something she would ever voice or he would ever ask. She stood proud, like always, her tangled dark curls falling in carefree wisps. A flick of a smile creased her lips. She wore a taupe brocade jacket over a tight chiffon skirt, the slit rising all the way up to thin supple thighs. She was the sole heir to the Fellner fortune, thanks to the untimely death of her older brother two years ago. Her name meant “devout to God.” Yet she was anything but.
“Lock it,” she said.
He snapped the lever down.
She strutted toward him, her heels clicking off the ancient marble floor. He met her at the open gate in the grille. Immediately below her was the grave of her grandfather,MARTIN FELLNER 1868–1941 etched into the smooth gray marble. The old man’s last wish was that he be buried in the castle he so loved. No wife accompanied him in death. The elder Fellner’s head steward lay beside him, more letters carved in stone marking that grave.
She noticed his gaze down to the floor.
“Poor grandfather. To be so strong in business, yet so weak in spirit. Must have been a bitch to be queer back then.”
“Maybe it’s genetic?”
“Hardly. Though I have to say, a woman can sometimes provide an interesting diversion.”
“Your father wouldn’t want to hear that.”
“I don’t think he’d care right now. It’s you he’s rather upset with. He has a copy of the Rome newspaper. There’s a front-page story on the death of Pietro Caproni.”
“But he also has the match case.”
She smiled. “You think success smooths anything?”
“I’ve found it to be the best insurance for job security.”
“You didn’t mention killing Caproni in your note yesterday.”
“It seemed an unimportant detail.”
“Only you would consider a knife in the chest unimportant. Father wants to talk with you. He’s waiting.”
“I expected that.”
“You don’t seem concerned.”
“Should I be?”
She stared hard. “You’re a hard bastard, Christian.”
He realized that she possessed none of her father’s sophisticated air, but in two ways they were much alike—both were cold and driven. Newspapers linked her with man after man, wondering who might eventually snag her and the resulting fortune, but he knew that no one would ever control her. Fellner had been meticulously grooming her the past few years, readying her for the day when she’d take over his communications empire along with his passion for collecting, a day that would surely soon arrive. She’d been educated outside Germany in England and the United States, adopting an even sharper tongue and brassy attitude along the way. But being rich and spoiled hadn’t helped her personality either.
She reached out and patted his right sleeve. “No stiletto tonight?”
“Do I need it?”
She pressed close. “I can be quite dangerous.”
Her arms went around him. Their mouths fused, her tongue searching with excitement. He enjoyed her taste and savored the passion she freely offered. When she withdrew, she bit his lower lip hard on the way. He tasted blood.
“Yes, you can.” He dabbed the wound with a handkerchief.
She reached out and unzipped his trousers.
“I thought you said Herr Fellner was waiting.”
“There’s plenty of time.” She pushed him down on the floor, directly atop her grandfather’s grave. “And I didn’t wear any underwear.”
The Amber Room
TEN
Knoll followed Monika across the castle’s ground floor to the collection hall. The space consumed the better part of the northwest tower and was divided into a public room, where Fellner displayed his notable and legal items, and the secret room, where only he, Fellner, and Monika ventured.
They entered the public hall and Monika locked the heavy wooden doors behind them. Lighted cases stood in rows like soldiers at attention and displayed a variety of precious objects. Paintings and tapestries lined the walls. Frescoes adorned the ceiling with images depicting Moses giving laws to
“Lock it,” she said.
He snapped the lever down.
She strutted toward him, her heels clicking off the ancient marble floor. He met her at the open gate in the grille. Immediately below her was the grave of her grandfather,MARTIN FELLNER 1868–1941 etched into the smooth gray marble. The old man’s last wish was that he be buried in the castle he so loved. No wife accompanied him in death. The elder Fellner’s head steward lay beside him, more letters carved in stone marking that grave.
She noticed his gaze down to the floor.
“Poor grandfather. To be so strong in business, yet so weak in spirit. Must have been a bitch to be queer back then.”
“Maybe it’s genetic?”
“Hardly. Though I have to say, a woman can sometimes provide an interesting diversion.”
“Your father wouldn’t want to hear that.”
“I don’t think he’d care right now. It’s you he’s rather upset with. He has a copy of the Rome newspaper. There’s a front-page story on the death of Pietro Caproni.”
“But he also has the match case.”
She smiled. “You think success smooths anything?”
“I’ve found it to be the best insurance for job security.”
“You didn’t mention killing Caproni in your note yesterday.”
“It seemed an unimportant detail.”
“Only you would consider a knife in the chest unimportant. Father wants to talk with you. He’s waiting.”
“I expected that.”
“You don’t seem concerned.”
“Should I be?”
She stared hard. “You’re a hard bastard, Christian.”
He realized that she possessed none of her father’s sophisticated air, but in two ways they were much alike—both were cold and driven. Newspapers linked her with man after man, wondering who might eventually snag her and the resulting fortune, but he knew that no one would ever control her. Fellner had been meticulously grooming her the past few years, readying her for the day when she’d take over his communications empire along with his passion for collecting, a day that would surely soon arrive. She’d been educated outside Germany in England and the United States, adopting an even sharper tongue and brassy attitude along the way. But being rich and spoiled hadn’t helped her personality either.
She reached out and patted his right sleeve. “No stiletto tonight?”
“Do I need it?”
She pressed close. “I can be quite dangerous.”
Her arms went around him. Their mouths fused, her tongue searching with excitement. He enjoyed her taste and savored the passion she freely offered. When she withdrew, she bit his lower lip hard on the way. He tasted blood.
“Yes, you can.” He dabbed the wound with a handkerchief.
She reached out and unzipped his trousers.
“I thought you said Herr Fellner was waiting.”
“There’s plenty of time.” She pushed him down on the floor, directly atop her grandfather’s grave. “And I didn’t wear any underwear.”
The Amber Room
TEN
Knoll followed Monika across the castle’s ground floor to the collection hall. The space consumed the better part of the northwest tower and was divided into a public room, where Fellner displayed his notable and legal items, and the secret room, where only he, Fellner, and Monika ventured.
They entered the public hall and Monika locked the heavy wooden doors behind them. Lighted cases stood in rows like soldiers at attention and displayed a variety of precious objects. Paintings and tapestries lined the walls. Frescoes adorned the ceiling with images depicting Moses giving laws to
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