He was fun in bed, she was pretty sure.
She didn’t have a lot to compare him to.
Really, she had one guy to compare Pierre to.
And you know, just because someone gets second prize in a two-man race doesn’t mean that they’re not pretty darn good.
Pierre wasthere.He wanted her and told her he loved her. He told her that they should make a life together no matter what her father or other people thought of them.
And that made himbetter.
Flicka held Pierre’s hand and walked into her new home, the Prince’s Palace of Monaco—the medieval fortress with fortifications that could still repel a lightly armed military or keep someone prisoner inside—with her head held high.
A Confession
Dieter Schwarz
Eventually,
I had to stop lying
to Wulf about Paris,
but about Flicka,
never.
Dieter stood in the shiny commercial kitchen of Wulfram’s house, drinking coffee, while in the garage, Wulfram handed Reagan Stone into a car to drive her to class at the university.
The stainless steel appliances gleamed. Silence vibrated around the hard surfaces and tile except for the coffee maker gurgling a fresh pot.
The staff had all left the kitchen for the morning. When Dieter set his coffee cup on the stone countertop, he was the only one who heard the click.
Wulf should walk right through the kitchen on his way back into the house. That’s when Dieter would tell him.
HansWernerhad drawn chauffeur and bodyguard duty for Rae today, which served him right for holding downShloss Southwesternwhile Dieter and most of the rest of theWelfenlegionhad been on duty twenty-four and seven in Europe. Hans looked particularly chipper and well-rested, the bastard. No one had asked him to dodge a bullet twice in the past few days.
The stitched-up crease on Dieter’s biceps still throbbed.
He had worn his sharpest black suit to talk with Wulfram. His starched collar scratched the back of his neck as he rehearsed his apology and the assurances gained from Luca Wyss only a few hours ago that Valencia and Pajari were safe if not unharmed.
The envelope in his suit jacket pocket felt stiff against his chest.
The door to the garage thumped closed behind HansWernerand Rae Stone. With that, Dieter and Wulfram were alone in the kitchen.
Wulfram turned and strutted toward the door to the living room, a small smile disrupting his usually inscrutable expression with an odd lightness.
Dieter cleared his throat. “Herr von Hannover.”
Wulfram stopped and looked at him. His smile was already gone, and he again looked like the cold monarch and sniper that he was.
Damn,but Dieter was going to miss him. Their friendship was over a decade in the making and intense in the way that only mutual mortal risk and military camaraderie could forge.
Wulfram asked, “Yes, Schwarz?”
Dieter removed the envelope from his suit jacket. Speaking Alemannic, the Swiss dialect that they spoke together, he said, “I should like to submit my resignation, Herr von Hannover.”
Wulfram glanced at the envelope in Dieter’s hand and the blank expression that Dieter maintained on his face.
