ROOM OF FIRE 42

Chapter 42

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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Reuben still skirted the hub of inner Berlin. Lauren didn't object. They first contacted Geil, who bore news that pleased Reuben immensely. When he hung up at the curbside phone box without allowing Lauren to speak with Carlos, she created a scene with a few chosen words that drew attention from the sidewalk traffic.

He grabbed her wrist until she clenched her teeth at the bruising hold.

"You said I could talk to him," she bit out lowly as the passersby gave them a wide berth.

"We're calling back in an hour." His fingers loosened as he nodded to several of the women passing by. He turned back to Lauren. "You try something like that again and you won't speak to him until we get back. Understand?"

She nodded, but he didn't give her a chance to answer.

"Here. You're to call and leave a message. Don't speak to him."

She frowned at the paper he gave her with Elden's Porsgrunn number. "What am I supposed to say?"

He released her wrist and dug another phone card out of his pocket. "You can't think of anything? Strange relationship you have. Find out why he keeps calling your Göttingen room. Or does he call you everywhere?"

She shrugged. "I can tell you what he wants right now." For a moment she enjoyed the exposed emotion he couldn't conceal. Then the guard fell back into place.

"Yes, bezdushnyi?"

"What does that mean?"

"Don't worry; it's you." He didn't let her take the phone when she reached for it. "What is it he wants from you?"

She sighed and told him about the Andre Cartier plates for Madame Varlette.

He listened, nodding, watching her eyes closely. "That's a lousy lie. Call him and give him the message."

"It's the truth," she mumbled, dialing the number. "I could have made up a better lie than that." When the hotel desk clerk answered, she left the message that she hadn't yet reached the shop Elden had suggested. She hung up and raised an eyebrow. "Satisfied?"

Reuben turned her down the street, her elbow tight in his grasp, but this time not crushingly.

They found a breakfast café and ordered drachenas with tomatoes. Reuben demanded they eat inside despite the empty sidewalk tables and Lauren's attempts at persuasion.

She watched him eat little, choosing aspirins and strong coffee over the omelet and various pastries and bagels. She volleyed between hating him and a tempered empathy that tore at her. She hadn't forgotten he was doing everything in his power to pirate away what was their acquisition—and succeeding at it—but the initial attraction she'd felt at the chateau was still somewhat intact. Not flourishing, she judged, but not extinct. And she couldn't figure out why.

There was also the sheer humanity of the ordeal. Reuben hadn't eaten enough and could barely keep down what he had. He was in no condition to face another round with Rybak, should one arise.

That the Polish mercenary was in any shape to be picking fights was doubtful. Lauren had witnessed the first intersection of the crowbar and Rybak's face. There couldn't be much of it left—perhaps no recognizable eyes. However, he had been on his feet the last she saw of him and that had to mean something.