Kisses Like a Devil Read online

  Not Altstadt, please, not Altstadt. Brian crossed himself, his lips moving in a frantic, silent prayer. Mother Mary, please keep Meredith safe. I don’t care if the capital looks to be mostly unharmed, thanks to centuries of preparing for floods. If Meredith is alive, I’ll do anything. I’ll leave my family. I’ll…

  Meredith rested her chin on her palm, her eyes shut. Morro was a warm comfort against her knees, while the cable car’s brakeman hummed peacefully up front. The other two passengers were riding in the open half, allowing her to hear the steady whir of the cable pulling them forward. They’d just passed the foundry so they still had a long way to go before reaching Market Square.

  She’d have too, too much time to think in this working class neighborhood, full of boarding houses and very small businesses.

  She scratched Morro’s head.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  The little car shook, hurling her against the opposite bench. Morro yelped and started to slide away. She grabbed him quickly, holding desperately onto a brass pole.

  The other passengers shouted. The brakeman cursed unapologetically and started squeezing, forcing the cable car to halt. Strangers’ hands helped her down and she joined families with coats hastily pulled on over nightshirts and nightgowns, wearing slippers or barefeet.

  She picked Morro up in her arms, hugging him close for a few seconds’ reassurance.

  “Where did it come from?” somebody asked, a suddenly clear voice amid all the hissing speculation.

  “Far—not the foundry.”

  “Headquarters of those summer maneuvers, then.”

  “We’ve been hearing cannonades from there for years. There was a big one, only last week,” a woman agreed.

  Sazonov. Meredith clenched her teeth. He must have blown up the guns to make sure Brian didn’t get them.

  The—the beast!

  A man spat on the pavement. “I always said they’d taken too much ammunition out there.”

  “Must have been big for us to hear it from this far away, with the mountains in between,” another man commented. “An entire magazine, perhaps, full of shells?”

  “Oh no!” The crowd gasped as one, even the older children, silencing the dozens of small conversations.

  “God’s will,” a woman said finally. “God’s will.”

  Meredith turned to look for who’d spoken, startled by her acceptance. But this was a soldier’s country, very superstitious and long accustomed to working with high explosives.

  A silvery glint in the fading moonlight caught her eye—and she gasped. Oh no!

  Water pulled itself up in the river until it stood far taller than a man, covered with foam and black specks.

  Others turned to follow her.

  The river roared like a thundering train and leaped forward, plunging past the capital’s high floodwalls and shipping basin, diving under St. Martin’s Bridge—and heading for Altstadt.

  That massive wave must have come from the lake below Schloss Belvedere, under the guns’ emplacement—where Brian had gone cruising with the grand duke.

  Brian. Dear God in heaven, Brian. Was he safe? Was he even alive?

  She closed her eyes, shaking. She was cold, so very cold.

  Morro licked her face, whining. She hid her face in his fur for an instant before she put him down.

  Look for some hope somewhere. Do something, anything. She bit her lip until it bled, forcing the tears back. She would not cry in public.

  How could she help Brian, especially since no boat ran to Schloss Belvedere at this hour? How did the living aid the dead? Was time truly of the essence? If the only service she could offer was identifying his body and making sure it reached his mother safely—well, that could wait until the morning.

  She shuddered. She could not, would not believe all his bright laughter had gone out of this world. Yet what hope was there?

  But she might still be able to do something for Franz and the others if she moved quickly.

  Her throat was so tight, it was amazing she could breathe at all. “Come, Morro,” she croaked.

  She picked up her skirts, edged her way through the crowd, and started for Altstadt, with Morro at her heels.

  Large waves were still rolling across the lake when she arrived. The rocks along the shoreline were full of debris, mostly tree branches until she came closer to Franz’s house. Crippled furniture and shredded fabric danced in the trees. People, dressed in their nightclothes, were hunting in the shoreline and dragging large, heavy items back to the shore.

