She wanted to distrust him immediately.

She found herself intrigued instead.

He turned his head into the light, a gesture that allowed her to see his face for the first time without dark shadows hindering her inspection.

His sharp, serious eyes and tall, lean body reminded her of a big beautiful cat. Unwavering, patient. And very, very dangerous.

Code name: Cougar.

It fit him to perfection. With his dark blond hair, piercing blue eyes and strong, obstinate jaw he could hail from any number of northern European countries. Austria, Norway, Great Britain.

Germany.

She turned from that disturbing thought and focused her full attention on her understudy, pretending grave interest in the other woman’s enthusiastic compliments.

Unable to stop herself, she slid another glance at her contact from beneath lowered lashes. The watchful look in his eyes suddenly vanished and, just as quickly, a pleasant smile rode across his lips.

The effortless charm put her on instant alert.

He shoved away from the wall and began pacing toward her. Slowly, deliberately. The hunter stalking his prey.

RENEE RYAN

grew up in a small Florida beach town. To entertain herself during countless hours of “lying out” she read all the classics. It wasn’t until the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Florida State University that she read her first romance novel. Hooked from page one, she spent hours consuming one book after another while working on the best (and last!) tan of her life.

Two years later, armed with a degree in economics and religion, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling agency and a cosmetics conglomerate. She moved on to teach high school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. Several years later, with an eclectic cast of characters swimming around in her head, she began seriously pursuing a writing career.

She lives an action-packed life in Lincoln, Nebraska, with her supportive husband, lovely teenage daughter and two ornery cats who hate each other.

Dangerous Allies
Renee Ryan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.

—Matthew 10:16

To my dear friend and BBS co-founder, Staci Bell. Thank you for your support through the years. You might buy all my books, but I’m your biggest fan!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

20 November 1939

Schnebel Theater, Hamburg, Germany

2200 Hours

They came to watch her die.

Every night, they came. To gawk. To gasp. To shake their heads in awe. And Katarina Kerensky made sure they never left disappointed.

Tonight, she performed one of her favorites, Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. In typical Nazi arrogance, Germanizing the arts hadn’t stopped at simply eliminating “dangerous” persons from cultural life. The Chamber of Culture had continued its purification function by also ruling that Shakespeare—in German translation, of course—was to be viewed as a German classic, and thus acceptable for performance throughout the Fatherland.

Leave it to the Nazis to claim the English playwright as their own.

In spite of her personal reasons for hating the Third Reich, Katia loved the challenge of taking a role already performed by the best and making Juliet her own.

For a few hours on stage her world made sense.

Now, poised in her moment of mock death, her hair spilled past her shoulders and down along the sides of the raised platform on which she lay. She held perfectly still as her Romeo drank the pretend poison and collapsed beside her.

She could smell the brandy and sweat on Hans as the foul scents mingled with the mold growing on the costume he hadn’t washed in weeks, but Katia thought nothing of it. She was a professional and approached the role of Juliet as she would any role, on or off the stage. With daring conviction.

Hitting his cue, George, the bald actor playing Friar Laurence, made his entrance. As the scene continued to unfold around her Katia remained frozen, her thoughts turned to the actors who should also be sharing the stage. She was one of the lucky ones. Instead of playing a star-crossed lover doomed for eternity, she could have been among many of her peers thrown out of the theater due to whispers—often untrue—of their Jewish heritage or socially deviant behavior.

For now, at least, she was safe. As she was the daughter of a Russian prince, Vladimir Kerensky, fame had been her companion long before she’d stepped onto a stage.

Would notoriety be enough to keep her safe?

The Nazi Germany racial policy grew increasingly violent and aggressive with each new law. If anyone checked Katia’s heritage too closely they might discover her well-kept secret.

To the Germans, she was merely a real-life princess playing at make-believe. A natural, as her mentor Madame Levine had always said. Good skin. Innate talent. Beautiful face and hair. All added to the final package. But the brains? Katia kept those hidden behind the facade of ambition and a seemingly ruthless pursuit of fame.

If the Germans only knew how she really used her talents. And why.

Opening her eyes to tiny slits, she tilted her face just enough to cast a covert glance over the audience. Her latest British contact was out there waiting. Watching. Bringing with him another chance for her to fight the monster regime and protect her mother with means she’d been unable to use to defend her father.

She drew in a short breath and focused on becoming Juliet once more. The scent of stage dust and grease-paint was nearly overpowering. Dizzying. The spotlight blinding, even with her eyelids half-closed. Nevertheless, Katia remained motionless until her cue.

“The lady stirs….”

As though in a trance, Katia rose slowly to a sitting position. She fluttered her eyelashes and let her arms drag behind her. Arching her back, she held her arms limp, making the motion appear effortless.

Presentation, Madame Levine had taught, was the difference between a rank amateur and a true artist.

Pitching her voice to a hoarse whisper, she said, “O, comfortable friar! Where is my lord?” The muscles in her arms protested, but she continued to hold them slack.

Katia wrapped her temporary role of the doomed Juliet around her like a protective cloak then tossed a confused, sleepy look over the audience. “I do remember well where I should be.” She sent the audience a long, miserable sigh, then wiped the back of her wrist across her brow. “And there I am.”

Pushing a shaky smile along her lips, she let it cling to the edges of her mouth for only a moment before hiding it behind a pout. “Where is my Romeo?”

Friar Laurence tugged at her as he began his impassioned speech to make her leave the tomb with him.

Ignoring his pleas, Katia peered around. She blinked once. Twice. Then turned her head away from the audience.

Friar Laurence came to the end of his speech. “I dare no longer stay.”

Katia focused her attention on the actor lying next to her, narrowing her performance down to this final moment. Nothing existed before. Nothing after. Just this handful of lines. A few moments when escape was possible.

Feigning horror at the sight of her dead husband, she allowed a lone tear to trail down her left cheek. In a tragic whisper she recited her next lines, pretended to search desperately for a drop of poison in the vial she rescued from Romeo’s clenched fist, then listened to the lines spoken offstage.

She pulled her brows into deep concentration. “Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief.” She made a grand show of searching Romeo’s belt. On a gasp, she widened her eyes. “O happy dagger!”

Snatching the fake blade, she raised it high above her. Arching, she tossed back her head, snapped it forward again, then locked her gaze on to the thin blade. “This is thy sheath…”

With a dramatic flourish, she stabbed herself just above her stomach. “There…rust, and let me die.”

Swaying, she sucked in her breath, buckled over in pain, and collapsed on top of Romeo.

As the rest of the cast trooped in for the final scene, Katia remained unmoving, only half listening to the words of the rest of the play.

Knowing her performance had been one of her best, she tried to ride the wave of success. But the joy remained elusive this evening, as it had each night since the Nazis had discovered Madame Levine’s fraudulent papers.

And just as the Lord had done back in Russia during the revolution, God had abandoned Germany. Now most of the people Katia loved were dead, imprisoned or worse.

Her mind raced back to the last time she’d seen her mentor, now shipped off to Neuengamme, for her lie as much as for her Jewish heritage. There had been no warning, no time to help.

Would Katia’s mother be next? The quick burst of fear came fast and hard at the thought.

Why didn’t Elena Kerensky see that no one was safe in Nazi Germany, not even Russian royalty? Why didn’t she understand that the very people who had killed Katia’s beloved father—for no reason other than his distant relation to the Romanovs—were no different than the Nazis? Hitler could easily broaden his definition of a Jew to include anyone with only one Jewish grandparent, rather than the current definition of two.

At that thought, fear played in Katia’s head, taunting her and convicting her. She would not allow her mother to die for so small a reason.

Katia was no longer a helpless eight-year-old witnessing the death of her loving father and loss of her beloved homeland. She was no longer an innocent who believed prayer was the answer, that God cared enough to stop the violence. As an adult she put her trust only in herself, not in a hard-hearted God who allowed courageous men like Vladimir Kerensky to die at the hands of their enemies.

At least now, as a British informant, she had the means to protect one of her parents.

A sense of control surged. The power of it danced a chill up her spine, giving her a foundation of order beneath the chaos.

The actor playing the Prince of Verona said his final line, dragging Katia back to her immediate job for the evening. “For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

The applause broke out like a rumbling stroke of thunder. With a convicted heart, Katia rose to take her bows.

She was ready to begin her next mission, ready to fight the Nazis, ready to stop the tyranny before it swallowed up her mother and others like her.

Avoiding the crush of people milling around backstage, Lieutenant Jack Anderson leaned a shoulder against the wall behind him and watched Katarina Kerensky in action. She accepted the congratulations from her fellow cast members and adoring fans with understated grace.

In stark contrast, the overbright laughter and din of heavily accented voices sounded like a gaggle of geese, rather than a celebration of a remarkable woman’s acting triumph.

