Wrath's Storm: A Masters' Admiralty Novel

by Mari Carr

  “I know you know this, but hearing it again probably isn’t a bad thing.” Walt slid off his chair, kneeling in front of Annalise so his head was lower than hers, so he was less threatening than he’d been even when sitting. “What happened, both to you and to your sister, is not your fault.”

  “Agreed,” Jakob said aloud. If he hadn’t controlled himself, he might have told her how it broke his heart to see the pain in her eyes. Told her that no matter what she said, he knew her. Knew she felt responsible, aided in part by her sister, who had raged at her for not mentioning the stalker and who had now cut Annalise out of her life completely.

  Jakob wanted to tell her that he was the one who should be blamed. He was the one who’d failed to catch the stalker in the nearly two years between when he’d been brought into the situation—the night of the bugs—and the night of her sister’s attack.

  Annalise didn’t reply—it was clear she didn’t agree—and the room fell silent for a few moments. Walt rose and walked over to the fireplace, staring at the flames in quiet contemplation. Jakob and Annalise shared a look before their gazes drifted over to the doctor, who had turned to face them once more.

  “I have one more question,” Walt began, “if you would indulge me.”

  “Of course,” Annalise said.

  Walt glanced from Annalise to Jakob, then gave them that dimpled grin that seemed to be an almost permanent fixture on his face. “How long have you two been in love?”

  Chapter Seven

  Walt tried to stifle a grin as Annalise and Jakob sputtered and stuttered their way through their rushed denials and assurances that they were nothing more than friends.

  “I protect her,” Jakob said—too fast and too hard.

  Annalise said, “Oh no, no. That’s not it at all. I’m the reason Jakob doesn’t have any free time.” She laughed, but it was forced. “I’m the reason he sleeps on a couch in Heidelberg instead of in this lovely home.”

  Walt nodded slowly. He’d thought maybe they just weren’t talking about their relationship either because of professionalism, or because they’d been in front of Eric, or that whole trinity marriage thing. He’d heard from Sylvia about how the arranged ménage marriage could lead to dramatic, doomed love affair situations.

  In literature, there was a device called the unreliable narrator. It was when the narrator of the story knew less about what was going on, or what their own feelings were, than the reader. His sister Sylvia might be a poet, but she enjoyed lecturing him and his STEM-oriented brothers on the literary arts.

  As a doctor, he saw plenty of people who were their own unreliable narrators. Lying to themselves—about their symptoms, behavior, or both—but it was the first time he’d been confronted with two people who were so woefully unaware of, or in denial about, their feelings. “Riiiight,” he drawled. “You’re just protector and protectee.”

  “Honestly, Dr. Hay—Walt. You’ve misunderstood our relationship.” Annalise looked like she wanted to say more but didn’t seem to know what. Walt thought her assertion might be more convincing if she wasn’t blushing and averting her gaze from Jakob.

  Jakob had the role of a stoic bodyguard down solid. He did a pretty good impression of a pillar of ice. The man was locked up tighter than a drum. He was the kind of man who would walk into a clinic, say he needed to see a doctor, but then not actually explain why he needed a doctor and expect said doctor to guess he’d been shot.

  Walt wondered if this was Jakob’s natural behavior, or if it was due to his role within the Masters’ Admiralty as a Ritter. He dismissed that idea out of hand. Sylvia was married to a knight in the secret society as well, and Lancelot was one of those guys with lots of funny things to say and personality to spare. It was Sylvia’s second husband, the professor, Hugo, who was more reserved and quiet.

  Walt’s curiosity regarding Jakob was piqued. The man’s short, to-the-point responses to basically everything offered no insight into what sort of man he was on the inside.

  Walt had always considered himself a good judge of a person’s character, but he was drawing a huge blank when it came to Jakob. The only reason he’d hypothesized for the man’s silence was that Jakob was harboring feelings for Annalise.

  Though in all honesty, she was giving off a stronger vibe as far as her unrequited feelings toward her bodyguard.

