Blissful in Berlin (Passport to Love)

1. Harper

Chapter 1

Harper

I look down at my phone again. Twenty minutes late is forgivable, but two hours late? That’s another thing.

I check my messages.

Nothing.

I go into my email.

Nothing.

I look for a missed voicemail.

Nothing.

My heart starts to speed up and that’s not a great thing. I came here to chill out. To remember that I’m alive and I’m a survivor. After having a heart attack at thirty-three, I know they aren’t for the faint of heart… literally . Only 16.9 out of 100,000 people my age have one. Guess I should consider myself one-in-a-million, but it doesn’t seem like great odds either way.

Just plain bad luck seems to follow me around and now it’s caught up to me in Berlin, Germany, of all places.

The travel company looked legit online.

I checked their credentials and reviews.

But I forgot one thing… crooks don’t care about credentials or reviews. Easily faked. Easily conned. I’ve been fooled before, so shame on me. Maybe I’m na?ve and look like an easy target. I have trusted too easily in the past.

I only see two options: chin up, stay, and make the best of it or go home. But home has memories that are almost as crappy as being alone in a foreign country. I wander down Unter den Linden , contemplating if my credit card has enough balance to even cover an unplanned plane ticket home.

The good thing is I know people in this country, and they know what I’m going through and my friend Ella Weston —previously Smith— has been on speed dial since I landed.

I pull out my phone.

“Harper? What’s wrong?!” she answers before my side even rings.

“Why would you think that something’s wrong?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I said, ‘Call me whenever!’ and you said, and I quote, ‘Enjoy that baby and I’ll only call you if something’s wrong.’”

She has me there.

“Well, the tour company I hired for my whirlwind trip of Berlin seems to have taken a trip with my money.”

“Oh, Harper. I’ll see if McCabe can get a day leave and come get you.”

“No… don’t do that. I… I just want to feel like someone has my back and that I’m not alone.”

“Do you want to come here?”

I consider the offer for a few moments. I would love to see Ella and their new baby Raye. She was a fellow therapist at Namaste Well, a whole person focused wellness center where I still work. She’s moved on to a bigger and better assignment— being a mom.

“I’m okay.”

“Anything I can do for you?”

“Just be here if I need a friend to talk to.” That is the one thing I need right now.

I took this trip as a “you made it back from death” gift to myself. Am I willing to say to fate that I give up? I didn’t give up when the EMTs were saying, “Stay with me. Don’t you leave us,” and I didn’t give up when the emergency room doc said, “Don’t you go anywhere. We’re going to get through this.”

I fought.

I am a fighter.

I’m a person who seizes the day.

Nutze den Tag, as the Germans might say.

It’s not about what has happened. It’s about how I react to what’s happened and how I handle what happened.

Badass.

Hero of my own story.

Super Harper.

I groan. Now I’m even annoying myself in my head.

“I’m excited,” I say it with conviction. “It’s an adventure!”

There’s nothing from the other end of the phone and I pull it back to see if Ella’s still there.

“Ella?”

“That’s the Harper that I know. You’ll have so much fun that you’ll never want to go back to Colorado. Schnitzel, sauerkraut, and beer and singing German drinking songs. You’ll fit right in.”

“Thank you, Ella. I really needed that.”

“Thank yourself, you’re the badass, hero of your own story, super Harper.”

My mouth drops open in shock. I whisper, “Did I say that out loud?”

She laughs. “Yes, but it was adorable, and you’re not wrong.”

I sigh, tension releasing from my shoulders. “I’m going to go find a cheap but safe hotel or hostel, and I’m going to make the best of this situation.”

“I’m going to text you our address, if you need to come here?—”

“I will.”

“Go get ‘em, Super Harper.”

On that send off, I hang up, stand up and shake away every ounce of fear. Well, there’s a little, but that’s a good thing, right?

I hope.

Bastian

I walk out of the police headquarters. Another day of teaching the Bundespolizei —federal police— what I know. But I don’t tell them every thing I know.

A man’s gotta have his secrets.

My life might look damn good from the outside, but on the inside, it’s a twirling mess. Lost? Unfulfilled? Unchallenged? All fit and none are good.

I’m “rehabilitated,” so they say. “They,” being the law system.

Reformed from stealing to save my family when all we really needed was a little assistance and not judgment or jail time.

My father died when I was thirteen. It’s been… over twenty years. Shit, doesn’t seem that long.

And for two-years my mother cried every day after coming home after work and crawling into bed, until one day she just didn’t get out of bed. She was destroyed. And that’s when I told myself that finding someone and falling wasn’t worth it. The hurt I saw in her was volcanic. It tore her apart and the fall out ash and lava covered us all.

So I stepped up and I started my career as a pickpocket. Sure, many would say “Career? Pfft, right! That’s not a career!” with a shake of their head and roll of their eyes. But when a person hasn’t eaten for a few days, with two brothers crying from hunger, it’s not a choice. It’s essential. It’s necessary. And it’s a means to an end.

I went for fifteen years without getting caught. Got my brothers through school and off on their own and my mother back on her feet so she was at least able to smile and take a shower daily. Paid all her bills and mine. And then I got cocky. I started being dangerous with my targets.

And I got caught. Cuffs. Hauled in. The whole shebang, without much fanfare.

But apparently, the Bundespolizei wanted my knowledge more than they wanted me in jail. Someone to teach them the ins and outs of pickpocketing. They’d watched me for years. I was “the best,” they said. Which should’ve been a boost to my ego, but the best shouldn’t get caught.

And they never asked me why I was a pickpocket. They never wanted to know that part to fix it. No one ever does.

It was jail or become part of the “prevention” system. I found myself torn.

But the money was too good to pass up. It was a chance for me to step into reality and out of this protective bubble I’d built around myself.

And yet, that bubble remains to protect the most vulnerable part of me.

I still. A woman, fine as Qing Dynasty Porcelain china and that goes for upwards of eighty million for a piece, approaches. She puts the beauty of the ancient craftsmanship to shame.

She’s mumbling something as she passes.

Super Harper?

Americans are known for having their quirks and oddities, and when they’re tourists they’re known for even more bizarre behavior. And that’s what can get them into…

Oh Schei?e!

Dieter Bauer steps from behind the building, giving me a nod her way. He’s got talents, and although he’s not as good as me, he’s faster than me. I’m not the police, even if I work for them, so I rarely step in. I see it more as a survival of the fittest.

And if she’s taken precautions…

Her bag is partially open. Double Schei?e.

I leave my place from leaning back against the building like I have no cares. You’d think that something like this wouldn’t happen outside of the police station, but that’s where police officers are not focused on crime. They’re focused on getting paperwork done and going home to their families or out for a drink with a friend. They’ll look past almost anything to get off duty.

And normally… normally , I might too.

But this woman, with her sunshine, golden hair, pink lips, and seductively round hips, isn’t going to be a victim today.

Not if I can help it.