Out of instinct and years of training, Jack surveyed his surroundings. He eyed the tangle of ropes and pulleys on his right, the large circuit box on his left. Extra props were set in every available spot. Dusty costumes lay strewn over a large paint-chipped box. There seemed to be no order, no organization. A full hour in this world and he knew the chaos would drive him mad.

The putrid odor of sawdust, human sweat and unwashed costumes took away the mystique of the fantasy world he’d watched come alive less than an hour before. From his seat in the twelfth row, the actors had glittered under the lights. Here they looked haggard, wilted.

Except for one.

The woman he’d come to meet was a surprise. And he was only half-sorry for it. Even as the thought rolled around in his mind he realized he should have had some instinct, some internal warning, that this mission wasn’t going to be as tidy as the new chief of MI6 had claimed. Not with a woman like Katarina Kerensky involved.

Clearly, the British had a hidden agenda. But were they using this mission to ferret out individual loyalties, or was there a darker motive? Had the spymasters grown to distrust Jack and set a trap for him? Or was Kerensky their target? Given Jack’s direct relationship with Churchill, the latter was far more likely.

Jack now admitted, if only to himself, that he hadn’t prepared enough for his first glimpse of the famous actress. His sudden inability to catch an easy breath was like having a destroyer deposited on his chest. Later, when he was alone, he would sort through his messy emotions and decide what to do with them. For now, he had to disconnect. Focus.

Analyze the potential dangers.

She turned in his direction, tilted her head slightly and fixed him with a bold stare. Their gazes locked and held. A jolt of discomfort shot to the soles of his feet. He fought to keep his breathing slow and steady. But this woman made him feel.

The emotion wasn’t real. It couldn’t possibly be real.

And yet…

The sudden flash of vulnerability in her eyes before she buried the emotion behind a bored expression gave her an air of innocence that Jack didn’t dare consider too closely. It was simply a well-honed weapon in her female arsenal. He had to remember she was an actress and a spy. Nothing but lies would come from her mouth.

With a mental shake, he pushed aside his initial reaction to the woman and focused only on measuring her as a potential ally. Or enemy.

He quickly took in the hair, the face, the perfect fit of her costume. Her skin was smooth and flawless. Her features delicate. Her eyes were large and slightly slanted, the color of the sea in a bitter storm. Her hair was a deep auburn, almost chocolate except when the light hit it and revealed an array of gold, red and orange.

Absently, Jack shoved at his own hair, surprised to find he was sweating. Blinking, he shook himself from the trance she’d put him in.

She was good. He’d give her that. But with those fabulous eyes no longer locked with his, the unsteady rolling in his gut slowed. She may have knocked his brains around—which was probably intentional—but Jack was back in control of his wits.

Before tonight he had always believed the Bible’s David a fool to let a woman turn him into a murderer and adulterer. But Jack hadn’t fully understood the power of a beautiful woman.

Or the danger. Until now.

Chapter Two

In spite of the dim lighting backstage, Katia easily picked out her contact by the single bloodred rose he wore on his lapel. He stood on the fringe of the post-production party, his face hidden by the shadows. She couldn’t decide if the lack of light made him appear mysterious. Or sinister.

He lifted two fingers in silent salute then settled his broad shoulder against the wall behind him once more.

Katia didn’t particularly like the way he watched her with those long, speculative looks. The quiet intensity in him made her heart beat in hard jerks. How much did he know about her? Did he know her secret?

A sense of unease skittered up her spine, but she boldly kept her eyes on his. She drew a careful breath. The man made her nervous. The tingling weakness in her limbs distressed her further, until she realized he was deliberately trying to intimidate her.

Another man who underestimated her.

Annoyance replaced her anxiety. Katia hiked her chin up a notch. Many before him had seen her as a liability. And, like them, this one would ultimately come to view her as his greatest asset.

Or he would fail.

As he continued to study her with those smart, patient eyes, she felt a quick churn of hope in her stomach. But that made no sense. She refused to allow his assessment to go unmatched. With equal intensity she ran her gaze across him.

On the surface he looked like a young, wealthy German out for an entertaining evening at the theater. Dressed in an expensive tuxedo, black tie and crisp white shirt, he could pass as a financier. Maybe a bored aristocrat. Even one of Hitler’s secret agents or a henchman for Heinrich Himmler.

Her breath came short and fast at that last thought. Did the Nazis know she was a mole for the British? Had they sent this man to trap her?

If it wasn’t for the red rose, she’d give in to her fears. The operative’s behavior certainly wasn’t helping matters. His stance was anything but friendly. The intense control he held over his body spoke of hard physical training. Probably military. An officer, no doubt. A man used to giving orders, and having them obeyed.

She wanted to distrust him immediately.

She found herself intrigued instead.

He turned his head into the light, a gesture that allowed her to see his face for the first time without dark shadows hindering her inspection.

His sharp eyes and tall, lean body reminded her of a big cat. Unwavering, patient. And very, very dangerous.

Code name, Cougar.

It fit him to perfection. With his dark blond hair, piercing blue eyes and strong, obstinate jaw he could hail from any number of northern European countries. Austria, Norway, Great Britain.

Germany.

She turned from that disturbing thought and focused her full attention on her understudy, pretending grave interest in the other woman’s enthusiastic compliments.

Unable to stop herself, she slid another glance at her contact from beneath lowered lashes. The watchful look in his eyes suddenly vanished and, just as quickly, a pleasant smile rode across his lips.

The effortless charm put her on instant alert.

He shoved away from the wall and began pacing toward her. Slowly, deliberately.

The hunter stalking his prey.

A little stab of panic penetrated her attempts at calm. No. She would not show weakness.

He stopped in front of her, an inch closer than was polite, then offered a formal nod. Her understudy melted away, muttering something about needing a plate of food.

The scent of musk, expensive tobacco and dominant male was far too unsettling, the handsome face far too attractive.

In a purely self-defensive move, Katia gave her head an arrogant little toss. Lifting a single eyebrow, she concentrated on the planned greeting she was supposed to use with him tonight. “Did you enjoy the play?”

He nodded and stuck to the script, as well. “It was enlightening.”

The words rolled off his tongue in perfect German, with just a hint of Austria clinging to the edges.

Relief had her fear smoothly vanishing. He was her British contact, after all.

She kept to the words MI6 had given them for this first meeting. “I’m glad.”

“Perhaps we could discuss the finer points of your performance in a more private place?”

She swallowed but held his stare. He was following the script, so why did she get the sense he was toying with her? “Yes, I would like that.”

His smile deepened in response, revealing a row of straight, white teeth. Her heart gave one powerful kick against her ribs. The charm was there, urging her into complacency, and yet his eyes were so stark and empty.

For a moment she glimpsed something that looked like despair behind his flawless performance, giving her the impression that this man needed someone to reach him, perhaps even to save him.

For a second she felt herself softening toward him, but only for a second. This was no romantic interlude. This was a serious game of war. Loss of control, even for a moment, meant death. And then who would protect her mother?

Katia quickly adjusted her thoughts by focusing on her mother and all they had to lose if Katia became reckless.

She started to take a step back but her contact captured her hand, turned it over and studied her palm.

Her pulse raced at his light touch.

Not wanting to draw attention to them, she tried to ease her hand free, but he released her first.

“Perhaps we should go to…” He allowed his words to trail off, as planned, giving her the choice of the location for their real meeting.

Happy to take the lead, she cocked her head toward a room off to her right. “My dressing room is just over there.” Her territory.

His smile turned into a roguish grin. “Perfect.”

The boyish tilt of his lips made her want to believe everything he said from this point on, even when she knew—knew for a fact—he made his life telling lies and using intrigue to accomplish his mission.

She opened her mouth to speak, reconsidered and then snapped it shut. Let him take command for a while, as expected.

“You were remarkable,” he drawled, his words no longer following their scripted first meeting. His expression dared her to remark on his audacity.

She couldn’t. She was too busy trying to shove aside the pleasure that swelled inside her at his impulsive remark. If there was anything she didn’t trust it was a spontaneous, sincere compliment. It hit at a vulnerable spot deep within, the place no one had touched since her father’s murder. The place that had once believed in a loving God.

She lifted a shoulder, pretending his deliberate shift in the conversation didn’t bother her in the least. “Dying onstage has its own unique drama. Poetic and sizzling.” She smiled, opened her heart just a little. “Wonderful, really.”

His eyebrows drew together in an expression of genuine fascination. “Is that why you do it, then? For the drama?”

They both knew he wasn’t talking about the stage.

Oh, he was a smooth one, intentionally forcing her further off track with an intriguing question. She would not be defeated by such a transparent maneuver. “Among other reasons.”

