"Until later, Fraulein Vogel," he said.

I nodded and watched him leave.

A few minutes after Paul left, I called for the nurse and asked to be taken to the bathroom. I washed my face and hands, listening to the sound of water outside. When I glanced through the narrow window, I saw a fountain and empty benches ahead. I was on the first floor. I had to go for a walk to see how I might get out. The disinfectant from the floors reeked. I was light-headed and dizzy.

"I wish to go outside now," I said.

The nurse looked at the detectives. The fat one sighed and stood.

"We'll go with her."

Were they here to protect me from Rudolf? More likely they were here to keep me from escaping. I guess it depended on whether they thought I had shot Lieutenant Lehmann or he'd shot himself.

I felt better as soon as we got outside. The air smelled fresh and clean, and a light breeze played on my face. I stood, wondering what to do. And then I saw Boris at the edge of the front hospital lawn, leaning on his automobile. He did look handsome, as Paul had said. He wore a dark-blue three-piece suit with a burgundy tie. He looked every bit the banker.

I walked in his direction, nurse and policemen in tow.

He glanced over when he saw us coming and stood. He took a step toward us, but I turned away from him, and he stopped. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him lean back against the car again.

"Do you see that bird?" I asked the nurse, pointing to a giant fountain next to the street. I watched Boris's head move to follow my pointing finger. I only hoped he could guess that I wanted him to go there. I did not dare speak to him with the policemen around.

"I don't see it, ma'am," she said. "But my eyesight's not so good."

"I am not feeling too strong after all," I said. "Can we go back to my room?"

Sweat soaked my hospital gown by the time I lay back down.

The detectives stationed themselves outside my door again.

"I'll go get your doctor," said the nurse. "You don't look well."

"I'll be fine."

She shook her head. "I'll send your doctor by as soon as he finishes his rounds," she said before closing the door.

I slid out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, carrying a small bundle containing my scarf, my passport, a fifty-mark bill Paul had thoughtfully tucked inside it, and Winnetou. I had to get out before the doctor came. I had no idea how long Boris would wait, if he'd be there at all.

I locked the bathroom door, tossed the bundle through the window, and climbed out myself. Luckily my room was on the first floor. The way the world spun, I would not have made it down any drainpipes.

Wind blew under the thin hospital gown I wore, as I'd had no clothes in my room. I wrapped the green scarf around my shoulders. If Boris was any less clever than I hoped, I'd soon be caught and kept under such close watch that I'd never escape again. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and walked across the grass as if I was supposed to be strolling around the front of the hospital unattended.

Boris waited where I'd pointed, with his motor running. He leaned across and opened the passenger door.

I slid into the front seat and crouched on the floor clutching the bear. Boris's citrus-and-cedar scent filled the air. Comforting, like Christmas.

"This isn't what I thought would happen when the police called me last night." He pulled out into the street without glancing down at me.

"Why did they call you?" My ribs throbbed every time I took a breath, and my head spun.

"You had my card. Remember?" Boris drove calmly and confidently. "I told them I was your banker."

I laughed. "Really?"

"It is not entirely untrue," Boris said, looking down at me.

I climbed onto the seat and wrapped the scarf around myself.

"Are you cold?"

"Just feeling modest."

"In such a fetching frock?" Boris's beautiful lips smiled down at me.

I did not answer.

"Am I breaking you out of police custody?" he asked.

"Aren't you better off not knowing the answer to that, so that you can deny it later?"

"I guess that's my answer."

We drove to his house, a grand manor in Zehlendorf, on Kronprinzen Avenue. We pulled to the back door, and he draped his suit jacket around me. I wondered if it was to keep me warm or to spare the neighbors.

Boris wrapped his arm around my shoulders and helped me through his back door.

"I can walk on my own." I tried to pull away.

Boris did not let go. "If you could see how weak you look, you would save your strength for walking."

I followed his advice because he was so obviously correct. We inched up a flight of marble stairs to a bedroom. A light blue quilt covered an antique four-poster bed. Everything in the room was in perfect order and shone in the sun. Boris was a meticulous man, or a man with a meticulous housekeeper.

"You are as white as chalk." He sat me down on the bed. "Do you need anything?"

I shook my head, fighting waves of nausea. Boris left and returned with a glass of water.

When I could breathe normally again, I glanced at him. He looked worried, but also slightly amused.

"Would you like to tell me why I've broken the law?" He handed me the water.

"You broke no law." I took a sip of cool water, then another. "You picked up a woman next to the hospital."

"A suspect in a murder case, I believe." He took the glass from my hand and set it on his night table.

"Did the police tell you that?" I wondered what he knew.

He shook his head. "They said that you were found, covered in blood, in suspicious circumstances, with a dead man downstairs. They suggested that you had shot him, in self defense, and he wandered down the stairs to die. I have no idea what the truth is."

I pulled his jacket closer around myself, cold.

"I have to say that you are acting very suspiciously," Boris said. "Please tell me that I won't regret my decision."

"I cannot give advice on regret," I answered.

Boris studied me before speaking again. "Why did you need to leave the hospital?"

"I had to get away from the hospital. I am in danger." Even I could hear that I sounded like an actress in a bad movie, so I talked more quickly. "The man who shot me will try again."

