Patricia Potter (50 page)

Chris listened carefully; his mouth was grim but his eyes gleamed with sudden triumph. Kurt Weimer was making his first mistake, and it was a bad one. Like his father, he was too self-confident. When the tape was finished, Matt looked at him expectantly, but Chris didn’t explain the contents. “Make me two copies,” he said.

He listened again as the technician reran the tape twice, making a copy each time as he did so. Kurt Weimer was as much a fool as his father had been, a fanatical fool searching for a dark kind of power. Although the tape wouldn’t constitute any kind of proof, its existence gave Chris a weapon, a very lethal weapon.

And, he knew, it would give the United States government a weapon. The exposure of a top member of the West German government could be devastating to the current leadership. Although the conversation had been careful, the implications were very, very clear and very obvious.

“Keep listening,” he told Matt.

Matt shrugged. “It’s your money.”

“I want to know every move he makes today, every step. I take it your people will call in periodically.”

“Every two hours, unless there’s something unusual.”

“Then call me every time there’s a contact.”

“Where are you taking that?” Matt’s eyes went down to the tape. This was as illegal as hell.

Chris smiled wryly. “Don’t worry. It will never be traced back to you.” He paused a moment. “There’s something else.”

Matt raised an eyebrow.

“He’s apparently going to Atlanta tomorrow. To a meeting. I want two of your people with him all the time he’s there. Two new people. I don’t want him to get suspicious. And I want all the pictures you can get.”

“Do you know where he’s going?”

“I have a damned good idea,” Chris said. “Just stay with him. He might try to disguise himself.”

“He won’t get away from us,” Matt said.

Chris’s mouth was grim. “He’d better not. Keep me posted. Every two hours.”

“Righto.”

“And Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Matt tried to hide his surprise. He had done work before for Chandler, and he had seldom before seen the man perturbed or worried. Now Chandler was both, and he showed it.

“Anytime.”

Chris looked around the van. “How long can you stay here?”

Matt grinned. “We just, by accident, discovered the whole pipe system’s rotting away in this cottage. We’re doing them a real favor working this weekend. Might even take a few days beyond that. Have to cut through walls, then get carpenters to repair the damage. Damn shame. They just don’t build things like they used to.”

Chris chuckled. “How much is it costing them?”

“Oh, they’ll be getting a bargain when we get through,” Matt said. “Markham’s already made arrangements with the owner for extensive renovation. But it’s going to cost you a bundle.”

Chris smiled dryly, but merely inquired: “Is there anything Markham can’t do?”

“Ain’t found it yet if there is,” Matt said. “He’s got more damned contacts in the strangest places.”

Chris nodded. He’d heard the rumors. The owner of the P.I. agency he used was a former federal agent of some kind. That knowledge ordinarily would have scared Chris away. But Ben Markham had a reputation for intense loyalty to his clients, and Chris had never been disappointed.

Without more words, he left.

Would the day never end? Meara reached for the phone a dozen times, but always dropped it midway through dialing. She wouldn’t become dependent on him. She wouldn’t. He had said he would call if there was any news.

At noon, she tried to eat. Lisa had said she planned to show Kurt Weimer some of the sights, including Savannah, seventy or so miles to the north where they would probably have lunch at one of the city’s noted restaurants. How could Chris’s detectives possibly watch them all that time? Yet Chris had said several times that Kurt would do nothing openly. He simply couldn’t afford it.

What did he want with her daughter?

Just after twelve-thirty, the phone rang. “My people just called,” Chris said. “She’s fine.”

Meara clutched the phone. She needed him. She needed him beside her. She needed his confidence. She needed his strength. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.

“Why don’t you come over here and wait,” he said, an almost pleading note in his voice.

It was exactly what she wanted to do. “No,” she said. “I don’t think it’s wise.”

“No,” he said softly. “Perhaps it isn’t. But I have something for you, something you should have.”

“What,” she said suspiciously.

“A tape.”

“What kind of tape.”

“One very damaging to our Mr. Weimer if it fell into the wrong hands,” Chris replied.

“Oh,” Meara said, considering the answer.

“He’s made his first mistake, Meara,” Chris continued. “There will be others. He’s very sure of himself, which is all to our advantage.”

“How?”

“He believes he has time. He thinks no one suspects anything.”

“Which means he might take greater risks.”

Chris knew she’d pinpointed the problem. Kurt Weimer obviously believed he was immune to detection. Otherwise he wouldn’t be fool enough to go where Chris believed he planned to go tomorrow. His silence frightened her.

“Do you think…?”

“I think she’s perfectly safe, or else I wouldn’t be sitting here,” he interrupted with fierce possessiveness. “I would kill him myself if I didn’t think there was another way that wouldn’t hurt either one of you.”

The bitter intensity of his voice startled her. She could almost feel the violence underlining each word. In this one thing, at least, they had a common goal, common pain. She didn’t doubt it now.

“I’ll come over,” she conceded.

There was another silence. “You don’t have to.”

“I know. I’ll be there in a few moments.” She hung up before he could answer.

She despised herself. She was doing it again, just as she had years ago. She was running when he crooked his finger. Damn it. Why did she keep doing it?

For Lisa. For Lisa, she told herself again. But that was only part of it. She knew it. Only a part. She could no more stay away from him now than before.

But he would be gone before long. And the recurring nightmare would be over.

Or would it?

His return had awakened all the memories of that spring, the new, fresh stirrings, the deep longing, the glorious passion that had sent her to the stars and back. Could she ever return them to the box where she’d stored them in her mind.

