“Now, Zelie!” Henri pulled her back still more, making her stumble over whatever was on the forest floor.
Blanchet reached out with his free hand to steady her. “It will do no one any good if we get caught.”
He was right. They both were, as Marcel had been. She nodded, let her eyes slide shut, and drew in a deep breath. She couldn’t free Maman if she was in jail with her. Couldn’t helpanyonefrom a prison cell.
This is bigger than you. Bigger than your family.Marcel’s words echoed in her head. She shoved down the concerns that shouted so loudly in her head, deafening her with their echoes.Maman. Blaise. Elise.
She could help none of them if she couldn’t put aside the daughter, the mother, and bela patronne.
Her chin came up. Her eyes came open. She turned to Blanchet. “Get away as quickly as you can—and keep that radio safe. If they get their hands on it, they’ll have all the proof they need to execute Lucien.” She knew very well he’d engraved his name on it, to keep it straight from all the others that came and went through the villa. She’d chided him for it, tried to tell him they were all the same, but he told her it was a radioman thing and to leave it alone.
She’d been a fool to let him get away with it.
Blanchet nodded. “They didn’t see me. I’ll slip back across thedemarcation line and return to Normandy, and they’ll be none the wiser. The radio is safe with me.”
Thank God for Blanchet. She nodded, clasped his shoulder, and then jerked her head to the north. “Go. Quickly. If you see anyone else you recognize, tell them to go to ground and wait for instructions, to follow the plan.”
“I will.” Without another word, he spun and disappeared into the shadows.
Henri gave him a long moment to vanish and then whispered, “We need to leave. They’ll search the woods once they’ve emptied the house.”
Because she knew he was right, she spun, striking back the way they’d come. The rest of Marcel’s words in the alley swirled through her mind, an endless loop.You must survive. If none of the rest of us do, you must. You’re the only one who can regroup, rebuild.
Rebuild. She knew that had to be the ultimate goal, but at the moment, it felt impossible. Too far away. Right now, everything they’d already built was burning behind them, figuratively and literally.
They tromped in silence back up the hill. When they stopped at her car, she stood, staring at it. “I don’t know where to go.” Or what to do. How to free her mother, her colleagues, how to ensure her children were safe.
Emile had given them her name. They’d no doubt be circulating photographs. There was nowhere to hide. And no way she could beat them to Cannes—they’d be using radios, telephones.
Henri rested a hand against her back. “Get in. I have an idea.”
Marcel didn’t bother knocking on his aunt and uncle’s door. He let himself in and followed the faint glow coming from the directionof the kitchen. He fully expected to find Tante Charlotte in the room. It was her favorite in the house, after all.
But it was Emile, scrounging around in the pantry, only his back visible. The kitchen table was cluttered with supplies—rations, tins of food, things Marcel knew for a fact his aunt was saving for Christmas. She wouldn’t have had them out, not yet. Certainly not in one of the boxes Marcel spotted on a chair.
His fingers curled into his palms. “So you’ll steal from your own parents, too? Never mind the million francs you intend to make off with?”
Emile jumped, banged his head against a shelf, and cursed. In another situation, Marcel would have laughed.
Not tonight.
His cousin spun, thoughts tracking through his eyes in counterpoint. Marcel could read the lines, each its separate melody, without trouble. There, the bass—a base desire to deny it. There, the tenor—to plead for mercy. There, the alto—justification. And there, the soprano—pointing the blame elsewhere.
“I heard you,” Marcel said, scarcely recognizing his own voice. Had it ever been this hard? Cold? “Outside the police station, with Marie’s father. I heard you turn over Alliance to him.”
Emile edged out of the pantry, hands up. “It’s not what you think.”
If only that were true. “Zelie had no knowledge of it, Emile. But she said you had a million francs in your possession—a quarter of the real amount, which you reported as three million.” Marcel spread his arms wide. “Please, explain.”
Excuses? Lies? Denials? Which would he choose?
Emile sagged, head hanging. “Marie is pregnant.”
Of all the things he’d been expecting, that wasn’t it. “What?”
“Her father refused to let her marry me unless I gave up all ties to the Resistance—he followed me a few weeks ago, he knew. Knew what I was doing. I... I had no choice, Marcel. It was giveup Alliance or give up Marie, our baby. What was I supposed to do?”
“What were you supposed todo?” Rage welled up so fast it blinded him, a crescendo and accelerando that filled his ears. “Youcometo us, and you let ushelp! We feed him false information—”
