They knew each other? What the hell had been happening under Nik’s very own roof?
“They’ve taken her,” Blai explained.
“And Lafontaine plans to use her in the finale for something awful,” Nik replied.
The girl pulled Fernand close so they could exchange heated whispers. In the end, the girl relented, throwing her hands up.
“Your funeral,” she muttered.
Fernand motioned to the window, which was, miraculously, open.
“Let’s go.”
Nik wasn’t sure who he’d become after all this was over, but he struck acrobat from the list. Rooftops were terrifying. He was too tall and wiry to have any sort of balance. Chantal, however, leapt over ridges and swirled around chimneys. She used her cane when she needed it, and slid down the shingles to land with perfect poise in the Restes.
Blai made him feel better by scrambling down like a cat into a bath.
Once on precious, solid ground, they stole away through darkened alleys, dodging the influx of police patrolling the streets. They followed the river to a bakery that now haunted him.
Fernand shut the door while the girl—Nicolette—checked the other rooms. Gaetan’s bakery wasn’t just empty. It was abandoned. Boards had been nailed to the windows, and everything else inside had been left alone. Kept like a mausoleum.
Nik’s guilt doubled. They were protecting it in case he returned.
“Gaetan’s Boulangerie,” Nicolette sneered. “Another victim of yours rotting in a prison.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Nik snarled.
Fernand stepped between them, pistol flashing at his hip.
“This is my territory, and youwillbehave.”
Nik chewed his tongue as he stepped away.
Fernand was every bit the rogue hero. He moved with exhausted confidence and commanded attention even while leaning against the counter, arms and ankles crossed.
“I didn’t mean to have him arrested,” Nik said calmly this time. “Lafontaine did that. He also… he also killed him.”
Fernand stood straight. “Gaetan is dead?”
Nik nodded.
Fernand broke upon him. New pain melted atop the old as blood rushed down his chin. Fernand didn’t stop. He kept punching, the rhythm of knuckles cracking against his skin growing fevered until someone pulled him off.
“He didn’t kill him,” Chantal said.
“I don’t believe you,” Fernand spat. He was pacing like a caged lion, shoulders flexing with each heaved breath.
There were two of him. No, three. It took a few shakes of his head for the images to overlap and Nik’s vision to clear. Chantal helped him into a seat.
“Travers is right.” Blai shrugged. “You’re as much to blame for this mess as anyone else. Even if youdidn’tkill Gaetan.”
Fernand didn’t look convinced.
“If we’re going to be at each other’s throats all night, we might as well gift Lafontaine the keys to the city.” Chantal pointed to the table near Nik. “What if we try a new concept—working together?”
Nicolette and Fernand exchanged glances before slumping into chairs. Chantal and Blai followed.
“Where do we start?” Fernand asked.
