ROOM OF FIRE 37

Chapter 37

The Amber Room, 1715

If you’re just joining this story, you may want to start from the beginning.

This story follows the first in Jenn’s Rediscovered series, Last Assault on Oak Island.

Onward with the search for the Amber Room. . .

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The phone calls had replaced Lauren's hunger with other thoughts. Her appetite returned when she sat with Reuben in the Gastestätte fifteen minutes later. Most of the sausage she had eaten in the last few days had been with a bun or kraut so she was surprised to see the form Reuben ordered at the nearby café.

"It's sweetened ginger sauce," he explained when she dubiously viewed the plate. "You'll like it."

She sampled the kielbasa in the sauce, begrudgingly admitting it was good. He had given her five minutes in the ladies room while he sat at the bar close by, watching the door, and the quick break was enough to make her feel more presentable.

She also did some thinking along the line she had abandoned the night before. After all, honey caught more flies than vinegar.

She couldn't bring herself to do honey. Not quite. "It is good," she admitted. "Different."

"It's not typically German. Polish, I believe."

She found the beer especially bitter after the sweetness of the ginger sauce. "Rybak doesn't seem to be hanging around."

"You lost him, but he'll make an appearance soon. He always does."

She watched him eat for a moment, wishing she could remember more of Drew's hints at ingratiating femininity. "Reuben," she said slowly, "do you ever operate legally? No hostages, or Geil or—"

"Now wait a minute," he said abruptly, lowering his voice when two older men at the counter looked their way. "It's not my habit to take hostages. I never have before. As for Geil, we've worked together two or three times. He has a punk attitude I despise. A little too vicious."

This alarmed her, but he interrupted before she could speak. "I haven't had that problem with him myself, Lauren," he said gravely. "He usually runs with the Hamburg and Berlin crowds. A harder group. Senseless. But he can follow orders, and his orders are not to harm Carlos Sheldon unless I tell him to."

"Is that a comfort?" This honey business was leaving a bad taste in her mouth. Vinegar would be better.

"It should be." He sighed. "I don't know how else to say it, Lauren."

For an unexplainable reason she wanted to ask a million questions. She also wanted to believe his answers. "What about Salzburg? Were you legal with Fredericks?"

He shrugged as the waitress brought more bread and curly noodles to their table and left. "As legal as you and Dr. Sheldon. I offered him money for the amber and he took it."

She couldn't fault the account. "What about after this is all over?"

He frowned. "You're not talking about lunch."

"Dammit, no, Reuben." She took a deep breath, her fork toying with a ginger-drenched bite of sausage on her plate. "After we deliver the mine crates and have possession of Gustalav's. What then?"

His gaze dropped to his plate as he ladled a helping of noodles onto his plate. "We all go home."

"You mean you do."

He met her direct gaze steadily now. "I mean you and Dr. Sheldon go back to the States, or on to wherever you prefer, Geil goes back to wild Hamburg, and I deliver the amber to my client."

She took a shaky drink of the beer. "I'd like to believe that."

"You can. It's true." He sat back, considering her uneasiness. "Unless you know of another partial."

She finished the beer. "Only the copal blanks in Vienna." She shook her head when he waved to the waitress for a refill.

"Gudhoff."

She nodded.

He sighed. "This was my last resort, Lauren."

The desperation in his tone held her attention.

"When I couldn't deliver the acquisition from Fredericks, my client threatened to remove a few of my primary body parts. I'd rather not see that happen." He paused, undecided. When he continued, some of the defeat in his voice was absent. "You had Lewkowicz's panels and were on your way to investigate another possible lead. Gustalav refused to negotiate with me. I'm not happy about this course, either."

She had watched his eyes as he spoke. Dark, deep, clear. Earnest. Unlike a liar. Not the masked eyes she had seen on him at other times. "You've got the mine amber, Reuben," she said quietly. "Leave us the Duke's."

He sighed, shaking his head.

"Why not? You'll satisfy the agreement with your client and—"

"That's not the way it's going to happen." He abruptly stood, found his wallet, and put four notes on the table. "Are you finished?"