Packed into another black staff vehicle, Claire and her family rushed away from the city, guarded by both Carsten and Kohl. They emerged from the smoking wreckage of the city into a small village that pressed its desperate existence to the water's edge. Standing on the banks of the legendary Rhine, they waited for a boat to carry them across. Claire had learned of the tributary in school, back when it existed in a fairytale. Now she stood in its tall grass among its people making her own story.

Claire studied the faces of the people, slowly walking just off the dirt lane. Each person seemed equally curious of her, as she stretched her legs for the first time in weeks. Some she recognized as soldiers, others as wayward civilians. No matter who she saw, the signs of war marked each of them, some worse than herself. She folded her arms and blankly peered into the village. A tug on the makeshift belt skirting her waist caught her attention. A brown-haired German soldier smiled up at her as he sat on his discarded pack. Then all the men of the unit grinned. The first man said something she couldn't understand. Her brow knitted. He laughed and spoke again, slower and more forcefully. His dark eyes glinted deviously.

Carsten swiftly appeared at her side. His fingers twined around her elbow and he rushed her away from the soldiers. Their laughter rose amid their comments. Carsten shouted something over his shoulder at them. He looked just as angry as the night he'd helped Father kidnap her. The soldiers immediately fell silent. The one who'd touched her mumbled something she assumed was an apology. He gave Carsten a salute to placate him. Claire wondered how they always knew he was one of them.

"What-" Claire began, immediately stopped by Carsten's hand clamped over her mouth.

"Don't speak," Carsten whispered. "Too dangerous to let them know you're American."

Claire nodded, seeing the ice in his eyes once more. He released her, while the soldiers who observed them fought fits of laughter, snickering and shaking behind half-hidden smiles. The first man vied for attention more than any of them. He grinned and then winked at her presumptuously. Claire lifted her nose in the air, unable to bear the sight of the men or their uniforms. She rolled her eyes, realizing she wore the uniform too. Her cheeks flushed, imagining what they must think. No wonder they were forward with her.

With Carsten's urging, Claire joined her aunt, who sat in the tall grass along the banks of the river. Sitting beside a river that slowly snaked its way through green fields and the hills of a quaint village usually presented a relaxing moment; however, Claire's heart pounded in her chest. The proximity of the German people and their soldiers made her frightfully anxious. It was worse when they whispered and stole suspicious glances. Kohl and Carsten paced the swath of grass like guards at a prison camp. They were the only ones standing between her and the Germans.

On the horizon, smoke billowed into the sky from a fire in the city. A gray haze hung over them. There was nothing left to make it anything less than a nightmare. Claire pulled pieces of grass from the ground, studying them to pass the time. A wildflower bloomed beside her knee. The tiny white blossom appeared as desperate as she felt. She refused to pluck it, hoping the gesture of compassion would be extended to her.

"Ah!" Kohl exclaimed. "There's our man."

Claire followed his line of sight toward the river. A small fishing boat throttled toward their shore from the opposite bank. They would board next to make the crossing. She pitied the many civilians waiting, knowing more would surely arrive. She wondered if they truly believed they could escape the bombs by switching sides of a river, as if the water was an insurmountable barrier for their enemy. She looked back to the flower, now the beloved object of a tiny bee, and recalled how she had thought the ocean was an insurmountable barrier only a few short weeks ago. Yet the hand of her foe reached her on those seemingly safe shores. The haven they sought was no more than a sandcastle waiting to be toppled.

The fishing boat came about and a man on deck threw out lines to two heavily armed soldiers waiting on the dock. The soldiers' presence kept the evacuation orderly to prevent panic. The battered civilians calmly waited for their chance. They had been pushed to the edge of patience more regularly than she could fathom, and probably since the start of the war. For them, waiting for some boat was likely nothing to panic over.

The soldiers in charge of the loading shouted to those waiting to cross. As usual, the transport of soldiers took priority over the transfer of civilians. The men who had jeered at her moments ago boarded the fishing vessel, leaving little room for anyone else. Carsten motioned for them to get to their feet. Kohl helped her father up, letting him use his body in lieu of the cane Carsten had splintered earlier.

