, but he was determined to make the traitor pay. At the same time, he hadn't wanted to neglect his duty to his Führer; to do so would've made him no better than the deserter he was pursuing. In the end, he'd decided to do both.

But it hadn't been without some confusion.

That afternoon, having followed Becker from where he was staying to a restaurant, he'd been surprised when people began to rush out into the street, shouting, clapping, and even singing. Clearly, it was a celebration. Deep down, Otto knew what it must mean; the Japanese had surrendered.
Mischling
bastards! Those weak, yellow vermin had ridden far on Germany's coattails, but Otto had always known it was a matter of time before their mongrel cowardice made them surrender. Still, with them out of the war, that meant that the Amerikaners could focus entirely upon the conflict in Europe; Otto vowed to redouble his efforts to hurt them here at home.

Becker had come outside to revel with the Amerikaners. He'd been with a woman, a pretty young thing who must have caught the traitor's fancy. At the edges of the celebrating townspeople, Otto had had to be cautious not to be seen too clearly, so his attention had drifted back and forth to Becker and the woman. Therefore, when he'd happened upon them kissing passionately in the middle of the street, it had been a surprise. But even to a man as jaded as Otto, the sight had brought a smile to his face. It was a revelation.

He'd found the means to his vengeance.

Otto had followed them from a distance when they left the center of town. Arriving at a residence, they'd gone inside; Otto knew that it had to be the woman's home. He hadn't waited around for long. He'd known just what to do.

Under the cover of night, he had returned with a large canister of gasoline he'd stolen. He'd waited in the bushes, anxious to act but still patient, watching as each light in the house went out one by one. Then, Otto had walked around the perimeter of the house and splashed the flammable liquid everywhere. He coated the walls and pooled it on the porch. He poured it on the doors that led to the cellar. He used every last drop.

The only surprise had been to discover
another
police car in the drive. Becker must have gone straight to the authorities when he'd come into town. Why else would he be consorting with the law? Otto could feel the pistol in his waistband, the weapon he had stolen from the Amerikaner he'd murdered. If he succeeded in killing another lawman, surely that would mean there weren't many more left to oppose him.

Finally, Otto had lit a match and dropped it into the puddle of gasoline at his feet. He watched as the flame raced forward as if it were a living thing, like a wolf running after its prey. It practically leaped at the house. Within seconds, the fire had already spread to the point where he knew it couldn't be extinguished.

Now, as he watched Becker, Otto felt a pang of disappointment to see that the woman was with him; he'd wanted her to burn. Her death would've hurt his fellow soldier, something he greatly desired. The traitor had to suffer. Still, it pleased him that she would have to stand by and watch helplessly as her family went up in flames.

“Heil Hitler,” Otto hissed before hurrying away into the dark night.

Peter was amazed by how fast the fire spread. As he watched, flames raced up the outside of the Marstens' home, rising higher and higher with every passing second. The blaze grew so quickly that he wondered if it wouldn't soon burn out, like a match; but a match had only a stick to consume, while this conflagration had an entire house. In the black of midnight, the fire was painfully bright. But he knew that it was anything but beautiful; it was deadly.

Suddenly, like a lightning bolt, Peter knew what had happened.

It was Otto! It had to be!

Peter spun around, looking for the Nazi. He peered into the dark shadows, but there was nothing, no one there. Still, he had no doubts.

But why had he chosen the Marstens?

A sickening feeling filled Peter's stomach. Otto had seen him. He'd noticed him with Olivia and was striking at her and her family to get to him.

“No!” Olivia screamed. “Mom! Dad! No!”

Without a moment's hesitation, she was off, running frantically for the house. Peter followed, his mind reeling. Faintly, he heard the sound of Billy's footfalls behind him, their brawl forgotten.

Before they had even reached the Marstens' property, Peter felt a wall of heat wash over them. Smoke burned his eyes and lungs. He heard the sound of a window breaking. The American flag that flew from the post near the door vanished before their eyes. Shielding his face with his arm, he kept expecting to see someone come out of the house, to see John struggle outside with his wife and younger daughter, all of them covered in sweat and coughing, but nothing stirred. His hopes quickly began to fade.

“Let's go!” Olivia shouted, her voice hysterical with fear. “We have to save them!” But when she started to run for the house, Peter grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?” she screamed. “They'll die if we don't do something!”

“If we go inside, there's a good chance that we'll be the ones who don't make it out!” he argued.

“I don't care!” Olivia shouted, and he knew that she meant it.

Looking into her eyes, Peter made a decision. He had already risked so much in order to share in her life, had come to love her more than he ever would've thought possible, that he realized he couldn't refuse her. When he'd pulled Olivia out of the way of the runaway truck, the Marstens had taken him in and nursed him back to health. Even though much of what they knew of him was a lie, how could he refuse to help them now, when they needed him the most?

Turning around, Peter found Billy staring dumbly at the fire. The gangly young man looked to be in a state of shock. He had to shout Billy's name twice to get his attention.

“Go to the neighbors and call for help,” he commanded. “Someone may have already contacted the fire department, but assume they haven't.” Billy nodded absently but he still stood transfixed. “Now!” Peter shouted.

Billy frowned, making Peter wonder if he was about to disagree with him; if it happened, he swore that
this
time, he wouldn't hold back his fist. But finally, Billy did as he was told and started off for Ruth Pollack's house.

Peter still had hold of Olivia's arm; as distraught as she was, he'd been afraid to let her go even for an instant, fearful that she would try to run into the burning house. When he looked at her, her eyes were filled with tears.

“I'll go get them,” he said.

“I'm coming with you,” she insisted.

Peter shook his head. “Someone needs to be here when they come out. They may be hurt or in shock. Besides, I know what to expect inside,” he explained, thinking about the burning barn.