“You don’t think she’ll just walk in here and give herself up, do you?”
“I guess that depends on how much you mean to her. You’re going to die, John. Don’t think you can talk your way out of this. The only thing in your control now is how you die. Tell me where I can find her, and I’ll make it quick. Keep playing smart, and your death will be excruciating.”
“You really have no idea who I am, do you. I’ve been tortured by the very best, and you think you’re going to get something out of me?”
“Well, I always did like a challenge. Lay down on your face and …”
He never got out the rest of the sentence as the front door exploded open. Taylor had to give Graf credit, however. The interruption was clear as much of a surprise to Graf as it had been to Taylor and he didn’t hesitate for a second, moving past Taylor before he could reach out and stop him, diving into the open doorway to the living room in front of him.
Two bullets flew past him into the room, missing Graf by a wide margin but effective in pushing the officer out of Taylor’s eye line. Looking behind him, Taylor saw a person in a black, padded leather motorcycle jacket wearing a closed helmet. Even with the bulky leather jacket, Taylor could tell it was a woman.
“Move,” she said, her voice muffled through the helmet and the crack of two more bullets meant to keep Graf undercover.
Taylor didn’t need to be told twice, untwisting himself from the position Graf had him in and pushing himself off the floor. He moved out of the doorway as the woman fired once more and followed at his shoulder. A racing bike sat on the sidewalk in front of Graf’s house.
The woman maneuvered past him and jumped on, leaving Taylor to climb behind her and wrap his arms around her. As soon as he was on, she slammed the bike forward, tearing away from the house, the freighting whiz of a bullet far too close to Taylor’s head for his comfort, telling him that Graf had recovered.
Thankfully, the bike skidded around a corner, and they were out of sight before Graf could take a better-aimed shot at Taylor and his rescuer. They weaved through streets, slowing down enough to not draw attention to themselves after a few blocks, but still taking so many turns that Taylor lost his way.
Eventually, they pulled up to a fairly seedy-looking motel, and the woman turned off the bike. She didn’t say anything to him, sliding off the bike and walking towards the motel door they stopped in front of. She let herself into the room, Taylor following behind her.
Turning to face him, she pulled off the helmet, her shoulder-length brown hair tumbling free, half-covering her face.
Chapter 8
Whitaker dropped her helmet and threw herself at Taylor, her mouth smashing into his. For a long time, they kissed, pouring their worry and love into each other, each clutching the other tightly. Eventually, Whitaker untangled herself from Taylor and stepped back, both stopping to catch their breath.
“What are you doing here?” Whitaker asked.
“What? What do you mean, what am I doing here?” Taylor said, surprised. “You didn’t show up to bail me out?”
“No, I was there to check out Torsten Graf. I just happened to look through the window and saw you two.”
“I’m confused. You just happened to be there right when he was holding a gun on me?”
“Seems you got lucky. I found out Graf was the one who falsified my report and was going to ask him about it. Until I saw you through that window, I didn’t even know you were in Germany.”
“Okay, let's back up because I'm a little lost. First, though, I’m thrilled to see you.”
Taylor stepped forward and kissed her again. Not as long or as passionate as before, but still with meaning, Whitaker returning it with the same amount of heat.
“No kidding, he had you dead to rights.”
“Yeah, but that’s not what I meant. I’ve missed you.”
Whitaker’s mouth drew in a tight light, a range of emotions playing across her face before she said, “Me, too. Now, you go first. What are you doing here?”
“A few days ago, German police contacted Joe Solomon about you, claiming you were wanted as a witness in a murder in Berlin, and that you’d dropped off the radar. Solomon told them about me and our relationship, and Graf requested I come back to Berlin and help them find you. I agreed to come in the hope I could find you first and help since I knew there was no way you’d killed anyone, especially some long-lived relative.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know, and so did Joe. He agreed for me to go for the same reason. I’ve spent the last few days backtracking your investigation in hopes I could figure out where you were going and catch up to you. How’d you figure out Graf was dirty?”
“I didn’t. I found out the case into Frieda’s death had been closed, and the warrant out for me was under a completely different case. Torsten Graf signed off on it, so I was going to have a conversation with him about it.”
“Huh, I didn’t know that. He showed me the case file when I first got here, and it wasn’t closed.”
“It only happened a few days ago. I couldn’t figure out why, since he could have just as easily framed me for Frieda’s murder. The only thing that made sense is that something about the case was a liability, and he needed to get attention away