Their party made their way to the dock and boarded under close observation of the soldiers already on board. Carsten glared at his cargo, making sure they understood to keep their mouths shut. He turned that scathing glance on his fellow soldiers. Yet the one who'd bothered Claire still decided he would like to know what was going on. Kohl anticipated what would come next from their younger escort. Carsten barked orders at the soldiers, waving them back. The men begrudgingly complied. The curious one offered him a dark glance. He shifted his eyes to Claire and his aspect became quite devilish.

With the tub full, the soldiers on the dock loosed the moorings and the engine spluttered them forward, circling to cross the river. Another boat passed them to repeat the process. The breeze and noise of the engines brought back uncomfortable memories, and Claire's body responded as if she would surely awaken on a hard leather bench in a dim stinking darkness, starting the ordeal of the sub journey all over again.

"Here we go again," Healey said, echoing her thoughts.

Claire saw that her father noticed the soldier had heard him as well. The young man was confused by what he'd heard, but then he became angry.

"Americans!" he snarled.

The soldier glared at both Carsten and Kohl, feeling betrayed. Carsten shouted back at the man in a mocking tone. He received a scathing glance in response, but the man stayed back. Kohl touched Carsten's arm, shaking his head to discourage a confrontation. The soldier proceeded to voice a tirade that frightened Claire and her aunt. They shifted tighter into the portside corner of the boat, hanging onto the rails. Claire gasped as the man charged forward and spat at her father's feet, then lifted his rifle and aimed it.

"Shoot me, you green rat," her father said.

Kohl pushed Father back, stepping between him and the weapon. He didn't break his glare from Healey and disregarded the muzzle of the rifle at his spine, as if the man holding it were no more than a barking lap dog. Carsten grabbed the rifle and twisted it from the man's hands. He sneered something unintelligible at the soldier, effectively silencing him. For now. The other men set their weapons at ease and sidled further toward the bow.

Claire was most thankful when the boat at last docked on the opposite shore. The soldiers waited at a safe distance, under Kohl's watchful eye, while the Americans disembarked. They spat into the water, glowering and cursing. She could still feel the steel and fire glances aimed at her back, even when the men were no longer in sight.

After docking, they emerged onto a paved roadway. Military transports lined the streets in either direction, boarding civilians for their escape from Köln. The roar of their engines filled the air with a rhythm that reminded her of spring in New York when construction began anew.

Carsten suddenly disappeared, leaving them with only Kohl as guardian. Claire hoped the older man was up to the task. Her gaze swept along the street and the mass of people. She wondered if she and Aunt could disappear. Her eyes went back to Kohl.

Just as her gaze came around, she saw a few of their new friends close in on Kohl. His back was to them and he didn't see it coming when one of them used his rifle to knock him down. Kohl hit the ground with a grunt. Claire gasped.

The soldier who had started the confrontation by tugging on her belt took hold of her, pushing her backward away from the others. Aunt cried out to her, but the men subdued her, along with Father. They made them kneel as they aimed their rifles and snapped orders in German. Claire could see the crowds of refugees pausing to watch.

The soldier pushed Claire out of sight of her friends. She could hear Kohl trying to reason with them. A pair of her attacker's friends joined him, grinning and laughing. The looks in their eyes warned that whatever they planned would be most unpleasant.

Claire soon found herself cornered in an empty alley, out of sight. The transport trucks and commotion sounded muffled. The soldiers who brought her there circled, keeping her corralled. She watched them warily.

"Please," Claire heard herself say.

They paused. The first soldier laughed. His dark features reddened with the fervency of his emotions. His eyes sparked with fire. The men chattered to each other, most amused.

The first soldier neared her, undoing the buckle of his belt. Claire backed away, pleading with him again. Her eyes went wide and she lost her voice in panic. She had to run. She had to find the others. She had to find Carsten. Her mind whirred around where he was. He was always there to intervene before.

Claire tried to run, but was forced back by the three soldiers. They pushed her back to the wall, jeering and laughing. They called her something that was very much just like the English word. Tears stung her eyes. She slapped at them and tried to push her way through. They looked like boys, but were surprisingly strong.

The first soldier pressed her to the back of the alley. Pushing her face to the bricks. Even alone, the man was too strong to fight and her damaged limbs were in no condition to do battle. She cried, begging him to stop. He pushed her head harder against the wall, then spun her around. Gripping her by the neck, he said something close to her face, then laughed.

