“I have nothing to say to you.” Inga tried to keep her voice from showing the fear that was chilling her, making her hands shake. “If you don’t leave this instant I shall call my upstairs neighbor for help.”
“She’s out. I saw her leave. You are quite alone here, and surely you must realize you’re no match physically for me. Don’t make me hurt you.” He spoke calmly, with the voice of reason, as he slowly backed Inga into her studio.
Inga’s legs wobbled. She sat down abruptly in the room filled with her paintings. Staring up into the man’s steely eyes she said, “So, yes. Lacy Telchev was here. Is that what you wanted to know? I never saw her before in my life, and I’ll probably never see her again. I really can’t tell you anything about her.”
“You gave her something? Some pages? A manuscript?”
“No. I gave her only a very small package left with me some months ago by her husband. I have no idea what was in it.”
The man grabbed Inga and shook her like a rag doll. “Where was she headed when she left here?”
Inga rubbed her arms where his fingers had left angry the red marks. “Back to her hotel, I presume. She didn’t tell me.” She avoided his eyes as she mumbled her response.
He stared at her, silent for a few moments. Then he took a switchblade out of his pocket and opened it. “I could cut you badly enough that you wouldn’t be painting for a while. Or I could…”
Inga caught her breath, and her eyes widened as she stared at the blade. “I know nothing.”
Without warning he turned to the unfinished painting on her easel and slashed it diagonally.
Inga shrieked and threw herself at him, fists pounding.
He laughed and grabbed both her hands, pushing her back into the chair.
She started weeping, great gulping cries. “My work! I have a show…My work!”
The man moved toward a large painting of a wood side scene stacked against the wall and raised his knife.
“Don’t! Please don’t!” Inga rushed into speech as he hesitated. “She was headed for Vienna to meet with Riana Rolfe. That’s all I know. Please…”
“Riana Rolfe? Where in Vienna?”
“I don’t have an address. She sings with the opera there.” Inga sat crumpled in her chair, afraid to look at her assailant. At the man threatening to destroy the work of two years.
Slowly he lowered his knife, closed it and put it back in his pocket. Without a word, he turned to leave.
Inga propelled herself out of her chair and ran after him. “Dreksaul! Bastard!” she screamed. She started pummeling his retreating back.
Casually, he turned and struck her once with the back of his hand. Inga fell, her head hitting the edge of the marble-topped hall table. Her eyes closed, and she faded into unconsciousness as blood seeped out of a head wound onto the marble floor.
****
Lacy entered the inn and took the small elevator to the top floor. When she knocked on Max’s door, there was no answer. Disappointed, she went into her own room and took off her borrowed raincoat. Reaching into the pocket, she pulled out the small packet Inga had given her and unwrapped it. It was a memory stick. Igor had put the missing files on an external device to save it. And then he had given it to someone he trusted implicitly, Inga. How clever of him.
Lacy couldn’t bear the suspense. She had to see what was on the file.
There was a knock on the door.
“Yes?”
“It’s Max. Open up.”
Lacy swung the door wide and propelled herself into his arms. “Oh, Max, I’m so glad to see you. Where were you when I got back?”
“Just a few steps behind you,” he answered truthfully. “So what did you discover?”
Lacy fought a short losing battle with herself before telling him. “Inga gave me a memory stick my husband left with her. I think it will have what he was working on when he died, and I need to see it. Can I use your computer?”
“Of course. Am I to be allowed to see it also?”
Lacy hesitated. Without Max she’d never have gotten this far. She hoped her growing feelings for him weren’t misplaced.
“I haven’t told you everything, Max. My husband was Igor Telchev.”
“I know.”
Lacy looked hard at Max. How had he discovered her identity? “You knew?”
“Just a lucky guess. I did a little research.”
Lacy sighed. This was Max, and she trusted him. “I should have told you before. What those men are after, what I’m trying to retrieve…Igor was writing a book certain people wish to suppress. This”—she held up the memory stick—“I hope this is it. I’d like a chance to see it first, but then I’ll let you have a look.”
