Page 34 of The Librarian Spy

“I’m glad you did.” Elaine looked at her friend as the familiar scenery of Lyon rolled by at an unnervingly languid pace. “You would want to know too.”

“I would,” Nicole agreed. “But knowing does not always bring a sense of peace.”

Her statement wasn’t incorrect. The newfound detail buzzed about in Elaine’s brain like an overactive bee as her thoughts darted in all directions. She felt foolish, not only for her blind trust but her willful ignorance. She should have suspected he would not just be locked in a cell, but also subjected to torture.

They exited the tram amid a flurry of other passengers and made their way to Croix-Rousse, traveling in silence as Elaine inwardly berated herself. Perhaps it was the consuming manner of such a distraction that caused her to miss seeing the Nazi officer in the street as she turned around the corner.

An officer in the poorer area of Lyon was never a good sign. Had she noticed him, she would have found an alternate way back to the apartment. But she didn’t catch sight of the man in his crisp uniform and polished boots. At least, not until Nicole hissed her name.

By then, it was too late.

“Halt,” the man said in a hard voice. “Papers.”

Elaine froze in surprise at the abrupt order, her thoughts flying to the pounds of explosives dangling at her side.

Nicole grasped her arm in a moment of quick thinking and jerked her backward, the force nearly wrenching her burden free from her hand. Their feet clacked over the cobblestones as they rounded the corner once more, pushed through a door, and slid into a passageway.

The light was dim as the door closed behind them, and the expanse of a traboule tunnel stretched before them.

Outside, the sharp strike of jackboots indicated the Nazi had not given up his pursuit.

Nicole eased off her wooden-soled shoes and Elaine did likewise. The stone floor underfoot was cold and damp, but it would be the only way to move quietly and hopefully without being caught.

Barefoot with her footwear dangling from one hand and the basket of explosives in the other, Nicole slipped down the passageway with Elaine following behind her. They entered a small courtyard where stairs ran upward and two paths went in opposing directions.

Nicole darted right without hesitation and descended to a lower level. The stone steps were smooth as sea glass and depressed in the center, worn down from decades of use. The women encountered another split with options to climb up to the apartments above, go down to the floor below or continue down the long, narrow hall.

A door banged open in the distance, making them both jump. Crisp footsteps came immediately after; the stark echo was as keen as a threat. Nicole led the way down the passage to where several doors lined either side with a shadowed alcove in the corner. She waved for Elaine to join her as she crouched into the darkness.

Elaine sank down beside her friend. Once she stopped, the racing of her heart caught up with her and left her discreetly dragging in a greedy inhale. The ground was like ice, and damp grit clung to the soles of her feet. She longed to brush at them but didn’t dare move.

The traboule was one Elaine hadn’t explored before and one clearly important to make note of for future use. It was far more prosaic in its craftsmanship than the one on Rue Saint Jean, utilitarian in its construction with an unsettling stench of stale urine she didn’t care to consider at present.

The sharp footsteps continued to echo around them, closer and closer until they stopped just above where the women hid. They shrank back until the chill of the unyielding wall behind them seeped through their jackets, as if they could melt into the stone.

Only an hour before, they had walked a sun-spattered path through the forest, indulging in chocolate and a carefree discussion.

Elaine squeezed her eyes shut as the scrape of a boot heel grinding into the filthy floor screeched in the silence. Finally, after an eternally long moment, the officer strode away at a clipped pace, leaving them with only the thundering of their own racing pulses.

Only when the bang of a door slammed in the distance did the tension in Elaine’s shoulders ease somewhat. Nicole rummaged around in her purse and dislodged a long strip of fabric. Without a word, she wrapped it around her head in a fashionable turban.

After tucking the loose end into the secure base, she pulled a second piece of cloth free and reached for Elaine.

“What are you doing?” Elaine said as loudly as she dared.

Nicole coiled the fabric over Elaine’s hair with practiced expertise. “Making us look different.” She withdrew a tube of lipstick and angled Elaine’s face upward to apply the red with little more than a stub of makeup. “Now we won’t be recognized.”

The lipstick was thick and greasy on Elaine’s lips with a strange waxy scent. Together, they hefted their laden baskets and exited the traboule from a different door than they had entered. There, they encountered a gloriously empty street.

Once more in daylight, Elaine could see Nicole was correct. Had the Nazi coincidentally wandered to the exact location they emerged, he wouldn’t have found them familiar, not with Nicole’s flaxen locks bound within the dark turban. She looked older, more sophisticated.

“You should wear your hair up more often.” Nicole tilted her head as she considered Elaine. “And lipstick. Red lipstick.”

Elaine’s cheeks went hot. “I’ve never been the fashionable type.”

“Why not?” Nicole smirked. “It’s the only defense we women are allowed. Men have their guns and their medals. We have our charm and our cosmetics.” She let her basket sway in her hand as she began to walk.

The rutabaga greens had long since wilted over the wicker edge and now swept side to side with the motion, like sea grass in the lazy roll of ocean waves.