Boris raised his eyebrows. "He is not dead then?"

I shook my head. "He is not dead. And I did not shoot the man who was dead, as that is probably your next question. He shot himself."

For a few seconds we sat in silence. "Do you have any clothes I could borrow?" I asked.

He left the room. A few moments he came back and handed me a simple cotton nightdress and a woman's robe. "Here you are. They're from Trudi, but I think they'll fit. I hope they will fit." He smiled his movie-star smile, his eyes twinkling. "I certainly don't want to anger you, if what the police said is true."

I thanked him and locked myself in his luxurious bathroom. The floor was marble, and a footed tub stood in the corner. A large modern mirror with a black border hung over the sink. I looked terrible. My fair skin was paler than usual and drawn tight over my cheekbones. Strangely vacant eyes, a shade too dark, stared at me from the mirror. My fingertips explored a lump on the back of my head. It was the size of a duck egg and had a thin scab running down the middle.

My breasts were smashed flat under a thick band that held a wad of gauze in place against my left side. I looked like a boy. A dirty, bloody boy. I knew it was stupid and vain, but tears trickled down my cheeks.

I'd lost a child who had never been mine to begin with. My brother was dead. A handsome man who had rescued me from police custody without a word waited outside the door, and I looked like a morphine addict freshly released from the hospital after an overdose.

I sat on the toilet seat and cried out my grief and self-pity.

Finally, I stood and washed my hair in the sink. It made me dizzy, but it also felt good to have clean, wet hair. The shampoo smelled rich and luxuriant. It probably cost more than my weekly food budget. After I washed and dressed, I felt better than I had since the shooting.

When I came out I smelled beef broth with onions. I inched down the stairs, clutching the brass railing in an effort to keep the stairs from moving.

"You're looking much better." Boris stood on the checkerboard floor of his tiny kitchen. He wore suit trousers, a white shirt, and an apron. "I made beef tea and toast for you. I wasn't sure what you would be able to keep down."

The broth was wonderful, rich and meaty. I forced myself to sip it. I wanted it to stay down.

While I ate, Boris talked about the weather, his boat, anything but what he most wanted to know.

"Thank you," I said, pushing the bowl aside at last.

"Where's Anton?" he asked, finally.

"With his father." Light from the kitchen window reflected off his thick hair and lit his dark, gold-speckled eyes.

"Is that good?"

I sighed. "Oh, Boris."

He gathered me into his arms and held me while I told him all I dared. I did not mention the ring or the letters or anything about Sarah. He too, wanted to know why I had not gone to the police when I first saw Ernst's picture, and he too, did not believe my answers, but he did not press me.

When I finished, Boris said, "You are a woman of great strength."

I shook my head. "I only do what must be done."

"There is strength in that."

I changed the subject and talked about Anton. How much I missed him. How much he loved Winnetou, the Apache brave in the Karl May stories. How he wanted to be a warrior. When I wound down, Boris said quietly, "He's not your son, Hannah; more's the pity."

"I know."

"He has a father to care for him now. A man of wealth and power."

He sounded like Bettina. "A man who left me to die," I said. "He's been back in Germany for six months, and he was content to leave his son in the care of a woman he knew was a prostitute until it became politically expedient to claim him. He does not love the boy. He might not even be his father."

"Perhaps not. But he has a stronger claim as Anton's father than you do as his mother." Boris took my hand as if I were a small child, but he aroused feelings in me that were not childlike. "And he is not all bad. He bound your wound and left before the police could cause him trouble. Maybe he knew that the police would care for you better than he could. He drove your killer away and he protected the boy. That should count for something."

I felt weary. Not the blinding exhaustion that I'd felt earlier in the day, but an unbearable weariness.

"Let it be, Hannah. It's not your fight." Boris's hand felt warm against mine. "Stay here until you are better. Until Rudolf is found. Then go on with your life."

"What life?" I said. "I have no job. No family. Nothing. No one."

He looked deep into my eyes, and I could tell that he hurt for me. "Not quite no one."

The front door opened and Trudi's voice called out, "Vati, we're home."

Boris took his arms from around me and stood. "Wait here."

I nodded.

Boris walked across the kitchen with quick strides. I heard him talking in a low voice. Trudi's higher voice answered, sounding indignant. A third voice joined in. The housekeeper?

I dropped my head on my arms on the table and drifted off to sleep. The slam of the front door woke me, and I started up, disoriented. My heart pounded. Where was I? Where was Anton? I had to retrieve the ring and the letters.

I stood and stumbled. Boris was suddenly by my side. He caught my arm, as always.

"I think you need to sleep somewhere a bit more comfortable."

"Where's Trudi?" I asked, remembering where I was.

"I sent her to her grandmother's."

Boris helped me up the stairs. He drew back the light quilt for me and helped me climb into bed. I could not remember if anyone had ever helped me go to bed before, even when I was a small child. He tucked me in between his fine linen sheets and kissed my eyelids. "Sleep, Hannah. Let me take care of you, at least for a little while."

I felt the reassuring pressure of his body sitting on the edge of the bed until I fell asleep. It was the best sleep I'd had in years.

28.