She slanted him a warning glare. His questions were getting too personal. Too insightful. Too…dangerous.

Just how much did this man know about her?

Their association was supposed to be simple. But the curling in her stomach told her this mission had become entirely too complicated already. She had to remember they would work together only three days, then never see each other again.

She wouldn’t even learn his real name. As far as she was concerned, he was Friedrich Reiter, a wealthy shipbuilder who frequented the theater.

Pushing the spark of remorse aside, Katia touched his arm, but then quickly dropped her hand at the shocking sense of comfort she felt on contact. “Why don’t we—”

Her words were drowned out by voices coming from the backstage door leading into the alley.

Happy greetings rang out, one after another. Katia turned toward the sound of a familiar feminine voice, barely catching sight of her elegant mother before being greeted with a kiss on her cheek.

Taking a step back, Katia scooped a breath into her lungs and tried to focus her chaotic thoughts.

What was her mother doing here, tonight of all nights? Elena Kerensky rarely attended the theater and she never appeared backstage. Mingling with the masses was simply not done. It was one of her mother’s cardinal rules.

So what had sparked this unprecedented visit?

Katia took another long breath and swept a furtive glance over her mother. Elena Kerensky was still a striking woman at forty-seven, one who knew how to dress for any occasion. Tonight, she’d chosen a form-fitting gown of ice-blue that matched the color of her eyes. She’d pulled her pale blond hair into a refined chignon, showing off the expensive jewels around her neck. The ensemble made her look every bit the brave Russian princess in exile.

“My darling Katarina.” Elena spoke in her trademark breathy whisper. “You were lovely this evening. Perfectly charming. I am a very proud mother.”

For a moment Katia’s practiced facade deserted her. She, unlike her mother, had very few rules in life and only one unbreakable commandment: never, under any circumstance, involve her mother in a mission.

She had to send Elena on her way before propriety required Katia to introduce the MI6 operative. Even though he had backed off a few steps, most likely to give her room to deal with this unexpected interruption, he remained close.

To further complicate matters, her mother wasn’t alone. She’d brought her favorite escort of late, Hermann Schmidt, a cold-hearted naval officer in his early fifties.

Despite the air clogging in her throat, Katia needed to concentrate. What was Elena thinking? Not only did Schmidt hold the high-ranking position of captain in the Kriegsmarine, he had an unholy obsession for the Fatherland and a stark hatred of Jews.

Perhaps her mother didn’t recognize the risks. Or perhaps she was simply hiding in plain sight.

“Katia, my dear, you remember Hermann?” Elena swept her hand in a graceful arc between them. “It was his idea to come backstage and congratulate you personally.”

Which could mean…anything.

Far more worried about her mother’s safety than the British operative standing to her right, frightening possibilities raced through Katia’s mind, each more terrible than the last. Her heartbeat slowed to a painful thump…thump…thump.

How could her own mother willingly choose to align her loyalties with a Nazi like Hermann Schmidt? It was true, the Nazis hated the Communists as much as Elena Kerensky did, but that did not make them—or this man—her ally. Especially when Elena carried such a dangerous secret hidden in her lineage.

Katia would have to speak to her mother in private. But not now. Now, she had to don the comfortable role of silly, spoiled daughter. “Good evening, Herr…Korvettenkapitän. It is always a pleasure to see you.”

Schmidt’s eyes narrowed into hard, uncompromising slits. “It is Kapitän zur See, Fräulein Kerensky. Just as it was the last time you made the same mistake. And the time before that.”

“Oh, dear, of course.”

Arrogant beast.

Tossing her head back, Katia gave a little self-conscious giggle. “My apologies. I never seem to be able to distinguish the ranks of the Kriegsmarine.”

She continued chattering nonsensical words that indicated her ignorance of all things military, ever mindful of the British operative moving back to her side once again. Beneath her lashes, she slid a covert glance his way, quickly catching the doubt in his bearing.

And why wouldn’t he be suspicious of her now?

Katia’s mission was to help him gain access to the blueprints of a Nazi secret weapon, a revolutionary mine that had sunk countless merchant ships over the last three months. Yet here she was, fraternizing with a U-boat captain. Then again…

Perhaps she could use the Nazi’s unexpected appearance to her advantage. How was the British spy to know that Hermann Schmidt was not one of her most useful contacts?

The key was to keep Hermann thinking she was an imbecile, all the while convincing the British operative she was a brilliant actress in a necessary performance to protect her mother.

Tricky. But achievable.

Elena, however, provided the one complication Katia could not defuse with any of her well-practiced roles. “Darling, please do us the honor of introducing your…friend.”

Chapter Three

The moment all three gazes turned toward Jack his gut twisted into a hard knot. For a fraction of a second all the intense emotions—the guilt, the anger, the need for vengeance—threatened to break free and sweep away his control. But if he relaxed his guard for a moment, no matter the cause, someone would end up dead to night.

Hardening his resolve, Jack searched Kerensky’s face for signs of a hidden agenda. There was obvious distress in her eyes, a clear indication this interruption was not planned. But the woman was a world-renowned actress, one who knew how to drag sympathy out of a man.

He would be a fool to trust her.

As though sensing his reservation, she flashed him a smile and he lost his train of thought. Clenching his jaw, he forced his heartbeat to settle. Yet, no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t look away from those remarkable eyes staring into his.

Kerensky blinked once, twice, finally breaking the spell between them. “Herr Reiter,” she began, addressing him by his assumed alias. “This is my mother, Elena Kerensky, and her escort, Hermann Schmidt.”

Acknowledging the woman first, Jack took Elena’s hand and touched his lips to her knuckles. “It is an honor to meet you. I now see where Katarina gets her beauty.”

“Thank you, Herr Reiter. You are very kind.” She turned to her companion and motioned him forward. “Come, Hermann, say hello to Katarina’s friend.”

As expected of all loyal Germans, Jack stepped back and gave the required Third Reich salute. “Heil Hitler, Kapitän zur See.”

The Nazi returned the gesture with quiet relish. “Heil Hitler.”

On the surface, Hermann Schmidt looked like a typical naval officer, but there was something in his arrogant stance that turned Jack’s blood to ice—an unyielding ruthlessness that he’d seen in too many high-ranking Nazis.

It was the same look that now stared back at him from the mirror every morning.

Was Jack becoming one of them?

Was he losing the last shreds of his humanity?

With each new mission, he played roulette with his soul. He could no longer expect God to hear his prayers or his pleas. Not after the horrors he’d committed in the name of war.

There could be no turning back, no chance of forgiveness. He had to start thinking like the man he was: a man with no future, no hope and a single goal—to hunt and destroy the enemy that had stolen his life from him.

Patience, Jack told himself. In spite of the urgency of his current mission, in spite of the tight deadline, time was his ally. He’d worked too hard building his cover to let an unexpected player in the game throw him off balance now.

Cutting through his thoughts, Elena Kerensky cleared her throat. “Herr Reiter, I don’t believe we’ve met before. Have you known my Katia long?”

Jack noted the concern in the woman’s eyes and decided to use it to ferret out how far Kerensky was willing to go to help the British. “I’ve known Katarina—” he rolled her name off his tongue in a slow caress “—long enough to come to the conclusion that she is a remarkable woman whom I wish to know better.”

Hitting her cue perfectly, Kerensky slid her arm through his and smiled up at him with unmistakable affection. “What a lovely thing to say, darling.”

With surprisingly little effort, he returned her smile as though they’d already become lovers.

Her gaze filled with female vulnerability, and she snuggled closer to him.

He ran a fingertip along her cheek.

There was a time when the God-fearing man Jack had once been would have been appalled by their blatant sexual undertones. But that was before Jack had walked with the enemy, before he’d become an embittered U.S. sailor infiltrating the SS.

Much like this famous actress, he played whatever role was necessary to accomplish his mission. And yet…

As he stared into Kerensky’s beautiful green eyes, Jack couldn’t stop himself from wishing they’d met at another time, and under different circumstances. He wondered if her performance was a remarkable display of acting ability, or something else. Something inherently truthful? Or something coldly sinister?

In that instant, the words of his father came to him.

Always remember, Jack, a woman has more power to destroy a man than any other weapon.

Jack’s pulse soared through his veins. Was Kerensky playing both sides? Had the Germans found out about his deception? Were they using this accomplished actress to bring him down at last?

Subterfuge. Hidden agendas. Jack no longer knew where the intrigue ended and reality began. Even in his own mind he could no longer discern how much of Jack Anderson lived inside him, and how much had become Friedrich Reiter, the deadly SS henchman. Every new mission blurred the line between the two, threatening Jack’s soul bit by bit.

A smart military man always knew when to hold his ground, and when to retreat. For now, his work was done.

