Patricia Potter (51 page)

Chris went and stood next to her, but was silent.

“I…told her to be careful and she said nothing ever happened on Jekyll Island.” She turned around, her voice cracking. “Why? Why did you pretend to love me?”

“Whatever other lies I lived, that was not one of them,” he said softly. “It was war, and I was a soldier, and I followed orders.” A hollow excuse, and he knew it: a discredited justification after the Nuremberg trials. “I’ll not apologize for that. I can’t. But I’ll always live with guilt for hurting you. That was the real crime, and it had nothing to do with the other. I loved you, Meara. If you never believe anything else, believe that.”

“You told me that once,” she whispered. “And I believed you.”

“But not now?”

“No.” The one word was so absolute, so final, that Chris flinched.

He turned away, his hands clenched in fists, the denial echoing in his head. What had he expected?

The phone rang, and he answered it, speaking in monosyllables. When he was through, he looked toward her face, strained and expectant. “Everything is fine. My people are still with them,” he said.

He reached down and picked up a package from the table. “This is the tape I mentioned. If anything happens to me, send it to your FBI friend.”

Her chin jerked up. “What do you mean, if anything happens to you?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just wise to have several copies.”

Meara’s eyes narrowed, her chin elevating even higher, and her eyes flashing in a way he remembered. “What are you thinking about?” The question was accusatory.

“Nothing,” he said flatly.

“Michael—”

“There is no Michael Fielding anymore.”

“Isn’t there?” Once more, the voice was accusing. “So many secrets. I always thought there were so many secrets in your eyes, but I never realized how deadly they were.” She moved away. “They’re still there, Michael. I still don’t know you. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know why you’re here. Why…after all these years?”

Chris stared at her levelly, and reached into his pocket, extracting his wallet and carefully taking out the picture, faded and crumbled with use. He handed it to her, and she stared at the obviously much handled picture of her and Lisa; the knowledge that he had kept it all these years pierced some of her defenses.

“She’s my daughter, Meara. My daughter,” his voice was ravaged, more emotional than she had ever heard it.

“
My
daughter,” she corrected, trying frantically to rebuild her crumbling resentment.

“Which makes her that much more precious.”

“You have no right—”

“No,” he agreed, hating the sudden look of fear that had come over her face. “I have no right. I know that. But I will protect her.”

“Michael…”

His fists clenched and released, then clenched again. “I want to kill that bastard,” he said suddenly, his eyes hard and cold, and Meara knew he was capable of it. “I’m tired of doing nothing.”

“You’re not doing nothing,” she replied desperately, fearing the violence in his voice, in his face. “You’re doing everything you can.”

“Everything that money can,” he amended caustically.

“No,” she said in sudden fear. “You can just make everything worse.”

“How can it be worse? It’s destroying you. He’s destroying you.”

“And you think a killing, you on trial, will help Lisa? Do you think murder will solve anything?” she added desperately. More questions, she thought. More and more questions. Just like before. Days and days of intrusive questioning. She wouldn’t allow Lisa to go through it as she once had.

“I don’t know,” Chris said. “I just know you can’t go on this way.”

“I can do anything I have to,” Meara said.

His face gentled, some of the harsh lines fading. His hand went up and touched her left cheek for the barest of seconds. “I know.”

Meara felt her body tingle down to her toes. She fought against it, against moving closer to him. “What’s on the tape?” she asked finally. “Is it anything that might keep him away from us?”

“I don’t think so, not by itself,” Chris said. “I hope to get more evidence tomorrow night. Together, they might make him decide to return to Germany.” But then, he thought, you…we…will have to live with the threat the rest of our lives. But she had enough fear in her eyes that he didn’t have to voice that insidious thought.

“What evidence?”

“I think he’s going to a meeting he shouldn’t. Our detectives will be there.”

Ours
. In a way the word sounded so natural to Meara. But it wasn’t natural.

“You won’t do anything reckless?”

“No,” he promised.

There was a sudden softness, uncertainty, in her face that he couldn’t resist. He bent over, his lips touching hers very, very softly.

Meara’s lips parted. She couldn’t prevent it. His mouth was searching, so hesitant, so achingly desperate, that all the feelings she had tried to bury emerged in response, as intense and fiery and raw as they had ever been.

Her arms went around him, as his tentatively clasped her. Her fingers buried themselves in the crisp golden hair as her body started to tremble under the immensity of what she was feeling. The wounds were still terribly open and raw, but the naked need remained, striking like lightning through all the protection she had thrown up.

The almost fragile quality of the kiss deepened, and both Meara and Chris knew that the magic which had always existed between them had only intensified with separation.

Yet the fragility remained, the uncertainty between them alive and singeing as they realized that events and history, past and present, had changed them indelibly from the two people who once loved so passionately. The passion was still there, stronger than ever, but the trust wasn’t. Meara didn’t understand how she could have one without the other, but she did. God help her. She did.

Chris was afraid to hold her tight, afraid that she would break away. Her momentary surrender was a brittle thing, her presence here only because she had little or no choice. Yet she felt so good, so right, and all the yearning of all the years fed on itself until he was ready to explode with the power of it.

Yet it was Chris who forced himself to let go. She was vulnerable now and he knew he could probably take her to bed. But she would hate him for it. Hate him even more than she already did.

Damn it to hell!

She stood back from him, her eyes slightly glazed from the intensity of the moment. “It’s happening again,” she said stunned.

Chris stood silently, expressionlessly. Her statement was an accusation more than anything else.

“How could I?” she asked with self-disgust so excruciating that it bit right through him.

