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“I think we should go for a walk after breakfast,” I tell him. “It’s a beautiful day, and I would love to visit Jardin des Tuileries. Perhaps see the pond.”
He frowns, and his gaze shifts to the view outside the window. “Are you sure about that?”
“If he’s still there when we leave and he follows, then we know he was waiting for one of us. I cannot imagine why he would want to watch us. We haven’t done anything wrong. Not unless it is a crime for a French widow to be with a German officer.” I lightly press my lips to his. “And what is more romantic than to stroll about the gardens on a beautiful day?”
Johann brushes his lips along mine, a small curve to his mouth. “If that is what you wish, then that is what we shall do.”
We go downstairs to the café and eat croissants and berries for breakfast. The windows overlook the corner where the Milice officer is standing. My hands tremble, given he’s possibly waiting for me.
No, you cannot think that way. If you look nervous, the officer will believe you have something to hide. And if he wasn’t interested in me before, he will be now. I inwardly curse myself for being such a ninny just because of the conversation I overheard last night. My life was at risk the moment I stepped on the Lysander back on British soil. I can do this.
But some fear is beneficial. Fear keeps one from being overly confident. It keeps arrogance that can lead to mistakes at bay.
Johann and I leave the café. I loop my arm with his, and we head towards Jardin des Tuileries. People rush past to get to their destinations. I catch the occasional individual casting me hateful glares, thinly veiled with a mask of indifference. Collaborator. Traitor. Whore. Johann might not notice the accusations in their eyes, but I can’t miss them.
Aware that anyone could be watching us from either side of the war, I chat with Johann about nothing important. I smile and laugh and do everything I’ve been taught to do to throw off suspicion.
Johann and I arrive at the gardens and wander around. The midmorning sun beats down on us. Allaire approaches. His eyes give no indication he is paying attention to us. He suddenly stops and crouches to tie his shoelace.
When he straightens, he gives a barely perceptible shake of the head and resumes walking.
No one is following Johann and me. Thank goodness.
So why are the Milice watching the hotel like bloody starving vultures?
Johann and I spend half an hour strolling through the gardens. We walk past other couples. Some of them are young soldiers with smiling girls at their side. It’s feasible the girls are also part of a resistance group, interested in any useful gossip the soldiers might share. Or they could be collaborators. Or simply young women who fell in love with a man in a uniform.
Johann and I return to our hotel. The Milice officer is no longer where we last saw him. “Where did he go?” I ask under my breath. Allaire said the officer wasn’t following me or Johann, but I don’t like how the man only vanished after we left the hotel.
“He didn’t leave,” Johann says flatly at the same time as I spot the man standing directly outside the building.
A man in civilian clothing charges from the hotel, almost knocking into a woman on the sidewalk. The officer screams for the man to halt. He doesn’t. He darts across the street. A whistle blows, and other officers appear from around the corner of the hotel and pursue him.
Johann laces his hand with mine and tugs me along. The eyes of the man they’re chasing momentarily lock with mine. I don’t move, my muscles seizing. I’ve seen him another time, another place—only I don’t know when or where or why.
He is no match for the officers. One knocks him to the ground.
A black car pulls up beside the man. And I watch in frozen horror as they beat him with sticks, yank him to his feet, and shove him into the back of the vehicle.
Cold stark fear squeezes the air from me, chills my blood. I could be next. If the Milice catches wind of my true identity, I can expect the same level of cruelty. A cruelty I might never survive.
How do I know him?
42
Jessica
July, Present Day
Maple Ridge
* * *
Thursday midmorning, I fill in measurements on the online order form for the cabinets one of Troy’s clients requested. Uncertainty and regret make my skin itch and remind me I was an idiot for quitting therapy two days ago. But I didn’t have a choice. It was that, or put Violet and Sophie’s lives at risk.
The secrets. The plan—still a work in progress—to get the pair out of town without Violet’s husband locating them. What it could cost Violet, Kellan, and me. All of it has made me more anxious. And I was afraid I’d break down during therapy, and all my secrets would spill like oil from a tanker. Destroying the lives of those I care about.
Robyn would be required to inform the police of my actions. I couldn’t afford that. Violet and Sophie can’t afford that.