The man tugged at the belt around her waist. It had given her trouble that morning so she hoped it would be enough to save her now. He growled something over his shoulder and one of his friends fished in his pockets. He tossed him a jack-knife. Claire shut her eyes, praying that this time, somehow, Carsten would be the protection she needed, as the belt let go under the blade and her pants slackened.

"I would not do that," Claire heard his familiar voice.

The soldiers guarding the attack spun about. Claire's assailant turned his face to see who had come to interrupt their fun. His friends aimed their rifles. Carsten stood with two pistols aimed. Behind him, Kohl ran into the alley.

The trio of attackers sneered. The first continued what he was doing tugging the waist of her pants down her hips. Claire pressed herself to the wall and struggled to keep her clothes on. The man squeezed her throat harder. She squeezed her eyes shut and gasped for air.

One of the guards fired a rifle. Claire shook at the loud report of the gun. Her attacker pulled the halves of her shirt apart, popping the buttons in his haste. Claire screamed as his cold hands grasped her breast and ribcage, unable to see if Carsten had been killed and fearing the worst as the assault continued.

A similar set of sounds to the rifle shots swallowed her voice. The pressure holding her to the wall released. She turned her head, tears streaming from her eyes.

Carsten stood with his pistol pressed to the temple of her attacker's head. The expression on his face rivaled her father's usual mien. He spoke in measured German and the man backed up. Carsten's gaze flicked to her and he murmured gentle assurances. The hate was clear in his eyes, but his concern had taken away its energy.

Claire's attacker put his hands up and lowered onto his knees before Carsten's pistol. Claire pushed along the wall wanting to be as far from the horrible man as possible. Carsten reached his hand out to her, keeping his gun and eyes on the man who'd sought to violate her. Carsten pulled her to him, and she buried her face against his shoulder.

"Hauptmann," Kohl's voice called, trying to deescalate the situation. He stood over the only other surviving perpetrator, who knelt with his hands clasped behind his head and sniveling.

Carsten spoke again. Then his gun reported. Multiple times.

They stood for several moments in the silence that followed. Claire wept quietly against Carsten's shoulder not looking at the scene. She knew he'd shot the remaining men.

Soon, other soldiers and passerby crowded the entrance.

"You cause me so much trouble, Fräulein," Carsten's voice came.

The soldiers coming into the alley looked confused by the three dead soldiers at the feet of the suited men. Kohl stepped forward, attempting to explain, holding his hands up and his pistol dangling from his thumb harmless. It did little good. The gathered soldiers dragged them back to the command tents at the port to answer for the crime.

***

Claire sat under guard at a command post overseeing the evacuation of Köln. The officers there were decent enough to find a new shirt and belt for her. It was clear that they understood what had happened and though they remained aloof, they spoke gently when they must speak and offered her hot coffee and something to nibble, as if the food could erase what their soldiers had done, or change who they were. Aunt hugged her close, trying to soothe away the trauma the only way she knew how. Claire stared at the ground, trying to piece herself back together. She still shivered as the surreal images replayed in her mind.

Kohl and Carsten reappeared from wherever they had gone. Judging from his expression, Claire instantly knew the latter was in a sour mood. Carsten was all business since his partner showed up and this incident was not going to help her win his favor. She imagined he blamed her for the attack and the trouble he was in because of it. The cold glance he offered her affirmed this. Gone was the ally she'd slept next to through the terrible night, when he cradled her safely in his arms, proving the growing affection between them. Claire rubbed her shoulder consolingly and tried to forget. She bet he would just love the challenge of running them down right then. It would save him the trouble of having to run to their rescue again.

"Time to go," Carsten said, motioning toward a bend in the street where the trucks turned in to pick up their loads. The shard of ice in his eyes suggested that he was in no mood to argue about it.

Claire and her family followed him to the roadway in silence. A smaller version of one of the huge transport trucks rapidly pulled up, almost hitting them as it turned and came to a sudden, screeching stop.

Claire led the way, if only to distance herself from his cold energy. She shivered with anger. Two young soldiers lifted Claire into the back of the transport truck and she wandered into the shadows of the covered truck bed. Claire sat on a cold, wooden bench, one of two that lined the sides. She folded her arms, crossed her legs and tried not to think.

