April 20, 1942

It was nearing the time Nicolas had specified for her to be ready. She did one last turn in the mirror to admire her reflection. There was no entourage of stylists to fawn over her this time. No professionals dabbing coral on her cheeks and shimmer over her lids. She'd refused the colonel's offer, and opted instead to privately enjoy what could well be her last night in Paris. The thought crossed her mind briefly that it could be her last night alive as well, but she quickly shook it away. It was always a risk in her line of work. Always. It made no difference, and if it did truly bother her she told herself she should have never signed on.

Smiling solemnly to herself she smoothed down the front of her gown just as the doorbell echoed throughout the mansion. If she was going to die, she was going to die in red satin that clung to her body like a formfitting glove. A crimson cascade of fabric. It was her color. A sweetheart neckline complimented her prominent bust in a way that would demand attention. She had painted her lips red, the poison clinging to her heart shaped mouth dangerously. She swallowed the pill that kept her from undergoing its toxic effects, but she had to be careful.

Genevieve clicked her tall black heels down the staircase and opened the front door expecting to see the colonel standing there with flowers or some other sort of gift. Instead, she was somewhat taken aback to see a man in a charcoal suit waiting on her porch. "Bonjour," she said skeptically. "May I help you?"

The man cocked his head to the side curiously, not responding right away. She opened her mouth to ask again, but he beat her to it. "I am here to escort you to Colonel Nicolas Roemheld's private residence. My name is Hans." That explained it. He was German. Likely he hadn't understood a word she had said in French.

She offered a compassionate countenance to show him that she understood his lack of knowledge with her language. "I see. I was expecting the colonel himself. Forgive me, for being rude." She dipped her head lowly.

"He had some business that required his immediate attention, but he promises he will meet you at his home promptly," the German assured her as he opened the door to the backseat. Genevieve nodded, opting for a quiet ride rather than conversation.

It wasn't a long ride by any means, which explained how the colonel made trips to visit her so often. He lived just outside of the city lights, on the opposite side of the hill. If she had a fire burning in her stove, he would have easily been able to see the plumes of smoke rising up. The thought unnerved her. She hadn't smuggled any Jews since the Nazis began searching her home, but still. She didn't like how close he had been all this time. It felt intrusive, nerve wracking.

Hans pulled alongside the curb in front of a tall townhouse nestled in a row of homes, each looking less appealing than the first. The townhouse that Hans walked her to the door of, however, was pristine. The robin's egg paint wasn't peeling like the others. On the contrary, it appeared to have recently been touched up when put in comparison with the shambles of faded periwinkle homes with weather worn windows and doors. The front door on the townhouse had been painted a blinding white without a smidgen of dirt on it. It was exactly what she would have expected the home he commandeered to look like. Clean and orderly. No time or tolerance for anything less.

Hans opened the door, without knocking, and lead her inside to the lounge room. "Colonel Roemheld will be with you shortly," he said, stepping back and sliding the doors shut.

Genevieve looked around the room. It was quaint, moreover charmingly minimal for someone as extravagant as the colonel, but it suited him nonetheless. A single bookshelf was pressed against the back wall. The spines all facing her with French titles. She sucked in a breath, realizing none of them belonged to him and wondering what poor soul had to die so he could prop his feet up on the sandy beige ottoman in front of the fireplace. She let her fingers dance over the books, finding familiar titles, and a few she filed within her memory to read should she ever get the opportunity to feel the tranquil sensation of a new book in her hands again.

The chair in front of the fire was inviting, velvet, and vacant. She propped her heels up, resting her aching feet and patting her purse that held the poison. "Lovely little hovel, isn't it?" She didn't know how the colonel had managed to open the doors without so much as a squeak, but she kept her composure, standing slowly to her feet. The hovel was once someone's home.

"Quite," she agreed through pursed lips as she met his eyes. The color had returned to them. A light that had been extinguished just nights prior to leave an endless gray sky in place of his piercing blue eyes. He was resuming the act of the kind and gentle officer, all traces of the evil being kept at bay for the present.