  “Um…” Annalise rose from her seat. “How about a tour of your place, Jakob?” she asked, working overtime to change the subject.

  The way Jakob quickly turned to the doorway told Walt she wasn’t alone in trying to get off the hot seat.

  Mmm-hmm. Feelings. He had them.

  “That way first,” he said, gesturing toward the kitchen Walt had found a few minutes ago as he went in search of a glass of water.

  Walt hadn’t done much more than glance around for a glass when he’d come to this room earlier. Now that he had a chance to study the room, he had to say that Jakob knew how to pick interior designers.

  No. There wouldn’t have been an interior designer. That would have been too invasive, meant giving up too much control. That meant Jakob had designed the space himself.

  The kitchen was large—probably two rooms put together, since they didn’t make kitchens this size in old homes, and from the outside, it was clear this home was at least a hundred years old and had probably been a mansion when it was built.

  The cabinets were white shaker style, with plenty of glass-front cabinets displaying simple, elegant dishes and glassware. The stove was a six-burner Viking with a pot-filler above it. There were accents of soft blue and matte black—a pale blue veining in the granite and marble countertops. Three blue chairs were positioned around the end of the large island that was set up as an eat-in area. The backsplash above the stove was beautiful blue and white tile that looked almost antique—as if it had been either reclaimed from part of the original house or sourced from other old buildings. The hardware on the cabinets was black, a nice contrast to the white, as was a faucet that arched over the huge single-basin sink.

  “Oh, Jakob,” Annalise said, twirling slowly as she glanced around the room. “I swear this is my dream kitchen. I love this. And are those azulejo tiles?” She pointed to the backsplash, then hurried over, reaching to run her hand over them.

  “Portuguese.” Jakob’s tone was calm, but the way his eyes tracked Annalise gave away how much he cared about her opinion.

  Annalise made an appreciative noise. “I’ve always loved this style of ceramic. Well, ever since a visit to the Sintra National Palace in Portugal. I bought a few replica tiles, but they broke in my bag. I was so sad.” Annalise stopped fondling the tiles. “I’m sorry, Jakob. I know I’ve told you that story before. Though it’s not much of a story.”

  “You told him you loved that tile? Huh, interesting.” Walt’s gaze locked onto Jakob’s face even though he was speaking to Annalise.

  Jakob studiously returned Walt’s look, managing to remain impassive.

  Walt did an internal headshake. Jakob didn’t know him well enough to understand that all he was doing was poking the bear. Walt had a lifetime of experience when it came to getting under his brothers’ skins, teasing them about shit they didn’t want anyone to know about.

  “I swear if I ever remodeled my own place, I would design it like this. Clean, simple. Emphasis on a few beautiful details.” She gestured to the tile. “Exactly like this,” Annalise gushed. “Wait, is that a marble counter inset for dough?” There was both longing and envy in her voice.

  “Just like this, huh?” Walt repeated, not bothering to hide his grin from Jakob. “Sounds like the two of you have similar tastes.”

  Annalise looked over at Jakob and smiled shyly. “Maybe we’re rubbing off on each other. You have been forced to spend a lot of time with me.”

  Jakob scowled briefly before managing to school his features. It was apparent the Ritter didn’t consider any time he spent in Annalise’s presence as a hardship.

  Rather than contra
dict her, however, Jakob gestured toward a second door in the kitchen. “This way.”

  Annalise walked ahead, her soft gasp of delight telling Walt and Jakob that she liked the next room as much as the kitchen.

  “Jakob!” she exclaimed.

  Walt followed her in, glancing around what he considered a fairly standard dining room. However, given the way Annalise’s eyes widened as she looked at the table, she thought the room anything but ordinary.

  “An antique clawfoot table! I can’t believe you have one of these. My Oma had a table almost exactly like this in her dining room. My sister and I used to tease her, swearing that one night when she slept, we were going to paint the toenails on the claw feet.”

  Walt chuckled. “Sounds like you and your Oma were very close.”

