by Ann Logan
“You and me both,” Wulf agreed. This was such a different trip than the one from Dallas. That trip seemed a million years ago.
Chapter 14
* * *
They landed in the capital city of Luxembourg before dark, and checked into one of the luxurious, small, downtown hotels catering to businessmen with a need for quiet and privacy.
As they dined in the hotel’s outdoor patio, Wulf watched with amusement as Mercy tried not to fall asleep.
“Wulf, I was just adding it up. Do you realize that in less than a week I have been in four countries and traversed the Atlantic three times?”
“So?” he said, amused at the desultory way she went after her salad. He touched a hand to his forehead. “That’s right. I promised to take you shopping. I want to see you decked out in Bavarian dress.”
Mercy laughed. “Oh, you just like the way women look in those bodice things with their you-know-what's pushed out.”
“They have much to recommend them.” Wulf laughed. “How do you like the lifestyles of the rich and infamous so far?”
“It’s harder than I thought,” she said, frowning. “You never know when you’re going to have to defend yourself.”
She picked up her fork, then gave up. “Please Wulf,” she said tiredly, “take me back to my room so I can go to sleep.”
“Just sleep?” he asked.
Mercy smiled and nodded. “I’d be useless tonight.”
“Let me make that decision, okay?” Wulf teased, pulling her into his arms. She’d been through Hell, and the only thing she complained about was lack of sleep. “Leave this door unlocked, I won’t feel safe until that money is taken care of.”
He’d chosen this particular hotel because of its high-tech security and was pleased to see sturdy, burglar-proof locks on all the solid-core doors, a far cry from much of Europe.
Wulf had already undressed down to his slacks and socks when he heard a timid knock. Opening the connecting door, he saw Mercy standing there, swathed in a long, pink, flannel nightgown, cuffs to the wrists and a neckline up to her chin.
He shook his head. “Where in the hell do you get these things?” he asked, plucking at the thick, unyielding material. “Mother Teresa’s thrift store?”
“Quit teasing me,” she said, tiredness lending a grumpy sound to her voice. “Do you mind if I sleep with you? Just sleep, okay?”
“Okay, come in. I promise I’ll just hold you.”
She nodded. “It’s not that I can’t get to sleep. I’m almost dead on my feet,” she said, getting into the bed and pulling up the covers. “I just don’t feel safe being alone.”
Wulf finished undressing and got into the bed. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder.
It was amazing when he thought about it. If Hazel had tried to get them together, she couldn’t have arranged the sequence of events better than the way it had lead them here, to this moment. Maybe that had been Hazel’s intention all along. Hadn’t she badgered him for some time now to get married and settle down? Oh, God! He would strangle Hazel if he found out she’d purposely exposed Mercy to danger. He loved her so much, the very thought of her safety being risked made him want to gnash his teeth.
* * *
The next morning Mercy was up and dressing in her own room when Wulf woke up. He must’ve been pretty exhausted to have missed that opportunity. He remembered with a grin the satisfaction of their previous lovemaking. Although he’d planned to make slow, delicious love to her all morning, he wasn’t that disappointed. They had the rest of their lives. He leapt out of bed. Let her run now. He felt primed to do some chasing.
As he dressed, he heard the sounds of her moving around and humming off key. “I had no idea you couldn’t carry a tune,” he called to her. “I, of course, have an excellent voice.”
“You’re so modest too.”
“All Germans have good voices,” he bragged.
“That’s only because you Germans get so much practice,” she said. “You break into song wherever you are, especially after consuming copious amounts of beer.”
“You’re just jealous of my superior voice. Are you ready to go down for breakfast?”
“Just let me get my shoes and jacket,” she said from the other room.
Wulf crept up behind her as Mercy slipped on her shoes. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him, leaning down to nuzzle the soft satin of her neck. Pushing her thick mane of hair out of his way, he nipped gently at the nape of her neck. She leaned back against him, her eyes closing. She reached back and cradled his freshly shaven cheek with her hand. Wulf pressed a kiss into her palm. Maybe they should catch a late breakfast.