His eyes scanned over her in the tight fitting dress. Her hair was done to perfection that left her white blonde waves down her back. "You look absolutely breathtaking. I find myself being to envy of the party once more," he complimented sincerely, coaxing a bit of pink to enter her cheeks.

"Merci beaucoup." She tucked some hair behind her ear as he approached.

"Apologies for being late. I was needed at headquarters." He moved around her, like a predator, lifting the curl she had placed behind her ear. "Can I offer you a drink?"

"Please." She walked around the oval oak coffee table to where he stood near the bar. A small, sleek, onyx counter with six decanters of alochol. The liquid inside ranged from pale gold to a deep, rich amber. He lifted the cubes of ice from a glass container and gestured to her to see if she wanted any. "Neat," she ordered and he smirked, setting the ice back and pouring her a small glass.

He seemed to be taking his time, slowly walking around the counter to hand her the beverage. She sipped it quietly, tasting the familiar burn of brandy and letting it glide over her tongue. "Should we be going soon?" she queried, glancing up from below her thick lashes.

The colonel hadn't touched his drink. He was still holding the half full glass in his hands, watching her with an acute fascination that suddenly made her want to vomit up the liquor to be on the safe side. "Is something wrong?" She set her glass down, watching him carefully. There were so many poisons in existence that she would have never smelled, never tasted, and her mind buzzed with the idea.

He shook his head with a smile. "Not at all. Just enjoying your company before I have to share you with the vultures at the party." He sipped from his glass, calming her nerves a bit.

She returned his grin and finished off her brandy with one big gulp, setting the glass down with a soft tinkling sound. "Can I freshen up before we leave?" She took a few steps towards the door.

"Of course." He took her arm and lead her through the house. Pictures of a family that didn't belong to him decorated the halls. A mother, a father, and two children that could pass for either boys or girls with their She wondered if it had been quick. Wondered if they were spared torture, or if they were starving to death somewhere while a unit of Germans laughed at them. She'd seen the naked, festering, skeletal corpses of the Jews they neglected to provide for. She'd seen the ghostly remains being chucked unceremoniously into trenches. She was glad she had never encountered the colonel during one of her watches before the placement. If she had, she didn't think she could be in his presence without vomiting.

"I haven't had the chance to redecorate, I'm sure you've noticed. As colonel, I was given some of the first choices on where to set up upon our occupation." He stopped outside of a white door. "The owners of this home were Jewish, so naturally I jumped at the opportunity. It gave me a chance to study them from their very home. Very insightful." She bit the inside of her cheek at his comment. He had taken the home from a Jewish family. "Close to the city, but far enough away that I can get away to think in peace and quiet. An excellent place to live, wouldn't you agree?"

"Absolutely," she answered automatically.

"Hmm," Nicolas hummed, looking her over. His eyes flickered down to her lips as if he wanted to kiss her, but stopped himself. "I'll be in the lounge. Let me know when you're ready to leave."

She nodded, slipping inside the large bathroom. Like the rest of the home, it was spot cleaned and shades of blue with white accents. The family that lived there prior to the occupation had impeccable taste. The thought only fueled her hatred for the Nazis and drove her to dump the contents of her purse onto the counter. The red lipstick shined in the artificial light and she touched up the poison with a delicate hand. A toothy grin broke out over her face when she caught sight of her reflection in the golden framed mirror over the sink. She ran her tongue over her teeth, tasting the poison that would be the Nazis' undoing within the next few hours. The thought excited her. The image of them choking and gagging on their own vomit made her tingle with a profound sense of ecstasy that not even sex rivaled.

Zipping up her purse she swiveled and turned the cold knob. The colonel was sitting on the chair in front of the fire finishing off his glass of brandy, swirling the last remnants around with a contemplative look on his face. She noted the slight bronze stubble over his cheeks and chin, giving him a more aged appearance. One that told silent tales of his stress and lack of time for self care.

"Ready?" he asked, without looking up at her.

"Oui."

He stood up, setting the glass down, and smoothing down his gray dress uniform. The medals pinned to his breast pockets jingled boastfully. "After you." He gestured for her to walk out first.