Aunt climbed into the truck with the help of the same two young men. Carsten leapt up like a cat as Aunt hobbled toward the back. He helped Kohl and the boys hoist her father inside. Claire wished they would leave him behind with the new friends they'd made. Her foot bounced irritably.

Aunt sat on the opposite bench, keeping a close eye on the scene outside. She had seemed so bothered by everything until then. Now she was as stoic as a statue. Weariness hung around her eyes, but there was no other trace of feeling. Claire thought of what her father had said of her aunt in the shelter and rage flared anew. It was lucky for the men that they'd both decided to sit near the opening with their backs to her, or she would have given them an earful. She imagined pushing them both out and laughing when they fell on their despicable faces.

The boys who helped them into the truck now secured the tailgate. One cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. The engine roared back to life, rocking the truck with its force, and Claire was left thinking how much like the men back home these soldiers looked. She gripped the bench to keep her seat as the transport pulled away, leaving Kohl behind. He waved to them, wearing his warm smile. He then shouted something that was distorted by the ruckus of the evacuation. Carsten raised his hand diffidently, confused by whatever the man had said. Claire wondered at the strange parting. She thought Kohl would be continuing with them. What possible obligation could make the man neglect his duty? Did he have to answer for the attack in the alley? She began to fear she'd read them both very wrong. Despite hardly knowing the man, Claire had sensed a warm, fatherly air about him that helped her feel more at ease, but now she felt quite vulnerable as he disappeared in the distance, leaving her alone with her still questionable sentinel. The loss of Kohl's help wouldn't improve Carsten's mood, either. She worried about how else she had been mistaken.

Carsten lit a cigarette and then cast a hard scowl over his shoulder. He jutted his chin and pointed further up the bench, indicating that her father should relocate. Father sneered back at him but slid up the bench with no argument. The move left less space between her and father and she hoped he wouldn't remark on it. The proximity increasingly tempted Claire to push him out with one smartly placed boot. As an alternative, she focused her attention on the changing scenery. Other than the road, the only distraction to be had was in imagining a sinister revenge.

The city blocks faded into countryside. Regardless of what scenery they passed, Claire saw it all as the walls of a prison where she would be hunted and abused at will. She might even die there. Feeling chilled by such contemplations, Claire tried to shift her mind to more pleasant things, but it didn't work. It soon wandered to the golden-haired tormentor that sat with his back to her, perched before the gaping canvas, billowing smoke flowing from his nostrils. Since they'd escaped the rubble of the bombed out safe house, Claire had questioned her sense of him. She felt increasingly foolish for thinking a spy who worked for her enemy meant anything by his attentions. No matter how earnest he seemed, every display of emotion was calculated. Even in the alley. He'd acted more out of necessity than gallantry. He had primed and played her like a fiddle. Claire exhaled a melancholy sigh, fortunately concealed by the noise of the truck engine. She held back her tears to save her pride. Crying might have helped her feel better, but she refused to allow him the satisfaction of seeing that. In time, she would repay him, just like she would repay her father.

Claire lifted her chin and rolled her eyes away from the silhouettes of the men. Aunt watched her carefully, most likely seeing the emotions work over her face. The woman patted the seat beside her and Claire quickly moved to accept the invitation. Aunt hugged her close. Claire closed her eyes, allowing herself to think for a minute that she was somewhere safe.

"Don't you worry, honey," Aunt said close to her ear. "Don't you worry a bit."

Claire fought the scarring frown curling her mouth down. Her stomach flipped inside out. Aunt stroked her messy locks and placed a kiss on the top of her head. The affection soothed her as it always did. The tears that threatened to spill were quieted and she breathed, concentrating on nothing else.

***

Carsten drew the cool spring air deep into his lungs. Evening encircled them with no show of fanfare or acknowledgement of the deeds performed that day. The sky draped overhead and held fleeting stains of orange and red. In a matter of a few short moments, the truck would cross into Berlin. The fate of his cargo would be out of Carsten's hands while the nearly full moon stood witness, a silent, yawning, disinterested ghost. Carsten folded his arms. Another job well done.