Tapping into the ruthless man the Nazis had created, the one who coldly witnessed brutalities without flinching, Jack extracted himself from Kerensky’s grip. Ignoring the sense of loss that took hold of him, he turned to her mother then nodded at Hermann Schmidt. “It was a pleasure meeting you both.”

Keeping his eyes on Kerensky’s face, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “I look forward to our next meeting, my darling.”

She made a soft sound of distress, but they both knew she wouldn’t voice an argument in front of her mother and the Nazi officer. It was a small victory, to be sure, but a victory that put Jack firmly in control of the mission.

He couldn’t have planned a more perfect finale to their first meeting.

Katia stared in muted astonishment as the British spy turned on his heel and headed toward the exit with ground-eating strides.

What now?

A wave of nausea hit, and for the first time all evening her smile threatened to waver. She stood perfectly still until the moment passed.

The man had gunmetal nerve, she’d give him that. Not only had he antagonized a high-ranking Nazi and her own mother with his boldness, he’d left Katia to deal with the messy consequences. Yet, even with frustration burning at the back of her throat, something about the British operative left her wanting…what?

What was it about the man that urged her to let down her guard, if only for a fraction of a second? For a moment tonight, with their arms twined together and their gazes bound in intimate familiarity, she’d forgotten all about playing a role. She’d merely been a woman enthralled with an intriguing man.

From the first moment their gazes had locked and held, she’d sensed her British contact was someone who knew what it meant to be an outsider. Just like her.

Was he a man she could trust?

A lethal thought.

Blind faith, she reminded herself, was nothing more than weakness, a trap that ultimately led to a one-way invitation to the concentration camps.

Another sick spasm clutched in her stomach, but she held her expression free of emotion. If the operative said he looked forward to their next meeting, then she had to believe there would indeed be a next meeting.

All was not lost.

For the moment, she simply needed to concentrate on placating a stunned parent and her suspicious escort.

Sliding a quick glance toward her mother, Katia cut off a sigh of frustration. Elena stood tall, her full attention focused on the British spy as he left through the back door.

“I don’t trust that man,” she muttered, regarding the exit with suspicious eyes. “Tell me again how you know Herr Reiter?”

Rule number one in espionage was to keep as close to the truth as possible. “He is a dear friend, one I see whenever he comes to Hamburg on business.”

Hermann Schmidt made a noise deep in his throat that sounded like a growl. “What, precisely, is his business?”

The uncharacteristic display of interest in her affairs chilled Katia down to the bone. This grim-faced Nazi was not a person with whom her mother should be spending her time. He was a formidable enemy, one who could ruin Elena if he uncovered her secret.

On full alert, Katia played her role cautiously. The key was to keep it simple. Consistent.

“I’m sure he told me once.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “I seem to remember him saying he owned a company that supplies the Third Reich with materials for the war.”

Schmidt’s features turned hard and inflexible, matching the severity of his tightly buttoned uniform and crisp white shirt underneath. “What sort of materials, exactly?”

Katia blinked at his impatience, the cold heat of the dangerous emotion flashing in his eyes. Fortunately, to Hermann Schmidt, beautiful equaled stupid.

The knowledge gave Katia a surge of courage, and a strong conviction to play this role to her utmost ability. Fluttering her lashes, she placed her hand on his arm and gave him an empty smile. Now, if only she wouldn’t throw up and ruin her act. “Is it really so important?”

“Yes.” He leaned over her, his eyes communicating an unmistakable ruthlessness. “It is very important you try to remember exactly what sort of business Herr Reiter owns.”

“You don’t have to take that tone with me.” Katia dropped her hand and pretended to pout, all the while gauging Schmidt’s mood from below her lashes. Why would a mere naval officer care what a man like Friedrich Reiter did for a living?

Before Schmidt responded, Elena pushed in front of him and softened her expression. “Try concentrating, dear.”

“Yes, all right, Mother. I shall try.”

She let out a sigh, careful not to overplay her role. This was no game. One misstep and her mother’s life could be in danger.

In truth, the British had told Katia very little about her contact. Standard operating procedure. For all she knew, Friedrich Reiter was exactly who he pretended to be—a wealthy Austrian shipbuilder.

Having stalled long enough, she drew her eyebrows into a frown. “Yes, I remember now. He is in construction. Or…shipbuilding, perhaps? One of the two.”

Schmidt’s lips flattened into a hard line. “Which is it? Construction or shipbuilding?”

She flung her hair over her shoulder, fully into her role in spite of the German’s open hostility. “Who can remember such tedious details?”

“You seem to have no problem remembering countless pages of dialogue.”

She gave him a pitying look and put the royal princess in her voice. “Herr Reiter is a patron of the arts and he adores me. Nothing else matters beyond that.”

Although he quirked an eyebrow at her, Hermann Schmidt visibly relaxed. “Of course, how could I have forgotten where your priorities lie?”

The sarcastic twist of his lips gave Katia pause. Like so many of his kind, this man was far too sharp to fool for long.

It was time to change the subject.

“Let’s not talk about Herr Reiter anymore.” She turned her focus back to her mother. “I had no idea you were coming to the theater this evening. You said nothing of it this afternoon at tea.”

A slow smile spread across Elena’s face. She looked at her escort with a question in her eyes. “Should I tell her?”

He nodded slowly, but there was a possessiveness in his gaze that had Katia swallowing hard.

Elena took both of Katia’s hands in hers and sighed. “Hermann and I have marvelous news to share with you.”

Katia looked from one to the other. At the happy expression they exchanged, a sick feeling of dread tangled in her stomach.

Oh, no. Please, please, no. “What…what news?”

“We are engaged to be married.”

“Why, that’s…” Katia’s breath caught in her throat. Even if the Lord had long since abandoned Katia, God could not be so cruel. “I…I’m speechless.”

“I’ve been waiting for your mother for many years.” Masculine pride danced in Schmidt’s eyes as he spoke. And something more. Something dark and ugly. And very, very determined. “Now I have her at last.”

Elena moved to the Nazi’s side and positioned herself shoulder to shoulder with him. “As you know, Hermann and I were childhood friends, before I met your father.”

“I remember.” Katia had to sink her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from shouting at her mother to wake from the nightmare that held her in its clutches.

How could Elena, a devout Christian with a secret Jewish grandfather, agree to marry a man whose only god was Germany and whose professed savior was Adolf Hitler?

“Congratulations.” She nearly choked on the words. “I am very happy for you both.”

“Oh, darling.” Elena pulled her into a tight embrace. “I am so glad you’re pleased.”

“I only want you to be happy,” she whispered into her mother’s hair before stepping back.

“Hermann has three days before he ships out again.” Elena’s breath caught in her throat and tears shimmered in her eyes. “It is my fondest wish that all three of us spend time together during his visit.”

Three days? How was Katia to complete her mission for the British with her mother demanding all her time? An unprecedented flush of desperation made her words rush out of her mouth. “But I am in the middle of a play. I have to be here every night and I—”

“Don’t worry, darling.” Elena patted her hand. “We’ll simply spend the days together then have a late supper after your performances.” Her tone was full of determination, a tone Katia knew well. In this, Elena would not relent.

Katia’s composure threatened to crack, then she remembered her British contact’s open declaration for her affections.

The man’s game had been an act, but a brilliant, impromptu one that could be used to her advantage now.

Her best chance was to continue the ruse. “I’m sorry, mother. I have already promised Herr Reiter I would spend the rest of the week with him.”

Elena dismissed the argument with a quick slash of her hand. “Cancel your plans. You must take this opportunity to get to know Hermann.”

Knowing better than to argue at this point, Katia nodded. “Let me see what I can do.”

Unused to having her wishes denied, Elena took the vague promise as complete agreement. “Good. Now that that’s settled, we would like you to join us for a celebratory supper this evening.” Supper? Tonight?

Katia couldn’t bear the idea of breaking bread with Hermann Schmidt. In truth, she feared it with all her heart. But she feared her mother being alone with the man far more. “I would like nothing better. Just give me a moment to change out of my costume.”

Without looking back, Katia fled to her dressing room. Weary from the drama of the evening, she sat staring straight ahead and rubbed her left hand as if it ached. A shocking wave of panic gripped her heart, making her breath sit heavy in her chest.

Overwhelmed, she buried her face inside her palms and fought back the tears burning behind her eyelids.

She was so…incredibly…tired.

How she wanted to accept MI6’s invitation to escape this godforsaken country and live in England for the duration of the war. But Katia couldn’t leave Germany without her mother. And Elena Kerensky would never leave. Not with her recent engagement to her childhood friend, a man who happened to be a ruthless Nazi naval officer.

How would Katia protect her mother now?

