Page 89 of Winter's End
He reached down to ruffle Hondje’s topknot. “We have not seen you for a while. Is there a problem with your father’s Daimler?”
Mila smiled. “Not that I am aware,dank u. I was – I thought perhaps you might know how to help with another matter.”
His heavy brows knit together.
“Is there something else?”
Mila bit her lip. I have been trying without success to contact Pieter,” she whispered. “Have you by any chance seen him of late?”
“I have not,” Steegen said “But it is quite possible he is in Amsterdam.”
Mila’s brow furrowed. “In Amsterdam?”
Steegen inclined his head. “It appears there is – a mission he is intent on completing.”
Surely not,Mila’s mouth fell open. Surely, Pieter would not have gone back to mount a second attempt on de Boer’s life…
Steegen’s expression did nothing to dispute it.
“Is there something else?” he asked.
Oh, Pieter….
She cleared her throat. “As a matter of fact, there is,” she murmured. She told him briefly about the assault on the barge, the Nazis’ cold-blooded murder of Lotte Strobel.
“There is no way to know how far the barge might have floated,” she told him, “Or if it can even be located. But if it can be found, is there a way, do you think, to bring it back here to Haarlem?”
The tall Dutchman met her gaze. “Off the coast of Rotterdam, you say?”
“Ja.”
Steegen passed a big hand over his face. “I cannot promise,” he said at length. “But we can try. I will need help. Let me talk to Bakker and some of the others.”
Mila bit her lip. With Daan gone, and Pieter who knew where, she understood their resources were dwindling.
Steegen lifted a tray full of nuts and bolts. “I must get back to work,” he told her. “One never knows who may be watching…”
Mila nodded, backing toward the door, winding Hondje’s leash around her wrist.
EVI
It seemed to Evi that the morning sun was warmer on her back. It made her feel less burdened, somehow, as though winter might after all come to an end – that soon there would be spring vegetables, and some of the grief that still consumed her might begin seep away in the sunlight.
She had followed Jacob out the back door of the farm house, her jacket open, the Colt tucked into the waistband of her skirt. A target practice, Jacob had suggested, might be just the thing to keep her focused.
“I have butchered a chicken,”MevrouwBeekhof had called from behind them. “Behagen, the two of you – remind Papa and Willem to be here in time for Evi’s birthday dinner at noon.”
Evi’s eyes widened. It was a difficult choice, she knew, forMevrouwto deal with the few chickens left in her yard – whether to keep them for the occasional egg, or surrender them one by one for food. That she had sacrificed one of them on Evi’s behalf touched her to the core – and the very thought of roasted chicken for lunch was enough to lift her spirits.
“I will race you to the targets,” she shouted to Jacob, running through the cleared brush. “The last one there is akaskop!”
“What’s akaskop?” Jacob took up running beside her.
“I think in English, it means, cheese head,” she called. “And that will be you! You are a cheese head!”
“So, you say,” Jacob panted, picking up enough speed to pass her, but flagging at the end so that he nearly collided with her when she turned, hands triumphantly on her hips, at the target range.
“Whoa,” he managed, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Damn, I am seriously out of shape!”