“That’s good with me.” Max went into his room and came back with his laptop. He sat down on the bed while Lacy plugged in the device and started reading. A half hour went by, neither of them saying a word.
Lacy was pale with shock as she turned the computer over to Max to read.
When he finished, he removed the device and handed it back to Lacy. “Put this away someplace very safe,” he said. “It’s dynamite. Do you realize how many heads will roll if this is ever published? It accuses Senator Filoman-Burns of having ties with the Mafia. The chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee. Igor has almost irrefutable evidence that he’s been supported by organized crime for years. Since he was a junior senator. And that his career has continued to advance in the face of the evidence. And the information on Congressman Fritzwill…”
“And it’s just the first three chapters.”
“How are you supposed to get the rest?”
“I have a name and phone number. The next contact.”
“Clever son of a bitch, your late husband. He must have been a terrific chess player.”
Lacy laughed. “As a matter of fact, he was. He beat me every time.”
Without warning, Max kissed her. This time there was no excuse. No one was chasing her. It was a deliberate, slow, tantalizing kiss. He didn’t put his arms around her, didn’t touch her, except for his mouth on hers. He just kissed her, drawing her in as if to a magnet. When he pulled back, he looked a bit dazed.
Yes, Lacy thought. Her toes curled. Definitely worth waiting for.
“Well…Perhaps we should go down to dinner,” he said.
Food wasn’t exactly what Lacy was hungry for, but…“Of course,” she replied.
Over dinner, Lacy told Max about Richard’s unexpected appearance. He seemed unaccountably relieved.
“He just appeared at, what was her name? Inga Graff’s doorstep?”
“He said he’d been waiting there for me for hours.”
“But how’d he get the address? You said you didn’t give to anyone.”
“He got it from Jean-Paul and Claudette.”
Max frowned, but only said, “I think it’s time we moved again. We’ll check out immediately. I have some new clothes for you. ”
“Wonderful. What this time? A Batman costume?”
Max had the good grace to laugh. “Not too far off. Come on. We need to make tracks.”
An hour later, Lacy looked at herself in the mirror. Leathers. Black leathers from head to toe. She looked like a member of the Hell’s Angels.
“All I need is a couple of tattoos,” she said when Max came to inspect the new Lacy.
“No. I don’t think so.” He looked at her critically. “No tattoos. But we’ll need to do something about that red hair soon. Maybe when we stop tonight. Did you say one of those passports shows you with brown hair?”
“Alice Ames, from Baltimore, Maryland. Citizenship, American. From the land of crab cakes and the Baltimore Orioles baseball team.”
“Right.”
“But if we keep dying my hair different colors, it’s going to fall out.”
“Is that right? Then we’d have to dress you as a nun. You know, with one of those tight head scarves and a long black veil.” He looked at her critically. “No. I’m a
fraid no amount of clothing could make you look like a nun. Come on. You have your stuff all together? You can leave the Heidi outfit here. It’s done its job.”
Lacy picked up her backpack. Under her leathers she was wearing her travel vest, its inside pockets still stuffed with money, albeit less money than she had started with, and now also securing the memory stick.
Max guided her around to the back of the hotel. There in the small hotel parking lot, surrounded by cars, was a lone motorcycle.
“You expect me to ride on that?” Lacy was shaking her head and backing away.
“Come on. Where’s your spirit of adventure? It’s a BMW R1200 RT Touring Model. It’s got heated seats and cruise control. What more could you want?”
“Have you actually ever driven a motorcycle?”
“How difficult can it be? The guy I bought it from gave me a lesson.”
“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m getting on the back of that thing with you.”
Lacy was glaring at Max, her feet firmly planted on the ground when the innkeeper came rushing out of the back door.
