Saving Amelie Read Online Free PDF Page A

rhetoric, even for the mad scientist. He didn’t appear the pompous, driven man Jason had shadowed in New York City. So what’s changed?
    Peterson nudged him. “You’re not the only vulture circling.” He nodded toward Kramer’s daughter, who seemed to be trying to capture her father’s attention. “Why not try the circuitous route?”
    Rachel Kramer wasn’t his first choice. Jason doubted she was privy to her father’s research or the alliance between the Eugenics Research Association and the Third Reich. He’d checked her out for just that purpose back in New York but had been convinced she had her head buried in modern theatre. He reconsidered now, giving her the once-over, head to toe—all business. Then he did it again—pure pleasure. She just might be a link to the great doctor off court.
    He swallowed. That was an excuse, and he knew it. It wouldn’t do to get distracted. Beautiful women had a way of doing that. Still, it was worth a try. He stepped closer and opened his mouth to speak.
    “Rachel.” A black dress SS uniform muscled between them, pulling her from the group. “I must speak with you.”
    But she turned on the German. “I don’t wish to speak with you. Take your hands off me.”
    “Please, my dear, let’s not make a scene. Consider your father.” The SS uniform leaned closer, wrapped his arm around her, but she struggled against him.
    “We’re on.” Jason elbowed Peterson and pocketed his notepad and pencil, picked up a glass of champagne from the nearest place setting, and slammed into the SS officer. “ Entschuldigung , Herr Sturmbannführer. My fault entirely.”
    “You imbecile!” the officer exploded, releasing Rachel.
    “You’re absolutely right; I’m a clumsy oaf. Here—” Jason grabbed a linen napkin, dramatically sopping the man’s arm—“let’s clean you up.”
    “Get away from me, you Dummkopf !”
    “Now, now.” Peterson stepped between the two, steering the officer away. “There’s no need to get riled. International relations and such. Simple mistake. How about I get your photograph for the newspaper? What was your name again?”
    Jason just as smoothly cupped Rachel’s elbow. “Would you care to dance, Miss Kramer? Give this homesick American a Berlin memory?”
    Clearly relieved, Rachel stepped onto the dance floor. “Thank you. That was—”
    “Uncomfortable,” Jason finished. He took her hand, twirled her twice, then pulled her closer than necessary into a fox-trot. “Damsel in distress from the nasty Nazis and all that.”
    Rachel laughed, pulling back slightly. “Precisely. And who is this chivalrous Yank I must thank?”
    “Sir Jason, at your service.” He mocked a bow.
    She mocked a curtsy, smiling warmly. Jason felt his blood race.
    “Well, Sir Jason, what brings you to Berlin? It’s not exactly tourist season in the nation’s capital, is it?”
    “Hardly.” Jason took a half box turn to keep Peterson and the uniform in his peripheral vision. “First big gala assignment in the new regime.”
    “You’re a foreign correspondent?”
    He felt her tense. Jason laughed. “From your mouth to my editor’s ears! Confidentially—” he twirled her again—“I’m guessing he’s laying ten to one that I’ll fall flat on my face before the New Year, get kicked out of the country by the Gestapo, and be back on NY’s city beat before you can catch a cat’s meow.”
    “You’re that bad?”
    He grimaced. “Do you always say exactly what you mean?”
    Now she laughed. “I hope so. I don’t have a journalist’s gift for flattery.”
    “You give me too much credit.” He dipped her once.
    “And you’re a flamboyant dancer!”
    “Not so staid and serious as your German uniform?” He grinned, though he caught the uniform’s glare from across the room.
    She shuddered—enough that he felt it through her evening gown.
    “So, who is the creep?”
    “The husband of an old friend—who’s acting like neither.”
    “Check. Do