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“They’ll be fine, they’ll be fine,” Reine-Marie repeated as she and her friends watched first Isabelle, then Armand collapse to the floor of the Prime Minister’s office.

“They’ll be fine,” Clara and Myrna, Gabri and Olivier agreed, their eyes wide with disbelief.

“Though I don’t think Woodford will be,” said Gabri. “And I voted for the shit.”

Ruth reached out a scrawny hand and gripped Reine-Marie’s.

“He’ll be fine,” she whispered. “Now that the images are out there, they can’t do anything to harm them.”

Reine-Marie squeezed the old poet’s hand. “Merci.” Then she got up and called Isabelle’s husband. And after that, Annie and Daniel.

“They’ll be fine,” she told them.

Evelyn Tardiff was barely conscious. Her breathing came in rasps as she dragged air through her slowly collapsing windpipe.

As her head was pulled back, she could see she was not alone. She had a companion in the caves. The body of Margaux Chalifoux was not two feet away.

It wasn’t enough that Moretti had her put there; she had to stare right into Chalifoux’s face, frozen and contorted in pain and horror as her own noose had tightened.

That would be her, soon.

Evelyn Tardiff, the head of Organized Crime for the Sûreté du Québec, was about to die. And nobody would find her. She’d rot there.

Her legs dropped again, and her windpipe closed. She struggled, but that only made it worse, tightening the noose further. She gurgled. And then … nothing.

No more air. No more air. No more air.

The only consolation was that she’d no longer have to stare into those dead eyes of Margaux Chalifoux.

CHAPTER 29

Beauvoir, Nichol, and Lauzon made their way forward.

The deepest caverns were not just dark, they were pitch black. No light penetrated. No cell phone signal. They’d had to risk putting on the flashlights of their phones to see where they were going. Beauvoir watched his beam shake and wondered if the others realized he was trembling.

The walls were closing in. Crushing him. He felt lightheaded as the panic came in waves. He worried he was about to pass out.

He was, he knew, a liability. An armed liability. If something happened, he couldn’t help.

“Patron.” He felt a hand on his arm and saw Yvette Nichol looking at him. “Let me take the lead. She’s my boss. I need to be the one to find her.”

Beauvoir nodded, and while he was willing to accept what she said, he knew it wasn’t the truth. Nichol did it to save him and his jangled nerves.

“Careful,” she whispered a few minutes later. “There’s a drop-off. This section’s flooded.”

He heard a small splash and a sharp intake of breath. The water was bitterly cold and waist-deep on her.

Then it was his turn. He slipped into the water and gasped. But the biting cold acted as a sort of slap, bringing him out of his panic at least enough to regain some control.

A current was dragging them forward. Getting stronger. They had to fight to stay upright.

Nichol turned a sharp corner and put up her hand to stop the others. Switching off her flashlight, she whispered, “There’s a light up ahead.”

“Maybe I should stay here,” whispered Lauzon.

Beauvoir considered, then agreed. If there was a confrontation, there was little the former politician could do. And maybe he could escape and at least tell someone where they were.

Beauvoir retook the lead and felt Nichol’s small hand on his shoulder, keeping close, as they edged forward.