Page 130 of One More Betrayal

“That is how we lost Giselle,” Philip says. “The woman living near her turned her in. Giselle had done nothing suspicious that would bring attention to her, but the collaborator would sell her children to the devil himself if it meant she could make some money.” His tone is heated, as if someone had thrown petrol onto a fire. But there is also another emotion in his voice. White-hot grief.

Not grief because they lost a good agent. The pain in his voice and on his face suggests Giselle meant more to him than just an asset to the resistance circuit.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I tell him. This is why falling in love during a time of war is not a good idea. But with love comes hope. And hope is what gives us the strength to keep fighting, to make it through each day. “How will you be protecting me while I place the explosives in the tunnel?” I ask the four men.

“Patrols are lighter at night.” Laurent points to a piece of train track on the map about five miles from here. “Especially here. If we travel along this path, it’s likely they won’t see us. And if they do, we can easily take them down before they sound the alarm.”

“We’ve been watching their routines for the past two weeks,” Philip adds, “and they never deviate from them. We will have a twenty-minute window when no one is watching the tunnel up close.”

“Up close? Are you saying even during that time, there will be at least one guard watching the ventilation shaft from afar?” I take a sip of water.

Laurent nods. “But he won’t be able to see you. Not from where he’ll be standing.”

“Can you not just eliminate him?”

“Too risky.”

Philip and Laurent go over the plan with me. It seems sound enough. I ask a lot of questions to make sure we have everything straight.

“We should rest up for now,” Laurent tells the group.

Bridgette takes me to an empty guest room. I lie down and close my eyes, praying the war will be over before the baby is born. Wondering what life will be like for me as a pregnant woman in occupied France.

I’m dreaming about Johann and our baby and England when someone shakes me awake. The room is dark, other than the faint glow from the candle in Bridgette’s hand.

“It’s time to get ready,” she tells me.

It’s well past curfew when the four men and I set out along the road, keeping to the trees and undergrowth. Had it been daytime, dozens of German soldiers would be traipsing through the wooded areas, watching for people planning to do exactly what we’re doing or attempting to flee the country.

Unlike during parachute reception parties when the full moon brightens the way, the new moon casts the world in deep shadows. Shadows that hide us and our knapsacks filled with explosives and the detonator.

We cautiously head towards our target: a tunnel for a railway that connects Germany with the Atlantic Ocean.

A tunnel that once destroyed will greatly inconvenience the Nazis.

47

Jessica

August, Present Day

Maple Ridge

* * *

I press Simone’s doorbell. It’s late Saturday morning, and Lucas is away for the overnighter with the Wilderness Warriors.

I need Simone’s help when it comes to Violet and Sophie, and I’d rather Lucas didn’t know about it—or anyone else. It’s enough that Kellan is involved, but now I also need Simone’s assistance.

The front door opens. Simone’s wearing a floral sundress, her long reddish-brown hair pulled up in a ponytail. I biked over and look far from glamorous in a pastel-blue T-shirt, and shorts that cover the round scars on my upper thighs. They do nothing to hide the red scar there from the accident six weeks ago.

Jasper’s standing next to her, happy as always to see Bailey. Bailey sits patiently beside my leg, wearing her Service Dog in Training vest, waiting for my command to enter the house. I can tell her puppy patience won’t last much longer. She’s itching to play with her friend.

Simone smiles. “C’mon in.”

Bailey and I follow her into the dining area of the open-concept house. Sunlight shines through the living room window, creating a spotlight on a vase of pink lilies in the center of the table.

But it’s not the flowers that leave me inwardly groaning. Zara and Avery are sitting at the dining table, with an assortment of food, including samosas from Picnic & Treats, in front of them.

---