Headlock reacted with the speed of a man trained for the unexpected. His hand smothered his companion’s exclamation before she could bring what appeared the whole male population of Germany down upon them. Like a boa constrictor, his other hand snaked around the girl’s waist and pulled her close, as Grace’s tears poured once more.
“Shh, Grace, be still,” Headlock whispered. “Think not of how you see him, but only that you do see him. Your father is alive, and that is a miracle we could not have dreamed of. It is far more important than what those bastards have made him do.”
Headlock’s unexpected verbal outburst snapped Grace from her misery.
“You are right, of course,” she said wiping the tears from her porcelain cheeks. “I must be strong for Papa.”
“You must be strong for yourself.”