The drone of the engine whirred in his ears. Carsten's thoughts wandered to the whereabouts of his old friend. Kohl had left them on the Rhine for another assignment he hadn't revealed. He'd only said it was time to keep a promise to someone. Carsten guessed it had something to do with Claire's mother. Since their meeting, he'd tried to work out why the Abwehr had decided to extract or condemn her. Carsten frowned sourly at the shame of it. They'd all committed shameful things in the line of duty, but his shame would damn him to hell, and he would be without the one thing he had only recently realized he wanted.

Casting a reluctant glance over his shoulder, he checked on his cargo. His anger with himself for failing them again had kept him from acting appropriately toward Claire after the attack. Noreen met his eyes with many unspoken questions, as well as fear and weariness. Already well into middle age, the woman had gained several more years in the two weeks since they'd met. He knew what she had witnessed would scar her forever. His eyes slipped to her ample lap where Claire still rested.

That girl was the cause of his greatest irritation, the source of his hair trigger anger, the anger that killed three of his own men, and what made him realize he needed to distance himself or fail miserably. Noreen absently stroked the girl's temples. The greater cause of their anguish slept on the opposite bench, little bothered by his wounds or guilt. It was really Mr. Healey who would be their undoing, Carsten thought. He needed to focus on him and stop entertaining any ideas his mind was turning to in regards to Claire.

Carsten's eyes went to the road and the trees. His stony mask became cold steel. He resented Healey for forcing him to abuse the women in this manner-kidnapping and torturing them. They'd never held a single notion of stopping him, but the man's paranoia threw them all into the fire. At least it wouldn't be his hand that struck the ultimate blow, if it came. He reached for his neck, rubbing away the strange perception creeping over it. Could he so casually cast Claire off? Focke and Kohl had warned him. So had the sub captain and his mate. He'd refused to hear, falling into the trap of her long legs and big blue eyes. She was not his to take. His commanders would decide her fate and it was certain to be death. Clinging to her would only condemn him as well.

Aunt murmured to Claire to wake her from her rest. She pointed with her chin at the gate they passed through. The angel in her chariot stood dark against the cobalt sky, wings spread wide, but with her back to those who could have used her mercy. Claire's eyes widened as she took in the sight.

Carsten hardened his heart to the truth. He needed to keep his distance while he still could or he would be sacrificing himself for nothing. He tucked the incidents of Köln deep into the recesses of his brain. This was no time to get mushy because he'd spent a night keeping some girl warm. He'd promised to help them, and that was all he would do. Compromising the job due to some foolhardy desire wasn't required.

Carsten pushed away the idea of having her as the truck continued forward. There would be other women. Right then, he needed to concentrate clearly. Brandenburg shrunk in the distance until the truck turned and the scene irrevocably changed. With the Allies focused on other fronts, people went about their business with false security. Carsten saw the city hum with energy despite the threat. Damage from bombings appeared old and deceptively minor. Life continued like normal, but was shrouded in a surreal air that made his skin crawl.

The truck came to a sudden halt, jostling the passengers. The engine continued to rumble because the driver had other duties to attend to once they climbed out. Carsten waved them out as he stood at the tailgate. Another cigarette perched on his lip. They had reached their destination. Both the motion of his hand and the sound of his voice called them back from their trance.

Healey slid toward the opening, favoring his wounded leg. Then the women reluctantly nudged forward. Carsten knelt down to unpin the gate. It crashed against the bumper as two soldiers toting rifles appeared. They smiled familiarly at Carsten, welcoming him. The men shook hands heartily.

"Been quiet around here?"

"Ja," one soldier replied. "The Allies gave up. Maybe they finally learned we're their superiors after all."

"One can hope," Carsten replied, peering at the cityscape, little convinced.

Carsten instructed the men to help Healey into the building, and they immediately busied themselves with the task. He was focused on one last smoke before they went inside. Carsten jumped to the pavement. He took a slow survey of the area and drew out his pack of gum to replace the tobacco with.

The soldiers helped Healey toward the Chancellery doors where the doctor they had been promised waited. At the doctor's side stood an assistant with a wheelchair. The attention to detail would make Healey very happy, and hopefully keep him compliant a while longer. Carsten turned back to the truck, looking severe and clenching his fists. Claire carefully climbed down, and then assisted her aunt, not hurrying for his sake or anyone else's.

