Chapter 47 | Anna
Kincade had opinions about the ambulance.
Strong ones.
“I am not getting in that thing.”
He had one hand braced against the wall as Ludwig and Ulrich maneuvered the gurney into position. His skin was gray beneath the hall light. Too gray. But I wasn’t going to say that. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, but his glare and bark were fully operational.
The fact he was upright was causing me all sorts of distress. But stubborn as he was, he refused assistance from anyone. Especially from me.
“You are,” I said.
He ignored me. “The unit is retired,” he continued, breath shallow but voice sharp, “the plates are swapped, and if this is your idea of subtle—”
“It is,” Ludwig said. “No one looks twice at an ambulance.”
“I do.”
“That’s because you’re difficult,” Ludwig said.
This was not going well.
“I’m not cargo,” he snapped.
They weren’t kidding when they said he was a terrible patient.
Meanwhile, he was leaning against the wall, one arm pressed against his abdomen. I knew if I offered assistance, I’d get barked at, too. And honestly? I wasn’t up for that right now. So, I stayed put on the other side of the gurney. For now. A safe distance away.
“Technically, you’re a patient,” Ulrich pointed out. He patted the mat of the gurney in invitation.
By the look on Kincade’s face, he’d stand there all day, bleeding to death, rather than suffer the indignity of getting on it and being wheeled out.
He continued to glare at them. “Tell them no, Anna.”
Like I had any control over these two. This was all their idea. I tried to tell them it was the wrong idea. Did they listen? No. Then again, dragging him down four flights of stairs wasn’t an option either.
I took my life in my hands and stepped closer to him. Metaphorically speaking. Though with him, who knew.
“You can walk down four flights of stairs,” I said calmly, “with a stitched gut and internal trauma—”
His eyes cut to me. Sharp. Warning. I held my ground.
“—or you can lie down and let them wheel you out.”
A long beat.
He swayed. My heart stopped for a second.
Ludwig reached out, steadying him. “Easy.”
Kincade exhaled hard, then muttered, “I hate all of you.”
There he was. Still fighting.
“Progress,” Ludwig said cheerfully.
“Besides,” I added, “if you don’t get on the damn thing, I’ll let them sedate you.”
His eyes went muted green with a don’t test me look and I knew I was in dangerous territory. Too bad. I was testing him anyway.
A pause.
“Traitor,” he murmured. But there was no heat in it.
“But your favorite one,” I said.
His mouth twitched.
They eased him onto the gurney. He didn’t fight it but the look on his face said he didn’t love it either. They started the long trek out of the apartment and down the stairs.
I’d already packed everything we owned into two duffel bags and grabbed them, following them out. I paused only a moment to close the door behind me. Goodbye, bloodstained kitchen table. Good riddance.
And I stood there at the top of the stairs wondering if the next safe house would be the last safe house. Or if we’d be running forever.
It was still a few hours before dawn and the air was chilly as I made my way down the stairs. Like the season was about to change. When I’d been taken it was late June. I’d lost track of how many weeks ago that was.
Time had become meaningless. Before Munich. After Munich. That was all that mattered.
Ludwig wore paramedic green like he’d been born in it. Ulrich pushed the gurney with calm efficiency. And Kincade—pale and stitched back together with borrowed time—looked exactly like someone who belonged in the back of an ambulance. Because he did. And that terrified me.
If anyone stopped us now, he’d die. And I wasn’t ready for that.
The ambulance lights washed the concrete and steel building in red and white. There were a few nosy neighbors on their balconies to see what the commotion was about, but largely no one was interested in what we were up to.
When he was in the back, I hopped in. Ludwig closed the doors. And moments later we eased onto the street.
“ETA twelve minutes,” Ludwig said.
“I’d rather be unconscious,” he grumbled.
“Perhaps I should have let them sedate you then,” I said, airily.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I’ve dared a lot of things with you.” I smiled. “You keep getting me into trouble.”
“You’re trouble,” he said. “Not me.”
“I’m regretting the choice of ambulance,” Ludwig said.
Ulrich snickered.
“Drive,” he snapped.
Ludwig did—and the cabin settled into an easy silence. The more distance we put between the Haidhausen safe house, the better. I was ready to be done with that place even though we were only there a short period of time.
His eyes drifted closed. His jaw was tight. And even though he’d never admit it, I could tell he was in some serious pain. I rested my hand on his forearm. Warm. Solid.
“Still here,” he said.
“Good. I’m not done yelling at you yet.” Once he was stable enough to take it.