Chapter Four

After bidding Elena and her escort good night, Katia shut the door with a soft click. Pressing her eyes closed a moment, she released a sigh of frustration.

The night had gone worse than expected.

Already, she could see that Kapitän zur See Schmidt was going to be a problem. It had been foolish of her to hope otherwise.

The female in her wanted to kick something in frustration. The royal princess in her had been trained too well to give in to the childish display of emotion. The spy in her needed to quit stalling and formulate a plan.

Glancing at the mail laying on the entryway floor, she decided to ignore responsibility a little while longer. Food first, plan second. She hadn’t been able to touch her meal at the restaurant, not with Schmidt firing off pointed questions between scowls.

Clearly, the Nazi neither liked nor trusted her.

Good. At least she knew where she stood with the man. That would make her planning less complicated. She would use her fiercest weapons of cunning, lies and schemes.

Oh, but she was in a despicable business. Thankfully, she’d created many roles for use in her arsenal. By taking on other personas she kept the real Katia separate from the spy.

Rounding the corner, she caught sight of a man lounging in a chair in her east living room. Her chest rose and fell in a sudden spasm, the only outward sign of her inner distress. Otherwise, she stared at the British operative with nothing more than mild curiosity on her face.

He’d tugged his tie loose and had left the ends hanging on each side of his neck. He’d also opened the top three buttons of his shirt, revealing a smooth expanse of corded throat muscles.

Even in his relaxed position, there was a hard edge to him that somehow complemented her feminine decor. This man was one hundred percent rugged male, the quintessential alpha. Although he sat in a chair covered with pink and yellow fabric, he radiated masculinity.

Which did nothing to improve her mood.

How many surprises must she endure in one evening?

“You have exactly sixty seconds to tell me what you’re doing in my home, Herr Reiter.” The calm, detached voice was one of her most useful tools.

For an instant she thought she saw a deep male appreciation in his eyes, but he blinked and the moment was gone.

She lifted her chin a fraction higher. “Well?”

He didn’t respond. Nor did he rise to greet her, as would have been the polite thing to do. Perhaps by remaining seated he was reminding her whom he considered in charge of the mission.

Unfortunately for him, he had the particulars wrong.

“You now have twenty seconds to start talking before I throw you out of my home.”

Leaning farther back in the chair, he hooked an ankle across his knee then glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Actually, we’re now down to fifteen.”

Her earlier desire to kick something turned into an overwhelming urge to kick someone. By sheer force of will she reminded herself that this stranger was to be her partner for the next few days. Their success would bring the British closer to defeating Hitler. A heady prospect.

Katia might be able to carry out her end of the mission alone, but she needed Friedrich Reiter to deliver the plans to MI6. That did not mean, however, she had to make this conversation easy for him. “Tell me, Herr Reiter, how did you know where to find me?”

“It’s my business to know certain, shall we say…” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “Things about you.”

There was something in the way he met her gaze that brought matters to a very basic level between them. Another time she might have enjoyed the challenge of discovering the real man beneath the layer of polish and subterfuge. For now, she could only wonder what motivated him to risk his life for Great Britain. Personal gain, as most of the spies she’d met before him? Or was he answering a higher call?

Either way, the clock was ticking. She couldn’t afford the luxury of delving into his inner psyche right now.

“What sort of…things?” she asked from behind a well-positioned smile.

He slowly unfolded his large frame and rose. As he strode toward her, she shrank back a step, as much startled by her reaction to him as by the intensity in his gaze. He stopped a mere foot away from her, his heat chasing away the sudden cold that had slipped under her coat.

For one small moment, time seemed to stop and wait for him to speak.

“For instance. Your mother never joins you backstage after a performance.” His gaze stayed locked with hers.

“Never.”

Her fingers flexed by her side. Already, the man knew too much. “This evening was a rare but happy occasion.”

“Special enough for her to choose a high-ranking Kriegsmarine officer as her escort?”

Katia stiffened. She should have known he would go straight for the heart of the matter. “Hermann Schmidt is a friend of my mother’s. He is nothing to me.” She nearly spat the last of her words. But not quite.

Eyes still locked with hers, Reiter moved yet another step closer then brushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen over her eye.

Katia held perfectly still.

“Did you know that your left eyebrow twitches when you’re upset?” He tucked the hair behind her ear.

It took everything she had not to jerk beneath the impact of his soft touch. He was using familiar tricks against her, but she knew this role well. She’d worn it like a protective shield when she’d accepted the company of some of the vilest men in Germany in order to gather valuable information for the British.

The fact that Friedrich Reiter’s blatant attempt to throw her off balance was working shifted the power in his favor. “Hermann Schmidt will not be a threat to our mission. I give you my word.”

She was not surprised when he closed his hand around her arm. She was surprised, however, that his grip was gentle. In contrast, a rough warning filled his gaze before he released her.

He’d made his point.

“I trust no one’s word, Katarina.” No longer playing the role of seducer, his cold-eyed regard slid over her. “And I take nothing on faith. I believe only in my well honed ability to see through a lie.”

With the steel in his voice and the military glare in his eyes, she almost buckled. Almost.

This man was formidable.

In spite of the pounding of her heart and the bead of sweat that slid between her shoulder blades, she had to stay focused. It helped to remember that without her, there was no mission.

“Well tonight, Herr Reiter, you are misreading the signs.”

The air grew tight and heavy between them. His gaze turned harsher, deadlier, the layers of polish peeling away to reveal a cold, merciless man.

But was the transformation real or just another act? Either way, she recognized the strategy of a back-alley brawler when she saw it. If this spy expected to intimidate her with his act, he was in for a disappointment.

Jerking her chin, she swept out of his reach and began roaming through the room. Step by step, she discarded her gloves, her coat and finally her hat.

On her second pass, she strolled within inches of him, proving to them both she was back in control of her nerves.

Obviously unaware of her internal struggle, he dropped into the wingback chair closest to him and flicked on a nearby lamp. Relaxing, he watched her in a very masculine way that sent her pulse skipping fast and hard through her veins. He played this game well.

“You seem to be making yourself comfortable,” she said.

He gave her a crooked grin. The gesture transformed his features, making him look almost upright. Trustworthy. Decent?

Games inside games. Secrets inside secrets. How she hated the intrigue of espionage.

A jolt of weariness struck her then, making her feel hollow with an unfortunate mixture of exhaustion and doubt. She was not overly fond of the sensation.

“You might as well sit,” he said, indicating the chair facing him. “This could take a while.”

Knowing he was right, that the sooner they discussed their mission the better, she cleared her expression and sank into the offered seat.

Before she could settle in, his demeanor turned all business. “Tell me how you know Schmidt?”

Katia gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white from the tension. She was growing more than a little irritated by the spy’s lack of faith in her. She was the one with far too much to lose, while he would be free of this tyrannical country in a matter of days. “Hermann Schmidt is a friend of my mother’s. End of story.”

“How close are they?” he asked. Asked. Not demanded. Oh, no, nothing so crude. Had he demanded an answer from her, she would have known how to respond. But now, she was…confused. This cunning spy had his own repertoire of schemes and tricks.

With another sigh, she folded her hands in her lap and settled into their polite clash of wills. She decided to answer with the truth. “They are to be married shortly.”

“When did they become engaged?” Although his expression never changed, his voice dropped to a low, hypnotizing timbre.

Nearly seduced by the soothing tone, dangerously so, Katia barely managed to keep from gritting her teeth. She wasn’t used to handling a man this clever with his words, or this cunning with his voice. “I don’t see the point—”

“When?”

She could feel the anger in him now. This interrogation had moved to a more hostile place.

Very well.

Katia knew exactly what to do with male anger. “I don’t know, precisely.” She spread just the hint of a pout across her lips. “They only told me the happy news this evening.”

Happy news? Rage flowed through her at the ridiculous notion. The Russian Revolution had already stolen her father. And now the evil Nazi regime had its claws in her mother.

Memories of her dead father swept across her mind, coming stronger than usual tonight. No matter how illogical, she couldn’t stop torturing herself over her failure in Russia.

She’d been too small, too insignificant to challenge the revolutionists. She had prayed, though. Without ceasing. For one full year.

God had remained silent.

By the age of nine, Katia had stopped praying altogether. She hadn’t spoken to her Heavenly Father since.

With the hollowness returning to her stomach, Katia curled her hand into a tight fist. Never again would she count on an absent God who remained silent at her most desperate hours. Katarina Kerensky would do whatever it took to ensure her mother was spared the same fate as her father.

“You’re upset by your mother’s choice of husbands.”

The unexpected softness in Reiter’s voice had Katia shaking her head to keep her mind focused. She could handle his suspicion and distrust. She could even handle his subtle attempts at seduction—those were all part of the game they played—but this…this…understanding? It unnerved her.