Almost hopelessly, she left the house.

Kurt Weimer ran his hand down the curve of Lisa’s throat, feeling it throb under his touch.

Finally, they were alone. It had taken most of the day, a day of ridiculous sightseeing. Americans were enamored with a past only a few centuries old. A mere few pages of history when compared to Europe. Yet he had tried to appear interested when she showed him where a Spanish settlement was once located, and where the British met the Spanish in a bloody clash.

Savannah had its charm, but even that city was an infant compared to the cities he knew and admired—except for Berlin, which the Americans and Russians had destroyed.

But they had finally come to Christ Church on St. Simons Island, and they were alone in a small attractive graveyard framed by great oak trees.

“You’re enchanting, you know,” he said softly, hiding his impatience.

She looked up at him. He was very close, and his light blue eyes were darker than usual and intense. His hand moved from her throat to the back of her neck, sending little flashes of sensation cascading down her back.

During the day, Kurt had been everything she’d ever thought she might want in a man. Gallant. Attentive. Amusing. Even gentle at times as his hand touched hers. Heads turned every place they went with his blond attractiveness. Yet now some of the gentleness was gone, replaced by a certain aggressiveness and impatience.

But she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to know whether she’d just been tired last night when his kiss left her strangely unmoved. He was so handsome, and sophisticated, and at lunch he had even hinted that she was the kind of wife he wanted. The words had sent pictures flying through her mind, blinding her for a few fleeting seconds as she imagined herself meeting heads of state and moving in the highest of circles. It was an exhilerating thought. Then she thought of the previous night. She had enjoyed it, enjoyed the novelty of pomp and ceremony, but then she also considered how disappointed she was this morning at knowing she’d missed an oyster roast, one of her favorite things. With a little hidden amusement, she doubted there would be oyster roasts in Berlin.

Yet there was still something fascinating, and even dangerous, perhaps forbidden, about her companion and that sent anticipatory shivers down her back. Or maybe it was the way his fingers caressed the pulse in her throat and then moved to the back of her neck. The touch was provocative, increasing the tempo of her heartbeat.

When his lips came down, she was ready, and lifted her face to meet his. She felt his lips touch hers softly at first, and then possessively, his tongue seeking entrance into her mouth.

His arms tightened around her, and she felt a momentary panic she didn’t understand. She had wanted this, but the kiss was suddenly invasive, not tender.

Lisa was twenty, and she had certainly been kissed before, even deep, passionate kisses that aroused something warm inside, but she had never gone further than that. Her father, without preaching, had once told her that love, real love, was warmth and gentleness, a gift without price, and never to give it lightly, that she would know it when it came.

Now she felt unaccountably trapped, knowing that Kurt’s kiss was different from others, that he was demanding not only this kiss but a conclusion to the passion she had aroused in him. But despite the trembling caused by his touch on her neck, his kiss invoked no fireworks, no flashing lights, only a desperate need to have it end. She knew she wasn’t responding as he wished, and that seemed to make him more aggressive as his tongue forced its way into her mouth. As she struggled to free herself, she felt more and more entrapped as his tongue started to ravage the interior of her mouth.

“Excuse me.” The voice seemed sent from heaven as Kurt’s arms loosened, his mouth reluctantly pulling from hers.

Lisa stumbled back, almost desperate in her relief. Kurt looked angry, his blue eyes cold as they stared at the intruder, and she suddenly knew she had not mistaken that same look last night. Confused, she looked at the woman who had interrupted them. Dressed in shorts and a blouse with medium-length hair held back by two barrettes, she looked flush, embarrassed at her interruption and very much the tourist.

“Excuse me,” she said again, “but I’m hopelessly lost, you see, and my husband is going to be so very, very angry if I’m not back at the hotel when he returns from fishing. It seems I’ve been going around in circles for hours.”

“Where are you going?” Lisa asked, terribly grateful for the interruption.

“The Cloister,” the woman said. “Are you staying there too?” Her eyes went from Lisa to Kurt, lighting with appreciation as she did so. “In fact, I think I’ve seen you there. Are you with the conference?”

Kurt’s eyes swept her coldly, but he kept his voice blank and polite. “Yes.”

“That’s thrilling,” the woman trilled on. “And you are…?”

“German,” he said impatiently.

“German, how wonderful. I have some friends who are German…maybe you…but of course not. They’ve been here since the war.” She shifted her feet as if afraid she’d said something she shouldn’t have, then looked back to Lisa. “If you could just give me some directions…”

Lisa smiled. “We can do better than that. Why don’t you just follow us.” She looked at Kurt. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”

His lips tightened, but she had left him little choice. He nodded curtly, his back stiff. He moved away from her, realizing his opportunity was gone. Damn the interfering tourist.

Almost by rote, he forced a smile and courteously followed Lisa to the car, opening the door for her, and then walking swiftly to the driver’s side as the woman sauntered slowly to her own car.

Cursing silently, Kurt slid into the driver’s seat and started the car.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

M
EARA
’
S FACE WAS
even paler than he remembered. Her eyes were huge in her face, huge and sad and so damned lost looking.

But he knew her feeling of helplessness. He was experiencing it himself; the frustration was grinding and crunching him down.

“Come in,” he said softly as she hesitated at the door.

He put his hand on her shoulder, not intimately but as correctly as he could make it.

She stood in the center of the room for a moment, then went to the window facing the sea.

“It looks so peaceful,” she whispered.