He gave me a faint smile, eyes still closed. “Can’t wait.”
The ambulance slowed then as it turned down a narrow residential tree-lined street. Houses spaced far enough apart for privacy but yet close enough to signal this was an elite neighborhood. A place where the wealthy counted their money behind ivy-choked stone facades.
I’d seen neighborhoods like this before. The ones where the people kept to themselves, where there were no block parties. Where there were formal dinner parties instead of backyard barbecues.
Ludwig made another turn, tires crunching over gravel instead of asphalt. He drove through two iron gates that were open and waiting, welcoming.
And I got my first glimpse of the new place.
Not a tiny apartment like Istanbul or Haidhausen.
This was a sprawling villa. And I stared at its white-washed walls framed by tall hedges and stone walls.
The kind that didn’t advertise what they protected.
Perfect. We needed invisible. The kind that was nestled into this quiet world in which we absolutely did not belong.
Or we did. We belonged exactly here. Hiding in plain sight among the wealthy and unconcerned.
It didn’t look like a safe house. I suppose that was the point.
No neighbors. No prying eyes.
Space and silence. And enough room to disappear for a while.
I loved it instantly. Before I’d even stepped inside.
Ludwig came to a stop, put it in park. Then the two of them were out, opening the back doors. I grabbed the two duffels and hopped out, standing on the gravel drive and looking up at this monstrous residence that would house the four of us.
“Are we expecting company?” I asked, eyeing the number of windows on the front.
“You never know with us.” Ludwig flashed a wicked grin.
“Welcome to Harlaching,” Ulrich said lightly. “Lots of bedrooms. Courtyard. Park two blocks that way. Shops five minutes by car.”
“Let me off this thing,” Kincade said the second we were inside the door.
“No.” Ludwig ignored him as they continue to wheel him through the house.
The front door closed behind us with a solid, reassuring sound—thick wood, heavy hinges. Inside, the air was cool and faintly scented with stone and citrus cleaner, like the house had been waiting.
The entry opened into a wide hall with pale stone floors worn smooth by time, not neglect. High ceilings. Arched doorways. Light spilling in from somewhere deeper inside the house, warm and golden instead of harsh. It didn’t feel like a fortress.
It felt… lived in. Like someone had cared about this place. Like we could, too.
They wheeled him forward, and the house unfolded around us.
Rooms branching off in quiet confidence, not ostentatious but generous.
A sitting room to the left with low sofas, chairs, and shuttered windows thrown open to the early morning air.
A long dining table to the right, scarred enough to suggest real use.
Beyond that, the courtyard.
I stopped to stare at it through a wide set of glass doors. My breath caught. This was... beautiful. Flagstones, a small fountain murmuring softly, vines climbing the walls. A fig tree in the corner. String lights already strung overhead, unlit but ready.
I hurried to catch up. He was still bitching.
“I can walk,” Kincade snapped.
“You did walk,” Ulrich said mildly. “Earlier. We are not repeating that.”
They kept moving.
I followed, duffels slung over my shoulders, absorbing it all. The way the house seemed to curve inward instead of sprawling, protective rather than exposed. Doors everywhere. Bedrooms, I assumed. Escape routes, probably. Windows that looked out onto a garden instead of a street.
“Ground floor bedroom,” Ludwig said, already steering the gurney toward a wide doorway at the back of the house. “Closest to the courtyard. Less stairs. More light.”
Closest to the courtyard. And excitement lit through me. He’d have light. Air. Space to heal.
“I don’t need—”
“No,” Ulrich and Ludwig said together.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling.
The room itself was simple and perfect. King size bed. White linens. French doors opening directly to the courtyard. A dresser. A reading chair. No sharp corners. No clutter. No feeling of being trapped. He’d need that. We both would.
They stopped. He sat up. They helped him off.
Kincade looked around once, jaw tight, eyes sharp even through the pain.
“This’ll do,” he said grudgingly.
That was the highest praise he gave anything. I’d take it.
I set the duffels down by the wall and stepped closer to the bed, resting a hand on the frame like I needed the contact to make it real.
Since Bagras. Since the server room. Since the blood and the alarms and the running, I thought… I could hide here forever. With him. With these impossible men who’d become something like family.
Even though I knew that wasn’t possible. Nothing ever was. But I’d take what I could get.
“It’ll have to do,” Ludwig said.
“We’ll be here a while,” Ulrich added.
And that was okay by me.
“I’m on first watch,” Ludwig said as he walked out the door.
“I’ve got breakfast.” Ulrich followed him, leaving us alone.