Page 31 of Wicked Deceptions
I finish my tea and get dressed. I take one last look at myself in the mirror and shudder. My mother and father would have been horrified at my manner of dress. It never truly bothered me before, it was a means to an end, but now that I have experienced what life could be like, I want more. I wipe a tear from my cheek. No sense in thinking about that now.
Once I am presentable—well, at least presentable enough for the people who frequent Madame LaRue’s—I make my way downstairs to entertain our latest guests. When I arrive in the main hall, I see an American soldier speaking with Madame LaRue. His back is facing me, but I am curious. I was told by Gerhardt that Lt. Christian Barnes would cross my path at Madame LaRue’s sometime this month, but to date, not one American solder has entered through those doors. Until now. Could this be my next mark?
I approach and soon realize Madame LaRue knows him, that he is just not a casual acquaintance. He looks oddly familiar from the back. I mean truly, if I didn’t know better, I would say he looks just like Chris from the back. I walk slower, assessing him. Same build, same color of hair, obviously the same uniform… No, it can’t be. But how glorious it would be if it were so?
Just as I approach, he turns and smiles. I stop in my tracks. My heart pounds in my chest. I close my eyes in disbelief, knowing that the minute I open them, the image of him will be gone and it will be just another American officer. I open them back up, and tears well in my eyes.
“Katerina!” he calls, and his voice is the last confirmation I need. It really is him.
“Chris!” I run into his arms, and he pulls me close in a warm hug. For the first time in months, I feel safe. I suddenly have hope again and don’t want to let him go. I squeeze him tighter and then it occurs to me. He was dead. I received a wire specifically telling me he was dead over a year ago.
I pull away from him, rubbing my hands on his shoulders and down to his arms. “But how?” I question through my tears.
He leans in close and whispers, “I have much to tell you, but not here.” He pulls back and shakes his head. “Things I wanted to tell you before but couldn’t. But in private, please. We both have secrets that cannot be exposed.”
I nod. I know for myself that is definitely true, but how does he know? He turns toward Madame LaRue. “Madame, if you don’t mind, I would like to continue this upstairs.”
She smiles as he hands her one franc, which she takes. “Of course, Lieutenant.”
I gasp. One franc. To my knowledge, not even the highest-class prostitutes get paid this much, not even Madame’s best girl. I look up at Chris, and he grins. I am convinced he knows what I’m thinking.
When we get to my room, he opens the door and pulls me inside. Before I can even speak, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me deeply, with promise. He takes my breath away as I cling to him. I still can’t believe he is alive, and all the questions I had downstairs begin to fill my head. I break the kiss.
“Chris, wait,” I say breathlessly.
“Wait?” he questions. “But, darling, it has been so long.”
I shake my head. “No, you must tell me how it is you are here. I have believed that you were dead for over a year now. I mourned you! I went deeper…” I realize what I am about to say and catch myself.
“You went deeper?” He prods. “Go on, finish.”
“It was nothing.” I turn my back toward him.
He steps up behind me and wraps his arms around me. “Perhaps I can finish your sentence for you.”
I cock my head to the right and look up at him. “You went deeper with the Germans and continued to work with them. You planned to get out when you thought you and I had a future. My death pretty much put a kink in your plans.”
I step away from him in shock. Turning back to face him, I’m horrified by what he knows. I stutter. “H-h-how did you know?” I step back in fear. He’s here to kill me for the American government. My cover has been revealed. I’m as good as dead.
He smiles. “I have much to tell you, but I can assure you, I am not here to hurt you. Everything I have done, everything I have kept from you, was to ensure that we”—he gestures, pointing at me and then himself—“are going to have the life we planned.”
I’m still not sure I believe him. This could all be part of the rouse to “catch” a spy. I walk to the chair by the window and sit down.
“Then tell me.” My tone is cold and demanding. Gone is the lovesick girl he knew before. If he is lying to me, my life is at an end, and I have nothing. I no longer have to be kind, loving, or polite. It will do me no good in the end. I will die anyway.
He sits on the bed and rakes his hand through his hair. “Where to begin?” he mumbles to himself.
I acknowledge I heard him by saying, “The beginning would be a good start, I think. Don’t you?”
“Yes, the beginning.” He takes a deep breath and continues. “I am an American. My real name is Lieutenant Christian Barnes, and I work for the Military Intelligence Division. I was sent to France on a mission to make contact with a German female spy who was working in a brothel. There was word that this woman was leaking pertinent war information to the Germans, but speculation she was a double agent.” He looks at me as if he is waiting for me to confirm his theory. But I say nothing.
“It was our understanding that this particular female spy was actually of Russian descent and a direct relation to Czar Nicholas II.” He looks directly at me and then says, “Are we correct in that knowledge?”
“Perhaps,” I reply.
He smiles. I guess that is what he wanted to hear.
He gets up from the bed to pace. “My mission was to get the woman out. Get to America and keep her safe.” He stops, then walks toward the chair and bends down on one knee. “That is still my mission,” he says reassuringly. He takes my hand. “I meant what I said. I am not here to hurt you.”