  She couldn’t see Franz’s house but all of the others looked well, including Mother’s.

  She started to count the corpses, trying to discreetly check who was there.

  Rosa was still identifiable by her red hair. She was in Erich’s arms, as united in death as they’d been in life.

  A woman was sobbing. “I shouted at them to run but they laughed. They laughed!”

  “Hush, hush. They were young and foolish, probably drunk,” another woman soothed her.

  Franz and Gerhardt still wore identical seal rings, antique black onyx cameos from their college.

  “But to lose six people…”

  “Surely not all.”

  Ernst’s watch still lacked a second hand.

  “No, we just found the sixth,” a man said heavily, clumping past.

  Liesel’s blond hair straggled over his arm, the only part of her skull that wasn’t a battered mess of red blood and white bone plastered to the thin shirt wrapped around it.

  Meredith bolted for the nearest tree and some privacy, in order to be very, very sick.

  “And Droysen, the telegraphist, says Grand Duke Rudolph died, too, on his yacht.”

  “Ah! So the Devil has finally claimed his own,” the second woman comfortably pronounced sentence.

  Meredith shook, bracing herself against the rough bark. Grand Duke Rudolph dead? But that meant Brian was surely dead, too, since he’d been leaving for the gala aboard the yacht the last time she saw him.

  Brian! She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked, the pain so agonizing it seemed as if her heart was ripping the bones out of her chest one by one.

  How much was life worth now? Very little.

  She had to return to the capital and retrieve the plans. Eisengau’s workers still needed her, at least.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “No, you have to board the dawn train for Switzerland,” Viola’s normally rambunctious second son repeated stoically. He’d been using the same monotone ever since they’d blown up the guns almost an hour ago. “I’ll take the express back to Berlin like an ordinary diplomat.”

  She didn’t think he was grieving for the orgiastic partygoers on the overturned yacht. He’d grown to be a rowdy man with strong carnal appetites, as befitted someone with Donovan and Lindsay blood. Not that she was supposed to know that, of course.

  Besides, he’d barely given the boat’s wreckage a second glance. Instead, he kept staring downriver—to somewhere past the capital, if she guessed aright.

  The train station down below showed few signs of life under the setting moon. Designed as a watering stop, it would also pick up any hikers exhausted by the steep St. Nicholas Pass.

  William frowned. “You must come with us. They’ll know who blew up the guns and be looking for revenge.”

  “We’re not the only ones the Russians beat out in the auction for the guns. Eisengau will look at other countries to see if they did it. I have to go to the capital.”

  His voice roughened and stopped, like a saw grinding through heartwood.

  Knives clawed at Viola’s skin. Of all her sons, he was the most like the men of her family, the famous golden Lindsays, for whom everything always came very easily—except finding and claiming the woman of their heart. Brian had been successful far too young at sports, in business, with women—anything and everything he set his hand to. Even that aborted engagement he rarely spoke of didn’t seem to have soured his temper.

&n
bsp; To hear him turn laconic, sharp-edged with hard emotion…Well, she’d always wanted him to grow up and take matters a little more seriously.

  But it still hurt to know she couldn’t hug and kiss him and take away the pain.

  “Besides, you need to take Mother to safety,” Brian finished more quickly.

  William hesitated. “Well…”

  Viola wrapped her hand over his wrist, under cover of darkness. He jerked slightly in surprise, although long practice had taught him not to show the boys when she cued him.

  “They’ll undoubtedly arrange a fund to help the injured,” she commented. “The sooner we’re over the border, the easier we can contribute to it anonymously. Even if we call our deeds the fortunes of war, some of the dead were innocents.”

  Even in this poor light, she could see Brian flinch.

  Ah! So he had risked somebody he cared about. Poor, poor darling.

  “The railroad company won’t bother us,” Marlowe drawled. “Dirty as we are, they’ll believe we’re just simple hikers—”

  “Not world-class spies who’d blow up cannons,” Spenser finished his twin’s sentence. “This is the last stop before the border and they’ll be in a hurry to keep steam up. They won’t want to cause trouble for us, especially with a woman like Mother around.”