“You’re frightened,” he said finally, tonelessly. “It’s only natural you turn to someone.” He closed his eyes against the condemnation he thought he would see in her face and the pain he knew was naked in his own. There had been moments in the past few days when he had hoped…

But he had been a fool. The damage had been too great.

“Chris?” Her voice was suddenly soft, even apologetic, and he turned slowly back to her.

She stood so damned straight, so damned brave despite the puzzled uncertainty in her eyes. Her mouth trembled slightly as she said, “I’m sorry.”

“For telling the truth? You have every reason to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said in a trembling voice. “I’m afraid of you…the effect you have on me.”

“And you hate that effect,” he said, unable to keep a cutting bitterness from his voice.

“I don’t…understand it.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t either.” But it was a lie. He did know. It was love. It had always been love. At least on his part. It was still love.

“I’d better go.” There was a hesitant note in her voice as if she wished he would dissuade her.

“Yes,” Chris agreed. “I’ll call you if there’s any news.”

She started for the door.

“Don’t forget the package,” he said.

She stopped and went to the table, her fingers clasping the package, clutching it tightly. It had been a mistake coming here. It was always a mistake.

“Good-bye,” she said.

He nodded, his eyes fathomless.

There was nothing more to say.

Chris stared at the door, and then the empty room. Her scent remained, a light flowery essence. He couldn’t forget her tortured eyes.

He had to end this before they destroyed each other. Tomorrow night! He had to make sure his detectives got the pictures they needed. Weimer would be slippery. He always had been, judging by the length of time he had so ably hid his Odessa connections. Chris was amazed even now that he would do something as risky as attend a public meeting. He would have to disguise himself in some way.

Chris had memorized the pictures he had of Kurt Weimer. He knew he would recognize the man under any circumstances. The more he thought about it, the more he decided he should attend the meeting the next night with Weimer. As backup.

And perhaps something else!

The fury that had grown in his mind since the last phone call solidified into hard, cold hatred. The mention on the tape of “personal business” had killed any hopes he had that he might be wrong about Weimer’s intentions.

Murder and scandal would scar Lisa’s life. But an anonymous death in Atlanta? If anything happened to Chris himself, there would also be anonymity. There were no fingerprints on file, no way to trace his true identity.

Your promise.
A promise not to be reckless. And he wouldn’t be. No, he wouldn’t be that.

Kurt Weimer didn’t know him. He didn’t even know that Eric von Steimen still existed. He had never seen Chris Chandler. A moment. A moment alone. That was all he would need. He would discover what Weimer wanted. And kill him, if necessary.

Chris went to his bureau and took out his gun, checking it carefully. Cradling the weapon, he went to the chair next to the telephone and waited for the next report.

Kurt Weimer looked at his dinner companion and knew he had failed. Temporarily anyway, and only in his initial plan. He had a backup one. He always did.

Lisa Evans had been distant since those few moments in the church graveyard. Distant and unresponsive although she responded politely enough to his questions. Something had happened in the graveyard. He didn’t know what, but he knew he had lost any chance to seduce her.

Those foolish middle-class values, he told himself. But it was more than that, and he knew it.

He could do nothing now. He had too openly escorted her. Nor could he do anything tomorrow. He had already booked a flight early in the morning from Brunswick to Atlanta. But when he returned…

A house fire. A tragedy but an accident. A cigarette in bed, perhaps. He had noticed cigarettes in Lisa’s purse, although she had not smoked with him. And the lighter. Her father’s gift. How very appropriate. No one could ever connect a distinguished foreign dignitary to such an event.

He watched her, trying to keep his eyes warm and interested. He had a double score to settle now. He was not accustomed to rejection, not from a woman, and he didn’t like the feeling. The obsession he had with punishing the mother had magnified in the past days, every time he saw her. So prim. So comfortable. Every time he saw her, he wanted to rip her world apart. She had taken his father away, had denied Hans Weimer the recognition he deserved, had stupidly, unknowingly, dealt a strong blow to Germany. A woman. That had been the worst of it. A mere woman.

Kurt didn’t worry about being caught. He’d been fooling people all his life, including the self-righteous hypocrites in the West German government who tried to deny the greatest years in Germany’s history.

He had originally planned to leave America Friday, then had extended his visit. Now he would go back to his original plan and pay a little visit to the Evanses in the early morning hours before he left.

It wouldn’t be difficult, he knew. He had killed easily during the last days of the war and even once since then to ensure silence about Odessa. Killing had never pricked his conscience. Only failure.

“Kurt?”

He turned his attention back to Lisa and gave her his warmest smile. “It’s been a charming day,” he said. “But I think it’s probably time to get you home.”

“You seemed preoccupied.”

His hand covered hers intimately. “I was just thinking how much I will miss you.”

“Thank you for everything,” she said shyly, but relieved that the day was coming to an end.

“I’m going to Atlanta tomorrow—an economist at Georgia State University I’ve been wanting to meet. We’ve been corresponding for some time. I’ll call you when I get back.”

She tipped her head. There was a strained note in his voice she only partially recognized. She didn’t know exactly what it meant, but she knew he was distracted, that he mouthed words he really didn’t mean. Perhaps it was the occasional coldness in his eyes, the swift irritation on his face, both qualities she hadn’t really seen until today.

Lisa sighed, partially with relief. Today had become an effort she hadn’t really expected, and she was glad it was almost over. “We really should be going. I have to get back to work tomorrow,” she said, realizing how pleased she would be to do exactly that. She looked forward to seeing Kelly’s teasing, open grin.