Page 77 of The Librarian Spy

“Do not lie to me,” Werner said. “Who were you visiting?”

“Lisette Garnier.” The name was one she pulled from the air, one not associated to anyone she knew. She prayed there was truly no one in all of France by that name.

Werner lifted the file once more and scanned the contents. “She is not on the list of those who lived there.”

“She stayed with her aunt, a woman I never met.” Elaine fabricated the lie with a smoothness that surprised even her. “I do not recall her name.”

“Try harder.” Something glinted in his predatory stare that sent chills crawling over her skin.

Nicole’s advice rushed forefront to Elaine’s thoughts, to use the masculine assumption of women against them.

“I am just a housewife.” She let her eyes widen so he could see the depth of her fear. “Lisette and I were in lycée together. She had been ill several months back, and I wanted to ensure she was recovered.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you with the Resistance?”

“I would never,” Elaine gasped in feigned offense.

At this, he remained silent for a while, as if deliberating over everything she had said. He glanced down to the silver iron cross on his chest and rubbed at a dull spot with his fingertip until it shone. “I think you are lying.”

He untied a leather bundle on his desk and unrolled it to reveal a series of glinting metal objects. Her imagination staggered in wonder at each of their purposes, and she could not stop the image of the man she sat beside on the ride over. The way his fingernails were little more than open wounds.

The light-headed sensation returned.

“I can tell you how to wash without soap,” she said abruptly. “How to collect enough breadcrumbs to make a proper meal that will fill you, or how to ensure your white clothes always remain so, or even how to preserve green beans to last into the next year.”

“That is not the information I want.”

“But that is all I can tell you,” Elaine pleaded. “I know how to run a house, that is all.”

A knock sounded at the door, urgent and insistent.

Werner flicked an irritated glare toward the interruption before saying something in German. The door opened and a young man entered, his cheeks flushed.

Elaine could not understand their conversation, but she did not mistake the look of regret that crossed Werner’s face as he regarded her. He stalked toward her, his expression hard with malice. “Leave.”

The word was so startling, she almost froze. Except she was not so foolish as to squander the opportunity. She leaped from the chair, practically tripping in her haste, and followed the other man. Downstairs, he led her to the entryway where a woman waited in a familiar navy skirt.

Nicole turned as they approached, her red lips parting in a smile. “Elaine,” she cried. “I was so worried about you when you did not come for dinner.” She turned her attention to the Nazi and batted her long, sable lashes. “Merci, monsieur. You are my personal hero.”

“It was my pleasure, mademoiselle.” The man gave her a sloppy, besotted grin.

“Let us get you home, ma chérie.” Nicole threaded her arm through Elaine’s and pulled her close where she whispered, “You may lean on me if you need to.”

“I would not give them the satisfaction,” Elaine replied.

They walked toward the door together. Even as they neared the exit to freedom, the action seemed surreal.

Could it have been so easy to escape? Would they be stopped and sent back, another nasty jest by the Nazis? They were, after all, known for such cruel tricks.

But no one curtailed them as they made their way through the doors. A shadow lingered by a window upstairs, watching them as they departed. Despite the involuntary ripple of unease, no one called to them. They continued in silence for several minutes, threading their way down the street before Nicole turned into a building and led Elaine into a safe house. It was one Elaine had stayed at in her early days with the Resistance, an abandoned home with no tenant.

No sooner had the door been locked safely behind them than all the strength bled from her body, draining away with the fear that had held her captive for the last night and day. She sagged into the chair’s sturdy frame, her skirt still cold and damp.

Nicole busied herself in the kitchen, moving about with a comfort that spoke of familiarity.

“You should not have come for me,” Elaine said when she had gathered herself enough to speak again.

“That is a terrible way to say thank you.” Nicole filled a kettle with water and put it on the stove.