  Annalise nodded. “We were, though I’m sure Jakob is tired of hearing all my stories about her and her house.” Annalise ran her fingertips over the top of the table, the piece clearly evoking happy memories for her. “The hours Oma and I spent sitting at a table just like this, playing board games or doing puzzles.”

  “Wow. What are the chances you and Annalise’s Oma would have the same table?” he asked Jakob, sinking a little too much faux surprise into his tone.

  Annalise didn’t notice.

  Jakob did.

  He stared hard at Walt, who blinked a few times, stopping just short of fluttering his lashes.

  “The stairs are this way.” Jakob pointed, but not before he narrowed his eyes at Walt, issuing an unspoken warning.

  Ah. The game was afoot.

  Walt loved this game, though it never lasted long when he played with his brother, Oscar. Oscar would have already stormed out of the room or house while using “fuck” as the subject, verb, and object of a sentence.

  Walt ignored the sudden stab of homesickness and the sad feeling that followed when he remembered that “home” didn’t mean what it once had. His siblings were all married now.

  Once again, Annalise preceded them. She paused as they all reached the top, waiting for Jakob to direct them to the next room.

  “The office,” he said, opening the door directly at the top of the stairs.

  Annalise’s delight only magnified as they continued the tour. “Oh my God. I thought the kitchen was perfect. This room…” She spun around. “This is the best room in the house.”

  “You haven’t even seen it all,” Walt teased. “I’m betting the master bedroom is pretty special too.”

  Jakob growled, the reaction so out of character, Walt couldn’t help but laugh. Perhaps that would have annoyed Jakob more if Annalise had a clue about the undercurrents of their conversation. Instead, she’d crossed to the center of the room, glancing upwards to take in the skylight.

  “No windows,” she said softly. “And yet there’s so much natural light. It’s perfect. You could work in here for hours and never be afraid.”

  Walt and Jakob exchanged a glance, but there was no humor this time. There was no question in Walt’s mind that Jakob had remodeled this house with Annalise in mind, the Ritter going to great lengths to create a home that Annalise would not only feel comfortable in but also safe.

  “It is a great office,” Walt conceded.

  “There are two others.” Jakob seemed almost reluctant to say that. “Connecting doors.”

  Annalise and Walt both looked around. “Where?” Annalise asked. Besides the door they’d come in, there were no other doors, just built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that made it feel like a library.

  Jakob walked toward a shelf, but Annalise gasped and ran past him. “Secret doors?!”

  Jakob put his hands behind his back, a military parade-rest pose. Maybe it was to keep his hands off Annalise when she came close. Walt twisted to peer at the other man’s face. And since Annalise wasn’t looking at them, Walt grinned at Jakob, then made a heart shape with his fingers.

  Jakob’s lip pulled up in a snarl, but his eyes gave him away. The Ritter didn’t like having his secret feelings exposed. He looked almost embarrassed.

  Annalise was scanning the shelves. “A whole section on psychology. Austrian, of course, with Freud. Some more contemporary names. American, British, Canadian. Only one German?” She tsked but then paused, and though he had a three-quarters profile view of her face, he saw her cheek lift as she smiled. “Hermann Ebbinghaus. The man who first described the forgetting curve. Who better to hide a secret than the man who knows why we might remember or forget?”

  She put her finger on the top of the spine and pulled. The book tipped, there was a click, and then the bookcase swung into the room on the other side.

  Walt abandoned teasing Jakob and went to the other bookcase to start trying books. There were some things more important than poking the bear, and that included finding secret doors. It took him several minutes, but Die Grundlagen der psychischen Entwicklung by Kurt Koffka opened the bookcase on that side.

  He stepped in, then looked over to where Annalise stood in the matching office on the other side. The second and third offices, flanking what was clearly Annalise’s office, were almost spartan, with only desks and ergonomic chairs—facing large windows—and built-in sideboards that turned out to be combination storage and filing cabinets.

  Walt walked back into Annalise’s office.

  “So whoever is in this room would be protected on both sides,” Walt said with faux casualness. “Though the door is right at the top of the stairs…” Walt gestured to the entrance.

