Flicka bit her lip, and she didn’t speak.
“Just their wedding, you know.”
She breathed two breaths before she said, hesitantly, “I could do that.”
“Yeah, just text me. Just about the wedding.”
“Okay.”
“Have a good day, Flicka.”
“Yeah,um,before you go, how’s your arm?”
Dieter slapped his left biceps where he had been shot and immediately regretted it when pain shot up to his shoulder. “Fine. Totally healed up. No problem.”
“Good,” she said. “I’m glad. Again, I—um—thank you, again.”
Being on speaking terms with her assuaged his conscience a lot, even though thePrinzessinof Hannover had saidummore in their conversation today than during all her teenage years put together.
He had been nervous, too.
It had been almost two years of sheer hell for him when she had been too angry to speak to him, though he’d deserved it.
He smiled gently. “Anytime, Flicka.”
And he walked away, down the corridor.
Dieter kept his head stiffly facing forward and did not look back.
Looking back would pressure her too much. If he did that, she would kick back at him.
He needed Flicka’s information about the wedding as soon as possible so he could prepare the security measures. That wasn’t a lie.
Dieter reached a small office in Wulf’s house that he had used as a staff office for theWelfenlegion.The bulletin boards above the wooden desks still displayed the schedules and tactical zones that divided the property.
The duty schedule for the week was written in Wulfram’s precise handwriting.
He needed to talk to Wulf about appointing someone else. Acting as one’s own head of security was suspiciously like being one’s own lawyer: both have a fool for their client.
His blood still raced through his veins.
He tried to read the schedules to see who was on duty. HansWernerwas scheduled for some off-campus scouting that afternoon, but it was written in someone else’s handwriting.
Odd.Dieter didn’t like that at all.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears like running horses, and sweat beaded near his short hair.
Being near Flicka always did this to him.
While they were standing in the hallway, no matter how he’d tried to ignore everything physical about her, vanilla and rose perfumes drifted from her silky skin, and her hair curled softly around her face and shoulders. If he had buried his face in her hair, she might still be using that same herbal and mint shampoo that had turned him on so much while they had been together.
One time in London, during a university vacation for them both, she had dined with some of her school friends, and Maxence Grimaldi had attended. He had seated himself next to Flicka and begun talking.
Dieter braced himself against a wall, watching the doors and evaluating the threat level of everyone who entered. Most people, he dismissed immediately as no threat at all. He stationed himself where he could see every time Maxence Grimaldi wiggled, though.
That man disturbed Dieter.
It couldn’t be jealousy. Dieter was never jealous of the dates that he told Flicka she must go on to maintain their cover. That wasn’t it at all.
