Page 21 of A Resistance of Witches
“Nothing I like better. But I don’t think my companion would have cared for it as much.”
Rebecca glanced toward the woman. “Who is she?”
“To anyone who asks, she’s Chloe Moreau: Parents are from Quebec,hence the accent, educated in Paris. Wife of a French wine merchant, traveling with her cousin to Dordogne.”
“Sightseeing, is she?”
“Something like that.”
“Enjoy your vacation.”
David grinned. “Oh, you misunderstand.I’mnot going to Dordogne. You are.”
Rebecca stared at his smug face until she realized that he was serious.
“The hell I am. Do I look like a taxi driver to you?”
“It’ll only be a few hours out of your way.”
She planted her feet hard on the rocky beach. “Take her yourself.”
“I have business up the coast.” Rebecca knew better than to ask what sort of business.
“Let her take the train.”
“I can’t put her on a train by herself, she’s a civilian.”
Rebecca felt a jolt of alarm run through her. “What the hell do you mean, she’s acivilian? Who is she?”
David did not answer.
“David.”
“They don’t tell me everything, believe it or not.” The self-satisfied tone evaporated, replaced with something more honest. “I checked with my man at Baker Street, and he tells me no one had heard of her before two weeks ago. Rumor is the order to get her into France came from Winston Churchill himself. That’s all I know.”
Rebecca turned and looked to her coconspirators, who had nearly finished loading their trucks. “I have business myself, you know.”
“Your business will still be there after you drop her off in Dordogne.”
“I don’t have the petrol. Where am I going to get the fuel for the trip? From you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Your friends are unloading it as we speak. Ithink you’ll find it’s quite a bit more than the trip requires. Consider it a gift.”
Rebecca considered it a bribe, and not one she could afford to turn down.
“Think of all the mischief you could make.” Even in the dark, she could hear the smile in his voice.
Rebecca watched the woman from a distance. “How is her French?”
“Fluent.”
She looked up over the scrubby hill. A strip of rosy light was beginning to creep over the horizon. She huffed and turned to the woman.
“Welcome to France, Chloe Moreau.”
The woman did not respond.
David cleared his throat. “Lydia.”
