Her head buzzed, refusing to accept what she saw, but her body shook because she utterly believed it.
For Old Time's Sake
Dieter Schwarz
Convincing Wulf was difficult.
The entry team to rescue Flicka crammed into two SUVs, large men sitting three abreast in the seats, eight per vehicle.
They all wore suits to conceal handguns in hidden holsters. While a team of men wearing black fatigues and carrying large rifles might not draw attention in the American West, it might have been remarked upon in Switzerland, so they lowered their profiles.
Dieter sat next to Wulfram, who had barely blinked during the few minutes of the ride. Their arms pressed when the SUV rounded a corner, and neither of them shook with nerves in the slightest. Indeed, they both breathed slowly, methodically, dampening any adrenaline response.
Good.He needed Wulfram to be perfectly logical and stay the hell outside the door while he secured the interior. The prince should not ride into battle on the front line.
As soon as Dieter had described the Volkswagen Touareg SUV that Flicka had been pulled into, Wulf had known that it belonged to his father’s security detail.
Dieter didn’t have to ask how Wulf remembered these things. He watched the computer in Wulf’s head process, the bytes flickering through Wulf’s eerie blue eyes, and then he output a number and a name.
Dieter didn’t ask what happened in there.
Wulf didn’t volunteer.
And thus, they both got through the day.
But Dieter suspected.
Dieter had called the concierges of Le Montreux Palace hotel—they had been parading through Flicka’s office all week, so he knew them by sight and by name—and asked them to call their contacts on other hotels’ staffs to find the car.
The concierges had returned with information in less than ten minutes, confirming that Wulf’s father, Prince Phillipp von Hannover, had taken rooms and registered the black Touareg with the front desk.
They reviewed the surveillance footage from the garage to determine that the vehicle had indeed returned recently and a young woman had been fighting three men as they took her up the back stairs to Phillipp von Hannover’s suite.
The concierges had already been dialing the Montreux police, but Dieter convinced them to let him handle it quietly.
Quietly got their attention, and quietly bought Dieter an hour before the concierges called the police and probably ARD-10.
The SUV rumbled under him as they drove to Phillipp von Hannover’s hotel to rescue Flicka.
Dieter had pinched his nose, disgusted that Phillipp’s team had been so sloppy with the hotel’s security cameras embedded in the ceilings, watching their every move. It was like they were trying to get caught.
Which was an excellent possibility.
The Prince might be paying them, but few men wanted to commit crimes for their employer, especially kidnapping a kind young woman just to make her brother suffer on his wedding day. If Phillipp fired them, Dieter might take them on, if they had purposely left him a trail to find Flicka rather than carelessness.
The SUV hopped a bump as they sped toward the hotel.
The other hotel’s concierge was supposed to be waiting for them in the parking garage below to guide them up.
Dieter had only minutes left to speak privately to Wulfram.
He cleared his throat, wishing that he hadn’t ever thought of what he had to say next. “So, one last operation for old time’s sake,Durchlaucht?”
Wulf flickered his blond eyebrows just a bit. “You could say that.”
“And this time, you will stay to the rear and come in only after we have secured the premises?”
Wulf’s lips tightened. “I heard her crying.”
