Midnight Hunter

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Evony. Kindly moderate it.”

I swallow. All right, so it seems I can get away with saying fick dich and slapping him across the face while he’s in my bed, but a little sarcasm over breakfast is going too far. Lowering my eyes I mutter, “Yes, Herr Oberstleutnant.” I turn away to pour some myself coffee but he pulls me back. His lips are very close to mine.

“I prefer it if you call me Reinhardt in this house.”

I don’t want to call him Reinhardt out loud unless it’s accompanied by fick dich. He already rules my body and is getting inside my head. Calling him Reinhardt as well is too much.

I’m saved from answering by Frau Fischer entering the kitchen. Her gaze drops to Reinhardt’s—Volker’s—hand on my arm and she frowns in disapproval. I’m stubbornly mute, so he either has to make a scene in front of her or let go.

He lets go. I sit at the table and Frau Fischer fusses about me, putting rolls, marmalade, ham and boiled eggs on the table. I notice she’s still frowning, and shooting looks at Reinhardt. I remember what she said about it not being proper me living with him even though—as she presumes—he’s my fiancé, and I realize she’s seen what was on the sheets and has guessed what it means. She makes sure I have plenty of the cheese I like and ignores his empty coffee cup, so it seems I’m above reproach. It was my bed, not his. He came to me.

All the while Reinhardt stands behind my chair, reading his newspaper and breathing down my neck.

I can’t concentrate at the office, images from last night flashing through my mind. The things he said. The things I said. They way he felt beneath my fingers, smooth and delicious and vital. It will be better for you next time.

No pain at all, only the good parts.

Lenore watches me seal and address an empty envelope and asks what’s got into me.

“Nothing. Just—”

And then I hear it. Whistling.

There’s a stack of files on my desk and I grab them and walk quickly, muttering something to Lenore about needing to get this done. As I duck into the filing room I see Peter at the far end of the corridor, talking and laughing with another secretary. He’ll be heading this way any moment. I yank open a cabinet draw and begin flicking through files with unseeing eyes.

I hear the squeaky wheels of his mail cart and my pulse goes through the roof. Then he’s passing the door and I call in a soft voice, “Peter.”

His face doesn’t change and he pushes the cart into the room. “Yes, there’s mail for you today. Here you go.”

As I take the proffered bundle of letters I look into his green eyes and say, “I’ll do it. I’ll spy on Volker.”

Peter smiles, and it’s such a warm, genuine smile that all my doubts fall away. “Thank you, Evony. Welcome to the group.”

Chapter Fifteen

Volker

It’s not even me you want.

I push back from my desk and stare out the window at the streets of East Berlin. I know what they in the West say about this city. That it’s a gray, unlovely prison. That the people have no hope, no pleasure. My spies across the border bring me their chatter and jokes at our expense and they make me laugh, though not for the reason they intended. How smug they are, when West Berlin is adorned not with hope and happiness, as they like to believe, but with billboards.

My eyes stray toward the Brandenburg Gate and the hard line of the Wall just beyond. How different the gate was in my youth, the centerpiece of this great city and adorned all around with Baroque buildings. When I returned from the prisoner of war camp that gate stood out amid so much rubble. The last beautiful thing in a destroyed city. And Dresden…I have never returned to Dresden to see the jewel-box city of my childhood in ruins. I will never return.

When I look behind me there is only death and rubble and horror, so why do I turn and look today? Better to think no further back than last night, to Evony, to the feel of her beneath me, to the anger and desire burning in her eyes like twin stars. I must be mad to have chosen a woman like her, who turns my thoughts back to long-ago times. Perhaps I should never have told her about Johanna but I need Evony to understand: she is mine, and there are no lengths to which I won’t go to hurt those who hurt her, to keep her safe, from my people as well as hers. On these cold, unfriendly streets I found a flower, and I plucked it. I will have this one pleasure, this girl whose final surrender was that of a queen in battle.

But her warmth in my arms was short-lived. She turned away from me, and I know that while the battle is won the war is far from over.

My wristwatch reads sixteen forty-five and I stand up and get my coat and cap. Enough for today. I want to get her alone again. I want to discover if she’ll slap me before or after I kiss her, or if she’s done with pretending and has admitted to herself that she wants me as much as I want her. I can feel her on the brink of acquiescing. Not resigning herself, as she has too much fight to resign herself to any fate. But how sweet it will be when I pull her close and she tilts her mouth up to mine without hesitation. With desire for me, unfettered. I can taste how sweet it will be, and I will have that sweetness.

I open my office door and she looks up from her typewriter at me, her eyes bright and wary but with the faintest pink blush spreading over her cheeks.

It’s not even me that you want.

I nod toward the elevator, letting her know my intention to leave and she collects her things. Her skirt rides up her thighs as she leans down to a bottom drawer for her handbag and I see the soft gleam of silk on her legs. I remember how her legs felt tight about my hips, her nails digging into my shoulders, and a thud of heat goes through me.

Not want you? Oh, Liebling, you couldn’t be more wrong.

Chapter Sixteen