  “Very well. If you did come with us, it’d be as good as a signed confession, anyway.” William yielded abruptly and folded his arms over his chest. “But the whole place reeks of conspiracies so we won’t go far.”

  “Father…”

  “We’ll come back over the pass via horseback in two days. Consider it a tourist’s excursion to look at pleasant scenery.”

  “Sir, that’s not necessary. I can handle this by myself.”

  “You should be able to reach the capital and leave the country within one day. Two is more than generous.” William must be terrified, judging by how he was snapping out orders.

  “Cable us if you depart early,” Viola suggested, hoping it would happen. She twined her fingers with William’s to give both of them courage. It was bitter enough to acknowledge they couldn’t rescue Neil. Knowing they couldn’t help Brian was hell on earth.

  “I brought your trunk with us from Paris and it’s waiting in Switzerland. I assume it contains items you could find useful?”

  Viola held her breath, very conscious of the twins doing the same.

  Brian harrumphed then pulled his watch out of his pocket. “No wonder J. P. Morgan enjoys doing business with you, Father. He can’t count on winning all the time.” He stripped a key off the fob and slapped it into his sire’s waiting palm.

  “My customized Mauser is in there, plus some other toys. Traveling with them may risk your life.”

  “Don’t you remember the Donovan & Sons’ motto, Brian?”

  “Risky freight into risky places,” five voices chorused.

  “The Donovan family can surely pull it off for one of their own,” William said fiercely and hugged his son.

  Tears touched her eyes, since none of them could rescue Brian’s heart.

  Dawn brushed the icy peaks high above the valley floor but shrank away from Altstadt’s dank groves, laden with shards of the young lives torn apart. Sodden books were mashed into the causeway and flattened against trees, bright cloth wrapped around muddy bushes, shattered crockery led the way to torn gate hinges and gaping windows.

  Nothing lived here, nothing.

  Her mother’s cook had quietly told Brian that if Meredith was anywhere in town, she’d be at Franz Schnabel’s house. Then she’d burst into tears and refused to say more.

  He might have accepted Meredith’s return to a lost lover if it had meant she was alive. But this?

  He took off his hat and shoved his hand through his hair, refusing to let his knees buckle to the ground. Meredith, oh dear God, Meredith…

  “Excuse us, sir.” Two men approached, carrying shovels and brooms over their shoulders. “Would you mind stepping aside, please? We want to start cleaning this up for the archbishop.”

  “Archbishop?” Brian moved out of their way automatically.

  “He owned the house but his nephew lived here. A terrible tragedy, losing so many young lives at once.”

  Brian couldn’t control his flinch. “Do you know who they were?” His voice was too hoarse, but he couldn’t help that, either.

  “Gerhardt Hagen, of course, with the nephew. Plus Erich Schulze and his girl Rosa.” The laborer set down his shovel and broom so he could count on his fingers, his seamed face settling into deeper lines.

  “And another young man with a broken watch,” the other fellow spoke up for the first time.

  The first man nodded agreement. “Plus the blond girl.”

  Brian staggered. Meredith!

  Dear, sweet, Meredith was dead—and he’d killed her. No matter what the reason, no matter how accidentally.

  A silent scream ripped out of his gut and into his brain, blinding him with a wall of pain.

  Nothing was left now but duty and family.

  He needed to find the plans so he could leave this hell.

  Another cart rattled across market square, setting off echoes which would have been disappeared at a later hour. Milk cans rattled ferociously in its back, protesting their ride over the stone paving.

  Meredith yawned and beat her fists together. She was leaning against a door embrasure hidden underneath one of the colonnades ringing the square. It had been a long day and a worse night. She’d already relaxed once and barely stopped herself from sliding down the wall. If she did that again, she might fall asleep—and dream of Brian’s death.

  No, no, no.

