her heart. Ellie might never forgive her for the deception, not even if it was to save her life.
“She’ll come round.” Barrett’s words cut through her fog as if he knew exactly where her thoughts lingered. “If all goes according to plan, she’ll thank you for using trickery to yank her out of this nightmare.”
“There’s that far-fetched confidence again.”
“In this line of work, confidence and wits are sometimes the only link to living over dying. A lesson you’re making quick work of tonight.”
The warmth of his fingers still twined with hers spun Kat back to reality. This wasn’t a date. She slipped her hand from his. “Shall we continue our work by joining the crowd for the grand finale in the next room?”
“As much as I’d love to see Eric’s glorious vision of the Fatherland to come, we have something else to do.”
Kat followed him back to the first room, where Barrett circled around a painting standing on an easel at the center of the room. With Nazi flag held high, Hitler led an army of flag-waving soldiers as the dawn of a new day broke behind them. An eagle of iron soared above him like the dove from heaven at Christ’s baptism. Kat’s eyes dropped to the inscription. Our beloved leader. In him we are well pleased.
Nausea swept up Kat’s throat. “How can one man be so evil?”
“Devil needs someone to do his dirty work. But not for long.” Digging into his trouser pocket, he pulled out a silver lighter and flicked it open. The orange flame danced with eagerness. “Care to do the honors?”
Kat balked. “You’re not serious. We can’t start a fire in here. With all these people, someone could get hurt.”
A deep V creased his forehead. “Tell that to the lads out in the fields. The ones dying while the slop-suckers in here toast to their deaths.”
When she backed away, he flicked the lighter closed. The crease reluctantly eased from his forehead. “My objective is to break their pride, create chaos in their midst, and drive them out. The French spirit is alive, but buried. The enemies’ triumph tonight could very well snuff it out altogether.” The lighter flashed in his palm. “While I draw breath, I won’t allow that to happen.”
The tempered passion blazing in his eyes leaped into Kat. This wasn’t some far-off abomination. The tragedy lay at their front step, right before their eyes, and if good people remained too scared to fight, then the atrocities would swallow them whole. “You do it. I sense you’ll gain greater pleasure in burning artwork than I will, even if it does have Hitler’s face on it.”
“It’s not art.” He flicked the lighter open again and touched the orange spark to the bottom corner. Flames gobbled up the edges. “It’s hateful propaganda.”
As the corners curled to black, satisfaction split across his face. “Ready to run?”
Kat dragged her gaze away from Hitler’s melting face. “Run where?”
“For your life.” Grabbing her hand, he yanked her to the side exit. “Fire!”
Chapter 9
Barrett was right. Instead of boasting about the city’s newest exhibit to German pride, the morning’s Le Temps was plastered with images of the burned painting. Charred black around the entire right side, the only thing left of Hitler was his hand holding the flag. A guest claimed to have seen the attacker as he made a run for it. Short, long nosed, with a terrible laugh that cackled over the roaring flames. Most likely Juden.
“‘What more can be said of the night except that it is a terrible dent to the Fatherland’s honor? A night meant for rejoicing was forever soured by the heinous acts of a saboteur.’” Eric crumpled the quoted newspaper and threw it on the ground. “They didn’t even mention all the other preserved works in the exhibit. And what about that exclusive interview I gave before it opened? I suppose it’ll stay buried under this rubbish.”
“Calm down, darling.” Ellie leaned out of her chair and snatched up the wadded paper. “I’ve already called the editor, and he’s sending someone round this afternoon to give another interview. Simply use last night as an exciting spin about the forces out there trying to stop your good works. People love a good underdog.”
“I am not an underdog.” Darkness flashed across Eric’s pale face. “Or are you saying the saboteur is the underdog?”
“You, of course.” She smoothed the papers out on the shiny dining table. “It’s not a terrible article. They took quite a dashing picture of