Patricia Potter (49 page)

“Then pardon me. I’m only jealous I didn’t see you first.” He was flirtingly insincere, and she knew it, but he did it with such an impish look in his eye, she had to laugh.

“I think you’re a rake, Mr. Taylor.”

“And I think you’re much too observant, Miss Evans. But our Mr. Weimer. Is he not a rake too?”

“I don’t know,” she said, suddenly serious as she considered the question.

One of his hands tightened slightly around her waist. “I know his reputation, lovely lady. Be cautious.”

Lisa stumbled. There was something very serious in the warning, in his voice, but suddenly his hand relaxed and the devil was back in his eye. Imagination, she thought. Only imagination.

The music stopped, and she had no more time to wonder. She was being led back to the table, and Kurt was there, his smile strained. She caught a glimpse of cold, hard anger, as if he were furious that she had danced with the newspaperman. But like Mr. Taylor’s enigmatic warning, the look fled quickly, and he was thanking the other man for keeping her occupied.

But something in that momentary look bothered her. It had been calculating, the warmth gone. Some of the pleasure of the evening disappeared.

When they started to leave, he asked her to his cottage for a nightcap, his hand running down her arm in slow, sensual movements, and Lisa felt a stab of apprehension, that she was, in some way, beyond her depth.

“Not tonight,” she demurred softly. “I’m really very tired.”

His hand tightened momentarily, then relaxed. “Very well,” he said with a fleeting smile. “I want you to be fresh and relaxed tomorrow,” he said. “For our outing.”

Suddenly, she didn’t want to go, but she didn’t know why. Surely, it wasn’t Mr. Taylor’s remark. It had only been in jest, she was sure of it.

Lisa was quiet on the ride home. At her door, he leaned down and brushed her lips, and then deepened the kiss as if he couldn’t restrain himself. “Lisa,” he whispered, and Lisa responded slowly to his searching mouth, wondering why she didn’t feel more than she did. She had expected fireworks, but while the kiss was pleasant, she felt a curious lack of warmth.

Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps she hadn’t gotten over the numbness caused by her father’s death.

When he finally released her mouth, he put his hand up and took her chin in his fingers. “Tomorrow, Lisa,” he said.

“Thank you,” she returned. “Thank you for a perfectly lovely night.”

“I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow,” he whispered. “Until then, happy dreams.” His hand lingered a moment longer, and then he turned around and strode to the Mercedes he had rented.

She watched him drive away, surprised at the sudden relief she felt.

Chapter Twenty-Six

K
URT REACHED HIS
cottage well after midnight. Another hour and he would call Stefan Kranz, his mentor and now colleague in Odessa.

He had collected some newspapers, and he read them carefully. Civil rights demonstrations were continuing in Atlanta and throughout the southeast. Sit-ins and marches were more and more common. Martin Luther King, Jr., was planning a march on Washington, and violence was rife all over the South, spurring the rapid growth of white supremacist groups. Another black church had been burned in Alabama; a civil rights worker had been shot in Mississippi.

One of the white supremacist groups had announced a rally to counteract the proposed civil rights march on Washington. The group, the White Citizens Brotherhood, was holding the rally in Atlanta in two days. Kurt knew the group well. He and others had already directed money into the Brotherhood and to other white supremacist groups believed to be viable. Now was the time to capitalize on them, to guide them, to build a force in this country. Now—when southern anger was at its peak.

The leader of the Brotherhood was a charismatic young white man who was seeking to bring the various groups—Ku Klux Klan and other white supremacist organizations—together. It might be well worth his time to make a trip up to Atlanta and watch the man in action, and determine exactly how much, if any, additional support should be given him.

He would, he knew, have to be very, very careful. He could not be recognized, but that was easy enough: a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, a different part in his hair, a hat, and some workers’ clothes. He had helped enough fugitives escape Germany that he knew every trick.

Kurt looked at his watch and then thought about the evening. It had been mostly successful, he thought. Lisa Evans had appeared delighted and impressed with the evening, and had looked at him with a tinge of awe when they had danced. He’d been disappointed when she had refused his invitation to his cottage, but he was not entirely surprised. The plan would simply require a little longer than he’d thought to break through that middle-class morality. The end would be all the more sweeter for her reticence. He had no doubt he would succeed.

At exactly one o’clock, he called Stefan, and the phone on the other end was picked up almost immediately.

“Is the line safe?” Stefan asked almost immediately.

“Ja,”
Kurt answered. There was no reason to believe it wasn’t.

“We’re having some problems in Argentina,” Stefan said in German. “One of our…assets believes he’s been discovered by the Israelis. We’ve got to get him out and provide him with a new identity.”

“Who?” There was a number of former SS officers in Argentina, most of whom were wanted by Israel for their part in the so-called Final Solution.

“The Bull.”

There was a pause. The Bull was the nickname they had given one of the top officers at Auschwitz. “Give the job to Dieter. We have an account in Rio. Do whatever is necessary to get him out, or if it’s too late, neutralize him. He knows too much about us.”

“That was the opinion here,” Stefan replied. “We are agreed then. When will you return?”

“A week later than expected.”

There was a silence. “The personal business?”

“Yes. It will take longer than I thought.”

“Don’t jeopardize everything, Kurt.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Kurt replied tersely. “There will be nothing to trace. Nothing at all. I’m going to visit one of the American groups tomorrow night. The White Citizens Brotherhood. It should prove interesting.”

“I don’t know if that’s wise right now. There’s a lot of interest—too much interest—in our small organization.”

“We need support in other countries to achieve what we must,” Kurt said. “You know that.”

“We can’t afford to lose you. Not now.”

