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“They’re afraid,” I say. “They know we are all fighting for our country. Not just here, but all over France.”
“If they’re afraid, they’re doing a good job of hiding it.” She kisses her daughter’s head and walks away, careful not to gain the soldiers’ attention.
The young woman shifts to face the front of the queue, our conversation too dangerous to continue.
After I’ve collected the meagre day’s ration, I enter the bookshop and retrieve the message that was left for me in the drop box. I pretend to retie my shoelace and slip the thin strip of paper into the hem of my skirt.
The bell above the shop door tinkles. Monsieur Joubert greets the woman whose son is rumoured to be with the Milice. I grab a random book from a nearby shelf and go to pay for it. The woman watches me when I approach the counter but doesn’t say anything.
This only makes me more nervous.
At the farmhouse, I hurry upstairs to my room. The small piece of thread I left on the edge of the rug is where I last placed it. No one has disturbed the location and found my hiding spot under the floorboard.
I remove the hidden supplies used to decipher coded messages. I’m the only one here. It takes me a few minutes to figure out what Allaire wrote. The print is tiny, so as to fit in more words on the minuscule scrap of paper, and I have to move it around in the light streaming through the window to read it.
As I decode the message, I listen for any noise that indicates Johann has returned early or the vineyard has an unwanted guest. Once I’ve finished, I read the deciphered message:
I have looked into The Wolf’s claims about his grandparents being from Switzerland. It is indeed correct. His mother had an aunt who was also deaf and who died ten years ago. She and her family were living in the region of Pays de la Loire, France. There is no indication that The Wolf’s mother and sister went there when they allegedly left Austria. London has advised not to involve The Wolf in our activities at present time. Unclear where his loyalties lie.
Frustration prowls through me, and I pace. Frustration at the words. Frustration that I’m not sure what to believe. Did I let myself get duped by Johann’s kind words and selflessness, or is Baker Street just being cautious? Can I trust him and my heart—or did I make a mistake letting him in?
28
Troy
July, Present Day
Maple Ridge
* * *
After spending the weekend and Monday in the slammer and Tuesday morning in court for my bail hearing, I head to Jess’s house and ring the doorbell.
Barking comes from the other side of the door and grows louder as Butterscotch and Bailey run toward it.
The front door flings open. Jess eyes the sling that once again supports my arm, and her shoulders deflate. “He hurt you?” Her tone is less of a question and more like an accusation.
Butterscotch pushes past her leg and barks at me. Bailey nudges her way past Jess’s other leg and parks her ass on the ground.
“You don’t need to lecture me,” I tell my dog. “I know I fucked up.” More than they can imagine.
Butterscotch gives me another bark. Jess snort-laughs. “You tell him, Butterscotch.”
Then Jess’s mouth is on mine. And she’s kissing me like she hasn’t seen me in ten years and missed me the entire time. The words I’ve been longing to say, that I love her, push to the surface, but I rein them in and just enjoy the kiss. My good arm holds her close.
She smells delicious. Smells of strawberries and freedom. Three days in the slammer was bad enough. I can’t imagine how she survived all those years locked away in a maximum-security prison, especially knowing she was innocent.
I tenderly kiss her forehead, breathing in her scent once more. “Thank you. I needed that.”
“Are you okay? Is your arm okay?”
“It wasn’t redislocated, but because the joint was already compromised, Samuel wanted to be sure I didn’t screw it up again.” After I complained at the police station my shoulder was hurting and I mentioned the injury I’d sustained during the search and rescue, Samuel was brought in to make sure I hadn’t done further damage.
“You’re back in the sling,” Jess says. “For how long?”
“A couple of days.”
She moves aside to let me in and shuts the door behind me. “Do you want something to eat?”