“My thoughts on the matter are of no consequence.” She spoke in a detached, unemotional tone. “The choice is hers to make.”

“Nevertheless, you would have chosen differently for her.”

There was that hideous compassion again. Open, honest and very real. Another game? A trap? “We are through with this topic. My mother has nothing to do with our current mission.”

He opened his mouth to speak then shut it again and nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. However, Hermann Schmidt—”

“Is my problem.”

The spy’s expression changed with the speed of a torpedo bearing down on its target. No longer relaxed, eyes hard, he sat coiled like a snake ready to strike. “Let’s talk straight, shall we?”

“And here I thought we were.”

Ignoring the interruption, he rose and moved to tower over her. “I’ve been given the task of stopping a Nazi naval secret weapon. Now pay close attention, Katarina. Imagine my shock when I meet my German contact at the assigned time, and a high-ranking officer in the Kriegsmarine shows up, as well.”

“Mere coincidence, nothing more.”

A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. Katia tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. She wanted to stand, to move away from his ugly suspicion, but he blocked the path by crouching down in front of her.

“Coincidence?” He contained his energy well, but she knew he could strike at any moment. “There is no such thing.”

She would not show fear. She would not draw away. She would go on the offensive instead. “Aren’t you over-reacting just a bit?”

“I call it being cautious.” He leaned forward, stealing nearly all of the space between them. “Will your mother’s fiancé interfere with our mission?”

She knew he was crowding her on purpose, trying to intimidate her with his superior size.

The game was all about power now. This was a game she knew how to play, and how to win. “Choose whatever you wish to believe. I admit I am unhappy about my mother’s impending marriage, but you must trust that I will handle Hermann Schmidt directly.”

With a snort of disgust, he pushed away from her and returned to the chair he’d occupied a few moments earlier.

She started to explain, to clarify the situation for them both, but he cut her off with a hand in the air. “Is he one of your informants?”

It was an understandable question, one he had every right to ask. One she would answer truthfully.

“No.” She held the pause for effect, gaining control from his surprised expression. “Hermann is simply my mother’s fiancé, a man who hates the Communists as much as she does.”

Reiter slowly sat back and steepled his fingers. “I see.”

Unfortunately, Katia was afraid this man saw far too much. Would he prove more of a problem than Hermann Schmidt? Katia could barely contain a wave of terror at the thought.

But no matter how afraid she was, she would not give in to any outward sign of vulnerability.

Not until she was alone.

Blinking away her emotions, she lifted her chin. “Finish with your questions, Herr Reiter. You’re fortunate. I find I am in an obliging mood, after all.”

A single eyebrow lifted. “How do you plan to ‘handle’ your mother and her fiancé?”

In an attempt to gather her thoughts, she looked at the open window on her left. A light breeze joined in a ghostly waltz with the sheer curtains. The scent of coming snow shivered in the air, promising a thin coat of white by morning.

“I’ll know more when I meet them tomorrow morning.” Some unnamed emotion rose up. She shoved it back with a hard swallow. “They are picking me up at 0900.”

“That’s going to be a problem.”

“Not if—”

“I go the rest of the way alone.” The lethal expression in Reiter’s eyes was enough to make even the bravest woman quiver in fear. She held his stare anyway, knowing that he was waiting to see what impact his declaration would have. She waited to see how long he would wait for her.

Games inside games.

The deceit and smoky undercurrents were growing with every tick of the clock.

Another minute passed.

And then another.

At last, Reiter broke the silence. “Tell me where the blueprints are hidden and I’ll be out of your life forever.”

“That won’t be possible. You need me with you.”

“You won’t be available. You have a future stepfather to entertain.” His voice was very soft. Very dangerous.

“You don’t understand,” she insisted. “You need me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why you?”

She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, afraid if she did she would break down and blurt out too much information. Keeping her secret to herself kept her and her mother alive. “Since I’m the one with the intelligence, you have no other choice than to rely on me.”

His eyebrows slammed together. “In other words, if I don’t allow you to come along, you won’t tell me where the plans are hidden.”

“That about sums it up.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me, Kerensky?”

“Yes.” But he didn’t need to know why.

“An honest answer at last,” he said, an odd hint of approval in his gaze.

His reaction threw her off balance. Again. What was she supposed to do with him now?

“Go ahead.” He gestured for her to continue speaking. “You might as well tell me the rest, the part you’re intentionally hiding from me.”

She pretended to misunderstand him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He simply looked at her.

She held perfectly still, dreading the obvious question to come. Was she a Jew?

But he surprised her once again.

“Tell me, Katarina,” he drawled. “Why don’t the British trust you?”

Chapter Five

Three. Four.

Five.

Jack counted each emotion that flashed in Kerensky’s eyes. Up to this point, she’d proven herself inventive, bold and cunning, all necessary qualities for a spy. But in the soft moonlight, with so many emotions running across her face, she looked fragile, and surprisingly vulnerable.

In spite of Jack’s distrust, a cold chill of fear for her took hold. If she were working for the British, which all the signs indicated, then she was playing a dangerous game with her life.

Why take the risk?

Jack had personally witnessed the hideous forms of torture the SS used to get answers. He’d watched in steely silence as the toughest men were utterly destroyed under the perfect blend of physical pressure and mental interrogation. The experience had cost him his soul. A reality he’d long since accepted, or at least lived with as atonement for his sins.

But now, as weariness kicked in, he didn’t know if he could watch this woman suffer the Nazis’ ruthless brand of interrogation. Unless, of course, she was working against him. Even then…he wasn’t so sure.

The woman confused him. She made him want to return to simpler times, when the love of a sovereign God was concrete in his mind. When Jack had dealt with situations beyond his control by tapping into the knowledge that the Lord was bigger than any circumstance man could create.

But that was a long time ago, a lifetime ago.

Jack knew better than to take anything for granted, especially the actions of a trained professional.

Still on his guard, he gave Kerensky a look a few degrees short of friendly and continued waiting her out.

One beat, two beats, three.

At last, she broke. “The British don’t,” she began as she sucked in a harsh breath, “they don’t trust me?”

Her reaction pleased him. The bitter resentment in her tone meant he’d actually shocked her. He had the upper hand now. Though he doubted she would accept the shift in power for long.

In his years as a spy, he’d never met a woman who could hold her own against him. Before Kerensky. Her determination was as forceful as his. For that alone, his gut told him to take a chance and trust her to do her share in the mission.

He restrained himself.

Until he discovered if she was an ally or a shrewd double agent he would not relax his guard.

“Look, Kerensky.” He pushed to his feet. “Let’s rid ourselves of this ridiculous power struggle and get on with the business at hand.”

In response to his frankness, her composure slipped just a bit, but not enough to give Jack a sense of her real motives.

She was good. Very, very good.

With practiced grace, she stood and then paced through the small, stylishly furnished room. “If what you say is true and the British don’t trust me, then it must be because they know about my…my mistake.”

Her voice hitched. Part of her act? Probably. “What sort of mistake?” he asked.

Before responding, she roamed through a set of double doors with a liquid elegance that spoke of her stage training. Jack followed her, taking special note of how she gained immediate confidence once she had the physical barrier of an antique wooden table between them.

“It’s not what you think,” she said.

He willed himself to remain calm. In his line of work, losing his temper got a man killed faster than bullets. “It never is.”

“You don’t have to be snide. The information I gave MI6 was correct.” She dropped her gaze to the table, drew a path of circles with her fingernail. “At least, it was at the time I sent it.”

“Of course.”

She slapped her palms on the table and leaned forward. “Your attitude is not helping matters.”

“Nor is your penchant for withholding valuable pieces of information.”

Head held high, she marched around the table and stopped long enough to let out a soft sniff of disapproval before she continued past him.

Keeping the woman in his sight, Jack trailed after her as she went back into the adjoining room and turned to face him. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against the doorjamb.

Neither said a word, each silently assessing the other. Jack considered the tactical scenarios and possible outcomes. The only wrong questions were the ones he didn’t ask. “My patience is wearing thin. What mistake did you make, Katarina?”

Regardless of the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, she held his gaze. Brave woman.

“Karl Doenitz moved his headquarters this morning.”

Jack dragged a hand through his hair and resisted the urge to let loose the string of obscenities that came to mind. “How very inconvenient for us all. Except, of course, for the Nazis.”

“Now you’re being paranoid.”

“I was trained to be paranoid.” He drilled her with a hard glare. “And I’m very good at my job.”

She sighed. “I realize this sounds bad, but Karl Doenitz is still in Wilhelmshaven. He’s moved from Marinestation to Sengwarden.”

Jack caught the quick, guilty glance from under her lowered lashes. “Which means you don’t know where the plans are any longer.”

