“He must like chamois.” “That’s not funny, Major,” she replied sternly, but beneath her schoolmarm’s tone, he detected an impish humor.
They swayed with the music for several bars, growing more comfortable with one another. When the musicians went to the bridge and the tempo quickened, Judge even dared a modest spin. Ingrid responded to his direction perfectly, releasing his hand, turning beneath his outstretched arm, then returning to him with the primmest of smiles.
Judge quickly looked away, aware he was enjoying himself more than circumstances allowed. But a second later, he put his lips to her ear, speaking softly. “I asked for this dance so that I might apologize again for disturbing your father this morning. I should have taken your word about the severity of his illness. I’m sorry.”
Ingrid bowed her head. “Apology accepted, but I’m still curious why you thought I’d know where Erich Seyss was?”
“Even the smartest criminals head for their wives or girlfriends when they’re being pursued. Most know we’re keeping an eye on their loved ones, but they can’t help it. I guess they realize that eventually they’re going to be caught or killed, so they’re willing to risk a final goodbye.” He didn’t want to say he had no other place to look.
“I would have thought he’d left the country. Show up in a month or two on one of those U-boats that keep surfacing in South America.”
“Not a bad guess, except that we saw him Wednesday morning in Munich.”
“You saw Erich?” It was impossible not to hear the distress in her voice.
“I ran into him at his home. If things had turned out differently, I wouldn’t have had occasion to visit Sonnenbrucke.” He shrugged to show it was his fault that Seyss had escaped. “You wouldn’t have any idea why he’d go there?”
“To see his father?” Ingrid offered. “Why do any of us go home?”
“No, the house was a wreck. Abandoned. I was just thinking that if he’d risk going there, he might risk coming to see you.”
“That I doubt, Major.”
“Sure he’s not cuddled up in one of your bedrooms? Admiring your collection of Dresden?” Ingrid was his last connection to Seyss; only reluctantly would he give up on her.
“No, Major. He is not.” Her iron gaze ended all further inquiry.
Just then, the crowd closed in around them, as if drawing a collective breath, and Judge found himself cheek to cheek with Ingrid Bach. He smiled awkwardly, trying to say this wasn’t his idea, but the smile did little to slow his racing heart. To his surprise, she smiled, too, lifting her delicate chin to rest above his shoulder. The smell of her perfume, the nearness of her arctic blonde hair, the pressure of her lithe body — after two years without a woman, it was too much to bear. Desire flushed his body, a fever so overwhelming as to become almost palpable. It gripped him; it suffocated him; it sent a charge of electricity racing from the balls of his feet to the roots of his hair. Unconsciously, his hands tightened their grip around her firm waist. And that wasn’t the only part of him constricting with desire. With a start, he realized he was fully aroused. In “a state of sin”, Francis would have said with a chuckle. Dancing closely to him, Ingrid had to have noticed. Delicately, he arched his back to ease the pressure of his body against hers, but it was impossible. The crush of dancers was simply too much.
The music slowed and the horns held the last note for several bars. Judge quickly dropped her hands and applauded. “Thank you for the turn around the floor. I enjoyed it.”
Ingrid responded with graceful politesse. “The pleasure was mine. You’re a fine dancer, Major.”
Staring into her eyes, Judge had a desperate urge to wrap his arms around her and kiss her full on the lips. He felt his head moving towards hers, his body drawing near. Catching himself at the last moment, he averted his gaze and pulled up, instantly shamed and embarrassed by his unharnessed cupidity. “Goodnight, then,” he stammered, taking a plodding step backwards.
“Goodnight,” she said softly, then turned and vanished into the crowd. Judge looked around him, expecting to see Carswell plowing towards them, steam spitting from his ears. But the general was nowhere in sight. Judge hit the bar and ordered another scotch. He felt panicked, as if he’d just avoided being hit by a car. Welcoming the drink, he knocked it back in a single motion. What a mess! Deny it or not, he, a United States attorney, an officer in his country’s army, was very much attracted to the daughter of one of Germany’s most notorious war criminals, the one-time fiancée of the man he was hunting. Part of him bowed to an onslaught of guilt, but part of him refused, and he knew it was the spell her physical presence had cast on him.Wait till tomorrow, he told himself.This whole thing will have worn off. Somehow he wasn’t reassured.
Momentarily, he became aware of a commotion at the rear of the building. GIs and civilians were dashing up the stairs and forming a vibrant, boisterous throng. The crowd was congregated around the dormer windows that looked over the hardscrabble parking lot at the rear of the club. He heard shouts of “Put it down,” “Go home, Fritz,” and “Get out while you can.”
Judge ran up the stairs and pushed his way through the crowd. He was surprised to find the mood jovial, GIs standing on their tiptoes asking each other, “what do you see?” with undisguised prurience. Maybe a fellow had been caught with afraulein in flagrante in his Jeep, he wondered, and his buddies were giving him a little ribbing.
A gunshot exploded not twenty feet away and someone said, “You missed, General. Try again.”
Maybe not, thought Judge, smelling the powder even before the laughter erupted. Knifing ahead, he could see the pistol’s silhouette, a ribbon of smoke drifting from its muzzle.
“What’s going on?” he asked a wildly grinning GI.
“General’s gonna bag him a Kraut.”
“What?” It was hard to hear over the raucous buzz.
“Dumb German sumbitch trying to steal a spare tire from the General’s Jeep,” said the GI. “Won’t stop even though we’re yelling at him.”
Judge pushed the man aside and looked out the nearest window. In the parking lot, a man was working valiantly to pry lose the spare tire from the rear of the Jeep. He didn’t seem to be taking any note of the catcalls and warnings directed his way. Or the gunfire.
Judge looked to his right. Separated by a cordon of soldiers, General Leslie Carswell steadied his arm on the window pane and fired another shot.
“Stop!” yelled Judge, even as a cheer went up. Looking out the window, he saw that the would-be thief had fallen to the ground. He wasn’t dead, just wounded. Raising himself to one knee, he dragged himself across the parking lot.
“Take another crack at him, General,” urged a southern voice. “Some hot lead would do the boy good.”
Smiling madly, Carswell braced his arm and took aim out the window. “Just you watch, son.”
“Don’t shoot,” shouted Judge. “Can’t you see the man is injured?”
Carswell turned towards Judge’s voice, and recognizing him, said, “This is a frontier, dammit, and that Kraut is gonna get himself a dose of frontier justice.” He nodded at a heavyset sergeant in sweat-soaked khakis next to him, then pointed the gun at Judge. “Get that man out of here. He’s a menace.”
The brawny soldier rustled through the crowd, laying an arm on Judge’s shoulder. “Get lost, Major.”
Judge grabbed the man’s tunic and delivered a solid uppercut to his chin, sending the sergeant to the floor. If this was a frontier, he’d make his own law. A corporal half his size jumped into his place and slugged Judge in the stomach, but Judge was too riled to feel anything. The kid from Brooklyn was alive and well and looking to bust anybody’s mug who got in his way. He stutter-stepped, then brought his forehead down on the corporal’s nose, breaking it and sending the man to the floor.