Page 76 of Winter’s End

“Kurt, you know that Gerritt will never give up anyone to the Germans – not as long as we –”

“Not as long as we are able to remain hidden.”

She nodded.

Tentatively, he placed a hand over hers. It felt warm and protective. “I love your passion, Zoe,” he said. “And your faith in goodness and right.”

She placed her other hand gently over his.

“But the Reich is relentless,” he whispered. “I fear you are far more confident than I that we can remain out of sight for very long.”

MILA

Minutes passed, each longer than the last. From the shadows of the auto park, she saw flashing lights on the move, no doubt Dutch and German police prowling the streets for the assassin.

Assassin.

She trembled, as much from fear as from the cold. What on earth was she to do if Pieter did not find his way back…?

At long last, she saw a tall, slim figure in a dark overcoat moving slowly toward the auto park. She peered through the night, hardly daring to breathe, until she could be sure.

Pieter.

She moved forward until he saw her and signaled. Glancing around her in the near-empty space, she slipped into the grey Renault.

He looked solemn and spent in the glare of the klieg lights still emanating from the crime scene.

“Godzijdank,” she murmured, wanting to touch him, to embrace him in the joy of knowing he was alive. But she only looked at him and held her hands in her lap.

“So many police, so very fast,” she murmured.

As if he read her mind, Pieter reached for her, an awkward hug hindered by the steering wheel. “I am here, Mila… I am here.”

He touched her face, then straightened. “But I cannot be certain de Boer is dead.”

Mila frowned. “I saw him being lifted into the ambulance…”

“A passerby got in the way of my shot. My aim was less than perfect.”

She blinked. “You think de Boer is still alive?”

“I cannot be sure. But if he is, we may not have another go at him. The Gestapo and their Dutch police accomplices are already on high alert.”

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine sprang to life.

“The pistol…” she asked.

“I have it. A German Mauser with a long and complex history. There is little chance it will ever be traced to the Resistance.”

Pieter looked carefully in all directions before pulling out into the street. “I wanted this kill,” he muttered. “For Daan…”

Mila looked straight ahead. “I know.”

She knew, too, that if de Boer was still alive, neither Pieter nor she would be completely safe.

Flashing red and blue lights still pierced the night air, but Pieter drove cautiously, avoiding main arteries, constantly checking the mirrors.

“What if we stay in Amsterdam?” she ventured.