"You could give a lady some help here-like a gentleman," Aunt laughed, winded from the painstaking effort of planting her feet firmly on the ground.

Carsten's hard gaze remained unchanged. They were perfectly capable of helping themselves. Besides, he needed to keep his mind clear and not play the dutiful valet to Claire's siren song, which had gotten him into far too much trouble already. They would scrutinize the killing of those men. From here on out, he must focus on his tasks alone. Protocol demanded it.

The corners of Claire's mouth curled down and her eyes glistened. Carsten ignored her owlish stare, refusing to let the girl work into his soul. He walked toward the huge doors, leaving them to follow at their leisure.

"Well, what's got into him?" Aunt asked.

"What usually gets into a spy," Claire said. "He's done cozying up."

"I thought he was seeing us through this thing," Aunt said. "What about back there? I never saw someone move so fast."

"Oh, Aunt," Claire said. "You don't know how right you were."

Carsten faced them.

"I admit that it is a lovely night, ladies, but we should not keep the Führer waiting any longer," he said with a smile that didn't touch his icy gaze.

The women paused at his words. Claire's words had cut him, but the mention of the German leader had struck back like a cannon. She drew up tall, and her teary gaze became one of fire. Carsten ground his teeth. No matter how she looked at him, it still stung. Noreen paid them no attention, more interested in the expansive Chancellery than a childish staring contest. Carsten stepped ahead and broke Claire's hold on him before she won the contest and influenced him to make more mistakes. If he couldn't see her, he wouldn't be tempted. He planned on winning this battle of wills.

The sun fully surrendered to the night and, in the gloom, the fortress was a frightful structure. Carsten marched to where Healey and the riflemen waited with the doctor. When he heard the women's booted feet stomping and scuffing behind, a satisfied smile softened his chiseled features.

The haggard travelers entered the building through a set of tall double doors as Carsten led them deeper into the den of their enemy. The expansive courtyard beyond muzzled them with its grandeur. He paused to allow them a moment of appreciation. It had been a while since he'd last seen the pillars and stone himself. He preferred the open room when lit by golden lamplight in the late summer evening. However, the cool tones of the dusky moonlight were growing on him. The dark better hid what was luring him into danger.

Carsten checked over his shoulder. Noreen and Claire slowly made their way toward him, their faces tilted up to the sky. The cobalt expanse sparkled with star dust. It was too bad the moon had not yet risen high enough to settle in the frame of the architecture. He recalled the breathtaking sight, hoping the memory would keep his mind off the enticement wandering too near.

Echoing boot steps filled the silence. The door on the farthest side of the courtyard hung partially open, the light behind it casting a golden triangle over the stone. A shadow approached with the stiff attitude of a military man. The telling arch at the top of the form, a peaked cap, confirmed Carsten's assumption.

"Hauptman Reiniger," a strong and serious voice called from the dark a few yards away. The shadow continued closer, revealing a high-ranking officer of the Reich.

"Oberst Braun!" Carsten exclaimed. He had far from expected him.

The officer tilted his head, boring a pair of powerful blue eyes into his face. Carsten quickly stiffened and gave the proper salute. The man pursed his lips, gesturing in kind before tucking his arms behind him. Then a smile curled one half of his mouth. His eyes twinkled devilishly. He was an aged mirror of Carsten.

"So that's where he gets it from," Aunt said.

The officer assessed Carsten, inspecting the terrible state of dress he was in and glanced briefly at the others. Their conversation was beyond the comprehension of their American guests.

"It's Oberführer Braun now, Hauptman," the man said.

Carsten gaped in disbelief, but the pips on the collar proved it true. The officer stepped closer into the pale light which revealed the black collar of the uniform: Sicherheitsdienst, the SD. Carsten masked his surprise in joy at the news of his promotion, eyeing the skull on the commander's hat. He'd never pegged Braun for a Gestapo man. However, it explained a great deal.

"When did this all happen?"

"Shortly after you left on your mission," Braun replied. "Who do you think has been whispering in the ears of the Gestapo for you? And look at you, a vagabond in these clothes. You're a hero. You should've changed into your uniform, Hauptmann."

