“Okay, itwas,” Dieter growled. “I should have told you. One of those nights when we were drunk off our asses in the barracks, I should have told you. One of those times when we were on a military transport plane, flying into a mission where things might have gone sideways, I should have told you. One of those days when we were sitting aroundSchloss Southwestern,discussing how to keep you alive on yournext trip to Europe or New York, I should have told you.”
Wulf had looked down at his feet, though he was still angry in that quiet, sniper rage of his that didn’t increase his heart rate or cause his hands to shake.
“I should have told you a thousand times,” Dieter continued, “but you would have walked away, just like you did, because Raphael Mirabaud is poison. You would have seen me for thecoward I was, the traitor to my family and the criminal who ratted out his friends, all to save a few girls I didn’t even know. They were innocents, Wulf. They were blameless. Somebody sold them to the Ilyins for a pittance, enough money for their families to eat for a few months or enough cash for a drunk to get trashed for a week, and they didn’t give a damn what happened to those poor girls,Wulf, those pathetic children. I gave up my family, my friends, my education, and my name for them, because no one else would save them.
“I was given the name Dieter Schwarz, and I threw myself into being Dieter. I tried not to remember my sisters or my mother. I tried not to dream in French. I threw myself into the Swiss army and did everything they asked as hard as I could. I tried out forARD-10 as soon as I was eligible, and I made sure I was the fittest soldier and the best sniper in my class. I showed them that I was willing to kill myself for theConfoederatio Helveticaand the ideal of alpine culture. I finished the alpine mountaineering course,” he unfurled his fingers from around the pin that had been in his pocket, “and gave the ribbon to Flicka because I loved her, andI wanted to give her the best of me.”
Wulf’s pale eyebrows twitched down. “I remember that brooch. She wore it everywhere. She never said it was from you.”
“I gave it to her for Christmas when we were together in London because it was everything that was Dieter Schwarz. It was nothing that was Raphael Mirabaud. I didn’t tell you I was Raphael Mirabaud because I was ashamed that I had been him.I hated his crimes. I hated his cowardice. I hated that he had participated in drug smuggling and gun running and money laundering and slavery.
“I aspired to be Dieter Schwarz. I strove to be the guardian of the Alps. I told you who I wanted to be, and every time you and Flicka said my name, I turned into Dieter Schwarz. As much as I longed to be Dieter, my name in your mouths transformed meinto him. When I was with you, I became Dieter Schwarz. I’m sorry that I never told you who I had been, but I was trying to be someone else, someone better, a man worthy of a woman like Flicka.”
Wulf nodded. Pain lines creased around his eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m not lying to you now when I tell you that I am Dieter Schwarz.”
“All right,” Wulfram said. “I see.”
They stoodin silence, watching the sunlight, and neither of them spoke.
After a minute, Dieter took a chance and retrieved his coffee cup to sip the dark brew. “I need your financial advice,” he said.
“Oh?” One of Wulfram’s eyebrows twitched up, perhaps relieved at the change in subject.
“I killed my father.”
His eyebrow rose farther. “How Oedipal of you.”
“And my mother has decided to release ourinheritances early. I’ll be receiving quite a lot of money, and I need help with what to do with it.”
Wulfram smiled just the smallest bit. “So you will get your capital for Rogue Security and won’t give me the chance to invest.”
“Afraid so.”
Wulf outlined how to take possession of the inheritance in the form of stocks and bonds rather than cashing them first, which would mitigate the taxesthat Dieter would surely pay. During the conversation, Wulfram strolled across the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, adding a spoon of sugar to it from the bowl in the cabinet before he sipped.
“Okay, great,” Dieter said, trying to remember all the money stuff that Wulfram had said. “One more thing you should know.”
“What’s that?” Wulf asked, his tone lighter, almost breathy with relief.
“Flicka’s pregn—”
Pain crashed into the side of his jaw before he’d quite finished the word.
Dieter staggered backward, holding the side of his face. “Okay, I deserved that one, and nice uppercut, but—”
Wulfram’s face had gone utterly still, expressionless, carved from pale-gold stone. He walked toward Dieter, fists in front of his chest and ready.
He said, “Wulfram, I’m not going to let you—”
The next blows to Dieter’s ribs and head battered him in quick succession, but Dieter was a commando with years more hand-to-hand combat training and experience than Wulfram. He blocked every strike with his forearms except the one to his ribs, and that glancing blow didn’t drive the wind from his lungs.“Wulf—”
Wulfram reeled backward, breathing hard.“You didn’t.You damn welldidn’t.”
“Itwas part of her plan. She thought if she was pregnant by someone else, that Pierre would leave her alone.”
“You impregnated her. You jumped at the chance, and you did that to her.”