When his breathing turned heavy, he backed away from her neck but continued to hold her against his body, swaying her gently in his arms. “I want to make love to you right now,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. “I want to taste you on my lips, pull your nipples into my mouth, and fill you with me.”
He felt her pulse race, her breath catch, and her body shudder. Enjoying her response to him, he pressed his full, aroused length against her buttocks.
Slowly, he turned her around in his arms. “What I want to do with you, will require plenty of sustenance.” He turned her face up to his. “I intend to take a long, very long time.”
“Hmmmm?” she breathed, her eyes heavy-lidded.
He chuckled, delighting in her responsiveness. This was the woman who feared she might be frigid? Impossible.
“Come on. Let’s get something to eat,” he said, chuckling at her dazed, dreamy look.
The hotel’s small mezzanine restaurant was a gourmet’s paradise. The coffee, a rich roast of hazelnut and amaretto, filled the air with its heavenly aroma. Omelets were prepared directly at the table with a flourish by a server who whipped them into buoyant perfection. Sausage, so succulent and spicy, and bread light enough to float were only a few of the degenerate delights. Mercy's taste buds thought they’d died and gone to heaven. Every time she moved, a busboy refilled or replaced something. A far cry from the local Mickey D’s.
“This hotel is so plain on the outside, but the inside…” Mercy glanced around the elegantly decorated gold and bronze room with its brocaded, thickly padded chairs, and other luxuries she was unaccustomed to. “Do you always live like this?” she asked, wondering if she could adjust comfortably to such a lifestyle.
“Of course. You will, too, when you marry me. I travel a lot, and I want you to travel with me.”
“Hmmm,” she answered, remaining noncommittal. How could she keep up with someone so sure of himself?
As they left the hotel to walk to the bank, Mercy gazed longingly in the shop windows. Escada couture, Gucci shoes and bags, Waterford crystal, Hasselblad cameras, Belgian lace and chocolates reminded her of the window shops in Berlin.
“We can stop any time,” Wulf told her. “We’re in no hurry.”
Mercy shook her head. “No, I want to see this through first. Let’s get it over with.”
They both halted in surprise at the ‘closed’ sign on the bank door. Neither had anticipated a national holiday on June 23rd.
“I should have thought of this,” Wulf said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Europe has so many holidays, it’s hard to keep track of them all.”
“What do we do now?”
“A little sightseeing? Or would you rather shop?”
Mercy thought about it for a minute.
“Let’s go sightseeing. I can shop later.” As soon as she said it, she knew she’d probably violated some shopping code of ethics that was signed by every female at the age of six.
Although the banks were having a holiday, the rest of the city was still hard at work. Making money appeared to be the national pastime of the Luxembourg people. In the town square, in the many gardens, and at the old cathedral, businessmen and women in suits mingled in outdoor cafes with tourists in shorts with cameras.
On the way back
to the hotel, Mercy slipped her arm through Wulf’s. He glanced down at her and smiled.
“After we finish at the bank tomorrow, we’ll visit the Grand Ducal Palace.”
“I can’t wait for you to be my own special tour guide,” she replied. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day; Wulf had even bought her a camera to capture the abundance of flowers that flourished in Luxembourg’s mild summer climate. A tingle spread through Mercy as she gazed into Wulf’s eyes. He’d been so sincere—maybe there was hope for them after all.
They entered the lobby to find a message at the desk. Mercy’s heart skipped a beat. Anton, Wulf’s notorious boss, was waiting for them in the bar.
Mercy had a moment to admire the dark mahogany paneling and comfortable leather high-backed chairs as well as an intriguing aroma of expensive tobacco before Wulf reached forward, grabbing the hand of a powerful looking man who rose to greet them.
“I decided to see for myself what the hell’s been happening to you,” Anton said gruffly. “Sit down and have a drink.”
