But Ulrich’s not listening. He’s staring at the tailored clothes I’m wearing, the black Mercedes-Benz with its passenger door still open, der Mitternachtsjäger arguing with the Trabant driver. His eyes grow cold, suspicious. “Were you in that car?”
“I’ll explain later, we need to go.” Any second Volker’s going to look around and see that I’m gone. This chance won’t come again.
But Ulrich’s not listening to me. “Were you in that car? Answer me!”
He thinks it was me, I realize. That I’ve been working for Volker this whole time and I’m the one who betrayed everyone. “Yes, but I’m not—”
His face transforms into something frightening, this man who was once my friend. “You traitorous bitch,” he snarls. “You Stasi whore. No one’s been able to discover who sold us out, but it was you.”
“I didn’t, I swear—” I try to pull out of the sudden death grip he has on my arms. How could he think I would betray the group like that, and my own father?
“Geh zur Hölle, du Stasi Schlampe.” Go to hell, you Stasi slut. And he wraps his hands around my throat and squeezes. I pull at his wrists, desperate to explain, but he doesn’t care what I have to say. The pain and burning pressure of his hands are intense, making my eyes bulge and the blood thunder in my ears. I can’t breathe, and I can’t look away from his face as I start to choke. Fury blazes from his eyes. He’s demented with it. He’s wrong and I can’t tell him. Why won’t he let me tell him? My nails scrabble at his hands, clawing him in my panic. The world is starting to darken. I’m going to die. I got ten feet away from Volker, I almost managed to escape, and now I’m going to die.
Distantly I hear shouting and Ulrich’s hands are ripped from my throat. I grasp the door jamb, bent double as I drag air into my lungs. I still feel like I’m choking. Through streaming eyes I see figures move in front of me, Ulrich on the ground and Volker standing over him. He takes out his pistol and aims it at Ulrich’s head.
No. I call out but can only make a wheezing sound that Volker doesn’t hear. Pushing away from the door I grab his gun arm, pulling it down. Ulrich will not die for this. He doesn’t understand. A shot rings out, blasting a hole in the pavement.
“Evony!”
Ulrich looks up, sees me grappling with Volker, scrambles to his feet and runs.
“Don’t…hurt him,” I wheeze between coughs.
“Evony, let go.” Volke
r tries to extricate himself from my grip but I cling onto him as hard as I can. Ulrich runs past Volker’s car—and Hans dive-tackles him and they both hit the ground. Ulrich’s head cracks against the bitumen and he groans and lies still.
For the second time in ten minutes an eerie silence falls. The driver of the Trabant is watching me, open-mouthed, the girl with the blood all down her front who just prevented der Mitternachtsjäger from performing his duty.
Volker holsters his gun and gathers me into his arms, his chest heaving. His hands smooth my hair back and his stricken eyes run over my face and raw throat. Then he pulls me closer and his lips are warm against my temple. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
I shudder against him, sucking in uneven breaths. This is Volker I’m pressed against, the man who stole me and kept me prisoner. But in this topsy-turvy world where my friends try to kill me it makes sense that my captor protects me. Noticing how I’m shaking he takes off his coat and wraps it around me, just like that first night when I was so afraid of him. I burrow into the warmth, the familiar scent of him.
When I’m breathing easier he pulls away and leans down a little so he’s looking into my eyes. “Evony. Who is that?”
But I shake my head. I won’t betray Ulrich.
“He’s in custody. I’m going to find out anyway.”
Tears fill my eyes. Of course he will. He’ll take Ulrich to Hohenschönhausen and interrogate him. “His name’s Ulrich Weber. He’s—he’s my father’s closest friend.” I duck my head and swipe at the tears falling down my cheeks, trying to hide my face from the people who are watching us. “I thought he was my friend, too.”
Volker pulls me into his arms again. “Es tut mir leid,” he whispers into my hair. I’m sorry.
I look up at him, perplexed. “Why are you sorry?”
His thumb caresses my cheek, wiping away my tears, and his eyes are bleak. “Because he nearly killed you while I was standing a dozen feet away. You are under my protection and no one should be able to hurt you.”
Volker’s the one I need to be protected from but my arms are wrapped tightly around him and I don’t think I can ever let go. He glances toward Ulrich, who is handcuffed and supported by two policemen; the Volkspolizei have finally arrived. Ulrich’s looking with loathing at me in der Mitternachtsjäger’s arms. I turn away and bury my face in Volker’s shoulder.
“Liebling, I have to go.”
He’s the only thing keeping me afloat. I’ll drown without him. “No, please—”
“Sei ruhig. Hush. It’s all right.” He waves to Hans and the driver walks over to us. “Take Fräulein Dittmar to my apartment and fetch the woman in 12D to sit with her until I return.”
They help me toward a police car and I try to give Volker his coat back. “No, you keep it. Don’t get cold, and don’t let Frau Fischer give you any brandy. It’s not good for shock. Have her make you sweet tea.”
Before he turns away I grasp his arm. “Please don’t hurt him.”