Genevieve made her way to the door, waiting for him to open it for her, and then held his arm down the steps to his parked Mercedes. She shivered slightly in the evening breeze. Nicolas shed his thick black coat and pulled it around her trembling shoulders. The gesture both delighted and revolted her. The chill was gone, but she felt wrong being draped in a Nazi jacket. "Merci," she thanked cautiously.

He opened the car door and she let out a sigh of relief that she had made it that far. For a moment, she could have sworn he had poisoned her drink. Her tongue ran behind her lips, recalling the sour taste of the poison she herself had painted on. It would all be over soon.

She stole a glance at the colonel while he drove her down the quiet streets of Paris. Soon. She clung to that thought.

Though the curfew was set for ten, there were many houses already darkened for the night and no one was out walking around. It was dangerous to be out late, before or after curfew. "The Führer took a liking to you." He broke the silence.

"I couldn't tell," she quipped, recalling his lingering kisses to her hand.

Nicolas beamed, keeping his eyes on the road. "He personally came to me earlier today to ask if I would be bringing you to his birthday. He was delighted to know you would be in attendance." His eyes were swirls of midnight in the dark, and she desperately wished she could glimpse their true color. The cold and steely ones that let her know he was the infamous Colonel Nicolas Roemheld of Hitler's prestigious protection squad, or the dazzling pacific blues that affected her so profoundly. "Part of me thinks if I hadn't informed him of your invitation that he would have taken you himself," he added to her disgust. It was meant to be light, judging by the small chuckle that shook his shoulders, but she found the notion repulsive. Mission or not.

On the bright side, if he was so enraptured with her it made her job all the easier. "I'm flattered." It wasn't a compete lie.

"You should be. To my knowledge he hasn't inquired about any of the other guests." Of course not. The order had designed her to be the woman she was. Beautiful, blonde, thin with full hips, promiscuous, everything that the colonel and Germany's leader would fall for. It was unfolding perfectly.

She thrummed her painted nails on her lap for the remainder of the ride. Nicolas pulled in front of the venue and her breath hitched. It wasn't any of the three she had pitched at the meeting. He had driven her straight to the Eiffel tower. It appeared that Hitler's paranoia had paid off, securing a last minute venue for his party. Though, she didn't think for a moment that it was difficult. Not when every French man and woman in the northern half of the country wet themselves at the sound of his name. It was lit up beautifully in the dark and already there were guests pouring in. At least she had correctly assumed there would be a large number of German soldiers in attendance. She could only hope and pray that her comrades had figured out the destination before she had, and hopefully had agents in place.

Her prayers were answered when Emmanuel came to the door to let her out. "Good evening, mademoiselle, welcome to the Eiffel tower."

"Merci beaucoup," she greeted with relief. Nicolas came around and swiftly took her steady hand in his, leading her away from the agent and into the crowded entryway. "I've never been in here before," she admitted, and it was true. Her career didn't leave much time for exploring landmarks.

"Then I'm pleased to give you a tour." He smirked, leading her around the groups already heavily into their drinks and conversations. A few people shouted distant salutations to him as he passed, but they were altogether ignored to her surprise. "The restrooms are around that corner." He pointed to the left where a large sign hung from the ceiling. "Would you like to see the top?" Her heart began to be at a quicker pace.

"We should show face first, don't you agree? The others may talk of our absence and make assumptions," she reasoned, though she would have given anything to be able to see the top of the tower's view.

Nicolas chuckled. "Of course." There was a slight hint of disappointment, but he hid it well enough.

"Colonel Roemheld!" They both spun in the direction of the call and she felt the air leave her lungs. Himmler. She had only seen him in grainy black and white pictures. They did him little justice. He was just as despicable as Hitler, the evil glowing within him in an aura of black. He peered at her from behind his glasses in an irksomely proud manner.

The colonel snapped to attention, hands straight at his sides. Genevieve only gawked, straining the muscles in her jaw to keep her mouth from falling open. This was Hitler's second man. The man who commanded the SS, one of the most powerful men in Germany, the controller of the camps where so many poor souls had be sentenced to death and maiming. She wanted him. She wanted to find an excuse to be alone with him and watch him die slowly. "Reichsfuhrer Himmler," he acknowledged formally.

