by Ann Logan
“Mercy, please.”
“How can you wipe out the truth and just put something there you want me to see? And you do it so easily, too. Maybe it’s the fact I’ve had my head up in the clouds for so long I can’t seem to come down to earth.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “I’ve been so naive and foolish, I must seem like an idiot to you.” She looked at him with longing and uncertainty. “All I want to do right now is finish this stupid charade. I’m tired of people who aren’t what they say they are or who they seem to be. I want to live a normal life again,” she said, her voice rising.
Wulf pulled her into his arms, hugging her close and rocking her. He gulped down the fear that spread through his gut, the fear that she might not have anything to do with him after tomorrow.
“Tomorrow it will all be over. Then we’ll take it one day at a time. Okay? Just give us time to really get to know each other. I know we can make it if we try.”
Mercy nodded and leaned into him, exhausted. She hadn’t known feelings could billow out of control, stomp on your heart, make your head swim, and cause your stomach to tie itself in knots.
“I understand now why Papa never returned to Mexico.” She clung to Wulf as she cried out the rest of the grief built up inside her.
“I forget how innocent you are,” Wulf said, his voice rumbling beneath her ear. “I should have realized you were over-stressed.”
“I’m so afraid,” she said, shaking her head slowly and pulling away from him.
“Of what?”
“That I love a man who is all wrong for me.” Mercy choked on a sob as she finished. “Just as my grandmother did.”
“No! What we have together is not the same thing at all.”
“I don’t know if it is or not,” she said, shaking her head. “This is worse than just being angry at you or not trusting you. It’s knowing full well who and what you are and loving you anyway.” Tears choked her words again. “Nothing is as crazy or mystifying to me as what I feel for you. I need time to think.”
“Okay,” Wulf said, pulling her slack body gently against his chest. His stomach clenched with fear. He wanted so much to be everything she needed and wanted him to be. Unfortunately, he was just himself. It took all his courage and fortitude not to press her for some sort of commitment, but she didn’t have the experience to fight him, and, damn it, he wanted more from her than just sex. He wanted her to want more from him, and he wanted her to want him—a total connection between them.
“All right, Mercy.” Wulf sighed. “I’ll do anything you want except stop loving you. It will take me less than ten minutes to wrap up with Anton, then I’ll be in the next room. Just leave the door unlocked for my sake, okay?”
She nodded. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips, and quietly left the room.
Mercy tossed and turned all night. She missed the solid bulk of Wulf’s body, the reassuring feel of his warmth and laughter, and tried not to think about the blissful ecstasy of their joining. She didn’t feel at all rested when she woke the next morning. Her eyelids felt like leaden weights and her eyes felt as though gritty sand had been thrown in them.
After a quiet breakfast, Mercy and Wulf walked with Anton to the bank.
“We’ll need a death certificate for Merci Stratton as well as birth and death certificates for Lisa Stratton Fuentes and Pedro Diego Fuentes and your own birth certificate,” the bank officer informed her.
Mercy turned to Wulf, flustered. “I never thought… I didn’t bring any documents.” What a total lack of preparation, she thought with dismay.
“Don’t worry,” Anton said, handing a folder to the bank officer. “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order,” he told the officer.
Mercy stared at Anton. “But where…?”
“A mutual friend,” Anton replied cryptically.
“Ah, yes,” the officer said as he perused the documents. “I believe this will suffice.” He left to obtain a copy of the account, coming back shortly.
“In American dollars, the account presently amounts to $909,589,634.13. That includes accumulated interest, of course,” he said.
“That much?” Mercy’s palms grew damp. She turned to Wulf and found herself staring into the barrel of a gun.
“Well, well,” Adolph said with a sinister smile. “Isn’t it nice to see family again?”
Chapter 15
* * *
Adolph and Ramon stood holding guns with silencers. Ramon smiled malevolently at Mercy’s startled face.
“Wire the money to this account in Mexico,” Adolph said in a grating voice, waving his gun at the bank officer and thrusting a slip of paper at him. The bank officer stood there, frozen.