“I’m so glad I caught you,” he said breathlessly. “There’s a telephone call. I think it’s for the lady. The caller first asked for a Mrs. Telchev. I didn’t recognize the name, but then he said she was the lady with the red hair. I thought it must be you.”
Max walked over to the man and whispered something to him. The innkeeper glanced over at Lacy and then smiled at Max and nodded.
Max came back to the bike and mounted it.
Lacy looked at Max. “What did you tell him?”
“That it was your husband calling, trying to find you. And we didn’t wish to be found.”
Lacy climbed on the back of the bike behind Max and donned the helmet he handed her.
****
It didn’t take Lacy long to realize Max had been teasing her. He knew very well how to handle a motorcycle. Man and machine operated as one. She settled against his broad back, arms around his waist, and decided to enjoy the ride.
Dusk was falling as they approached the outskirts of Munich, traffic-clogged with cars and trucks. Max took the bypass around the city and headed southeast on A8.
The traffic gradually dropped behind them. Lacy saw a sign saying Aying, and moments later they pulled over at a picture postcard of what a Bavarian inn should look like. The lower half was stark white, the upper floors half-timbered, topped with a sloping brown wood-shingled roof. There were balconies with carved wooden railings, and flowers tumbled from window boxes everywhere.
“This should do,” Max said, bringing the bike to a stop. “We’re a bit off the beaten path. I’m sorry we couldn’t take a break earlier, but I wanted to put as many miles as possible between us and Rothenburg.”
Lacy dismounted and stretched. “I hope their dining room is still open. Will we spend the night here?”
“If they have rooms for us.”
Max wheeled the bike around the side of the building where it wouldn’t be visible from the road, then taking Lacy’s arm he ushered her into the inn.
Ten minutes later they were seated in a cozy dining room with a fire blazing in the hearth.
“We’re in beer country here,” Max commented. “Shall I order us a pitcher?”
“Sure. I believe in eating and drinking what the natives eat and drink.”
“In that case, we’ll have the wild boar with potato dumplings.”
“Sounds a bit heavy for me. Maybe I could…”
“Try it. It’s good.”
By the end of the meal, Lacy could hardly keep her eyes open. “It’s been a very long day,”
“I’ll see if they have rooms for us. Wait here.”
Lacy’s head was nodding when Max came back. “One room. I took it. Guess you’ll just have to trust in my honor, because we’re not going any farther tonight, and I’m not sleeping on the floor again.”
Lacy was too tired to object.
The room was spacious and immaculately clean. The bed, night tables, and armoire were decorated with painted flowers and the bed, in typical German fashion, consisted of two narrow beds pushed together to make one, connected by a wide headboard. Each bed had its own folded duvet and a huge square down pillow.
Lacy took a long soak in the deep tub, and by the time she came out of the bathroom, Max was already sound asleep.
She crawled into her bed expecting to be asleep in moments, but the presence of the warm, very male body next to hers had her imagination on overdrive. It was some time before she could still her thoughts sufficiently to sleep.
The next morning Lacy awoke to the sound of a knock on the door.
“Herein. Treten Sie ein!” Max called from the bathroom. A young woman dressed in typical Bavarian costume came in bearing a heavy wooden tray mounded with rolls and cold cuts and cheeses. The aroma of rich dark coffee filled the room.
“Coffee,” Lacy exclaimed, stumbling out of bed. She downed a cup while listening to the sound of Max’s electric razor. He emerged, rested, clean shaven and devastatingly handsome.
Lacy was aware of her own rumpled, disheveled appearance. She beat a hasty retreat into the bathroom.
“When are we going to be someplace where I can buy clothes?” she nagged when she emerged.
Max grinned. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not altogether happy with my taste in women’s clothing?”
Lacy threw a roll at him. He ducked and grabbed it, then slathered it in butter and cheese and proceeded to eat it. “You’d better eat some of this. I want to get to Salzburg before we stop again.”
“Salzburg? There are shops there, aren’t there?”
