Jacques Dufort had just turned the corner when he saw the Gestapo staff car parked in front of his apartment. He stopped abruptly, staying close to the wall. A German sat in the driver’s seat, waiting for an unknown passenger. Jacques had to avoid his gaze. He eased back to the edge of the building, rounded the corner, and hurried down the street. He wasn’t ready to confront the Gestapo—and he probably never would be.
He kept his head down, hands in his pocket, walking briskly to Sophie’s apartment. He couldn’t go back home, not now, maybe not ever. He had to get the diamonds. And then he might have to leave Paris, maybe even get out of France. His world was collapsing, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. But Sophie would know. She always did.
He wondered how much the Gestapo knew—or