“I—”

“This trip to Hamburg has been a waste,” he said, more to himself than her. “For nothing more than countless hours of…games.”

“Oh, I promise you, this is no game. I know where the plans are. It’s just—” She broke off and looked away from him.

“It’s…just?” he prompted with what he considered heroic patience.

Apparently, he could control the work, the decisions, even the risks. He could not, however, control this…woman.

“The plans are locked in a newly built cabinet. My key will only open the old one.”

“That’s it?” Jack had to resist the urge to laugh in relief. “That was your mistake?”

He’d dealt with worse. Much worse. Missions were always more complicated than they first appeared on paper. Real life had intricacies that tended to create a powder keg of unexpected problems.

“Are you just going to stand there staring at me?” she demanded. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“I heard. You gave the British outdated information.”

“I gave them wrong information. I never get it wrong. Never.”

“Until now.”

She inclined her head slightly, her expression giving nothing away. “Until now.”

“So we make a new plan.”

He didn’t add that this was just the sort of tangle that had first led him into the heart of Germany two years before—the type of unexpected twist that ruled his every move. Disorder was so much a part of who he’d become, he’d long since accepted the realities of living without certainty. He didn’t especially like the ambiguity of never knowing the outcome of a mission or when the next twist would come, but he bore the pressure with steely grit.

He had no other choice.

“Make a new plan,” she repeated. “It’s that simple for you?”

“Nothing is ever simple.”

In fact, the possibilities were endless, but Jack was exceptionally skilled at finding the perfect solution inside the less perfect ones. “Tell me exactly where the plans are and I’ll come up with an idea. Or better yet, get me some paper and something to write with. I think better with a pen in my hand.”

She sank into a chair with an uncharacteristic lack of grace. “There is one more complication you should know about.”

Jack felt like he was free-falling without a parachute. His tight control over dangerous emotions was slipping, and that made him furious. Nothing shook him, and no one caught him by surprise. Even when the real Friedrich Reiter had come to kill him, Jack had kept his wits about him enough to prevail in the deadly clash. There’d been no time for prayer, no begging the Lord for assistance, just reflex.

And now…here…with this woman…he was in another situation where his control was being tested.

Enough. The feminine manipulation ended now. “Let’s have it,” he said, pure reflex guiding his words. “All of it.”

“As you wish.” Narrowing those glorious eyes of hers, she jumped up and planted a hand on her hip. “The admiral keeps the key to the cabinet on a ring he carries with him at all times, except when he sleeps. Whereby, he sets the key chain on the nightstand by his bed.”

The roll in Jack’s gut came fast and slick, surprising him. He didn’t take the time to analyze the emotion behind the sensation. “And you know this how?”

Taking three steps toward him, Kerensky pursed her lips and patted his cheek. “That’s my business, darling.”

He grabbed her wrist. “Not if it’s going to endanger my life.”

“Which it won’t.” She dropped a withering glare to his hand, waited until he released her. “Now, back to what I was saying. Since I alone know where the key is located, all I have to do is sneak into the room while Doenitz is asleep and—”

“No.” Whoever went in that building had to respond instantly if discovered. Jack was the trained killer. She was simply a mole who gathered information. He was the obvious person for the job. “I will break into the admiral’s private quarters.”

Her smile turned ruthless, deadly. The change in her put him instantly at ease. They were finally playing on his level.

He smiled back at her, his grin just as ruthless, just as deadly as hers.

She appeared unfazed.

“Here’s the situation, Herr Reiter, and do try to pay close attention. There are only two ways into Admiral Doenitz’s quarters. Through the front door or through a small window into his bedroom.”

The thrill of finding a solution had Jack rubbing his hands together. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“The window leading into the admiral’s room is small.” She dropped her gaze down to his shoes and back up again. “Far too small for you.”

“Then I’ll go through the front door.”

She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “To get through the front door you would have to pass through six separate stations, with two guards each. They rotate from post to post on twenty-minute intervals, none of which are synchronized. Translation, that’s a minimum of six men you would have to bypass at any given time.”

“It’s what I do.”

She flicked a speck of dust off her shoulder. “Needlessly risky. Especially when I can get through the window and back out again in less time than a single rotation.”

Jack’s mind filed through ideas, discarded most, kept a few, recalculated.

“I’ll ultimately have to get past those guards the night I go in for the plans,” he said.

More thoughts shifted. New ideas crystallized, further calculations were made.

“I’ll just take the key and the plans all at once.” He blessed her with a look of censure, testing her with his words as much as with his attitude. “Translation: we go to Wilhelmshaven tonight and finish the job in one stroke.”

She jabbed her finger at his chest. “You’re thinking too much like a man. Go in, blow things up, deal with the risks tomorrow.”

“Not even close.” If anything, Jack overworked his solutions before acting on them. It was the one shred of humanity he had left.

“Two nights from now Karl Doenitz will be in Hamburg, at a party given for him by my mother.” She raised her hand to keep him from interrupting. “And before you say it, that also means the key will be with him in Hamburg, as well.”

“Keep talking while you get the paper I asked for.”

She remained exactly where she was. Naturally.

“Here’s how it’s going to work,” she said. “I get an impression of the key tonight, make a copy tomorrow, then go back the evening of the party and photograph the plans.”

“Why not just steal the plans tonight and be done with it?”

“And alert the Nazis that the British have discovered their secret weapon? No.” She shook her head. “We need to photograph the plans when no one is around and replace them exactly as we found them.”

Her plan had a simplicity to it that just might work.

“And while I’m inside Doenitz’s private quarters,” she continued, “you get to do what men do best.”

“And that is?”

“Protect my back.”

If Jack didn’t let his ego take over, he could see that her idea had possibilities. Perhaps, under all the layers of subterfuge, they thought alike. Maybe too much alike.

The woman was proving smart enough and brave enough that if he let down a little of his guard he might begin to admire her. Too risky. Emotional attachments, of any kind, were a spy’s greatest threat. Especially when he had no real reason to trust his partner.

“Your plan has merit,” he said. “But I only have two more days to get the plans and return to England. With the timeline you presented, there’s no room for mistakes.”

She nodded. “Then we make no mistakes.”

“We? Haven’t you forgotten something?”

Her brows drew together. “No, I’m pretty sure I’ve thought through all the details.”

“Your mother is throwing the party for the admiral. Your attendance at such an illustrious occasion will be expected. How are you going to pull off the last of our two trips to Wilhelmshaven while at a cocktail party in Hamburg?”

Her expression closed. “I’ll handle my mother. She won’t even miss me.”

“And her fiancé? Somehow, I doubt he’ll be so…inattentive.”

“I’ll deal with him, as well.”

He gave her a doubtful glare.

“You’re going to have to trust me.”

Trust. It always came back to trust. But Jack had lost that particular quality, along with his faith in God, the same night the real Reiter had come for his blood.

“And if you’re caught tonight?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

“I won’t be.”

“If you are.”

She lifted her chin, looking every bit a woman with royal blood running through her veins. “Failure is never an option.”

Jack’s sentiments exactly.

If he took out the personal elements running thick between them and ignored the fact that Kerensky was a woman—a woman he couldn’t completely trust—not only could her plan work, but it had a very high probability of success.

Her voice broke through his thoughts. “It’s getting late. The drive to Wilhelmshaven will take almost two hours each way.”

He glanced at his watch, looked at her evening gown and jewels then down at his own tuxedo. “We both need to change.”

“Yes. We’ll take my car, which is still at the theater.” Which they both knew was only three blocks from her home.

“Right, then. We’ll meet outside the theater at—” he began before he checked his watch again “—0130 hours. I trust that suits you?”

Head high, she moved to the front door and jerked it open without looking back at him. “Of course.”

He reached around her and swung the door shut with a bang.

She spun about to glare at him. “What are you doing?”

Reminding us both who’s in control.

With nothing showing on his face, he angled his forearm against the wall above her head and waited until her eyes lifted to his. “I leave the way I came.”

She took a hard breath but held his gaze. For an instant, he was struck again by her determination and courage.

The back of his throat began to burn.

“Then I drive,” she said without blinking.

“By all means.” He pushed away and headed toward the open window, but then he surprised them both by returning to her and cupping her cheek. “I’m warning you now, Katarina. At the first sign of trouble, we abort. No questions asked.”

“Whatever you say, Herr Reiter.” The mutinous light in her eyes ruined any pretense of compliance on her part.

Jack sensed he was in serious trouble with this woman. He had to get matters back in his control. “One more thing,” he said.

She angled her head at him.

“Make sure you dress warmly.” He shifted to the window, dipped and then swung his leg over the ledge. “It’s going to be a long, chilly night.”

