CHAPTER TWENTY
Hot, sour vomit burned Cassie’s throat. She retched into the white porcelain toilet, vividly recalling the horror she’d seen outside.
Margot’s body had been sprawled on the paving stones, unmoving. One of her legs had been bent at a hideous angle.
Margot must surely be dead… but perhaps, by some miracle, she was still alive, but unconscious or comatose.
Cassie spat into the toilet bowl and wiped her mouth. Despite the coldness of the room, clammy sweat had broken out on her forehead and armpits. She felt even dizzier than before, and when she left the bathroom she headed toward the balcony again, disoriented, before turning the other way and hurrying, on shaky legs, to the bedroom door.
“Pierre?” she shouted, as she ran down the corridor. “Pierre, where are you?”
Where
