If the bullet had flown just inches to the left, it would have burrowed through Dieter’s ribs and into his heart or lungs.
If he hadn’t been perfectly in position and protecting her, the bullet would have slammed into Flicka’s temple and probably killed her.
And then Wulf would have been alone again, and another von Hannover would have been in the ground, and the media would have whipped themselves into a frenzy.
Dieter had saved her life, and she wanted to shake that asshole for it.
Damn it, where was that exam room? It was supposed to be right around—
There it was.
She wheeled around the doorframe to what should be Dieter’s examining room. “Dieter!Leiblingwächter!”
Inside the examination room, Dieter lay on the bed wearing a hospital gown over his black slacks, watching a doctor sew stitches to close the terrible gash on his arm. Other scars—a few livid, many more faded with age—marked his tanned skin.
He looked up at her, his gray eyes wide but unreadable.
Herr and Frau Keller, the older couple who had been Wulf’s head butler and head of staff since Flicka was six, stood beside Dieter’s hospital bed.
Frau Keller raised one graying eyebrow at Flicka.
Oh, Lord.Flicka shouldn’t call DieterLeiblingwächterin front ofanyone.She wasn’t even sure how it had popped out of her mouth.
In German,leibwächtermeansbodyguard.Flicka had combined that word with the common endearmentleibling,which meansdarlingin the same language, to getleiblingwächter.Thus, it came out to mean something likedarling guardbecause there’s nothing Germans like more than a good compound word.
“Oh hello, Frau Keller, Herr Keller,” Flicka recovered. “Wulf sent me to make sure Dieter was all right.”
Frau Keller frowned, confused. “No, Herr von Hannover sentusto ensure that Herr Schwarz received competent care.”
“Well, he must have sent both of us,” she lied. “Dieter? You’re all right?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” he said, not looking away from Flicka while the surgeon pushed a needle delicately through the bloody meat of his muscle, sewing it together. “I’ll be fine.”
Blood ran over his tanned skin below the wound. The doctor caught it with a gauze pad.
Flicka said, “That looks like it hurts.”
“It’s entirely numb. I wish I’d had the Novocaine for the tetanus shot, earlier.”
Flicka held onto the doorjamb to steady herself. “Well, if you’re all right, then, I’ll tell Wulfram that.”
Dieter nodded to her.
Flicka fled.
Damn it, she’d wanted to talk to him about it and tell him that Pierre’s Secret Service officers were more than capable of guarding her. Dieter didn’t need to grab her, throw her underneath his strong body, and lay on top of her.
Except, of course, that Monaco’s Secret Service men had all piled on top of Pierre and whisked him off to the waiting limousines.
She would have been entirely unprotected and would have probably died, except for Dieter Schwarz.
Damn him.
Mass Execution
Flicka von Hannover
It seemed sufficient.