“Get moving!” Adolph rasped.
The bank officer grabbed the paper and moved to a corner of the room, his hand shaking.
“How did you get here?” Mercy whispered.
“I told them I was in the Israeli government.” Adolph cackled. “I assure you, my credentials are the best forgeries to be had.” He glared at Wulf and Mercy. “You didn’t think I would let you get away with this, did you? That puta did it to me once. I am not going to let it happen again. That money belongs to me!”
“And me,” Ramon reminded him petulantly.
“Of course, Ramon,” Adolph said, irritation and impatience underscoring his voice.
Wulf fumed. They won’t get away with this, he swore to himself.
The transfer took less time than Wulf anticipated. When the bank officer announced everything was in order, Adolph pointed the gun at Mercy. “You, my dear, will die now for the hell your grandmother put me through.”
Wulf lunged for Adolph’s gun. Adolph spun and fired. The shot caught Wulf in the chest, and he slumped to the floor.
Mercy screamed. Falling down on her knees, she frantically attempted to staunch the flow of blood soaking through his shirt with alarming speed.
Anton moved incredibly fast, grabbing Ramon from behind and breaking his neck.
Mercy screamed again as Adolph crumpled to the floor next to her, a small, dark spot between his eyes.
“Schweinehunt!” Erich said, stepping away from the door and kicking Adolph with his foot. He looked apologetically at Mercy and shook his head. “He killed the only woman I ever loved. He deserved to die.”
Mercy looked up at him in shock. She felt as though she was slogging knee deep through a quagmire of mud.
“You’ll be safe now, meine liebschen,” Erich said mildly, as he gazed at Adolph and Ramon. “Ich come dich, meine liebe,” he said. To Mercy’s horror, he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
The door flew open, and her cousin Mario came bursting in, his gun at the ready. He stared at his father lying on the floor. Mario shook his head. “You just wouldn’t learn, would you, Father?”
The bleeding was spreading fast beneath Mercy’s hands, too fast. “No, no, no,” she moaned. The anguish in her heart muffled the pandemonium of voices and noises around her.
Anton brushed her aside and held his jacket tightly to Wulf’s chest.
Ambulance attendants arrived, speaking rapidly in French. Anton had to pull her away so the attendants could work unhindered. Several minutes passed before she realized the low moaning she heard was her own voice.
Wulf opened his eyes for a moment. “I love you,” he gasped to her as the emergency crew lifted him onto the gurney. “I love…”
“Shut up, Wulf! Please!” Mercy begged, her hands reaching out as Anton restrained her, his large, thick hands like steel clamps on her arms. She had to do something, something to make him better, anything to relieve the crushing fear that took her breath away and made her light-headed.
“Sorry, Anton,” Wulf gasped out. His head fell back lifelessly.
“No!” Mercy screamed. She tried to tear out of Anton’s arms. He pulled her close and patted her shoulder.
“He just passed out. Now he won’t feel the pain.” Mercy quieted a moment, but her heart st
ill pounded in terror.
Mario motioned as the emergency crew wheeled Wulf out. Mercy turned her head into Anton’s shoulder. “Please, God, please let him be all right,” she said over and over as they sped after the ambulance in Mario’s car.
Anton patted her shoulder again. “He’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
Anton’s face was gray with fear and anxiety. Mercy sucked back another sob of fright. If anything happens to him… “What if this hospital doesn’t have modern enough facilities to take care of him?”
“Then we’ll MEDEVAC him out of here,” Anton returned, his expression grim and determined.
Mario stopped the car with a squeal of the brakes, and Mercy bolted from it. She and Anton hurried through the emergency entrance after the emergency crew. Doctors and nurses with IV bottles rushed Wulf through a pair of swinging doors.
Mercy watched, petrified with fear. No one was allowed past those swinging doors. Finally, she turned to Anton and slumped into his arms, sobbing helplessly. She knew by the fear on Anton’s face that Wulf’s wound looked very bad.
