Cold air swirled around her, jute was ripped away. She blinked her eyes, but everything swam.
“Zelie? Zelie, wake up now. We need to get you out of that position. Can you move?”
She tried, but her arms wouldn’t obey. Her legs... did she still have legs? Had she left them in the tunnel?
Henri’s arms came around her, lifted. “Nine hours.” His voice shook. “I thought you’d be dead. Can you stand?”
She tried to nod, but the world wouldn’t stop spinning. And then it went black as midnight.
Fifteen
OUTSIDE CANNES, FRANCE
Marcel unfolded himself from the borrowed Renault and surveyed the fork in the road in the moonlight. His mother didn’t budge from the passenger’s seat, but he knew she was trying to see their map in the dark. Trying to help him decide where to look next. They’d spent the last twenty-four hours knocking on doors, looking for anyone who knew Lizette Bridou. He’d been praying with every ounce of his soul that whoever knew where Blaise and Elise were—becausesomeonehad to—would trust him enough to tell him. Or if not him, his mother. No one could look at Mathilde Laurent and not trust her.
They’d tried all the likely places. The farmhouse he’d visited in October, the château, the church in the village—no one had seen the children. He’d stopped in the grocer’s and the movie house while his mother tried the shops. They’d ventured into Cannes itself and tried every place he could remember them mentioning during their visit in October.
Nothing.
Please, Father. I trust that they’re safe with Lizette’s friends... but the Nazis will come. You know they will. Help me find them before they do. Please.
He took some comfort in the thought that ifhecouldn’t find them, the German authorities wouldn’t be able to either. But that did little to bring him peace.
This was the one thing he could do for Zelie—make sure her children were safe.
The sound of another engine came out of nowhere, and he spun around, lifting an arm to shield his eyes from the beams of two unshuttered headlights. His stomach knotted.
Nazi autos were the only ones that weren’t ordered to dim their lights. He reached for his door, but too late. The jeep had already pulled up even with him, and a jolly-faced German peered out. “Good evening,” the man said in passable but accented French. “Are you lost?”
As good a word as any. “A bit.”
Mère exited the other side, the wind catching her auburn curls and sending them into her face. “Ask them if they’ve seen Blaise.”
He turned to face her, exasperation on his lips. He loved his mother—she was one of his favorite people in all the world. But that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “Mère—”
“Blaise... Bridou?”
Marcel’s head snapped back around, and he knew very well his shock was on his face. Zelie’s maiden name in conjunction with her son could be no coincidence. “You know him?”
The man laughed. “He and his mother had a tour of our base a few months ago. Bright boy. You must be his... uncle?”
“No.” It came out on a laugh. He couldn’t help it. Anyone who had spoken to him for more than a minute wouldn’t think to confuse him with the daredevil pilot.
The Nazi’s smile only went more genuine, and he chuckled too. “You must be his father then. Too bad for all the boys at thebase—they’ve been plotting ways to catch your wife’s eye when next she strolls by. You have a beautiful family.”
“I do.” Not a lie, if still a deception. “Forgive me, I know this sounds strange. Have you seen Blaise and his sister in the last couple days? Their grandmother left them here with a friend, and she and Zelie were doing some Christmas shopping in Marseille, but...they’ve been in an accident.” Definitely stretching the truth there, but he couldn’t exactly tell this man that his cohorts had arrested them.
The officer’s smile fell. “I am so sorry to hear that. And you don’t know who the children were with?”
“I know Blaise was coming home from school with his friend François. But Lizette should have been back to meet them, only... she and Zelie...” He ran a hand through his curls. He winced. “I should have asked more questions, but I’ve been traveling with my orchestra...”
New guilt pierced. He should have been in Paris today, preparing the orchestra for their performance tomorrow night. Instead, Vivi had supervised their travel, and he’d promised to meet them there—and prayed Von Eberstein had left Marseille and wasn’t watching the depots, to realize he wasn’t with his group.
He had to be on a train to Paris by tomorrow morning or he’d let seventy young men down. But he couldn’t leave Zelie’s children thinking they’d been abandoned. What had Blaise thought when his friend’s mother tried to drop him off and no one was there? He prayed he’d found his way to wherever Elise was, that they were together.
“I saw your son this morning.” The German’s tone went soft. Soothing. “He was with another boy about his age and a little girl with blonde hair.”
“Elise.” He perked up. Could it be? Would this man—a German Luftwaffe officer of all people—be the one to help?
