Emilie glanced back at the apartment building as the taxi pulled away. Jacques seemed to know the woman well. The hug may have been a greeting—it seemed innocent. But it could have been more. Their conversation was cryptic—intelligence contacts ensuring they weren’t watched. Or lovers, leery of discovery?
She assumed the worst. She had no reason not to. Even though she had a role to play in Paris, and Jacques was part of it, she did care about him. She never dreamed he would fall in love with another woman. He was married to his work—or at least he seemed to be—and she understood that. They lived in dangerous times. She had willingly taken second place since the day they had exchanged their wedding vows.
Now she wondered how long the affair had gone on, assuming it was an affair. She had