  She bolted out of the darkness and began to walk along the line of square pillars. In a few more hours, she could retrieve the plans and then find a hotel. Dearest, darling Brian had hidden cash in her purse before she’d left him.

  She bit her lip and tried to find something interesting in the meager traffic occasionally drifting through the square.

  The excitement of the grand duke’s death had died down, at least for the moment. Only the few deliveries necessary to keep businesses alive happened now—from country farms avoiding heavy traffic, to early-rising bakers, and so on. The real rush would start in another hour when vendors started flooding the square, prepared to sell their wares.

  Even the supposedly all-night activities had disappeared in these last few hours before dawn. The capital’s honest cops were back at their station houses, finishing up their paperwork before going off duty. Even the churches’ regular bells were reduced to striking hourly rather than on the quarter-hour.

  Meredith rubbed her arms, wishing she had something—anything!—to do, other than think. Morro was diverting himself very well by hunting for mice, or perhaps rats. Of course, nothing spoiled his appetite, let alone his joy in the hunt. She’d have to eat soon, but not yet.

  She walked faster.

  A tall, blond man raced out of the colonnade’s shadows at her. Sazonov!

  She instinctively flung up her arm to protect herself.

  He whipped it behind her, spinning her against him. She opened her mouth to shriek for help.

  His hard forearm crushed her throat and lifted her onto her toes. She dangled, helpless, barely able to support herself. Blood rushed into her ears, cloaking the noise of her heels being dragged over the cobblestones and under the colonnade. Sparks flickered before her eyes, fading in the blackness.

  He loosened his grip slightly and she choked in a little air. She clawed at his arm but it didn’t move any farther. Damn him.

  “Such an unexpected pleasure encountering you here, on my way back to the palace. Thank you for still wearing that very bourgeois hat.”

  The roaring in her ears faded, but that brought little hope. She writhed and kicked. But her skirts were so tight around the hips and full around the ankles, they only muffled the few strikes she did manage to launch.

  If she couldn’t call for help and Morro did
n’t notice her plight…

  “Your lover destroyed my cannons but he went to hell with that bastard of a grand duke.”

  The hole in her heart gaped too wide for him to open it farther. She waited, biding her time. There had to be something she could do, sooner or later.

  “As his survivor, you owe me for them and you’re going to give me the plans. If you don’t, I’ll take your ear.”

  He chuckled, his arm tightening around her throat.

  “What?” she gasped, barely able to speak, let alone imagine what he meant.

  “Slice your ear off—with this.”

  A wickedly sharp blade scraped her cheek.

  “First your right ear, then your left should you prove exceptionally intransigent. After that, we can discuss your fingers.”

  She didn’t dare move. Sweat trickled down her forehead. If that knife slipped and knicked the vein frantically beating in her jaw, she could die—without doing anything for the workers.

  Her ear? The blade crushed her skin until a hot trickle of blood slid down her cheek and over her jaw. He was serious. What could she do?

  “Now, Miss Duncan, which…”

  A solid black piece of shadows suddenly displayed ferocious white teeth. Morro!

  Meredith tried to scream a warning but Sazonov cruelly tightened his grip. She sagged against him, her vision graying.

  Morro leaped silently and accurately for Sazonov’s elbow, sinking his teeth into the arm holding Meredith captive.

  Sazonov staggered back but he still managed to keep hold of Meredith.

  She writhed, kicking and clawing at his arm. But he ignored her, cursing her champion in Russian.

  Morro circled and came back, still deadly quiet. Sazonov turned, trying to keep him in sight—and Meredith went completely limp, forcing him to support her not-inconsiderable weight. He automatically glanced down at her, his blade slipping upward to rest against her hair.

  Morro struck again, biting deep into Sazonov’s knife hand.

  Sazonov shouted in agony and shook himself frantically. Meredith twisted away, her jaw snapping cruelly back in that desperate bid. She staggered, barely able to stand given the roaring in her ears.