"Calm down, Nic, this isn't a formal affair. This is a party!" He clapped him on the back. Genevieve gulped quietly. "Adolf told me of your beautiful catch." He looked to Genevieve.

Nicolas cleared his throat and kept his speech in German for Himmler's benefit. "Genevieve, this is Heinrich Himmler. He is the Reichsführer of the Schutzstaffel, and my immediate superior. This is Genevieve Blondeau."

"A pleasure." She swallowed her nerves, allowing him to press a kiss to the back of her hand. She would exfoliate his touch from her body later. That was if she survived to see later once it began. There was no way to tell how successful a mission would be until she was in the thick of it. No one could.

Himmler gave her a malicious smile. "The pleasure is all mine. Has anyone offered you a drink yet?" he inquired.

Genevieve looked over to Nicolas to try and get a read on his stance. "Not yet."

"Why don't you let him get you a spot at the bar. I should check in with my officers to make sure all security measurements have been taken. If you'll excuse me." He kissed her cheek affectionately and walked back through the crowd. She wanted to protest, but he left her with little options and an opportunity to be alone with Himmler that might have never came back. She watched him walk away before plastering a honey sweet grin to her scarlet lips and turning to the man beside her.

"Shall we?" Himmler held his arm out to her. A serpentine smile curling over his mouth. She kept her uneasiness internal, not wanting to show an ounce of her apprehension. He would surely sniff her out like prey if she gave him the slightest hint of fear. Instead, she donned the guise of featherbrained harlot and hooked her arm in his as he took her through the secondary doors to the main lobby. "Tell me, Genevieve, does the colonel know of your work?"

The question startled her at first, but she noted the coy smile creeping up his lips and relaxed. "You are referring to my modeling career?" she verified and he nodded. "Yes. He's seen some of my private art as well. There are hardly any secrets once your home has been searched by a member of the SS."

A boisterous laughter left Himmler and she flinched at the volume. "I heard you were a spitfire." She forced herself to simper back at him. "Champagne!" he barked at the bartender, shifting tones quickly. She looked up and inhaled sharply when she recognized the agent serving drinks. Her heartbeat slowed, realizing she wasn't alone in the mission.

"Merci." She leered only a moment at him before accepting the flute of champagne. She downed hers in record time.

Himmler sipped on his and nearly spit it out when he saw how fast she finished her own. "Thirsty are we?"

"The French don't draw out a good thing," she said coyly and swiveled in the bar stool so that her knee brushed against his. He visibly stiffened at the simple touch. She reached out and placed her hand over his on his own glass. Himmler didn't move to stop the intimacy. "We are gluttons for instantaneous pleasure." She took his champagne and let her lips press against the rim as she sipped it. A red stain was left in her wake. She handed it back to him with a seductive countenance about her. Just as she expected, Himmler turned the glass in his hand and drank deeply from the side with her kiss. A bit of red rubbed off on his bottom lip and she beamed internally. One down.

"I must say, you are an extraordinary vision." He cleared his throat, trying not to seem as heated as his eyes revealed he was.

"Genevieve!" Lieutenant Eric was storming over to her.

"Good evening, Lieutenant," Himmler said roughly. Eric fumbled, his eyes softening in fear or respect.

"Reichsführer Himmler. Heil Hitler," he recited dutifully, his arm extended in the familiar Nazi salute.

Himmler scoffed, finishing off his champagne topped in poison. "Calm down boy. What do you want with the fraulein?"

Lieutenant Eric shifted his weight to the other foot, opening his mouth, but coming up with no words. "Is there something you needed to say to me privately?" she suggested with a quirked brow.

He closed his mouth in a tight line. "Preferably," he agreed begrudgingly.

"If you'll excuse me," she stood, brushing her fingertips over Himmler's arm, "it appears I am a bit more popular than I originally thought."

Himmler stood up before she could walk away. "It was an absolute joy to meet your acquaintance, mademoiselle." The abrupt switch to French made a faint smile cross her features. How fitting it would be, so incredibly deserving, if it was the last language he spoke.

