Camille led Lucien from Emilie Dufort’s apartment, through the winding alley they had checked that afternoon. “We have to hurry,” she hissed.
Lucien gasped. “We barely got away.”
“I caught a glimpse of the Gestapo, standing on the stoop when we left.”
“Ziegler?” Lucien guessed.
She nodded. “He’s close, much closer than I thought.”
“But he couldn’t have known we were there.”
Camille hesitated. “Maybe, or maybe not.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He could have been there for us, he could have come for my contact, Jacques, or he could have been there for Emilie.”
Lucien was confused. “Why would he be there for Emilie?”
“I’ll tell you later. Let’s get as far away as we can.”
She avoided main boulevards, working her way through narrow lanes and cobblestone streets, staying in shadows. They
