The Long Path Home

by Ellen Lindseth

  “What about us injuring you?” Matt asked.

  Ansel smiled coolly. “Don’t worry about us. Hand-to-hand combat is something both Merritt and I excel at, or we wouldn’t be here to teach you.”

  With that sobering thought, the group split up.

  Vi couldn’t decide if she was relieved or crushed Ansel didn’t put her in his group. Despite his betrayal last night—what had he been thinking, taking her to see the major like that and almost getting her arrested?—she still was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Oh, why couldn’t her body remember the horror in his eyes when she had revealed Jimmy’s existence instead of his deep, soulful kiss?

  The fact he had put her in the corporal’s group should have been reminder enough. Except her gaze kept drifting back to him. She loved the confident way he stood, the quiet attentiveness he showed her friends when they asked questions, the beauty of his fleeting smiles.

  “Miss Heart.” Corporal Merritt’s voice pulled her attention back to her group. “I’d like you to participate in my next demonstration.”

  For the next two hours, Corporal Merritt showed them all just how badly they were prepared for a one-on-one attack. Dread slowly suffused her as she realized how much she had overestimated her abilities. Even after he taught them how to disarm a person who had a knife, and one with a gun, and one who was bent on strangling them, her confidence in actually being able to do any of this against an infuriated Sr. Conti was close to zero.

  She felt better when the corporal switched to more personal ways to disarm an opponent, particularly one bent on rape. This was right up her alley, though he did correct her knee-to-crotch positioning.

  “As soon as you make contact, be ready to push, or he’ll fall on top of you as he crumples,” the corporal said.

  He grabbed her and let his weight shift forward, to show what he meant. What happened next was pure reflex. The second she had felt his body starting to trap her, blind panic overcame her, and she fought back with an ear-piercing shriek. Next thing she knew, the corporal was on the floor, and her foot was raised to stomp on his family jewels.

  Embarrassed, she stopped herself in the nick of time.

  “Having some trouble over there, Merritt?” Ansel called from his group.

  To Vi’s relief, the corporal laughed as he picked himself up off the floor. “Nope. Just got caught off guard by a doll. Nice throw, by the way,” he added, as he stretched to realign his back.

  “Thanks,” she said with a shaky laugh.

  Matt put his arm around her shoulders. “I think if I go out from now on, I’m taking Virginia along to protect me.”

  The troupe laughed, and the exercises continued. Another twenty minutes, and they were done.

  “Thank God,” Sue said, looking uncharacteristically sweaty and rumpled. “I’m all for staying alive, but I was wearing far too much wool for this.”

  Wyatt raised his hand to get people’s attention. “Everyone, go get some lunch and then report back here at one to get ready for first call. Curtain is at two.”

  “Ugh.” Marcie fanned herself with a piece of paper she had found on the floor. “I don’t know if I have two shows in me after that.”

  “Of course you do,” Vi said, positioning herself to catch some of Marcie’s breeze. “Soon as you get some food in you, you’ll be ready and raring to go again.”

  “Miss Heart.” Ansel’s voice made Vi jump. “If I could speak with you for a moment.”

  Marcie slid her a speculative look, one Vi did her best to ignore.

  She gave her friend a tight smile. “You go ahead, Marce. I’ll be right out.”

  “Okay. Just don’t disappear on me like you did last night.”

  “Not a chance,” she said firmly. “You can trust me on that.”

  After everyone had left, including the directors, Vi turned to find Ansel and Corporal Merritt waiting for her.

  She drew a deep breath. “Am I in trouble?”

  “No,” Ansel said. “It’s about tonight. I need to brief you.”

  “So I guess my story checked out?”

  “It did, and a note was sent to Sr. Conti indicating you would be meeting him tonight, after the show.”

  “Hence all the extra instruction this morning?”

  Ansel hesitated. “Major Ricca doesn’t like to send citizens into danger unprepared.”