The swinging doors burst open and a harried young doctor asked. “Is anyone from this patient’s family here? Someone with AB negative blood? That man needs a transfusion, stat!”
“I’m AB negative,” Anton replied, surprise registering on his face.
“Get in here,” the doctor motioned to him.
“What’s going on, Anton?” Mercy asked.
“Wulf needs blood,” Anton said, disengaging her hand firmly and following the doctor.
Mercy sank into a chair, covering her face with her hands and praying.
It didn’t matter to her that Wulf wasn’t perfect. When he got better—not if—she wouldn’t budge until she knew everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly. She could handle all of it.
Time, like sand in an hourglass, slipped by, each minute cementing Mercy’s resolve. She loved Wulf and wanted him with every fiber of her being. And not just for today—for the rest of their lives.
Anton came back through the swinging doors rolling down his shirt sleeve. He sat down heavily next to her, his elbows braced on his knees, his hands clasped, his head bowed. After several moments, he spoke, his voice a mixture of wonder and shock. “I think…” he said, looking, if possible, even more pale than before and swallowing with difficulty, “Wulf is my son.”
Suddenly he stood and paced before her. “Damn it!” Anton said angrily. “Do you have any idea what it did to Wulf to find out that he was adopted?” he asked her.
Mercy shook her head. Her ears buzzed and her head spun. How many more shocks could her body stand?
“It ripped him apart. All his life, all he ever wanted was for his father to just show him he cared. Why do you think he went through this impossible charade to begin with?”
Mercy shook her head again, numb.
“Jacob is a big contributor to Israel and Jewish causes. Wulf thought he could win his approval by giving all that money back to Israel.”
As Mercy listened, Mario sat down and took her hand, squeezing it in sympathy. “I’ve just talked with Tia Sylvia,” he said. “She says she’s praying for Wulf. She’s sorry about my father, but she says he’s in God’s hands now.”
“Thank you, Mario. Her prayers mean a lot to me.” Mercy squeezed his hand back, glad for his presence.
“She also said to tell you that the devil has a new playmate in Hell now that Adolph Stratton is dead.” He pursed his lips. “Tia Sylvia takes her vendettas seriously. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for my father’s part in this. I failed him and you both by not keeping a close watch. I should’ve realized that he and Adolph might get together, but I thought they were through years ago.”
“I thought they hated each other,” Mercy said.
“They did, but they were lovers once a long time ago.”
“That’s the last thing I would have guessed!”
“It’s true,” Mario said, nodding and compressing his lips.
Mercy took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about your father,” she said, clutching his hand tight.
“De nada,” he said. “We were not close. He was my father.” He shrugged. “That was all.”
“But Mario,” she asked, as a question popped into her mind, “how did you know to follow us to Luxembourg? We never said anything about coming here.”
Mario smiled, his eyes laughing at her. “I’ve been following you ever since you left Dallas. Who do you think was behind you on the Autobahn that day? Aiee! That novio of yours is hell on wheels, no? And who do you think eliminated that turncoat, Muller?” he said, shaking his head. “That bastard tried to kill you twice.”
Mercy stared at him in astonishment, her mouth gaping again.
Mario grinned at her look of confusion. “I met Hazel when your mother died. How she found us, I’ve never discovered. One day she showed up at the hacienda. She and Tia Sylvia stayed in the sala for most of the day. When they came out, Hazel pulled me aside. And the rest, as they say, is history.” He patted her arm and continued.
“Hazel always supplies back-up support when there’s a sensitive mission like this. I admit we were surprised by Muller, though. We thought he was clean. It just goes to show you can never be too sure, no?” Mercy’s mouth couldn’t seem to close.
“What does Hazel have to do with all this?” She stared at Mario in confusion. Clearly, she didn’t know Hazel as well as she thought she did.