“Have faith, Stefan. Nothing worthwhile is accomplished without risks, you know that.”

“But you take too many.”

“
Nein
,” Kurt replied. “There is no suspicion. I am an honored, respected guest of the American government.”

“Try to keep it that way,” Stefan said. “In two weeks then.”

The conversation completed, Kurt replaced the phone gently. He went over it word by word. Damn it, but Stefan continued to try to control him, just as he had when he was a boy. But it didn’t work anymore. Kurt had as much, if not more, power than his one-time mentor. The fact that Stefan needed his approval in the Argentina matter indicated as much.

Kurt knew no one could stop him now. He was well on his way to more power, and he was building support outside of Odessa, a necessary precaution. It was one reason he wanted to view Robert Cannon, the commander of the White Citizens Brotherhood, personally. Then he would set up a very private meeting.

But first things first. The picnic tomorrow. Time to further disarm and charm Lisa Evans. He might even start hinting at marriage. That usually accelerated matters, he thought quite coldly. He had used the technique before in seduction.

It could be quite enjoyable. Miss Evans had very kissable lips and very sensuous eyes. Once awakened, she could, he thought, be a very passionate bed partner. But he had also, in the past, enjoyed fear, the sense of power that rape gave him. If Lisa did not cooperate in one way, she would in another, he thought with a thin smile.

Kurt Weimer poured himself a glass of schnapps, sipping it slowly and with appreciation.

Lisa was ready when Kurt stopped by the following day. Even in his casual clothes, he looked elegant and sophisticated and again she felt a quick, flattered thrill that he was interested in her.

She had dismissed the brief stab of apprehension she’d felt last night and was determined to enjoy the day despite her mother’s lack of enthusiasm.

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” her mother had said over breakfast.

“Why?” Lisa queried frankly. She really wanted to understand.

Her mother’s face was tense, unusually so, and her eyes were tired as if she hadn’t slept. Her hands fidgeted nervously on the table, something Lisa had never seen before. “There’s just something about…him.”

“It’s because he’s German,” Lisa guessed. “It does make him a little more formal. But it’s sorta nice, too. He’s such a complete gentleman it frightens me a little. I’m not used to being treated so elegantly.”

Elegantly. Was that what it had been with Michael? The mystery? The attraction of difference? The newness? Or the intensity of the man? Did Kurt Weimer have that same intensity?

“You…aren’t really interested in him?” Meara finally asked.

Lisa thought for a moment. How did she feel? She was flattered. She was attracted to him. She even occasionally felt a thrill when he touched her. But she didn’t feel any deep warmth, nor did she feel altogether comfortable with him, not like she did with Kelly. But for some reason she didn’t want to admit that to her mother. Her mother would have been comfortable with him; she was comfortable with everyone.

“He’s terribly attractive,” she said instead, “but I know he’ll be gone soon.”

Meara shivered slightly. It was no answer at all. She knew that time, or lack of it, could often be more of a catalyst than less of one. She changed the subject. “Kelly called last night.”

Lisa glanced up, relieved that the subject was changed. She didn’t want to talk about Kurt Weimer, not when she didn’t understand herself how she felt. “What did he want?”

“I think several of his friends were having an impromptu oyster roast on the beach.”

“Damn,” Lisa said, before looking up guiltily at the unusual profanity, but for some reason she felt unreasonably disappointed. It was ridiculous. After all, she had been the center of attention at an affair most girls only dream of. But oyster roasts were one of her most favorite things. And she didn’t want to disappoint Kelly. She thought of him momentarily: the lanky build, the thick but very straight brown hair, and his eyes, most of all his eyes, twinkling light brown, always open and honest.

Unlike Kurt’s, which sometimes seemed cold, and even angry.

Now why did she suddenly think that?

“I’ll see him in the morning,” she said. “Oh,” she said as she heard a car drive up. “That must be Kurt. I’ll see you later.”

“Lisa…?”

Lisa turned and saw panic in her mother’s eyes, and then it was gone.

“Be careful,” her mother whispered. “Don’t be back too late.”

“Aw, nothing ever happens around here.” Lisa grinned comfortingly. “Nothing at all.”

“Nothing,” Meara echoed in a bleak voice as the door closed behind her daughter. “Nothing at all.”

“We picked up something,” Matt told Chris over the telephone. “But the conversation’s in German, and I’m damned if I can understand any of it.”

“Is he gone?”

“Yes, Kate and another operative are following in different vehicles.”

“I’ll be over there shortly, then.”

“You speak German?”

“I can understand a little of it.”

“I’ll expect you shortly.”

“Thirty minutes.” Chris replaced the phone in its cradle. He didn’t want to go. Not now. Meara might need him.

But he had to find a way to stop Weimer, and there might be a hint in the conversation. It was just as likely there was not. It could have been an ordinary call to his office. Hell, it could be anything. But he was desperate, and growing more so by the hour although he had tried not to let Meara see it.

He didn’t like his helplessness. He wasn’t used to waiting and allowing others to fight his battles. Not in the past twenty years, damn it.

Chris let the door slam behind him as he went to his car and drove straight out, glancing only briefly at the Evans’s house. He was afraid if he did, he would stop.

He drove over to Sea Island and found Kurt’s cottage, and the one next to it with the plumbers’ truck parked alongside. He wondered briefly how Matt was arranging such a long time to repair a plumbing leak, but then that was Matt’s problem. He parked in some trees and quickly strolled over to the van, knocking lightly on the door.

“Chandler,” he announced.

The door opened, and Matt ushered him inside. Another man sat at a table crowded with electronic equipment.

Matt introduced the two men, then turned to the seated man at the desk. “Play the tape.”