  “And what about you?” she asked. What she really wanted to know was how he felt about her in general, but she was too afraid of the answer.

  A small muscle flexed in his cheek. “I brought Merritt along this morning for an independent assessment of your abilities,” he said, avoiding her question as usual. Her spirits sank.

  “And . . . ,” she prompted, her attention sliding to the corporal.

  Merritt winked at her. “You passed with flying colors. Just remember what I told you about pushing away. And try not to scream. While that normally makes sense, in this case, you’ll want to attract as little attention as possible.”

  “But what if I could use some help?” she asked, still not convinced she could handle Conti by herself, despite the corporal’s confidence in her.

  Ansel answered her this time. “You’ll be out of luck. Which is why I’m giving you a chance to back out. You weren’t trained or brought over for this.”

  “Was Luciana?”

  He hesitated again, which was an answer in itself.

  She exhaled. “So, yes.”

  “And no,” Merritt said. “Miss Rossi is a special case. You have to understand we’ve a real dearth of people who speak Italian fluently and can be counted on to be loyal to the Allies. We tried using Italian citizens but had bad luck with people switching sides depending on who was paying more. Not that I blame them. When an armed force is razing your country, you don’t really care if they are good or bad. You just want them gone.”

  Vi considered that for a moment. “And with Luciana having family rounded up by the Nazis, I bet she was eager to help the Allies out with more than acting.”

  “Actually, acting isn’t far off the mark in intelligence work,” Merritt said with a laugh. “One of our best recruits was a pro baseball player who spoke Italian like a native. His career on the baseball diamond had taught him to be cool as a cucumber under pressure, a skill that came in handy when he went behind the lines to interview Italian scientists on the state of Nazi weapon design.”

  “How wonderful!” Vi said, intrigued in spite of herself.

  “What he’s not telling you is the fellow also almost died,” Ansel said darkly. “He was betrayed by an Italian businessman that we thought we could trust.”

  Merritt shrugged. “As I said, we’ve had some bad luck.”

  “You can still back out,” Ansel reminded her.

  She could, but . . . “I appreciate the warning, but I agreed to do this for a reason.”

  “Miss May can be kept in the clear without sacrificing yourself,” Ansel said, his jaw tight.

  “But what about the greater good? I heard you telling Mr. Miller that you were working on shortening the war.”

  Corporal Merritt hesitated and then spoke up. “Well, actually, not shortening it, per se. Not prolonging it would be more accurate.”

  “I don’t understand.” She looked at Ansel, hoping he would fill her in.

  He sighed. “It’s complicated. In a nutshell, Sr. Conti stole a map that shows the location of nearly a ton of gold.”

  “Which itself was stolen from the Bank of Italy right before the Germans pulled out of Rome,” Corporal Merritt added. “As far as we can tell, the gold is still in Italy, and we’d like it to stay that way.”

  “As would the partisans, I’m assuming.” Vi rubbed her neck, finding the whole thing hard to believe. “And I’m also guessing the Germans know about the map, hence the two SS agents trying to track you and the partisans down the other night?”

  “The Third Reich is running out of money, which is reducing their ability to wage war,” Ansel said by w
ay of an answer. “But if they get their hands on that gold . . .”

  He didn’t have to finish. She got the picture.

  She drew a deep breath. “Okay. So I’m to go in, knock Conti out, and find the map. Fine. Do you have anything else I can work with, like a description of the map or a possible hiding place?”

  “The partisans have already searched his apartments from top to bottom. They also mugged him one night, but no joy. We’re assuming he still has it, though, because he’s been in contact with a banker in Switzerland.”

  “But it might only exist in his head,” Vi pointed out.

  Ansel hesitated. “Perhaps, but we’ve reason to believe he wears it on him somehow. Apparently not in his wallet or in his pockets, so perhaps somewhere more . . . intimate.”

  “Which is why you mentioned a strip search last night.” She thought about that for a moment. “Has anyone actually set eyes on this map?”

