Page 114 of One More Betrayal

“Is there anything I can do to help her?”

“Be her friend. If she lets you. That’s all you can do for now. I have to go. I have a client. Bye, Troy.” She hangs up before I can ask any more questions.

I stare at my phone for several minutes. I can’t even ask Jess what the hell she’s thinking quitting therapy. To do so means admitting I was the one paying for it.

How the hell am I supposed to help her now? Now that she has practically barred me from her life?

41

Angelique

July 1943

France

* * *

War ruins one’s ability to sleep for long periods. Those lazy Sunday mornings, when all I want to do is sleep in, no longer exist. The nightmares, the 2 a.m. parachute drops or acts of sabotage, the bombing, the fear, all contribute to sleepless nights and waking before my body is ready.

I blink my eyes open, desperate to chase away the image in my head of the last time I saw Pierre. My heart is beating too fast. Air refuses to enter my lungs. I can’t see the time on the clock on the bedside table, but I know it’s early morning. Even the birds aren’t up yet.

I sit upright, struggling to draw in a long breath. I rest my brow on my bent knees and hug my legs. The room is dark due to the blackout curtains, which only heightens the panic coursing through my body.

Movement next to me on the bed reminds me I’m not at home in England. I’m in a hotel room in Paris after a night of being invisible while listening to what the Nazis have planned.

I sense Johann sit upright. He gently sets his hand on the curve of my upper back. “Angelique?”

“How is it you never have nightmares?” My cracked voice fights its way through a dry mouth.

He doesn’t answer right away, but even in the pain-filled silence, I know what his answer will be. “I do. All the time.”

My breathing eventually evens out, and Johann coaxes me to lie down and snuggle against his warm body. He doesn’t bother with empty platitudes that everything will be all right. There’s no point. We both know nothing is further from the truth. I cannot even guarantee the next time he’s on an exercise with his battalion, he won’t be killed because of the actions of a resistance group or SOE agents.

Even if he tells me where he’ll be and I know he’s in danger, I cannot say anything at the risk of the Allies operation. My feelings for him change nothing.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” His hot breath brushes my ear, his voice a deep murmur.

“What’s that?”

“There’s an ambush planned against the French rebels. Their leader believes he’ll be handing over a supply of weapons to another group of rebels for safeguard. But it’s a trap. The man, Monsieur Baudelaire, will be delivering the weapons to a Gestapo agent. The Gestapo is planning mass arrests.”

If Johann could see my face, he would see the wide-eyed shock. If his body wasn’t pressed to mine, I could allow relief to loosen my muscles. My body tenses instead as I continue with the charade I don’t understand German. That I didn’t understand what I heard last night at the party. “Why are you telling me this?” I whisper.

Why are you helping the Allies?

“You helped my friends get out of the country. Maybe the person who helped with their escape knows someone who could prevent the ambush.”

“I’m not a rebel, if that’s what you’re thinking.” That much is the truth. It’s too dark to see his reaction, to know if he believes me. He’s taking a great risk revealing what he heard. He always takes risks where I’m concerned.

He doesn’t respond, and I let it be. He didn’t have to tell me what the officers were talking about last night. My gut tells me I can trust him, but that doesn’t mean I can tell him my secrets. It’s better for both of us if he’s in the dark when it comes to them.

His mouth brushes my brow, and we fall into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other’s body, until sleep finally pulls me back under.

When I wake again, light streams through the windows, the blackout curtains now open. Johann is sitting in the chair next to the window, staring out at Paris, wearing his regular hateful uniform.

At the sound of my movement, he glances at me, solemn creases stretched across his brow. “It doesn’t look like a good day for a walk.” He returns to gazing out the window.

I frown at his comment. The sky is blue without a single cloud in sight.

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