“So I’ve heard. At any price level you care to pay. Should be able to get a whole new wardrobe if you want. Just keep in mind we’re traveling by motorcycle. Don’t get more than will fit into your backpack.”
Lacy threw her arms around Max. “Thank you! You’ve just made my day. How long a trip is it? When will we get there?”
Max disengaged her arms, looking decidedly uncomfortable. His voice when he spoke was husky. “Should be there before noon. You can spend the afternoon shopping. You might want to do something about that red hair while you’re at it. It’s a beacon to anyone looking for you.”
A short time later they were on the road again. They crossed the German-Austrian border without even pausing. There was no customs inspection, no immigration formality between these two members of the European Union. A half hour later, they were in the center of Salzburg, in the oldest quarter of the town.
Max parked the bike and took Lacy by the hand. “We’ll have lunch up at the castle. It’s a touristy kind of thing to do, but the views are wonderful, and the food’s not bad.”
They took the funicular up the steep mountainside to the fortress on the hill. From there they overlooked the town, the river, and the encircling mountains. Sitting at a table on the terrace in the sunshine Lacy thought how wonderful it would be if, indeed, she could just be a tourist like the people around them. Not in flight. Not a widow on a mission. Just a young woman with an attractive man, enjoying the sights and each other in this beautiful setting.
She could happily have lingered longer over lunch, but shopping beckoned.
“Will we stay here overnight?” Lacy asked.
“I guess we’ll have to if you want to spend the afternoon shopping and getting your hair done. Let’s go find a hotel first. Then I have some business to attend to while you shop.”
Lacy looked at Max questioningly, but he didn’t choose to elaborate on what his business might be.
A short time later they were ensconced in a room at the Elefant, a charming historic hotel in the oldest quarter of the city. Without comment, Max registered them as husband and wife and took a double room. Lacy saw and chose not to say anything. But she wondered…
Max spoke. “I don’t think you should be wandering around with all that money and the memory stick on you all afternoon.”
Lacy
nodded. “I’ll put them in the hotel safe. Just keep enough money on me for my shopping and the beauty salon.”
She put the device with Igor’s first three chapters on it and the largest part of her remaining cash in a small bag and left them at the front desk. Then she headed out the door, light of heart, anticipating her afternoon of shopping and pampering.
****
Max watched as she walked a few steps and turned into a shop. He smiled. That should keep her busy for the next few hours. And she should be safe. No one knew they were in Salzburg. He went to the front desk and spoke to the innkeeper.
“Sorry. I need to get something out of the bag my wife left with you.”
“Of course, sir.”
With the memory stick in hand, Max headed toward the internet café they had passed on their way to the hotel. He’d catch up with Lacy later. Although she didn’t know it, she hadn’t been out of his sight for more than a few minutes since Frankfurt Airport. But she wouldn’t go far this afternoon, and he had work to do before he could take up his usual surveillance.
****
Lacy wanted everything in sight, but she reminded herself of the limitations of their luggage. In the end she opted for just two new shirts in a luxurious silk but tailored in style, two pairs of tailored slacks in a washable wool blend, and a cashmere sweater-jacket. She bought new shoes, low heeled, in soft supple leather. Good for walking. Or for running, she thought with a smile. They’d be much easier to run in than her Ferragamos had been. And they certainly looked and fit better than her scuffed, second-hand Nikes.
She almost danced out of the shop wearing new shirt and pants, topped with her new cable-knit sweater. Her new shoes were on her feet.
She wanted some new lingerie. Halfway down the block she found a branch of Palmer’s, an Austrian institution dedicated to seeing that women looked as beautiful undressed as dressed. At the beginning, Lacy was practical, buying four bikinis that would wash and dry quickly. But then she chose two new bras, lacy frivolous things, and, in an impetuous moment, bought a silk night gown that clung to her slender form like liquid silver. Only strategically placed lace lent any semblance of modesty. Smiling to herself she thought, see how well you sleep next to that, Maximillian Petersen.
Romantic Road Page 11
