Chapter Twenty-EightZurich, July 1994
Renaud and Dumas crossed the wooden-floored hall of the converted barn she called home. Dumas's heels clacked on the polished slats that made up the floor, signalling their arrival to anyone in the house. The two of them walked up to a large door inset into the wall furthest from the entrance. Dumas turned the handle, and the door swished open as though on silent hinges.
“It's not locked,” said Renaud, with a hint of surprise in his voice.
“They're big boys now,” replied Dumas, “They don't need to be under lock and key any longer, like babies. They're totally trustworthy. They know the risk they would run if they leave this place without me, so, it never happens. Besides, they have everything they need right here. They have nothing to leave for.”
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