Page 108 of The Number of Love
Her breath caught, went still inside her, and for the briefest of moments she wondered,Why? Why didn’t you warn me, Lord?
But that wasn’t the right question. That wasn’t the question thatled to life. That was the question that led to bitterness, to walls between her and her God.
She let the door fall shut behind her and met the eyes of Dieter Regnitz. And prayed He would give her therightquestion.
She didn’t know if she’d found it. But she could think of only one thing to say as she looked at his blackened hand. Heard the rasp of his breath. And saw his face, pale as a ghost. She eased a step forward and held out her hands to show she had no weapon. “Why did you alter the game?”
The game. She meant Go, he assumed. The pieces he had put where he needed them. Das Gespenst tried to lift the gun, but his hand shook if he didn’t keep his arm anchored to his body. And he wasn’t nearly skilled enough at shooting left-handed anyway. He wouldn’t be able to work the bolt to load another chamber—he’d have one shot, that was all. As he’d had one in the rifle he used to signal Elton. It had been enough then.
This would be enough now.
“It was necessary to prove my point. Do not move, Miss De Wilde. I will score at least one victory tonight—and this may in fact be the sweetest. It may not help the High Command to take out an Admiralty secretary, but it will provide my revenge. Elton loves you, does he not? It will hurt him more than death to lose you.”
Her eyes darted to the left, toward the landlord’s office. A ploy, no doubt, to distract him, so she could lunge. But he refused to take his eyes off her. Hands still held out, she dared to ease another step closer. “You’re ill. And injured. What happened?”
The itching in his chest made it nearly impossible not to cough, but he couldn’t give in to that. Not now. It was the smoke, or the pneumonia. But it wouldn’t win.Hewould win. That was what mattered. “Do not pretend you care.”
“Why do you assume I don’t?” She paused and lifted her brows. “I learned long ago that being on opposites sides of a war didn’t make a man my enemy. I don’t wish you harm. I just wish youstopped.”
No, she’d never been his enemy. Just his opponent. A clever one, deserving of respect. But cleverness wasn’t enough. And respect didn’t mean he could spare her. “You are out of moves. I told you that already.Aji keshi.”
The corners of her lips actually turned up in a smile. “You had to cheat to be able to say that. It isn’t true victory.”
“It will have the same result.” He had to anchor the gun with his side to be able to cock it.
“No. It won’t.”
He pulled the trigger, but she was already moving. Lunging to the side. Not away, but toward him. As she’d done on the street, when she’d stolen Der Vampir from him. He tried to yell, but it turned into a cough that made his whole body convulse.
And then the gun wasn’t in his hand anymore and spots danced before his eyes, and instead of a knee finding his groin, an arm came around his shoulders.
“Would you get him water?”
He didn’t know of whom she asked it, and he couldn’t look up to see. The spasm kept his head down, his body curled forward into a useless mockery, his lungs on fire.
“Easy. Breathe, Dieter.”
She knew his name. How did she know his name? “I will win.” He could barely gasp it between spasms, but it had to be said. It had tobe.
“You nearly did. And perhaps you could have outsmarted Drake. Outsmarted me—even though I’mnota secretary. But you cannot outsmart God.”
Was it He who had struck him down? No. It was the damp and the cold and lungs already weakened by pneumonia from his near drowning. It was too many nights waiting in the park for her to make a play at Go and traveling all over the city in search of targets. It was the uncompromising commands of his superiors and his own need to see to retribution above himself.
Would he die? Here, now, of this wracking cough, with his hand black with bruising and his opponent’s arm around him?
Had he thought he couldn’t die? Or that it wouldn’t matter if he did? Perhaps it didn’t. He had no one to mourn him, not like they would mourn Heinrich. He had never been the hero in the stories.
If only he’d won, his death wouldn’t have mattered. But he’d failed there too.
The hand patted his back, though it did nothing to help. “Drake didn’t mean to shoot your brother.”
He squeezed his eyes shut against the spots. And all he could see was Heinrich, lying in his arms, no light in his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. He’s dead.” Gone.Das Gespenst.Elton had made the hero into a ghost. That never should have been Heinrich’s role. His own, but not his brother’s. Heinrich had something to live for. The war hadn’t killed him already, like it had Dieter’s spirit.
“I know he’s dead. And I’m sorry.”
He tried to look at her. To focus on the dark eyes that regarded him so intently even while a haze fell over his vision. Another cough convulsed him. “He has ... to pay.”
“He has.” Her voice sounded distant now. Like an echo. “And he will. Forever. Some men may revel in killing in a war, but not Drake. He’ll wrestle with this, with knowing the name and face of someone he killed. Knowing he took a brother and son—perhaps a husband and father?—from this world. He’ll learn to live with it, but it will never go away.” She paused, her hand steady on his back. “You must learn to live with it too.”
