by Renee Ryan
Kerensky stopped moving at the corner of the eighth street. She looked to her left, then to her right. Darting across an alley, she flattened against the closest wall.
Motioning with two fingers, she indicated the building on her left. The two-story structure was made of colorless granite and stood guard over the drab waters that led into the North Sea.
Closing the distance, Jack mouthed a warning. No mistakes.
Grimacing, she clamped a hand on his arm and folded him deeper into the shadows with her. She then gestured to the impossibly small window above their heads. Silently measuring the dimensions, Jack admitted to himself that she’d been correct. He’d never fit through the tiny opening.
Unfortunately, she would.
No second chances. No margin for error.
No turning back.
The mission was under way.
Chapter Seven
Although the stingy moon gave a mere suggestion of cold, pale light, Katia could still make out the expression on Friedrich Reiter’s face. Grim. Resolute. She didn’t need much imagination to know he considered her completely unsuitable for the task that lay before them. She could practically hear his mind working, gauging, assessing.
She couldn’t fault him for his skepticism. With his unexpected question about her Jewish blood, he’d nearly thrown her off balance enough to make her as inept as his silent accusation claimed.
How could he have guessed her secret? And in so little time? Had she given herself away? The thought scared her beyond reason and she experienced an irrational urge to cry. With one simple question, Reiter had turned Katarina Kerensky into an amateur.
And now Friedrich Reiter had all the advantage. Which was too deadly to contemplate.
Remembering her mother, and all they had to lose if Katia allowed anyone or anything to distract her, she pulled out her most effective weapon—a sultry smile.
Reiter’s expression remained implacable.
The man was a rock, the personification of cold, chilly calm. Katia could probably learn from his technique. In fact, next to him, she felt like a bit player in a second-rate theater company.
As he continued to stare at her with unyielding eyes, her stomach flipped inside itself. She rubbed a hand over her belly, afraid the knots were there to stay.
At least for the rest of the evening.
Tapping his watch, Reiter pulled her attention back to the mission. He held up five fingers, silently reminding her that he would give her no more than the allotted time to get the job done once she was inside Doenitz’s room.
She inclined her head in a brief nod.
A corner of his lips lifted in a sarcastic twist as he made a stirrup with his hands and crouched low. When she hesitated, he elbowed her to get moving.
Sighing, she kicked off her shoes, planted one foot in his cupped palms and placed her hands on his wide shoulders. For a second longer she merely stared into his eyes. In that beat of silence, something unnamable passed between them. Something that sent a shiver of foreboding up the back of her neck.
This man was not like the rest. He was pure danger, yet he was also a man she needed on her side.
Acutely aware of the hard muscles bunching under her fingertips, Katia was instantly reminded of her vulnerability, that she carried a dark secret underneath all the layers of acting and subterfuge. For a brief moment, she had the dangerous sensation of wanting to lean her head on those broad shoulders and let Friedrich Reiter carry her burdens for a while.
A normal reaction, she told herself, considering the stress she was under and the unwanted reminder of all she had to lose. Still, she had to stifle any further weakness—especially of the feminine kind—if she wanted to concentrate on the job she had to do.
Tonight there could be no mistakes.
At Reiter’s impatient grunt, she shoved off the ground and pivoted in his hands. With a quick push, he lifted her toward the windowsill above her head.
Fully exposed now, the wind slipped icy fingers of cold and wet below the neck of her sweater. The breath rushed out of her lungs, but she steadied herself by flattening her palms against the wall in front of her.
Breathe, Katia. Focus on one task at a time.
Unable to see much in the dim light of the moon, she used her sense of touch to guide her. Careful to keep her movements slow and silent, she clung to the ledge with one hand, tested the latch of the window with the other. The rough metal gave way under her gentle push.
Luck was finally on her side. She knew Reiter would scoff at the sentiment. He didn’t seem like a man who would rely on anything other than cold, hard logic.
She could use some of his sharp focus right now. It was times like these she just wanted…out.
But then what? Leave her mother in Germany, in the clutches of a man like Hermann Schmidt?
Unthinkable.
Convinced once more, Katia pushed the window forward another few inches, gripped the ledge with both hands and pulled herself up.
Precise and whisper quiet, each movement made with careful purpose, she inched past the windowsill. One last push from Reiter and she was through the window. She twisted midfall and landed on the floor with a soundless thud.
The window slid shut behind her.
No turning back now.
Blinking, she did a quick visual scan of the room, but was unable to see past her nose. She debated whether to take a step forward or wait in frozen immobility until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Choosing the latter, she put her other senses to work.
Her ears picked up soft snoring coming from the other side of the room, slightly to her left. The scent of salt and sea and musk filled her nose. The smell wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, just…strong.
As the inky gloom turned to a muted gray, Katia slowly reached to her left. Her hand connected with a large dresser. She blinked several more times, finally able to distinguish the dark shapes of the furniture from the shadows cast throughout the room.
