Hostage Heart

by Renee Roszel

  She turned her face away, unable to do more, for he still lay on top of her.

  “Please. . .” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Please. . .just go. . .” It trailed off in a hopeless whisper.

  She did not open her eyes, so she could not guess his expression. Was he smiling, triumphant in his victory? Perhaps, already bored with her, he was planning his next conquest. . . in Berlin!

  A tear slid across her burning face. Of one thing, Drew was sure. Rolf would not be feeling remorse or guilt about her tattered emotions. He would probably be thinking only one thing: that the defenses of Drew McKenna Pollard Erhardt, his hostage bride, had been successfully and expertly destroyed. He was no doubt, quite proud. . . .

  Now Drew knew the real Rolf Erhardt, the ruthless commander. A man that got everything he wanted. Oh, he played other parts well, when it suited his cause. But they were not to be confused with the true man—heartless, cruel and cunning.

  She became vaguely aware that Rolf had left the bed and was dressing. After a moment, the door of their compartment opened and closed, and she could hear his footsteps echo dully along the hall as he walked away.

  Chapter Six

  The train had been stopped for some time. Drew pulled the heavy blackout curtain aside again, trying to determine why. Surely this mountainous area could not be their destination.

  Her suitcase had arrived mysteriously during the night. . . probably at the same time Rolf had returned to their compartment. An involuntary heat rushed up her face at the memory of awakening within his possessive and all-encompassing warmth.

  She pondered her sudden decision to wear all white; the hand-knit sweater vest and cardigan she had chosen were wool, knitted in a distinctive popcorn and cable design, paired with suited flannel trousers and spool-heeled pumps. Wondering if her choice was a Freudian desire to erase the reality of this morning’s surrender to Rolf’s passionate lovemaking, she drew a shaky breath.

  Of course, this morning had not been her first time with a man. After all, she had been married before. But she had never—Drew bit her lip—never reacted quite so. . . Recalling her wild abandon, her blush increased to furious proportions.

  Trying to push thoughts of Rolf from her mind, she forced herself to concentrate on the scene before her. A soft flutter of snow drifted down as far as the eye could see, across forest and field to the snow-capped peaks beyond the valley.

  Off in the distance, in the direction from which they had come, Drew could see a village, patches of red-tiled roof showing through the snow. Smoke curled lazily from the brick chimneys giving the little East German town a charming postcard look of placidness.

  A shouted order from a soldier leading a Doberman pinscher on a length of chain almost directly below Drew’s window startled her. She stepped abruptly back and dropped the curtain. Turning away, she leaned listlessly against the smooth paneled wall.

  “Did you eat?” A masculine voice split the silence.

  Her eyes shot up in surprise. Rolf was just inside their compartment door. He stood, legs astride, looking down at her, his face stern.

  She found her voice. “Some time ago. A soldier brought coffee and rolls.”

  Lifting her chin in an attempt to seem calm, she turned back to the window. Her fingers trembled as they curled around the curtain and she leaned heavily against the sill for support, the bones in her legs suddenly liquid.

  “The town is Aschersleben,” he offered. “We’re still in the Harz Mountains.”

  Drew did not turn, but heard him move to the cot and remove his parka.

  “Why have we stopped?” Her voice was carefully controlled. She had decided to treat Rolf with the same attitude of indifference that he obviously harbored for her. She would act as though his lovemaking that morning had meant no more to her than it had to him! She could be as callous and unfeeling about this breach of the bargain as he seemingly was.

  What had happened between them had happened, and she had let it, but now it was over. Tears and recriminations would do no good. Besides, Drew had never been the kind of woman to resort to such tactics. As a mature adult, she would not allow herself to act like a wronged schoolgirl.

  Clearing her swollen throat, she repeated, “Why have we stopped?” It didn’t come out quite so well this time.

  The creak of the metal springs on the cot told her that Rolf had seated himself. “Snowslide ahead. I’ve just returned from there.” She turned to face him as he continued, “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “Ana the soldiers and dogs? What are they doing?”