"For me as well." She felt a surge of glee as she walked over to Eric, leaving her first victim behind. Once she was out of earshot of Himmler, she turned to the lieutenant. "What on earth are you so aggravated about?" she asked once they rounded the corner to an unoccupied corridor. She felt the wind leave her as Eric shoved her from behind, pushing her into a closet and slamming the door behind them. "Just what do you think you are doing!" she bellowed at him.

The lieutenant sneered at her, pulling out his pistol and aiming it between her eyes. She stopped, stepping back from him. "Did you know that my wife was a Jew sympathizer?" His voice shook with blind rage.

"Non," she replied lowly, carefully.

He cocked back the hammer. "Do not lie to me," he warned in a growl. She noted the way his hands shook some, and the gun wobbled ever so slightly in his clenched hands. "Did you know!" he snapped, making her flinch.

"I swear I didn't!" she shouted back. "Nicolas told me all about her crimes. He's already proclaimed my innocence."

"He is blinded then." He shook the gun at her, taking a step forward. She backed up, hitting the wall. Her eyes searched for something to use on him, but the closet was empty save for a row of shelving bolted to the wall.

"Not likely," she argued. "Hilda was a fool to do what she did." She saw him falter in his next step that brought him closer to her. Realization struck her like lightening at the smell wafting from his parted mouth. He was utterly drunk, acting impulsively. "She had a man like you, and she threw it all away for some filth." He narrowed his eyes at her, keeping the gun trained on her. "You aren't going to shoot me." She stepped forward, letting the barrel press against her forehead.

"What makes you think so?" he seethed, pulling her by the back of her neck.

She lifted her hands behind her and pulled down the zipper, letting the front of her gown fall away. Her breasts brushed against the front of his shirt and drew his attention. "Because we both know you'd rather do other things," she purred, bringing her hands up to either side of his face to cup him softer than he deserved. She let those hands travel down to graze over his neck, his chest, and stopped. The gun lowered slowly as his eyes glazed over with lust. "Isn't that right?" Time. She wanted to get on with her mission. The butterflies in her stomach had red hot adrenaline coursing through her veins while she wasted time locked in a supply closet with an imbecile.

He gulped, watching her every move. "You think I am so easily swayed?" He raised the gun again.

She bit her lower lip and shook her head. "Not at all. I'm at your mercy, Lieutenant. You're the one holding the gun. You tell me how you want to spend this time," she reminded him.

He swallowed hard again, throat bobbing, and forced himself to keep his eyes on her hooded ones. "I am the one with the gun," he repeated it like a revelation.

"Oui." She stood up on her toes, hooking one hand behind his head and dragging him to her awaiting lips. They brushed every so slightly, enough to transfer a bit of the poison. Eric pulled back, shock at the turn of events slowly fading into primal urges as he greedily licked the color off his upper lip. A bit of the pigment shown brightly on his tongue, and Genevieve felt a wave of accomplishment.

"You'll do exactly as I say." He pressed the gun to her temple. His words came as no surprise to her. She bobbed her head, coaxing his spur of stupidity on. Eric licked his lips again and bowed his head toward her, pressing a more rough kiss to her lips. There was no passion, no flickering flame like Nicolas drew from her. Eric's kiss was like a boulder pressing against her mouth. Unmoving and hard. He pulled back, the color coating his lower lip in such a way that she knew his death would be quicker. Too much poison. Greedy bastard.

"Slut," he muttered. "You should have been executed beside your friend." Executed. For a moment, she forgot what she was doing and let her jaw drop at the news. Belle was executed. Her mouth ran dry. Fueled with a newfound motivation, she daintily wrapped her arms around him, leaning back up for another kiss. A kiss that would never come. Instead, in one swift and astonishingly effortless movement, Genevieve twisted his head to the side. The crack of it echoed in her bones more than the thump of his body dropping to the cold floor.

