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“It’s all right.” Isabelle laid a hand on Jean-Guy’s arm in an effort to calm him, but it was batted away.

“Annie. The children!”

“You’ve had a nightmare,” she said, trying to untangle Jean-Guy from the sheets. “They’re fine.”

Jean-Guy was breathing heavily. His heart pounding. Staring at Isabelle, barely seeing her. Then he came back to the room. To Three Pines.

To safety.

“We need to talk,” said Isabelle. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

In the mayhem that followed, as agents and customers dropped to the floor, as shots rang out.

Bang! Bang, bang, bang!

Armand saw Jean-Guy vault over chairs and tables to tackle the gang leader at the door, just as the killer raised his rifle, about to spray the room with bullets.

Armand took it all in, even as he aimed at one of the gang members who was targeting the customer Pierre.

“Sûreté! Drop it!” he commanded. When the shooter turned on him, Armand fired.

Then, for no apparent reason, the gunfire died away, leaving cordite hanging in the air.

Then the reason became apparent. And all eyes turned to the two men plastered together. They were standing in the doorway leading to the bathrooms.

“Help me, patron.”

“Yes, help him, patron.”

“Hey, what the fuck?”

As Armand jerked awake, the passenger beside him grunted and glared. It took Armand a moment to come back to the plane.

“Jesus, man,” said the passenger, who, until moments ago, was snoozing on Armand’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?”

The flight attendant came by. “Everything all right?”

“This fellow hit me.”

Armand opened his eyes wider in surprise. “I don’t think so.”

The passenger in the window seat leaned forward. “I saw what happened. You were asleep on his shoulder and he woke up. That’s all.” She smiled at the flight attendant. “Nothing happened.”

The FA nodded. “If you need anything, Chief Inspector, just let me know.”

The passenger who’d complained now looked uncomfortable. And didn’t speak again.

Except for slight turbulence, the rest of the flight went smoothly, with Armand leaning back in his seat, which, should he somehow force it to recline, would land his head in the toilet.

He was content to rest his eyes.

Help me, patron.

Isabelle stared at Jean-Guy, whose eyes were red with exhaustion.

It was just past four in the morning.

“You do know you’d never do that, right? You’d never leave them.”