first time she’d ever looked me in the eye. “It was—he didn’t deserve that. Not Christoph.” She swallowed. “He was kind to me.”
I nodded. “Okay. Come on, then.”
I went to take her arm, then thought better of it. We headed downstairs again. I was light-headed with tension—what if Sven came back? What if Schreiber and the guys took an early lunch break? My mouth was so dry I was glad I didn’t have to speak. It would’ve come out like a fucking death rattle.
When we got downstairs, Ulf grabbed a hold of Silke and spoke to her so quietly, so fast, I couldn’t catch what he was saying. It wasn’t helping the paranoia any, but I figured I could guess the gist of it when she shook her head violently and pulled away from him.
Damn, I wouldn’t have thought she had it in her. Ulf threw up his hands and slouched away. Hopefully to keep a lookout for trouble, though I figured I’d best not rely on it. “Come on,” I told her again. “Wait—he’s going to need shoes. Damn.”
“It’s okay.” Silke fetched a pair of grimy, worn-in sneakers from a room off the kitchen that seemed to serve as a dumping ground for shoes, boots and all sorts of crap. She handed them to me. They smelled better than they looked—like forest earth and something familiar, almost comforting… Damn. They smelled like Christoph.
We scuttled back to the old house through the woods like Little Red Riding Hood—sorry, Hat—and the Big, Bad Wolf. Christoph was right where I’d left him. Like a lamb waiting for the guy in the striped apron with the damn big knife to come along and finish the work he’d started. His limbs didn’t seem to be working any too good, so I had to help him on with his clothes. Jeans—some down-market European brand. No underwear—maybe Silke liked her guys to go commando, though I’d had Schreiber figured as a boxers guy. There was an uneasy moment when I wasn’t sure if I should zip up for him or not, which he solved by batting my hands away and doing it himself. There was plenty to fit in there, I couldn’t help noticing.
I wasn’t perving on him, okay? It’s a guy thing. Compare and contrast.
Then the T-shirt—faded grey that might have been black way back before I was born. A checked shirt Christoph pulled on stiffly and didn’t bother to button. The broken-down sneakers.
Not a lot we could do about that damn face, though.
Silke turned away while I was dressing him, so I guessed she hadn’t just come down here to cop an eyeful. I took a couple deep breaths once we’d gotten him decent. “We have to get out of here right now. There’s just Ulf in the house, but I don’t know for how long. Silke, can you distract him while I get Christoph out of here?”
“No,” Christoph said harshly. “Silke, you must come with us. He will know that you helped us—”
“Whoa,” I said, holding up my hands in the universal symbol for fuck-this-shit. “I never said anything about her coming with us.” Okay, so maybe her life here wasn’t great, but was it really worth her risking everything by throwing her lot in with us? Who was in charge of this rescue, anyway? “She’ll be okay. I told her to say I made her help us. Schreiber’s got to cut her more slack than the rest of us—”
“He will not spare her. Silke, you must come.”
Damn. “Silke, will you be okay if we leave you?” I mean, hell, she must have gotten into this thing with Schreiber of her own free will. Chances were she’d want to stay with him anyhow. Just because a guy’s a bastard doesn’t make you love him any less. And yeah, that’s the voice of experience talking.
Silke was staring at the floorboards. Trembling. “My father—”
What the hell? “Schreiber’s your father?”
She nodded to my feet. I tried to get my head around the idea that I’d so totally mistaken their relationship. Then my stomach flipped over as it occurred to me that maybe I’d gotten it right after all. Damn. “Look, you
I nodded. “Okay. Come on, then.”
I went to take her arm, then thought better of it. We headed downstairs again. I was light-headed with tension—what if Sven came back? What if Schreiber and the guys took an early lunch break? My mouth was so dry I was glad I didn’t have to speak. It would’ve come out like a fucking death rattle.
When we got downstairs, Ulf grabbed a hold of Silke and spoke to her so quietly, so fast, I couldn’t catch what he was saying. It wasn’t helping the paranoia any, but I figured I could guess the gist of it when she shook her head violently and pulled away from him.
Damn, I wouldn’t have thought she had it in her. Ulf threw up his hands and slouched away. Hopefully to keep a lookout for trouble, though I figured I’d best not rely on it. “Come on,” I told her again. “Wait—he’s going to need shoes. Damn.”
“It’s okay.” Silke fetched a pair of grimy, worn-in sneakers from a room off the kitchen that seemed to serve as a dumping ground for shoes, boots and all sorts of crap. She handed them to me. They smelled better than they looked—like forest earth and something familiar, almost comforting… Damn. They smelled like Christoph.
We scuttled back to the old house through the woods like Little Red Riding Hood—sorry, Hat—and the Big, Bad Wolf. Christoph was right where I’d left him. Like a lamb waiting for the guy in the striped apron with the damn big knife to come along and finish the work he’d started. His limbs didn’t seem to be working any too good, so I had to help him on with his clothes. Jeans—some down-market European brand. No underwear—maybe Silke liked her guys to go commando, though I’d had Schreiber figured as a boxers guy. There was an uneasy moment when I wasn’t sure if I should zip up for him or not, which he solved by batting my hands away and doing it himself. There was plenty to fit in there, I couldn’t help noticing.
I wasn’t perving on him, okay? It’s a guy thing. Compare and contrast.
Then the T-shirt—faded grey that might have been black way back before I was born. A checked shirt Christoph pulled on stiffly and didn’t bother to button. The broken-down sneakers.
Not a lot we could do about that damn face, though.
Silke turned away while I was dressing him, so I guessed she hadn’t just come down here to cop an eyeful. I took a couple deep breaths once we’d gotten him decent. “We have to get out of here right now. There’s just Ulf in the house, but I don’t know for how long. Silke, can you distract him while I get Christoph out of here?”
“No,” Christoph said harshly. “Silke, you must come with us. He will know that you helped us—”
“Whoa,” I said, holding up my hands in the universal symbol for fuck-this-shit. “I never said anything about her coming with us.” Okay, so maybe her life here wasn’t great, but was it really worth her risking everything by throwing her lot in with us? Who was in charge of this rescue, anyway? “She’ll be okay. I told her to say I made her help us. Schreiber’s got to cut her more slack than the rest of us—”
“He will not spare her. Silke, you must come.”
Damn. “Silke, will you be okay if we leave you?” I mean, hell, she must have gotten into this thing with Schreiber of her own free will. Chances were she’d want to stay with him anyhow. Just because a guy’s a bastard doesn’t make you love him any less. And yeah, that’s the voice of experience talking.
Silke was staring at the floorboards. Trembling. “My father—”
What the hell? “Schreiber’s your father?”
She nodded to my feet. I tried to get my head around the idea that I’d so totally mistaken their relationship. Then my stomach flipped over as it occurred to me that maybe I’d gotten it right after all. Damn. “Look, you
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