  “Reinforced steel in the walls, with a remote-activated bolt lock, and it’s also bulletproof,” Jakob said.

  “Of course it is.” Walt smirked at Jakob, whose jaw muscle twitched.

  Annalise was stroking the desk. “Very safe.”

  By the time they reached the master bedroom, it was painfully obvious what Jakob had done and whom he’d done it for.

  Annalise glanced around the room, then turned to face Jakob. “Burgundy, my favorite color.” The long wall behind the bed was painted a rich burgundy, while the other walls were a crisp, pristine white. The accent wall drew attention to the hand-stitched quilt covering the massive bed. It had to be Alaskan king or something like that. It was definitely made for at least three people.

  Jakob hesitated for just a moment, then nodded once.

  She pointed toward the bed. “Is that quilt homemade?”

  Again, he paused briefly before nodding. “My Oma made it.”

  “Double-ring pattern?” she asked.

  Jakob shrugged. “I don’t know. It was always on her bed. I had fabric added so it would fit.”

  Walt’s brows rose. That was the most he’d heard Jakob say.

  Annalise smiled. “You were close to your Oma too.”

  “Yes.”

  Walt sighed softly, suddenly feeling bad. It had been fun to tease the man, joking around with him like he would have with Oscar or Langston, but now he wondered how long Jakob had been hiding his true feelings for Annalise. Given the fact he’d had time to learn Annalise’s tastes and create this home with her in mind, Walt would say Jakob’s affections had been engaged for quite some time.

  And yet he kept them hidden.

  “Your home, Jakob,” Annalise said. “It’s beautiful. Perfect.”

  This time, Annalise wasn’t looking away from Jakob, her gaze instead intent, focused on his face.

  “We should discuss the case,” Jakob said, once again finding a way to avoid revealing his feelings for Annalise. The Ritter looked to Walt for support and he gave it, feeling bad for teasing the other man.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Walt said, noticing the way Jakob’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Should we return to the sitting room?”

  This time it was Annalise’s turn to hesitate. She wanted to question Jakob about his house, but it was clear Jakob wasn’t ready for that conversation.

  Walt gestured toward the door. Jakob and Annalise followed his direction, the three of them descending the stairs. He and Annalise c
laimed the same seats they’d vacated just a few minutes earlier, but Jakob remained standing.

  Walt had to admit, Jakob had indeed built a wonderful, comfortable home. Everything in sets of three—three chairs here, in the kitchen, and a bed built for three.

  After so many years, bouncing from war-torn countries to poverty-stricken towns, Walt was jealous of this oasis Jakob had created. This truly was the sort of place a person could come home to after a long day at work, prop his feet up, and just relax.

  Even now he found himself sinking a bit deeper into the comfortable chair as his muscles loosened.

  “Wine?” Jakob asked.

  Annalise smiled and nodded. “That would be lovely, Jakob.”

  Walt nodded as well, certain that whatever bottle Jakob produced from the kitchen was definitely going to be Annalise’s favorite.

  When the Ritter returned, he had two—just two—glasses of red.

  “You aren’t drinking?” Walt asked.

  Jakob shook his head.

  Walt looked around the room, considering the tour they’d just taken. “Jakob, this house is safe, right?”

  Jakob considered the question, then said, “As safe as I could make it.”

  “Have a glass of wine with us,” Walt insisted.

  Jakob nodded, disappeared briefly, then returned with his own glass of wine.

  Walt’s small house on his family’s property back in Charleston was more utilitarian, a stopover more than a home. He was pretty sure his brothers used it as a spare bedroom from time to time. Every time he considered returning home, something stopped him, and the next thing he knew he was taking another field assignment with Doctors Without Borders. The longest he’d been in one place had been the clinic in Libya, which had been his home base for nearly a year.

  His mama called him a nomad, but there were times when Walt felt as if it wasn’t a place he was searching for so much as a person. Langston and Oscar had found their “people” and Walt was suddenly anxious for the same. For him, it wasn’t about the where, it was about the who.