"Fucking Nazi pig." She spat on him before using the hem of his uniform to rub away the smear of lipstick that was undoubtedly on her chin. Void of emotion, Genevieve primped herself, shoved the lieutenant under the lowest shelf, and redressed, spritzing a bit of perfume to cover the lingering scent of Eric's alcohol breath over her flesh. A quick look at her reflection in the mirror of her compact satisfied her and she slipped back into the hallway.

The corridor was just as empty as before, thankfully. A victorious grin graced her lips as she found her way back to the lobby.

"There you are, my beauty." She swallowed bile at the sound of the German tongue. "Your date is out looking for you." She wasn't surprised.

"Happy birthday, my Führer." She grinned wickedly.

"How kind of you, fraulein. Allow me to escort you back to Colonel Roemheld." He held his hand out to her, rubbing his thumb over her palm. An order masked as a request.

"Merci, but I was hoping to get some fresh air for a bit. Its so crowded in here, I feel a bit overwhelmed," she pleaded.

"Such a delicate flower you are," he clicked his tongue. "Please, this way." She noted the three guards that followed his every move as he took her to one of the many balconies on the second floor. The guards paused just outside the double doors that Hitler wasted no time in shutting.

"That's much better." She sighed, leaning against the railing and staring out at the view of the stars. It was too beautiful of a view for the subjects below. They didn't deserve to be privileged to such sights. She felt his hand graze over the nape of her neck, moving her hair to one side. She fought a shudder.

"Are you and the colonel seeing each other exclusively?" he asked suddenly.

"I am held down by no man," she answered confidently.

The tyrant chuckled. He would have expected the fiery reply, and she gave it to him. "So full of spark," he commented, moving to her side.

"Apologies." Genevieve simpered up at him and released a soft breath as she stared over the edge. It was quite the fall, and her hands itched to push him over, but she quelled her urge with the promise the events of the night would bring.

"You are exquisite," he moved closer to her. "How do you find me?" She wanted to shove her finger down her throat and spill the contents of her stomach all over his polished jet black shoes. He was clumsy. Not in the physical sense. Every step he took, every wave of his fingers, the smile he wore for his public, it was all very calculated and deliberate. It was the clumsiness a schoolboy with a crush had. The urge to be noticed and heard without seeming too eager. The way he had told Nicolas about the five missing Jews in front of her as if he wanted her to hear. Wanted to remind her of how powerful he was, of who he was. He was a fool. And now, under the stars of northern France, he was going to act on desire once more and she would be damned if he didn't see it through.

"I find you...intriguing. I should be getting back to Nicolas." She stepped around him, knowing he would find a way to stop her, and gave him one last smile that he would undoubtedly mistake for lust.

A hand shot out, his hand, and gripped her upper arm ever so gently. "Wait," he said, letting go of her arm and allowing her to turn of her own accord. She didn't waste anymore precious time. With eyes flickering between his burning gaze and his dry lips, she waited for him to take the bait. He did. His mouth collided with hers in such a way that made her stumble back from the nervous, harsh force. He misread her loss of footing and broke out into a joyous grin. "Forgive my boldness," he began his reasoning, "I know Roemheld would be outraged, but you can't fault a man for wanting a gift on his birthday." A gift. Her mind whirred back to the colonel. He would surely be looking for her and asking Himmler where she had gone. A smirk pulled up at the corner of her mouth and he smiled wolfishly, thinking it was for him.

"There is nothing to forgive," she assured him. The red stain on his lips made her chest heave in anticipation. "Have a wonderful birthday, but I really must find my date. I'm certain he'll be cross if he can't find me in the lobby." She didn't want to be near when Hitler dropped dead.

He bobbed his head, the mustache twitching below his nose as he blurted, "Of course, of course. Don't let me keep you." He kissed her hands and waved her away. She slipped back through the double doors and bowed her head to the guards stationed just outside. They didn't so much as acknowledge her as she made her way back to the party.

It would be easy to fake ill. She felt nausea overtake her and she bolted to the bathroom, arriving in time to hover her head over the toilet. She spilled the contents of her stomach. Kissing the murderous dictator proved to be too much. She couldn't help the instantaneous revulsion that overcame her. Mission or not, she had kissed pure evil and it made her flesh crawl.

