CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Time is an illusion.”
ALBERT EINSTEIN
The clock wasn’t chiming this time, but Sam almost heard its mechanical rings in her mind. Montmart’s hand was warm and moist in hers. Although he seemed calm, she knew he was as nervous as she was. A strange thought ran through her mind before she realized she was no longer in Parsons’ office. She wondered if it got any easier the more times you did it, like an actor performing on stage or a trapeze artist preparing for a high dive. This feeling was caused by the same rush of adrenaline but without the eyes of the audience upon you.
“Do you know where we are?” Montmart asked.
Sam looked around at the snow-covered street and the Christmas lights that blazed warmly from windows into the cold night into which she and the detective h
