CHAPTER 24
“Can you climb out of the whiskey bottle?” Camille asked the following morning.
Lucien lifted his chin from his chest and blinked, his eyes offended by the light. “I must have dozed off,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He sat in the same chair by the window where he had been the night before.
She handed him a cup of coffee. “Drink it black.”
“I always do,” he mumbled as he took the mug. He rubbed his hand across his face, rough from the shadow of a beard. He touched the knot on his head and winced.
She stood beside him, looking out the window, waiting for him to fully awaken, the ache in his head to subside.
“Are the Germans gone?” he asked, his voice raspy.
“Most of them.”
He sat up straight, as if suddenly remembering their dilemma, and sipped the coffee. “What do you
