Wicked Deceptions - Amy Cecil Page 0,43

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.”

“Why did you not tell me this before?” There is no sense to hide my identity now; he knows. I can still see the love in his eyes, and I believe he is not here to hurt me.

He shrugs. “Perhaps for the same reason you did not tell me who you really were.”

“Touché.”

He smirks.

“And your death?”

“Chris Barnes had to die. Every alias I have assumed has perished in one way or another. So, I killed him and sent you that telegraph.”

“So, you’re A Friend?”

He nods.

“And why do you think Germany wants me to find you?”

“Because like you, I am a spy, with a very high security clearance. And to Germany, I am more dangerous than the American troops they are fighting against.”

He sits back down on the bed. “You’re asking a lot of questions—understandably so, but they are out of context. Let me tell you the rest of the story, and hopefully we can move forward from there.

I nod.

“So, like I said, the American government received word about you and your background. We were intrigued that a member of the imperial family would resort to helping Germany. The only reasoning we could determine is that you were working as a double agent. It is obvious we want Germany to