  Rolf leaned back against the wall, hooking one booted foot, still glistening with melting snow, on the metal edge of the cot.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “I see you made the bed.”

  Drew stiffened and turned abruptly back to the window.

  Rolf’s low voice broke the mounting silence. “The soldiers and dogs are checking the train for possible stowaways. They will be checking at every stop.”

  “Stowaways?” Drew was puzzled.

  “East Germans trying to get to Berlin.”

  Drew watched as the soldier and his dog disappeared around the bend. “Why—why would they want to go there?”

  “To attempt to escape.” He let the statement lie.

  Drew turned back toward the bold man on the bed. “Are there so many? Escape attempts, I mean.”

  “Yes, Drew, there are.”

  Rolf laced long fingers across his raised knee. As he made the slow move, Drew was struck once again by his dark good looks. His deep brown curls and eyes blended successfully with the bulky black turtleneck sweater that accented the lean suppleness of his shoulders and arms and showed to good advantage his narrow waist. Slim-cut black trousers and well-polished ebony boots did nothing to mask the raw strength of his long legs.

  Drew felt a blush rush up her neck as she recalled him stretched out like a primeval beast next to her on the bed.

  As her cheeks flushed scarlet, a puzzled expression passed across Rolf’s eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

  She pulled her lips together in a tight line, piqued at herself for the unruly turn of her thoughts. “Nothing!” She lowered her eyes.

  He shrugged it off. “To pass the time, I’ll tell you about a few of the successful escape attempts, if you’d like.”

  His voice was quiet as he gestured toward the cot. “Join me.”

  She eyed him narrowly for a moment before he spoke again. “You can’t remain standing all the way to Berlin.” A slight twitch in his jaw set off a warning bell in Drew’s head. He was barely controlling his temper. He was angry with her. Angry with her!

  Of all the—What possible reason could he have for being angry? He’d gotten what he’d come for! It was she who had a right to be angry. She was the one who had been used, lied to and seduced!

  “I’ll manage, thank you.” It was a short, definite reply.

  The rage in Rolf sparked to life in his eyes as he pulled himself abruptly up causing Drew to take a defensive step backward.

  “All right! The evil defiler of semi-innocents is off the bed.” He stood; one arm was draped across the upper bunk as he gestured broadly toward the bunk with the other. “It is all yours. Though for the life of me I was sure that you enjoyed the sharing of it earner!” His eyes shot challenging sparks.

  She felt that insidious weakness invade her legs again and decided to voluntarily sit down before she fell. Outwardly ignoring his blatant reference, Drew spoke evenly, “I thought you were going to tell me about some successful escapes.” She pushed off her white pumps and crossed her legs Indian style on the cot. “I could do with a good story about escape right now!”

  Her inflection was not lost on Rolf and his eyes narrowed, thick lashes masking angry fire.

  “Very well.” A humorless smile twisted his lips as he lowered himself to sit beside her.

  Surprised by his unexpected return to the bunk, she tried to rise. But her yogalike position s
lowed her just long enough.

  His fingers curled around her wrist. “Stay here, Drew.”

  She tried to jerk away, but he tightened his grip. “There’s no reason we can’t both be comfortable. I won’t attack you.”

  Drew met his eyes. They were dark, brooding, and his face was serious. He was telling the truth. She could read it in every line of his strong face.

  Too, she had already vowed to herself that she would pretend an aloof indifference to him. And so far this wasn’t turning out to be a very convincing indifference.

  She looked away. “I’ll sit. . .if you talk.”

  He released her, his softly accented voice was instructive as he began: “The subject is escapes. . . .” He paused in thought placing his hands behind his head as he lounged back. “There was one man—a circus performer—who, with the help of a relative on the west side of the Wall, merely strung a tightrope and walked over it.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head incredulously at the vision it conjured.

  “It sounds pretty easy to escape to me.” Drew mused aloud.

  Rolf lifted a questioning brow. “Would you prefer to know of the many who have died in their escape attempts?”