She flicked a glance to her right, counted two additional, smaller dressers. A washbasin was perched on a table off to her left. The expected bedside table sat next to a small bed that contained a lump buried under a blanket.
Doenitz.
The sight of the sleeping admiral had her shifting a couple inches to her left. Caught between impatience and fear, her natural reflex was to rush her steps in order to get away from the man as quickly as possible. But she forced herself to think of Doenitz as a nameless, faceless blob, rather than a decorated admiral with enough power to kill her on the spot if he awoke.
She wondered if she would feel this strong aversion to him if she didn’t know who—and what—he was. Now was not the time to ponder such a question.
One minute down.
And counting.
The floor beneath her stocking feet sparkled in the dim moonlight. Someone had obviously taken the trouble to polish it on a regular basis.
Admiral Karl Doenitz was as fastidious as the rumors claimed.
It was a good reminder for her to touch nothing or, at the very least, to put everything back in its precise place if she did.
Edging closer to the bed, she saw that the key ring was exactly where she’d been told it would be.
Her source was as reliable as ever.
Unfortunately, the intelligence hadn’t been complete. She’d expected to find just one key, not four—four!
One minute, thirty.
Regardless of the ticking clock in her head, Katia took ten full seconds to simply stare at the key ring. What now? She didn’t have enough wax to make an impression of all four keys. Nor the luxury of confirming her choice with the actual cabinet containing the plans.
That left her only one option.
Guess.
Doenitz chose that moment to grumble and shift in his sleep.
Katia dropped to her knees and melted into the shadows. As the cold heat of fear slammed through her, the air clogged in her throat, making it difficult to take a breath.
> Turn your fear into action, she told herself. Fear into action.
Ah, but the fear wasn’t going to settle so easily.
At least Reiter was just outside the window. The thought made her feel more confident. Safer.
She could do this.
Swallowing, she concentrated on slowing her heartbeat and waited patiently for Doenitz to relax back into his snoring.
After several very long, very tense seconds, the admiral’s breathing found its rhythm again. On her hands and knees, Katia scooted forward and around to the right side of the bed. Reaching above her head, she clamped her fingers over the cold metal key ring.
Taking a quick inventory, she discovered that three of the keys were long, thin, with identical rounded tops. Just like…house keys?
The fourth was shorter, and fatter than the rest, just like—dare she hope—a cabinet key.
Yes. She nearly offered up a prayer of thanks. If she thought God was listening, she might have.
Instead, she dug in her pocket, pulled out the small box containing the special wax. Flipping open the lid with her thumb, she lifted the entire ring of keys and made the impression.
Three minutes down.
Careful to avoid making any sound, she set the keys back on the table and fanned them out in the same order as she’d found them.
Box in hand, she let out the breath she’d been holding. Backing slowly toward the window, she turned around at the last second and realized the window was too high for her to reach without assistance. She lifted her hands above her head, but found no ledge to use.
A chair sat just to her left, but was perched at an angle that wouldn’t do. One small pull, a quick readjustment and the angle of the chair was right at last. Seconds later she was up and through the window, tumbling straight into Reiter’s arms.
His warmth enveloped her.
Before that moment, she hadn’t realized how cold she’d been inside Doenitz’s room. Insanity overrode logic and she snuggled into Reiter, pressing her cheek against his broad shoulder. She took a shaky breath.
For a ghastly second, she wanted only to stay in the shelter of his arms. Her fingers flexed against his chest, then relaxed.
His hard breathing was unmistakable, and she wondered if he was battling emotions anything close to the ones she was fighting.
She turned her head to look at him directly. His eyes, unblinking and very, very close, lit with a question. She lifted the box she still clutched in her hand, and then grinned like a fool.
He smiled down at her, his expression softening just enough to have her wonder if he had a bit of human blood running through his veins after all.
Before she had a chance to ponder the thought, he dumped her to the ground and tugged her around the corner. She barely had time to catch her balance and pocket the wax impression before he shoved her from behind. “Go, go, go.”
She took off running in the direction in which they’d traveled earlier. One foot in front of the other. Legs pumping fast. Feet pounding faster. Cold wind slapped her face.
Run. Run. Run.
She heard Reiter closing in behind her, protecting her. The sensation gave her the courage to pick up the pace.
Three blocks later, he pulled her to a stop and yanked her into the shadows with him.
Handing her shoes back, he blessed her with a look of satisfaction. His smile gleamed in the moonlight.
He wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Well done,” he said. “You made it with a full minute to spare.”
Still panting, she closed her eyes against an overwhelming desire to bask in his praise. “Nerves of steel.”
A lie if ever she’d told one. A bead of sweat trickled along her hairline, a sure sign of the stress she was trying to hold at bay.
She forced her breathing to slow, clamping down hard on the string of hysterical laughs trying to bubble out of her. Madame Levine would be pleased with her control.
