Bad Wolf by Nele Neuhaus Read Free Book Online Page A

it.
    “Thanks.” Pia flashed him a quick smile when she reached the top. “But don’t make a habit of it.”
    “Absolutely not,” he said with a grin. “Only when you’re negotiating rough terrain in a cocktail dress and inappropriate footwear.”
    “You hang out with Henning too much.” Pia grinned, too. “I can tell by your choice of words.”
    “He may be an arrogant bastard, but his vocabulary is unbelievable. I learn something new every time we go out on a call.”
    “Then you could probably write off your emergency calls as continuing education. See you later.”
    Kröger waved good-bye and made his way back down the slope.
    “Oh, Pia?” he called. She turned around.
    “If you’re cold, there’s a fleece in my car.”
    Pia nodded and made her way to the ambulance.
    *   *   *
    Spending the evening in the company of old classmates and the unexpected encounter with Pia had done Emma good. Elated and in an excellent frame of mind, she opened the dark green Gregorian front door of her in-laws’ big villa. She and Florian and Louisa had the entire second floor to themselves. Having grown up in a faceless neighborhood of row houses in Niederhöchstadt, Emma had fallen in love at first sight with the big house of weathered red brick with its oriel windows, little towers, and white-mullioned windows. She loved the high ceilings with their plaster ornamentation, the glassed-in bookcases, the pattern of the parquet floors, the elaborate carving of the banisters. It was charming. Florian’s mother called the style of the house “rococo,” but Florian had disparagingly dubbed it “wedding cake–style.” He found it kitschy and overly ornate, and to Emma’s great regret, he had no intention of living in the house on a permanent basis. She could easily have stayed on forever.
    The villa stood on the edge of a huge park that extended all the way to the woods. Right next door was the residence of the Sonnenkinder Association. Before Florian’s father had founded the group in the late sixties, it had been an old folks home. Later, the building across the street had been added, in which the administration, the kindergarten, and the classrooms were located today. Farther back in the park stood three bungalows with their own driveways, in which close associates of Emma’s father-in-law lived with their families. The house in the middle had actually been built for Florian, but he had preferred to leave home, so now it was rented out.
    Emma had slipped off her shoes as soon as she got in the car. Her ankles and feet swelled up every day in this heat wave, and in the afternoon it was almost unbearable to wear shoes. The wooden steps creaked under her weight. Behind the milky-glass triptych of panes in the front door she could see a glimmer of light. She quietly opened the door and tiptoed inside. Florian was sitting at the kitchen table in front of his laptop. He was so lost in concentration that he didn’t notice her come in. Emma stood in the doorway for a moment, observing the sharp contours of his profile. Even after six years, she still found the sight of him fascinating.
    In the beginning, there had been no love lost between them when they first met at the camp in Ethiopia—she was the technical leader of the project, he her medical counterpart. From the first instant, they had done nothing but argue. Nothing happened fast enough for him, and she was angered by his arrogance and pushiness. It was no simple task to transport medicines and technical gear hundreds of miles on the country road. Yet they were working for the same cause, and although she had been terribly annoyed by him, as a doctor he had impressed her deeply. He worked on behalf of his patients until he was utterly exhausted, sometimes seventy-two hours at a stretch, and in emergencies he was quick to improvise so that he could help and heal.
    Dr. Florian Finkbeiner never did anything halfway; he was a doctor through and through, and he