  She shot a sidelong glance toward his solemn face as he went on, “In West Berlin did you not see the floral wreaths set up along the wall?”

  Drew gulped, turning her face to his. “Yes,” she breathed. “And those were—?”

  “Failures,” Rolf finished for her.

  “Please,” Drew winced. “Surely there were other successes?”

  “Well”—Rolf rubbed his chin with fisted knuckles—“there was another man who had a friend in West Berlin who operated an earth-moving shovel.” He paused, tapping a finger on the bridge of his nose. “On the appointed day, this friend drove his machine up to the Wall and dropped its large bucket over to the East side. The refugee jumped in, the shovel was clamped shut and he was swung to the safety of the West as a hail of bullets ricocheted off the steel sides.”

  Drew’s mouth dropped open at the vivid picture of the man’s daring. She shook her head and lowered her eyes to her hands, saddened at the reality of the Wall. “The desire for freedom can breed unbelievably irrational acts, can’t it?”

  His voice came softly. “Yes, Drew, it can.”

  She lifted her face to his. There was something odd, almost sad in his eyes.

  Her chest constricted and she found it hard to catch her breath while his brooding eyes held hers in their spell. Was he trying to make her understand why he had done what he had done? The blackmail and forced marriage, the threats of exposing her identity, were these all the rash acts of a man wanting desperately to gain his freedom? And was she to excuse everything because she could now understand something of a man’s basic need to be free?

  Drew bit her lip and pulled her eyes from his. No matter what his reasons for their bargain, no matter how fierce his desire for freedom. . . none of it excused his actions of that morning. That was not something to be explained away on the grounds of a desperate desire for liberty. No, that was nothing other than his own selfish, animal lust. And she could not forgive him that. She steeled herself, drawing a deep breath, “You know, Doctor, it is interesting to compare the two stories you just related to me with your own case. . . I mean, both those men also required help from someone on the outside.” She straightened, staring ahead, “However they were friends, not victims! I wonder if you can recognize the difference?”

  A knock sounded at the door making Drew jump in surprise.

  “Herein!” Rolf’s curt reply held a bitter edge that she had not noticed before.

  The door opened slowly as he strode across the room to meet it. A smallish, hawk-nosed soldier spoke quietly to his superior. Rolf nodded briskly. “Gut, danke schön.”

  The door closed solidly after the departing soldier before Rolf spoke again.

  “The track is cleared. I will need to be gone for some time now.” He moved to retrieve his parka. Though he had spoken to her, he had not looked in her direction.

  “Where are you going?” Drew couldn’t restrain the question.

  He slid into the jacket. “The command car.”

  Turning to the door, he paused, not looking back. “We should be in Berlin in two or three hours. I am sure you will be relieved to know your captivity is near an end.” The words were shot like bullets from a silencer.

  He walked out, leaving Drew to stare at the blank door panels long after the dark image had faded.

  THE train was chugging along the outskirts of Berlin when Drew could finally see it: the border Wall, a ten-foot high, flesh-cutting, steel-mesh fence.

  It was an ugly scar across a field, disappearing into the nearby forest. The closely spaced concrete posts held antipersonnel mines set to explode at a touch.

  Drew’s eyes filled with tears at the awesome monument of man’s inhumanity to man as she scanned the shadow of the antivehicular ditch, designed to prevent motorized vehicles from reaching and breaking through. And now, looking ironically toylike in the distance, a tall watchtower dominated, an unnatural, dark protrusion from the pristine snow, the snow that knew no geographical boundaries, but fluttered down equally beautifully on the faces of both East and West.

  Drew remembered her West Berlin friend, Megan, reminding her that the purpose of the Wall was to keep people of the East in. The death fields of land mines were strung all along the inside of the 800-mile Wall, a powerful, mutilating deterrent. She wiped away at a tear that slid down her cheek as the door clicked open at her back. Rolf’s voice was low. “We are entering East Berlin.” She straightened, turning. He filled the door, tall and solemn.

  “I know. . . .—I saw a sign.”

