“Will you tell me what I want to know?” Christian asks, his voice low as if sharing a secret, his tone pleasant like we’re old friends.
I don’t respond, my chin lifted in a stubborn tilt.
He grabs my wrist and yanks me to my feet. His other hand is kept behind his back. “I hope you don’t mind a little blood on your desk, Captain Krüger.”
Christian jerks me to the desk and puts my right hand flat on the cool dark wood. I attempt to pull my hand away. He’s not an imposing man, but he is stronger than I am.
Another set of hands holds on to my arms from behind, pinning me in place. Christian lifts his hand, revealing the stone paperweight in it.
I slip into my memory of Johann, but not fast enough. The paperweight slams down hard on my hand, and a blinding pain roars up my arm. I cry out.
When the Gestapo agent hurt the wound on my leg, I had been able to disappear into my mind and minimise the pain I felt. This time, I am not so lucky.My body is drained of all energy, weary from pain, and I’m unable to mentally separate myself from the world. The persistent thrumming in my head, the hurt of Christian’s betrayal, might have something to do with that too.
“The names and the locations, Carmen,” Christian barks, the feigned pleasantry leached from his tone.
Forty-eight hours. That’s how long my SOE instructors told me to hold out before saying anything if captured. Hopefully in that time, word would get out to the network that the agent had been arrested. Plans could be changed, keeping all those involved safe, preventing the Germans from converging on a mission. Allowing individuals to escape the region and avoid being caught.
Forty-eight hours. That’s how long I need to endure the torture in silence.
As best as I can estimate, it’s been only three hours.
I shake my head, no longer keeping up the pretence that I don’t speak English.
He lifts the paperweight and brings it down again and again and again, crushing delicate bones in my hand. The faint crunch of my bones and the pain in my hand has me close to vomiting on the desk. Nausea twists and churns in my belly.
“I won’t repeat it,” Christian says. “The names and locations. Now.”
I shake my head once more.
Forty to fifty more hours. I just have to survive that long.
He lifts the paperweight, but instead of hitting my hand, he strikes my temple. Hard.
And I spiral into a world of darkness.
13
JESSICA
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
Tuesday after work,I bike to the grocery store with Bailey in the trailer. Gray clouds hunker in the distance with the promise of an evening storm.
We enter the store.
I grab an empty basket, and we head for the produce section, with me constantly reinforcing Bailey’s positive behavior with treats. I select several ripe peaches and put them in my basket.
As I glance up, I catch a short, gray-haired woman staring at me from the other side of the display. A deep chasm forms between her eyes. She doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me as if Medusa has strolled through the store and turned her to stone, hatred frozen in her expression.
An uneasy feeling settles in my bones and sets up residence in my stomach. I open my mouth to say something. What? I don’t know.
She turns and walks away, glaring at me over her shoulder one last time.
She disappears around the corner—and I get a sinking sensation it’s not Bailey, who’s wearing herService Dog in Trainingvest, the woman has issues with.
She knows.I don’t know who the hell she is, but the reverse isn’t true. She has read Cora’s article, has memorized my picture as if it were an FBI Most Wanted poster.