Chapter Six

The drive to Wilhelmshaven began in silence, and continued that way for most of the journey. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, Jack surveyed the passing landscape. There was no horizon, no clear distinction between land and sky, just an inky blend of dark and darker. An occasional shadow slid out of the night, only to retreat as they sped by. Wind shrieked through the invisible slits of the car’s windows.

Concentrating on the road, Kerensky drove cautiously, with both hands on the wheel. She hadn’t looked at Jack since they’d left the city limits of Hamburg. Which was just as well. Between the poor quality of the road and the poorer quality of the car’s headlights, driving required her undivided attention.

He took the opportunity to study her out of the corner of his eye. She was dressed head to toe in black wool. Black pants, black sweater, black gloves—the perfect ensemble for blending with the night. She’d slicked her thick, fiery hair off her face and twisted it into an intricate braid that hung halfway down her back.

He could almost feel the vibration of her carefully contained energy. Like a sleek, untamed animal poised for a fight.

She baffled him, tugged at him. She had a face meant for the movies and was so lovely his chest ached every time he looked at her. But he also knew how much depth lay below that exquisite surface.

Never once had he caught a hint of the corruption or selfishness that drove most spies. His instincts told him that she had her own personal agenda for working with the British. Those same instincts also told him that her motivation was connected to a dark secret she kept well hidden from the world.

He understood all about dark secrets and hidden motives, as well as the moral confusion that came from lying and stealing every day. For too many years, Jack had relinquished his Christian integrity—no, his very soul—to carry out other men’s agendas. German. American. What did it matter if he was Jack Anderson, Friedrich Reiter, or someone else entirely? One face, two names, no identity. Those were the legacies the bureaucrats had created for him.

Now this woman, with her strength and determination, made him think beyond the mindless killing machine he’d become. She made him toy with the idea of a future beyond the war. He suddenly wanted something…more. More than hate. More than vengeance. Something that went beyond his own humanity.

Worst of all, the woman made him hope for a better world, where belief in God meant something beyond a faded memory.

This was the wrong business to feel emotions, any emotion, especially ones that made him soft toward a woman.

“You’re too beautiful,” he blurted out.

She whipped her head around so their gazes met in the dim light.

She gave a deep sigh of frustration before returning her attention to the road. “It’s called heredity.”

Heredity. Right. The word tugged at a thought hovering in the back of his mind. Jack forced himself to remember he was having this conversation for her benefit. “Your beauty could be used against you.” He’d seen it often enough.

“Or to my advantage. Lucky for you, there’s more to me than a pretty face.” She sounded weary, as though she’d given this speech countless times before.

Jack wasn’t impressed. He was responsible for keeping them both alive. He had to be able to predict her behavior and gauge what she would do if she ended up in a crisis. “This mission depends on your quick reflexes and ability to think on your feet. For at least five minutes you’ll be alone inside the Kriegsmarine headquarters.”

“I’ll only need three.”

He did his best not to react to her bravado. “Wrong attitude. You can’t be impatient. Impatient equals careless. And careless equals one dead female spy.”

A nerve flexed in her jaw. “Have I given you the impression that I’m stupid?”

“One mistake is all it takes.”

“It won’t be mine.”

She returned to clenching her teeth.

He returned to holding on to his temper.

“Fancy words, Kerensky. Will you be able to back them up?”

He didn’t know her well enough to judge for himself. And for five long minutes he would be unable to control the situation, unable to protect her if Admiral Doenitz awakened. Jack knew she was hiding something from him. And he thought he knew exactly what it was.

Heredity.

If he was right, the woman could not be caught. Ever.

He knew what they would do to her, where they would send her.

No emotion. He reminded himself of his personal motto that kept him alive. Nothing personal.

Who was he kidding? “How much Jewish blood runs in your veins?”

Her sharp intake of air was barely audible, but he’d heard it all the same. Already knowing the answer, he found himself holding his breath, waiting for her response to his bold question with a mixture of dread and hope. When she held to her silence, he wondered if he might have been wrong in his assessment.

Jack Anderson was never wrong. “How much?”

Her hands tensed on the wheel, the only sign of her agitation. Making a soft sound of irritation, she adjusted herself with a swoosh of wool against leather. “We do not speak of these things in Germany. We do not even whisper them in the dark confines of a car.”

He had no easy response. She was right, of course. Even if she was only part Jewish she could not reveal such a secret to him.

No emotion, he reminded himself again. Nothing personal.

“Consider the subject closed,” he said.

She locked her gaze with his for a full heartbeat, two. Three. Then she began a very slow, very thorough once-over of him. Since the road ahead of them was long and straight, he sat perfectly still under her perusal. He owed her that much at least.

Eventually, she turned her head back to the road. “We’re nearly there. Soon, this will all be a distant memory for us both.”

Jack took a hard breath. He wished he could ignore the risks of going through the front door with nothing more than a loaded gun. This would be a good time for prayer, if he was still a praying man. “Are you sure I won’t fit through the window?”

She snatched her eyes off the road, looked at his chest and then shook her head. “You won’t.”

Her voice sounded strong, confident, but she looked bleak. And her hands shook slightly.

Was she having second thoughts? Had he thrown her off balance by accusing her of being a Jew?

He knew touching her was a bad idea. Don’t do it, he told himself. She is not a harmless female. Not this one.

He ignored his own warning and reached out, lightly fingering a lock of hair that had come loose from her braid.

She took a shuddering breath.

He dropped his hand. “I don’t like the idea of sending you in there alone.”

Her shoulders stiffened and all signs of her distress disappeared. “We’ve been through this already. I’m going into that room, end of discussion.”

“What discussion?” he muttered.

She flipped him a smug look. “Exactly.”

“Careful, Kerensky.” Jack jammed a hand through his hair. “You’re treading on razor-thin ice with me.”

She bared her teeth. “Good thing I’m light on my feet.”

“You’re a difficult woman.”

“So I’ve been told.” She cleared her expression and pointed ahead of her. “Look up there, on your right. The harbor.”

In the next instant, before he could stop her, she swung the car down a dark alley and cut the engine.

The night swallowed them, pitching the interior of the car into blinding darkness. A hot, nagging itch settled in his gut.

Unable to make out anything other than a heavy nothingness, Jack squinted into the eerie gloom. Still…nothing.

A sudden blast of anger left his nerves raw.

It was too dark. Too remote. Too isolated.

He’d allowed Kerensky to park the car facing toward the back of the alley. If an ambush awaited them, there would be no getting out alive. Very, very stupid.

He touched the panel in his sweater where he’d sewn a cyanide pill into the stitching. Trained to choose death over revealing secrets, Jack Anderson knew his duty. He’d seen men with stronger convictions break. He’d seen innocent men break, too. Jack would not join their ranks. Too many lives were at stake. The Nazis could never be allowed to get to the information he had stored in his head.

Suicide was the only solution. His own damnation was well worth the lives he would save with his permanent silence.

Tonight, however, there was a woman’s life at stake. He would make sure the choice between disclosure and death never happened. Jack would do what he must to ensure the cyanide pill made it through another mission unused.

“Turn the car facing out,” he said, his voice flat and hard.

“What?”

“Either do what I say, or I do it myself.”

“I…” She shifted in her seat, then sighed. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.” Her voice held a slight shake, as though she’d stunned herself with her thoughtless behavior.

Another act? Or was she still upset over their conversation about her “heredity”? Upset enough to make a mistake in the admiral’s room, as well?

Before he could question her, she started the engine and put the car in gear. Jack stayed planted in his seat as she made quick work of the direction change.

Once she threw the brake, a thin bar of light from a nearby streetlight slid across the front of the car’s hood.

Better.

“Do you want to go over the hand signals one last time?” he asked, relief making his voice softer.

“No.” She cut the engine again, tapped her temple two times. “Got it all in here.”

Jack plucked the keys out of her hand before she could pocket them.

“What are you doing?” she growled.

Hardheaded, inflexible, full of pride. Did everything have to be a battle with her?

“You can’t carry these with you.” He jingled the keys in front of her nose. “Too much noise. And if you’re caught or hurt or any number of possibilities, I’ll need to be able to drive the car out of here.”

She opened her mouth to argue. Again.

He merely looked at her.

Her snort was quick and full of wounded pride. “It must be quite a burden, being perfect all the time.”

“You have no idea.”

“Humble, too.”

He ignored her goading. “Details are the most important aspect of any mission. Forget just one and a man or—” he gave her a meaningful look “—a woman will end up dead before there’s a chance to rethink the situation.”

“So you’re the detail man.” A statement, not a question.

Jack allowed himself a smile. “For better or worse, Kerensky, tonight we’re a team. You might as well accept it.”

And so should you, he told himself, as he tucked the keys underneath the driver’s seat. “Let’s go.”

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