  “Only once,” Ansel said, sounding frustrated. “While my unit did intercept a courier sent from Generalfeldmarschall Kesselring to his private banker in Switzerland, the fellow escaped when a German patrol ambushed us, taking his pouch with him. When we came across him again, several days later, he was dead, and the map was gone.”

  “So how do you know Sr. Conti has it?”

  “We don’t. But he did recently hire twenty-some laborers in the area of Monte Soratte, which—perhaps not coincidentally—is the rumored burial place of the gold. There’s a bunker built into the top of the mountain, one that Kesselring used as a German command post for several months before pulling out. Locals said they saw cartloads of gold bars go in but never out. In addition, Kesselring ordered several sections of the bunker destroyed before leaving.”

  “And where’s this monte?” Vi asked, still not sure she was following Ansel’s logic.

  “Thirty miles north of here.” Ansel paused. “We also know a good friend of Conti’s was recently killed under suspicious circumstances and that this good friend was friends with Kesselring’s banker.”

  “And where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Vi said, the connection starting to become clear. “So why not skip the map and search the bunker?”

  “Because, while we think that’s where the gold is, we don’t know for sure. Nor can we wait Conti out, since the Nazis are getting desperate. The only thing saving him from being kidnapped is his connection to the prime minister.”

  “Which won’t protect him much longer if the survival of the Third Reich is at stake,” Vi said.

  “We’re running out of time,” Ansel agreed. “But that still doesn’t mean you need to do this. We can find other ways to get the map off Conti.”

  Vi looked away so he wouldn’t see the sudden rush of tears in her eyes. That he was willing to risk letting it fail rather than see her get hurt gave her hope. Perhaps he didn’t hate her after all.

  “You say you’ll keep Marcie safe,” she said, needing one last piece of information before she threw her life away. “But what of Luciana? It occurs to me that she could take my place, though I wouldn’t wish this role on anyone.”

  “Miss Rossi already tried to befriend Conti,” Corporal Merritt said. “And failed.”

  “So there really is no one else but me,” she said, her hopes fading.

  “Violet.” Ansel’s voice was a low, husky plea. “Don’t go tonight. Walk away. No one will blame you.”

  Vi’s heart squeezed with regret and longing. She glanced up at Corporal Merritt. “May I talk to Sergeant Danger alone, please?”

  Merritt checked his watch. “How long do you need? We’ve got to get back to HQ.”

  “Five minutes, tops.”

  “Okeydokey.” Merritt gave her a brief two-fingered salute. “I’ll wait outside.”

  He winked at Ansel and then strolled off, whistling “I’ll Be Around.”

  “Corporal Merritt has a funny sense of humor,” Vi said as she watched him disappear through the door.

  Ansel touched her arm. “Vi, I’m serious. Walk away.”

  She barely repressed a shiver, her whole body responding to his proximity. “If I do, will the gold fall into Nazi hands?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. The whole thing could be a wild-goose chase.”

  “Or the map could be in Conti’s underwear. It’s a possibility we can’t ignore. I want this war over.”

  “As do we all. But did you ever stop to think there might be people better trained to handle this kind of situation? Or do you think you’re somehow expendable, so it’s okay to run in and get killed?”

  “Well, I . . .” She blinked, the accusation catching her off-balance.

  “Dammit, Vi.” He took her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “You are not expendable. Get that out of your head, you hear? People care about you.”

  She shoved him away, anger and confusion sparking within her. “Well of course they do. But that doesn’t mean my life is more important than anyone else’s.”

  “No, but it also doesn’t mean you have to jump in front of a bullet if you don’t have to. Committing suicide is not a path to redemption.”

  She searched his face. “What are you talking about?”

  “I watched you tear yourself apart last night, and for no good reason.” He gripped her shoulders again when she started to shake her head in disagreement, and forced her to look at him. “Do you honestly think you’re the only person who’s made a mistake in his life? Or has let his parents down or done something he regretted the next day?”