“Anton! It’s good to see you,” Wulf said, clapping Anton on the back as he hugged his shoulders. “This is my fiancée, Mercy Fuentes. Mercy, this old scoundrel is Anton Steiger, my boss.”
Mercy smiled at Anton.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Steiger. I’ve heard so much about you from Wulf.” That’s an understatement, Mercy thought, gazing up at the imposing Anton.
The iron gray-haired, burly man radiated both competence and dynamism. “When is the happy day?” he asked.
“We haven’t settled when or even if we’re getting married yet.” She and Wulf still had a lot to discuss before she would feel ready to make any permanent vows. This marriage, if it ever happened, would be her first and last.
Wulf frowned at her. They were going to be married, and soon if he had anything to say about it. He had seldom ever lost anything he put his full concentration on, and right now, it centered on her.
“Anton, you’d better watch your language around Mercy,” Wulf cautioned in a teasing voice. “She speaks German better than you or I.” He grinned at Anton as he draped his arm loosely around Mercy’s shoulder, pulling her toward his side.
Anton motioned them to sit down as he pulled out Mercy’s chair and signaled for a waiter. “So this is Mercy,” he said slowly, his perusal hard, penetrating, and unsmiling.
Mercy tensed, the muscles of her face freezing. Wulf had warned her that Anton was intimidating, and he’d been right about that. What Wulf hadn’t told her was the dangerous aura Anton exuded. She held her breath, her gaze glued to Anton’s like a caged animal—until she realized he was purposely trying to intimidate her. Why? To scare her away from Wulf?
Smiling calmly back at him, she let him know in no uncertain terms that she could hold her own with him, or anyone else for that matter.
Wulf watched the two people in the world he loved most as they measured each other. It would’ve been amusing to see them acting like two alley cats establishing territory if he didn’t want them to like each other so much. He could tell Anton liked Mercy’s quiet defiance, and silently he applauded her attitude toward Anton, loving that slightly tilted, pointed chin of hers. It was never smart to let Anton run over you like a steamroller. Wulf knew that from experience.
Mercy was as strong and determined in her own way as he, Wulf suddenly realized. Good! The way Mercy had come out of her shell since they’d met made his chest expand even more with pride and love for her.
Anton cleared his throat. “I had to see for myself why Wulf’s been acting like such a…”
Wulf’s cough caught the crude word before he said it.
“I mean, why he’s in love with you,” Anton said.
“Thank you.” Mercy blushed.
When was the last time Anton had ever seen a woman blush? Wulf wondered. Probably never!
“Anton knows everything,” Wulf said, easily picking up the reins of the conversation.
“You know all about my notorious family?” Mercy asked. “On both sides?”
“Yes,” Anton said. “Makes no difference. I’ve seen worse. What’s important is who you are.”
“I didn’t think you missed any details when you looked me over,” she returned coolly.
Anton chuckled, and Mercy was struck by how similar his laugh sounded to Wulf’s. In fact, she mused, there were a lot of similarities—not only height, but they both seemed to have the same intensity and demeanor. But, of course, they’d been working together for about ten years. Similarities were bound to have occurred.
They were a well-organized team, she could see, with Wulf the seasoned diplomat and Anton the tank, plowing through the competition with the force of his personality.
“Tomorrow you’ll be through with it all, I guess,” Anton said.
“You mean our Jasonian quest?” Mercy inquired, feeling slightly more comfortable. “I hope so.”
“I contacted the Organization last night and left a message where we were and what we planned to do,” Wulf said. “They haven’t gotten back to me yet, so I don’t know who will be contacting us.”
Anton coughed, looking at them sheepishly. “That’ll be me.”
“You!” Mercy and Wulf responded. They both looked at Anton in astonishment.
“What?” Anton asked, his bulk leaning forward aggressively. “You think someone like me is too old for this kind of stuff? Hell, I handled a lot more dangerous missions during the cold war, let me tell you.”
Mercy’s eyes widened. “I thought it was only a rumor—you being in espionage work, I mean.” Suddenly, Anton’s aggressiveness and his imposing bulk felt more ominous than reassuring.