At the thought of her former mentor, Katia’s joy disintegrated. Would her mother be sent to a camp, as well? Would Schmidt figure out their secret, as Reiter had done so quickly in the car tonight? What if the U-boat captain already knew? What if he had his own plans for them, plans that included a trip to the camps?
There was so much at stake, so much to lose. So much—
“We’re not safe yet,” Reiter reminded her.
Fear scrambled to the surface. “I…I know.”
If they were caught now, all their planning would have been for nothing.
What if Katia was caught tonight? Would the Gestapo come for her mother—not because of her secret heritage, but because Katia had tried to fight them?
Elena would suffer unfairly for her daughter’s actions. Was she risking too much by helping the British? But what else could Katia do? God had long since taken His hand off Germany while too many sat back and did nothing. As a result, Hitler’s power had reached unstoppable proportions.
A surge of fear shimmied along the base of her spine.
She would not panic. She would not panic. She would not—
“Stay focused, Katarina.” Reiter took her chin in his hand and gave her a long, measuring look. “Concentrate on one thing at a time.”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “Of course.”
“Let’s get back to the car,” he said.
“You have to let me go first.”
“Right.” He dropped his hand, his expression as unreadable as always. “Stick close.”
“Like glue.”
He took two steps then stopped and turned back to her. “No. I have a better idea.”
With a casual shrug, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gently tugged her next to him. The gesture sealed them into a single unit. Subtle. Powerful. Unnerving.
Katia struggled to think over the wild drumming of her pulse. She hadn’t felt this safe since her father died. She distrusted the sensation completely. “What are you up to?”
His slow smile oozed charm and sophistication, creating an intimacy between them that quite simply scared her to death. It was then she realized what he had planned.
“From this moment on, we’re a couple.”
Under the circumstances, the tactic made perfect sense.
“We need to make this look good…” He lowered his voice to a caress. “Darling.”
“I’m the trained actress,” she reminded him. “Watch and learn from the professional.”
She then gave him the kind of smile that usually scrambled men’s brains.
He lifted his eyebrows in response. “Perhaps a bit obvious, Katarina. But you have the right idea.”
“You want obvious?” She batted her eyelashes at him, and then trailed a fingertip along his jaw.
They stared at one another awhile longer, each breathing heavier than the situation warranted, but then they both laughed. The spontaneous gesture added the right touch of lightheartedness to the scene.
To an outside observer, they looked like two lovers sharing a long night of, well, whatever their imaginations wanted to dream up.
Playing it for all it was worth, Reiter continued looking at her in the way a man looked at the woman he loved.
The swift ache of loneliness came fast and hard. Reality came faster.
This was a ruse, she reminded herself.
They were spies. On a mission. Nothing more.
Get it straight, Katia.
“Lead the way, Herr Reiter,” she said in a perfectly steady voice.
“By all means.”
They walked arm in arm for three full blocks, the perfect picture of romantic bliss, but as they rounded the last corner, Reiter slowed his steps. And then…
The unmistakable grind of a hammer sliding into place rang in her ears. “Halt! Or I’ll shoot.”
Chapter Eight
Jack froze.
Right here, right now, what he did next would determine all of their fates. His initial instinct was to turn and fight. But he made himself slow down, think
offensively, and consider other options first.
Anticipation shimmered along his skin, tightening his muscles, making him more aware, more alert. And ready to strike. A quick hit to the three vital points—throat, nose, temple—was all it would take.
It would be so easy to succumb to impulse. Friedrich Reiter would have no qualms over killing a guard.
Jack Anderson wouldn’t either, if it meant protecting the woman beside him. But Jack also knew better than to make such a rash mistake.
The Germans were meticulous record keepers. Once the guard was found, a report would be made. The grounds would be searched. And before long, Kerensky’s little uninvited jaunt into Doenitz’s room would be discovered.
The mission would be over before it had really begun.
The rhythmic sounds of Kerensky’s breathing re minded him of her presence. This was why he preferred to work alone. What if she was captured and interrogated tonight, what if she got hurt in an escape attempt, what if…
No. Think in terms of absolutes, he told himself, not ifs.
He would do this right. With cold, hard pragmatism.
No emotion. Nothing personal.
And, lo, I am with you always…
Jack nearly flinched at the unexpected thought. Where had it come from? An old Scripture memorized from youth, or a reminder straight from God?
Jack couldn’t be certain. So he focused on the only reliable sources he had at his disposal. His brain. And his skills.
Without moving, he took note of the line of fog snaking along the waters of the distant harbor. The vapor would eventually shroud the entire town in its milky-white mist. Perfect cover for escape.
“Get your hands in the air.” The order was spat in clipped, rapid-fire German. “Now.”
In one part of his mind, Jack counted off seconds. The rest of him searched for a solution that would keep all three of them alive. Measuring, gauging, he dropped a quick glance on to Kerensky. She met his gaze with hard steel in her eyes.
Good. She wouldn’t buckle.
“Do it, or I’ll shoot,” came the order. The voice was angry and a little desperate now. Jack knew from personal experience that desperate was the same as reckless.