  She scoffed. “I slept with my sister’s future fiancé and got pregnant. Tell me how I could’ve done anything worse!”

  “I can think of a lot of things, actually. But let’s focus on your son. What did you do?”

  She looked away as a wave of pain and longing washed over her. “I gave him up after he was born. I—I couldn’t give him the life he deserved.”

  “That sounds like the decision of a good person to me. And what about your sister?” he asked gently.

  “I—I don’t know. I left home and never went back. I write to my parents every few months so they won’t worry. And I wrote an apology to Fern. But since I claimed to be on the road performing all the time, I never gave them a return address.”

  Yet, according to Sal, her father had tracked her down anyway. But how?

  “So you have no idea if she forgave you or not?”

  Her stomach twisted in horror at the thought. “I never told her the whole story! What kind of monster do you think I am? I didn’t want her to hate Robert. I just wrote that I hoped she would forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye and that I wished her a wonderful life.”

  “Meaning she has no idea what kind of man she married,” he said flatly.

  “What? No. I was the one at fault. I was the one who seduced him. I thought Fern was through with him, and he was older and good looking, and I was tired of being overlooked—”

  “And you were how old?”

  She paused, a little alarmed by the set to his jaw. “Fifteen.”

  He cursed under his breath. “And how old was what’s his name?”

  “Robert,” she said in a small voice. “Twenty-two.”

  “Jesus, Vi. You were a baby! He had no business romancing you. I don’t care if you threw yourself naked at him—he should’ve walked away.”

  She straightened her spine, back on more familiar ground. “I was not a baby. Clearly not, since I was able to get pregnant.”

  With a frustrated sound, he tightened his fingers on her upper arms. “Stop blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

  “But I was there. I should’ve said no,” she cried, tears blurring her vision. “Why are you defending me?”

  “Because you need defending. And I can see you gearing up to remind me you were a stripper—”

  “Am a stripper. I didn’t quit the profession; my show was closing.”

  “Will you be quiet?”

  “And don’t forget I was also a p
rostitute.” Her tears began falling in earnest. “Did I leave that sin out last night? Because I shouldn’t have.”

  “Violet—”

  “And I just turned twenty-one! How am I ever going to top myself?”

  He kissed her, hard and without warning, silencing her.

  Startled, she went still. Then the wondrous reality soaked in, and she closed her eyes. Oh, Lord, how she loved the feel of his mouth on hers. She loved his smell, his heat, the strength of his fingers digging into her arms.

  Abruptly his kiss gentled and turned more coaxing. Teasing. And she decided she liked this version even better. She let her lips part, let her tongue touch his, and then lost herself as he pulled her tight against him, his mouth utterly bewitching her.

  It was wrong, she knew. She shouldn’t let him kiss her like this. Not in public. Not when anyone could walk in on them. He would be severely reprimanded; she would be sent home in disgrace. But, oh—to pretend she was loved by one such as Ansel. Desired, even, despite her past, in all its horridness, having been exposed to him.

  Too soon, he broke the kiss and pulled back. She moaned in frustrated dismay. He leaned his forehead against hers and inhaled shakily. She understood, having been just as shaken by the kiss.

  “Vi—” His breath was warm on her skin. “Please. I can’t let you go to Sr. Conti’s tonight.”

  It took a second to pull her wits around her. For his words to make sense. She backed out of his arms, needing space to think. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to get beyond wanting to kiss him again.

  “No, Ansel.” Vi squared her shoulders and inhaled deeply. Exhaled. “This is my chance to do something bigger than myself. To make a real difference in this war. If I don’t go tonight, I will never forgive myself.”

  “You don’t forgive yourself as it is, so what would be the difference?” he said, frustration turning his tone rough.

  He was right, of course, but also so wrong. There was a difference. Wasn’t there?

  Suddenly exhausted, she closed her eyes. It was all too much, this emotional whipsawing of the last twenty-four hours. And it all began and ended with this man in front of her. “Go away.”