Jack counted each emotion that flashed in Kerensky’s eyes. Up to this point, she’d proven herself inventive, bold and cunning, all necessary qualities for a spy. But in the soft moonlight, with so many emotions running across her face, she looked fragile, and surprisingly vulnerable.
In spite of Jack’s distrust, a cold chill of fear for her took hold. If she were working for the British, which all the signs indicated, then she was playing a dangerous game with her life.
Why take the risk?
Jack had personally witnessed the hideous forms of torture the SS used to get answers. He’d watched in steely silence as the toughest men were utterly destroyed under the perfect blend of physical pressure and mental interrogation. The experience had cost him his soul. A reality he’d long since accepted, or at least lived with as atonement for his sins.
But now, as weariness kicked in, he didn’t know if he could watch this woman suffer the Nazis’ ruthless brand of interrogation. Unless, of course, she was working against him. Even then…he wasn’t so sure.
The woman confused him. She made him want to return to simpler times, when the love of a sovereign God was concrete in his mind. When Jack had dealt with situations beyond his control by tapping into the knowledge that the Lord was bigger than any circumstance man could create.
But that was a long time ago, a lifetime ago.
Jack knew better than to take anything for granted, especially the actions of a trained professional.
Still on his guard, he gave Kerensky a look a few degrees short of friendly and continued waiting her out.
One beat, two beats, three.
At last, she broke. “The British don’t,” she began as she sucked in a harsh breath, “they don’t trust me?”
Her reaction pleased him. The bitter resentment in her tone meant he’d actually shocked her. He had the upper hand now. Though he doubted she would accept the shift in power for long.
In his years as a spy, he’d never met a woman who could hold her own against him. Before Kerensky. Her determination was as forceful as his. For that alone, his gut told him to take a chance and trust her to do her share in the mission.
He restrained himself.
Until he discovered if she was an ally or a shrewd double agent he would not relax his guard.
“Look, Kerensky.” He pushed to his feet. “Let’s rid ourselves of this ridiculous power struggle and get on with the business at hand.”
In response to his frankness, her composure slipped just a bit, but not enough to give Jack a sense of her real motives.
She was good. Very, very good.
With practiced grace, she stood and then paced through the small, stylishly furnished room. “If what you say is true and the British don’t trust me, then it must be because they know about my…my mistake.”
Her voice hitched. Part of her act? Probably. “What sort of mistake?” he asked.
Before responding, she roamed through a set of double doors with a liquid elegance that spoke of her stage training. Jack followed her, taking special note of how she gained immediate confidence once she had the physical barrier of an antique wooden table between them.
“It’s not what you think,” she said.
He willed himself to remain calm. In his line of work, losing his temper got a man killed faster than bullets. “It never is.”
“You don’t have to be snide. The information I gave MI6 was correct.” She dropped her gaze to the table, drew a path of circles with her fingernail. “At least, it was at the time I sent it.”
“Of course.”
She slapped her palms on the table and leaned forward. “Your attitude is not helping matters.”
“Nor is your penchant for withholding valuable pieces of information.”
Head held high, she marched around the table and stopped long enough to let out a soft sniff of disapproval before she continued past him.
Keeping the woman in his sight, Jack trailed after her as she went back into the adjoining room and turned to face him. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against the doorjamb.
Neither said a word, each silently assessing the other. Jack considered the tactical scenarios and possible outcomes. The only wrong questions were the ones he didn’t ask. “My patience is wearing thin. What mistake did you make, Katarina?”
Regardless of the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, she held his gaze. Brave woman.
“Karl Doenitz moved his headquarters this morning.”
Jack dragged a hand through his hair and resisted the urge to let loose the string of obscenities that came to mind. “How very inconvenient for us all. Except, of course, for the Nazis.”
“Now you’re being paranoid.”
“I was trained to be paranoid.” He drilled her with a hard glare. “And I’m very good at my job.”
She sighed. “I realize this sounds bad, but Karl Doenitz is still in Wilhelmshaven. He’s moved from Marinestation to Sengwarden.”
Jack caught the quick, guilty glance from under her lowered lashes. “Which means you don’t know where the plans are any longer.”
“I—”
“This trip to Hamburg has been a waste,” he said, more to himself than her. “For nothing more than countless hours of…games.”
“Oh, I promise you, this is no game. I know where the plans are. It’s just—” She broke off and looked away from him.
“It’s…just?” he prompted with what he considered heroic patience.
Apparently, he could control the work, the decisions, even the risks. He could not, however, control this…woman.
“The plans are locked in a newly built cabinet. My key will only open the old one.”
“That’s it?” Jack had to resist the urge to laugh in relief. “That was your mistake?”
He’d dealt with worse. Much worse. Missions were always more complicated than they first appeared on paper. Real life had intricacies that tended to create a powder keg of unexpected problems.
“Are you just going to stand there staring at me?” she demanded. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“I heard. You gave the British outdated information.”
“I gave them wrong information. I never get it wrong. Never.”
“Until now.”
She inclined her head slightly, her expression giving nothing away. “Until now.”
“So we make a new plan.”
He didn’t add that this was just the sort of tangle that had first led him into the heart of Germany two years before—the type of unexpected twist that ruled his every move. Disorder was so much a part of who he’d become, he’d long since accepted the realities of living without certainty. He didn’t especially like the ambiguity of never knowing the outcome of a mission or when the next twist would come, but he bore the pressure with steely grit.
He had no other choice.
“Make a new plan,” she repeated. “It’s that simple for you?”
“Nothing is ever simple.”
In fact, the possibilities were endless, but Jack was exceptionally skilled at finding the perfect solution inside the less perfect ones. “Tell me exactly where the plans are and I’ll come up with an idea. Or better yet, get me some paper and something to write with. I