  He nodded. “Berlin, Hauptstadt der DDR.”

  “Yes, I guess. What does it mean?”

  “Berlin, Capital of the German Democratic Republic.” His conversation was polite; yet his brown eyes held a wilderness that Drew did not want to explore.

  She decided it would be best to keep talking. “And all the red banners I’ve seen, what do they say?” “Sowjetisch, DDR, Freundschaft.” He smiled wryly. “Soviet GDR Friendship. You’ll see that often.” He closed the door quietly.

  Drew pursed her lips in thought, turning back to the window. “Don’t they protest a bit much?”

  “A bit.” He closed the space between them, turning her to face him. “Drew”—his features were taut—“there is not much time now. Once we arrive at the station you all will be taken by bus to Soviet Security Headquarters for out-processing.” He paused. “My authority ends here. I can go no further.”

  Drew could see a rigid tightening of the muscles of his body. “You have made your feelings about me quite clear. So I musk ask”—he sounded doubtful—“are you going to turn the marriage document over to the American authorities?”

  Drew was taken aback by the question. It had never occurred to her not to. Dr. Erhardt’s defection to the United States was too important to ignore, or hamper, no matter what her personal feelings were. It was vastly more important to get this man to the United States than to allow his authoritarian tactics to color her judgment. For with him working alongside her father on the problems of fusion reactors, the eventual practical application of this energy source could be moved forward by a number of years. And in a world close to war over the need for energy, a new, safe source was desperately being sought.

  No, it was unthinkable, even in the face of everything he had done to her, to spitefully reject him in his bid for freedom.

  “Drew?” It was an urgent whisper.

  She found herself staring into his eyes against her will as his hands tightened on her arms.

  “I made a promise to you, Doctor. I will not break my word.” The train began to slow in contrast to the sudden quickening of her pulse as she felt the warm maleness radiate from this man, her husband-captor who would so soon be gone.

  “How—” She gulped to ease the sudden ache in her throat. “H
ow dangerous is this. . .really. . .for you?” Some small corner of her brain required an answer.

  His dark eyes slowly took on a golden light, and white even teeth gleamed from behind a reckless grin. “Do I dare hope the lady cares?” It was a light, buoyant question.

  Drew became defensive. With that unplanned question, she’d handed him potent ammunition for his inflated ego, and he was firing it back at her now—teasing, taunting, insinuating that she was not as immune to his advances as she pretended.

  Pushing a strand of russet hair behind an ear, she averted her eyes, surprised and angry with herself, and completely baffled by the feeling of impending loss that had come over her upon entering Berlin.

  Why? It couldn’t be because she was leaving Rolf! No! She pushed that insane thought from her mind, gritting her teeth. The man meant absolutely nothing to her. . . .Nothing!

  And, besides, now that he had American citizenship, his release would probably be no more difficult than crossing a street. It was absurd for her to be concerned for this provokingly self-assured man’s safety!

  She pulled abruptly away from him, determined to prove his assumption wrong.

  She spat, “Care!” Stormy gray eyes flew to meet his like lightning striking ground. “Yes. . .yes, I guess you could say I care! But not for you! I care about the importance of my father’s work. . .and how your knowledge could benefit that work!”

  Through gritted teeth she hissed, “Personally, I can only hope that I never have the misfortune to lay eyes on your egotistical face again!” Drew foolishly ignored the warning muscle tautly kicking in his jaw as she raged on, “You are conniving and unfeeling, and I will make every effort to forget this whole, ugly episode!”

  With the swiftness of a lightning bolt, she found herself crushed into his steel-bound embrace. His lips imprisoned hers, bruising, angry, devoid of mercy or tenderness. It was a plundering debauchery, an uncaring ravishment of her mouth.

  Drew pushed wildly at his chest as tears of pain and confusion squeezed from beneath tightly closed lids. His kiss was filled with a passionate hatred, and that knowledge tore through Drew’s soul like a rapier. He didn’t require words to insult her; his contempt seared through her body with the torched fire of his touch.