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He’d push Armand aside, and reach out thin arms for his mother.

Two, three times a week this happened. He never told them what the nightmares were about. Until now.

“It was always the same one. There was a knock on the door. I’d run to answer it, and there you were.” Daniel was heaving now, sobbing. Barely able to get the words out. “But. You. Were. Dead.”

Armand was pale, his breathing shallow and rapid. He reached out, but Daniel stepped back. Away.

“Every time I look at you, that’s what I see. A dead man. My friends knew their parents would live forever. But I knew that fathers and mothers leave home and never come back. Your parents did. And now you would, too.”

“Ohhh, no,” said Armand.

He’d deliberately not talked about the death of his parents in front of Daniel and Annie, for fear of scaring, scarring, his own children. Not until they were old enough to understand.

So how?

And then it came to him.

That rainy Saturday here in Paris, years, decades ago. They were visiting Stephen’s apartment and the kids were playing hide-and-seek. They’d found a false door in the armoire in Stephen’s bedroom and crawled in.

And heard. Their father and Stephen talking. About his parents, and about that day. About the knock on the door. About the very worst thing that can happen to a child. Annie must’ve been too young to understand. But Daniel did.

Parents died.

Nightmares came true.

“You couldn’t be a teacher, a plumber? Even a normal cop? You had to do the most dangerous thing. I know you never loved us. If you did, you’d have picked us.”

“But I did. Oh, my God. Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—”

He moved toward his son. Daniel stepped back and raised the only thing he had. His umbrella. “Don’t come closer. Don’t you dare try—”

“I love you. With all my heart, I love you. I’m so sorry.”

He stepped forward, and Daniel swung, at the last moment leaning away so that the handle of the umbrella swept by his father’s face, close enough for Armand to feel the air ripple.

Armand hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t closed his eyes. Keeping them on his son the whole time. Though it was hard to see clearly.

Daniel looked like he was underwater.

Throwing the umbrella on the ground, Daniel strode away. Leaving Armand staring after him.

When Daniel was out of sight, Armand raised trembling hands to his face and wept. For all the pain he’d caused. For all those hours, days, years they’d lost.

For the happy, safe, contented little boy who’d died on the stairs that Christmas Eve, waiting for Père Noël.

CHAPTER 28

Ah, look. There’s a second floor!”

Annie was standing in the living room of Stephen’s suite at the George V, wide-eyed. Marveling.

While the bellhop took their luggage upstairs to the bedroom, she turned serious eyes on Jean-Guy. “We must never leave.”

Jean-Guy parted the curtains and was looking outside as Annie gave the young man a tip and closed the door.

“Anyone?” she asked.

“No.”