Anton shrugged, still pacing. “Hazel is in the espionage business. I trained her years ago as an operative for the Organization. She made quite a business of it. A bright girl, Hazel. But I’m still going to strangle her.” He glowered at Mario. “Does she know about Wulf yet?”
“Of course. She’s on her way here now.” Mario looked piercingly at Anton. “Did you know that Hazel is Wulf’s mother?”
“Not until today!”
“How could she send her own son on an assignment?” Mario asked nobody in particular. “Even for me, that’s cold-blooded.”
“God damn right it is,” Anton said, not mincing words. “I also didn’t know until today that I’m his father.”
Mario blinked and sat back. “Dios mio! Hazel only told me that Wulf’s father was Jewish and that Wulf was doing all this for him. But, if you’re his father, then… Aiee!” He stared at Anton’s face. “Hazel is in a lot of trouble, no?”
Anton stared at him, his face set and cold.
How many more surprises would she have today, Mercy wondered. Her mind felt numb, her feet nailed to the floor.
Then one more thought occurred to her. “What about the money, Mario? Don’t tell me all this was for nothing?”
“But, my dear cousin,” Mario said, winking at her. “You are your granduncle Adolph’s legal heir. We were, of course, delighted that Erich provided us with such a fait accompli by disposing of him.” Mario shrugged his shoulders in a typically Latin gesture. “Adolph’s will left everything to Erich, which now comes to you.”
Mercy stared at him, her head spinning. These events were an everyday occurrence to Mario, she suddenly realized as he smiled at her. Should she feel grateful to him for protecting her or appalled by his casual disposal of the problem of Muller, Adolph, and God knew whom else?
Suddenly, it was just too much for her to contemplate. Mercy looked away from Mario. There was nothing more to ask or say. Anton stopped his pacing and sat down next to her on her other side.
The three of them sat in silence for several hours before a doctor finally came out from behind the swinging doors. The doctor’s face looked somber as he pulled away his mask and gloves. Mercy’s mind and heart froze.
“I don’t want to mislead you,” the doctor started. “The survival rates of these types of gunshot wounds on a man of his age and physical condition are approximately fifty-fifty.”
“Fifty-fifty?” Mercy faltered. “But…”
“He arrested on the operating table.” The doctor explained.
Wha
t was the doctor saying? Mercy wanted to hear that Wulf would be just fine, that everything would be okay. Why isn’t he saying that?
“His condition is extremely critical and guarded,” the doctor cautioned them, his face grave. “There is nothing further we can do for him at this point. He has slipped into a coma and is being moved to ICU if you want to see him later. You must understand that now it is up to his healthy body to do the healing. And, of course, up to God,” the doctor finished. “I am sorry I cannot be more positive than that.”
That’s what hospitals are for, Mercy decided with growing despair. Waiting for good news, waiting for bad news, just plain waiting.
“Because of Mr. Rheinhart’s condition,” the nursing sister told them with a severe frown when they were finally allowed into ICU, “only one person at a time is allowed at his bedside. You have five minutes, no more, once in the morning, once in the afternoon, and once at night.”
Anton went in first, coming out shaken, his eyes tear-filled. “I’m getting a cup of coffee,” he said, stomping away.
Mercy tiptoed into the room. Wulf was attached to a cornucopia of tubes and instruments, each tracking his progress on noisy monitoring devices. The equipment seemed technologically modern and new, but the number of instruments and gizmos necessary to keep him alive petrified her.
Her shaky hand found and touched his. The coldness startled her. He always felt so strong, so warm, so alive. The memory of his heated hands on her bare skin brought tears to her eyes. She felt a sinking sensation flood her body, similar to the one she felt just before her mother died.
“Wulf?” she asked in a trembling voice. “I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but I’m here. I love you, and I’m not leaving you. I won’t let you leave me, either. You’re going to get better. I know you are, because I,” her voice broke as tears interrupted her words, “I just don’t want to live without you.”
Tears flowed freely down her face. “Damn it, Wulf, you can’t leave me now. You swept me off my feet, and you have no right to leave me behind.”