She finished vomiting, blotted her lips with a paper towel, and rinsed her mouth with water from the sink. A few deep breaths helped steady her as she went in search of her escort.

She only made it a few yards from the restrooms before the colonel found her. "There you are. I was wondering where you got off to." He walked up and paused, his brows knitting together at her sickly appearance. There was a tell tale flush to her cheeks with a light sheen of sweat below her hairline. "Are you alright?" He put the back of his hand to her forehead.

"I'm sorry I disappeared." She forced a weak smirk to take over, but he saw through it. "I seem to be ill." Time. Himmler would be nearing his end any moment. She'd wasted too much time with tedious tasks. Cursing inwardly, she reprimanded herself for not killing the lieutenant outright. Toying with him and leading him on had only served to rob her of those precious few minutes she had to carry out her objective.

"Do you need me to take you home? We can leave as soon as you want." His words were filled with genuine concern. It was impossible to miss the flicker of eagerness that sparked behind his gaze.

"I-" she opened her mouth to plead her case when another wave of nausea washed over her. Nicolas took her into his arms and lead her down the hall to the exit, shoving any who hadn't moved out of the way.

"Come on. Let's get you fresh air." She let him take her back outside as the nausea began to slowly clear away.

"Colonel! Good to see you." She recognized the sound of the doctor's voice, but felt too sick to look up. "Is everything all right?" His tone changed when he took notice of Genevieve clutching her belly and doubled over. She managed a small, apologetic expression in his direction before turning away to gather herself. It wouldn't do for the Ghost Division's top agent to get a little green around the gills from seducing her target. Not when that was the very nature of her work. But Hitler was different. She had kissed and fucked her way through men drunk on power time and time again, and she was damn good at it, but letting that demon kiss her was by far her lowest point. It was enough to break her strong countenace and replace it with an inconceivable mundane disgust

"She isn't feeling well, I'm going to take her home for the evening," he explained.

Dr. Broehm leaned down to look at her. She was sure she looked a wreck. "Perhaps I can be of some help," he offered, but Nicolas shook the suggestion away discourteously.

"That won't be necessary," he stated.

"Nonsense. He's a doctor." Genevieve chirped, not wanting dawdle any longer. She needed both of them, and she needed them before the alarm was sounded. "I would gladly accept your assistance, Doctor." She gave a small smile to him. Her arm tightened on Nicolas's arm, silently begging him to stop.

He peered at her from behind his thick rimmed glasses. "I'll accompany you to your car. Where is it parked?"

Nicolas lifted his head, glancing around in every direction. The black Mercedes was nowhere to be seen, but her heart leapt when she saw Emmanuel smoking a cigarette in front of a dark navy blue car that hadn't yet been valeted.

"Shit. I don't see it. Wait here and I'll go find it." He let go of her side to go find his car, but she grabbed his sleeve. "I'll only be a moment," he assured her, making to leave again.

She clutched her sides and bent forward, crying out in agony like an award winning actress. "Don't leave me," she begged. The hands of the doctor were on her back in an instant, rubbing small circles between her shoulders.

Nicolas searched her eyes, then looked to the doctor for some semblance of advice. His calm exterior was slipping, and she realized he was...frightened. It wasn't often that she saw that look on her targets, but she recognized it immediately. She wasn't assigned to the crumbling ones, the weak ones. Her targets were a different breed entirely. Cold, heinous, fearless beings consumed with their own reign of terror to bother with middling feelings like fright. And yet, the infamous Colonel Roemheld was frightened by a young woman in distress. Dr. Broehm cleared his throat, earning their attention. "Mademoiselle," he began apprehensively, "is there any chance you may be with child?" She didn't bother denying the accusation of the colonel and she being so carnal. Nor did she point out how recently it had turned physical, lest that kernel of fear in Nicolas's eyes flicker out. He went rigid beside her, no doubt his mind was whirring with possibilities and scenarios.

Preposterous. Every agent was sterilized before they were accepted into the order. There was no room for errors or distractions. "I-I don't think so." She let a bit of falsified fear show through her eyes. The colonel went white.