Anton held up a hand. “A friend asked me to do a favor for old times’ sake. I agreed because I’m sick and tired of doing without my vice president.” He glared at Wulf. “This was only supposed to take a few days. Remember?”
“What can I tell you?” Wulf said, shrugging. “Things got complicated.”
“Yeah, right!” Anton growled.
“It’s all my fault,” Mercy felt compelled to explain. “If it hadn’t been for my family in Mexico,” she began.
“Don’t let Anton bully you, Mercy,” Wulf warned. “His bark is worse than his bite.”
“That’s what you think,” Anton shot back. “I’ve taken a bite out of your butt once or twice.”
“All right, all right. I stand corrected.” Wulf chuckled. “I don’t have any personal objection to your being our contact.”
Anton sat back, clearly annoyed with the both of them. “Why is it you young people think the older generation is just a bunch of lightweights?”
“Maybe not that light,” Wulf suggested, studying his drink.
“I work hard to keep those extra pounds in shape, you young scamp. Besides, it’s all muscle.” Anton slapped his rather large stomach. “Better than to give up my beer. Hell, I’m as good as I ever was.”
“Okay, okay, you’re as good as you ever were,” Wulf conceded. If Anton was in on the exchange of the money, then he probably knew Hazel, too. All of a sudden things fell into place.
“What have you found out about our fugitive status in Germany?” Mercy asked in a low voice.
“Oh that.” Anton shrugged and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “That was cleared up after you left the country. You’re no longer wanted in Germany or anywhere else for that matter.”
“Thank God!” Mercy breathed.
“It was simple ballistics,” Anton added. “The gun used to shoot the manager was different from the one used to kill Muller. Of course, whoever was responsible for that has disappeared, probably someone who knew about the setup and decided to try his luck.”
“Have they found Stratton yet?” Wulf asked.
Anton shook his head. “From what I understand, they still don’t know anything. But, don’t worry,” Anton hastened to assure her. “He’ll be eliminated once he’s found.”
Mercy was stunned
that Anton would think she’d want anyone eliminated. She stared at Wulf. Was he as cold and unfeeling as he sounded? Dear God, what was she doing here with people who were so foreign to her system of values and principles? Mercy’s stomach lurched. She had to get out of here!
“I’m tired,” she said, standing up. “Must be jet lag catching up with me. I’ll just order up some food to my room and meet you two in the morning. Excuse me, Anton. It was nice meeting you,” she lied, shaking his hand and plastering a smile on her face.
“No, no, don’t get up,” she gestured quickly to them. “I’ll see myself to my room.” She had to leave before she crumpled in front of them. She shared more than just an uncanny likeness with her grandmother, Merci Stratton.
Wulf stared at Mercy’s back for a moment, startled by her sudden change of mood and behavior. “This isn’t like her. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” He caught up with her at the elevator. “I’ll see you to your room.”
“Fine.” She sighed. “But I’m very tired.”
Neither said anything until they got to her room. Wulf took the key from her hand and opened the door. She walked inside and turned to shut the door, running instead into the wall of his formidable chest.
He put his hands on her shoulders and stared down at her. “All right, what’s wrong? Spit it out.” He didn’t know whether to hold her or shake her.
“Nothing. I’m just tired.”
He shook his head. “The hell you are! That wasn’t like you, running off like that. What’s going on in that crazy brain of yours? You’d better tell me, damn it, because I’m not leaving here until you do.”
“I don’t know,” Mercy said, shaking her head and looking away. “All of a sudden, I… it was… oh, I don’t know, just all too much. Everything! I feel as though I’ve been folded, stapled, bent, and mutilated!”
“Mercy…”
“Don’t you see? It’s the way you two were talking so casually about life and death, after all the dangerous, life threatening things that have happened to us. It’s the way you sometimes lie to me, for my own good, of course. And worse, it’s the fact that I can’t help but love you, even if I sometimes don’t like what you do or who you are.”