Carsten shrugged in answer, clamped his lips tight. Another mistake.

"Ah, but that doesn't matter, does it?" Braun said. "With your brilliant mind, you'll be the brightest star they've ever seen. We do need someone like you."

"I should thank you," Carsten replied. "But I'm a field man. Being here would stifle me."

Braun shook his head. "It isn't something you must decide now. They haven't yet made up their mind about you. You still have a few days before the request is formally sent down." Braun eyed him. "One more thing though, Reiniger. Please don't embarrass me, whatever you decide. I would have to shoot you." A heavy silence crushed them. Then the man burst into laughter implying it was merely a joke.

Carsten tried to laugh. He had no doubt that Braun would shoot him if he harmed his reputation. Other officers were guilty of less in the line of defending their dignity. He scrubbed the back of his neck, feeling the noose of destiny tighten around it.

"Is this Healey?" Braun brought their conversation back to the present and in English. Carsten nodded. "His mistress?"

"Daughter," Carsten corrected.

"Ah," he laughed. "I must apologize. I wasn't briefed on the entire matter. I am merely here as a courtesy to myself. I could not go without welcoming my favorite pupil home. They humored me."

Carsten grimaced, knowing better. With his new office came new duties. Braun was the Gestapo's best bet to get what they sought out of their brilliant new candidate, especially in light of his having executed three of their fellow soldiers. Though the unexpected development explained quite a lot, it still failed to fully explain why Mertens had tried to kill them. He surmised from the scene that Hoch had shot him and that Mertens was to blame for the explosion. Being an SD man, Carsten still suspected there was more to their interest than a promotion.

Braun approached the Healeys with a brilliant smile that flashed in the dark.

"Welcome, Herr Healey, to Germany. I deeply regret the difficulty you have faced in coming to us. In better days, no degradation shall ever touch you or yours again."

Healey noticeably brightened at the extravagant language used in his regard. He sat taller in the wheelchair. He thanked Braun with a small smile and nod.

Braun went to the women. He wore a wolfish appearance when he cast his eyes over them, and Claire wilted under his intensity.

"Such a harrowing trip for such lovely ladies," Braun said. He took Noreen's hand and bowed over it, then reached for Claire's. He bowed over hers as well, but angled his face to smile at her. His cold blue eyes lingered too long. "Welcome to Germany, Fräulein. Again, I must apologize for my assumptions. I hope that you will forgive me."

Carsten noticed a change in Healey's manner. His gaze shifted calculatingly between his daughter and Braun. The wheels of his mind were grinding out some new scheme. Carsten had seen the same face in the factory, just before he'd come up with a new use for something he'd little valued until that moment. More than likely, Healey had just realized that his daughter's appeal to other men made his only child and greatest encumbrance a very valuable commodity.

Claire was terrified into silence. She swallowed hard, casting her gaze over the lightning marks on his collar. The little she knew of the ranks must have flooded her mind and paralyzed her. Braun was indeed the epitome of the perfect German soldier. A bearer of death. She made herself nod.

"You're forgiven," Claire murmured.

"You all must be exhausted," Braun said. He remarked on Claire's shyness with only a slight knitting of his brows. Braun released her and stepped back. "If you will follow me, I will take you to an apartment you may use for the night."

Braun stiffly swiveled on his boot heels and marched back into the shadows. He clasped his hands behind his back, not slowing for them to catch up. The doctor pushing Healey's chair took the lead this time, and a pair of soldiers dashed from the bright doorway to help hoist the chair up the stairs.

Claire and Noreen limped along. Carsten waited for them to struggle past him before he followed. His eyes shifted to Claire's limp. The doctor would need to be told about her injuries. They had been neglected for too long and were probably exacerbated by the attempted rape. Carsten fought the urge to carry her up the stairs. Assessing eyes were on him from every window and shadow.

"I am sure I do not have to remind either of you about the delicacy of every moment from here on out," Carsten spoke low. His eyes swept them analytically.

Neither Claire nor her aunt responded. They just focused on the door at the end of the courtyard. Carsten stayed behind them, pausing to peer at the sky one more time from that vantage. He grimaced and then sighed heavily. Turning his back on the evening, he passed through the doors.