It all began to slowly fall into place more beautifully than she could have imagined. "You there!" Nicolas barked at Emmanuel.

"Me, Herr Roemheld?" He pointed innocently at himself with his cigarette hand.

"Yes you! I'll pay you triple what you get for standing there smoking if you drive this car," he pointed at the vehicle he was in front of, "to the hills." Emmanuel leisurely stubbed his cigarette on the ground, stomping it out with his shoe. Time. "Some time tonight!" Emmanuel flinched at the harshness of his tone and briskly walked around to open the doors for them to slide inside. "I'll send someone for the car in the morning," he mumbled against her hair as he gently laid her inside.

The doctor slid into the passenger seat, letting the two have their privacy in the back. "Where to, Monsieur?"

"Just drive, I'll tell you when to turn," he ordered, and the car sped off towards the first checkpoint.

"Colonel, if I may, perhaps it would be beneficial to the fraulein if we went to headquarters. I could give her a proper exam in my office," Dr. Broehm said from the front.

Nicolas looked down at Genevieve as she smiled weakly up at him with a nod. It didn't matter what destination they chose, it would all be over soon. She couldn't help the minuscule feeling of guilt creeping up on her when she looked into the colonel's eyes. It was evident that he held some form of adoration for her, but it wasn't enough to mask his monstrous actions he so illustriously carried out. "Very well," he said finally.

"Take us to the Gestapo headquarters," Dr. Broehm redirected Emmanuel.

"Oui, Monsieur." He turned left and the first checkpoint loomed ahead. She was pleased to see there were only a handful of soldiers guarding it.

One stepped forward, rifle in hand, and halted the car. "Papers," he spoke in French for Emmanuel's benefit. She highly doubted the German knew much else than the bare minimum.

Emmanuel opened his mouth to explain, but Nicolas chimed in first. "Open the gate or I'll blow your fucking brains out." His tone was kept monotonous, his eyes glued to the soldier.

The soldier's eyes widened. "Colonel Roemheld! I didn't see you there, please forgive me," he stammered.

"Now!" he snapped and the soldier stumbled back, signaling for his comrades to open the gate as Emmanuel raced through. Genevieve rested her head against his chest, letting herself regain all of her energy before it was time to strike. The rapid beating of his heart echoed in her ear as a sign of his undeniable concern.

Only two checkpoints left, before her mission would be completed. They drove through the next one with ease, barely three men guarding it. One man was half asleep at his post while the other two busied themselves with a game of cards. Nicolas had berated them for a minute or two before they opened the gate, their shame clear on their faces.

"Take this left." Dr. Broehm pointed to the upcoming fork in the road.

Emmanuel went right, looking at her through the mirror as she sat upright. She grabbed her purse, rifling through it for the nude lipstick. The doctor wasn't taking them through the third checkpoint. He was detouring from her carefully laid plan and leading them down a shortcut. She knew before Emmanuel looked back at her that he wouldn't make the left. Couldn't make the left.

"Are you deaf! I said left!" he bellowed. Nicolas was too intent on watching Genevieve to notice anything amiss. He had flinched at the loss of contact when she went to scramble through her purse. He didn't question why, only watching her.

"I think its hardly the time for a touch up, Bärchen." He chuckled as she flicked the lid off the lipstick to reveal the brownish pink hue beneath.

Emmanuel sped up, the checkpoint approaching quickly as the headlights illuminated it. She could see the dead Germans scattered around the gate and twenty or so agents armed to the teeth ready for their arrival. She should have felt relieved to see them, but truthfully she felt a heavy weight deep in her gut. "What the hell?" Nicolas peered out the window. Emmanuel kept driving.

"Stop the car!" Dr. Broehm ordered. Emmanuel went faster. "I said stop you-" It all happened so fast. Emmanuel kept his hands on the wheel, not letting the two men affect him while he took them to their destination. Their end. Genevieve saw the doctor reach for his gun in his jacket, but she moved quicker. She barely had time to register the look of shock on Nicolas's face when she lunged forward, bringing the lipstick down hard atop the doctor's head.