Page 35 of The Librarian Spy

“I don’t have the extensive wardrobe you do,” Elaine protested, walking beside the other woman.

“Do you mean my skirts?” Nicole did a little twirl, so the navy skirt belled out around her knees, and winked. “I have one with six different hems that are easily adjusted to alter the length. So, you see, it only appears I possess more clothes.”

While the trick was ingenious, Elaine could never imagine herself like Nicole, wearing her confidence like the season’s most à la mode accessory, flirting with men for distraction, knowing the effect of her own prowess.

Elaine shook her head at such a possibility. Her own style was more classic than stylish and had suited her in country life as well as in Paris and now in Lyon. “I’m not glamorous. Not like you.”

Nicole tossed her a conspiratorial smile. “I had unfortunate features as a youth, ones I grew into with the help of my sister. She was always so chic.” Nicole’s gaze lit with the memory of happier times. “Odile showed me how to put on my makeup, which fashions suit my figure, how to walk and what to say. Were it not for her, I don’t think I ever would have had any confidence.”

Elaine couldn’t imagine Nicole being anything but lovely and self-assured. “Your sister must be very special to you.”

The joy on Nicole’s face faded. “She is. I long for her to return soon. As well as my papa and my brother.” A hardness glinted in her crystal blue eyes. “Once this war is over and we’ve defeated the Bosche.”

Etienne was in the apartment on Rue d’Algérie along with Denise and Josette when Nicole and Elaine arrived. His brows rose in question when he saw Elaine in her turban with bright red lips.

“A Nazi officer tried to chase us, but we escaped through a traboule.” Elaine resisted the urge to swipe the brilliant color from her mouth as she set her basket on the table. The absence of its weight immediately left her arm limp with exhaustion.

He frowned.

“Oh, don’t fuss.” Nicole waved off his reaction before he could protest. “We made some stylish alterations to ensure we wouldn’t be recognized and departed from a different door. There is nothing to fear.”

Etienne clenched his jaw. “I need to speak with Elaine.”

She nodded, glad for the chance to finally talk to him. “In the kitchen.”

He let her lead the way to the opposite side of the apartment where they would be afforded some privacy. His swift appearance to her request surprised her but left her grateful regardless. Especially after what she’d gleaned from Nicole.

She closed the door behind him. “There has to be something we can do for Joseph. This has gone on too long. I want to be involved.”

Etienne stared hard at her.

“Don’t tell me there isn’t anything I can do.” Irritation elevated her volume. “We have explosives.” She forced herself to quiet her voice as she stated this important information, aware that all walls in France had ears. “We have men and women who are willing to help one another. We have everything at our fingertips, including British support. There has to be something I can do.”

Etienne swallowed.

The fuse of Elaine’s patience ran short, cut off by all the what-ifs crowding into her mind. What if they didn’t get to him in time? What if he died before he could be freed? What if she never saw her husband again?

Her outrage exploded in the slap of her hand on the table with a force that jarred her bones and left her palm tingling. “Say something, and don’t you dare tell me to be patient again. I won’t accept it. Not again.”

“He was removed from prison today.” Etienne scrubbed a hand over his hair, mussing what had been neatly slicked back.

Such a statement should have elicited relief, but the haunted expression in his dark eyes made wariness tighten through Elaine like a warning.

“Where did he go?”

Etienne’s fingers dragged down his face, distorting his features until his hand dropped. “They said he left with baggage,” he murmured.

She shook her head. “With baggage? What does that mean?”

He blinked, as if surprised to see her there. “At Montluc, if you are sent with baggage, it means you are going to a work camp. If you are sent without baggage...”

She lifted her brows for him to finish.

“Death.”

The word hung in the air between them, like something alive and agitated and poisonous.

“He is at a work camp?” she repeated with relief. “That is not so bad. I can still send him food, I can—”