No refuge is without a price. – Felicity Miller, explaining her choice to leave Jase Hamilton

Danger takes from a man all power of thought. – Johann Goethe, Hermann und Dorothea

Even with all her internal negotiations, Briel would almost rather have gnawed her fingers off than allow them to type the words she felt compelled to say.

You said I could submit a request for assistance …Briel typed into her phone. She still lay on the bed in Anne-Laure's guest room.

The Corsican needed money, she reminded herself, and she had discovered no viable method for gathering the remainder of the balance she needed to pay him. Originally, Briel had considered asking her cousin to open an account for her, but the option did not solve Briel's dilemma of how to transfer the money, tied up in CDs, without revealing her identity to someone, which would reveal her location as well.

Anything, what do you need?

Sighing, Briel rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Did he have to be so kind? Though Briel's instinct told her to tread carefully, her genuine pleasure at opening a dialogue with Nick, combined with gratification at his eagerness, offered too easy a solution to her anxiety to reject. He was just too good to be real.

Thanks. I hate to ask you this, but I’m kind of at a loss: I need $5,000 by tomorrow. I have about $40,000 in CDs in the U.S., but I can't access them without revealing my location. Any idea how I could manage to access that?

Briel hesitated to give him explicit directions, lest someone use the information to incriminate him after the fact. Still, she knew he could find a way to access her CDs without setting off any alarms.

Don't be stupid, he countered Just let me wire from my personal accounts to you. I don't mind.

I can't let you do that. I have the money.

So, pay me back. Or would you rather I commit a crime to send you money illegally. Thanks for your concern.

She huffed a laugh – he was so stupidly smart and practical, it was a little annoying. Still, it rankled to owe him even a penny when she so desperately wanted to avoid any debt to him in particular. His solution made much more sense, though, and would not place him in jeopardy of some criminal prosecution. What she disliked about the solution was that she would have to find him after the op and pay him back. Or, if she died, she would die in his debt. As if he had the same thought, he broke into her consideration.

Please don't do anything that will get you hurt.

Do you know what my job is? she sassed.

Is this a job? Are you getting paid for this?

I am still in the information gathering phase, Briel offered, attempting to avoid exchanging with him any more than necessary. Still, she had to appease him until she got the money. I have contacted someone who has ties to the French underground, and I'm fairly certain that he will drum up something.

Can you trust him?

Briel didn't want to answer the question even to herself, so she certainly wouldn't answer it to Nick. I've known him since I was a child, and now he is an old man. His sentiment should prevent any treachery.

Briel remembered the old man's words, Then again, maybe you will demand a very high price.

That doesn't guarantee anything, Nick countered knowingly. Why would an evil man suddenly develop a conscience just because he knew you as a child?

As much as Briel knew that Nick spoke the truth, she could think of no other option besides le Corse.

You're right, she finally admitted, but I don't have any other choice. Unless you happen to know anyone connected with the French criminal community. Just let me handle this, okay? I've got it under control. I promise.

For several seconds, Nick did not respond, and Briel instantly began to pine for the contact. The tension drew from her a confession, a prayer that she could lure him into responding.

You were right before, too. Why was she doing this? Because I might die, she answered herself.

About what? he responded immediately.

I am a control freak, she admitted, hearkening back to their conversation in Belize.

I shouldn't have said that. It was rude.

Rude, Briel laughed to herself. But it was true, she typed.

So was the other part true, too? About not letting anyone in?

Damn, she lamented. How had she forgotten that part of the conversation? Briel did not want to answer him, knowing that such an admission would be tantamount to giving Nick the go-ahead to pester her. What would it hurt, though, if she were going to die or be captured by Bill Henry? She could give Nick a small admission for all his help.

Yes, she admitted tersely, then immediately changed the subject so that Nick could not expand the gap of vulnerability that she had allowed. Now, can you send me the money?

To Nick's credit, he let the words pass without comment, but Briel knew him well enough to know that the implications had not escaped him.

Of course, just give me the amount and where to send it.

Hurriedly, Briel typed in the information for the nearest Western Union. She could not continue in the vein they had trod, or she might expose more than she intended, not to mention giving him more power over her than he already had.

Thanks for your help. I'll let you know when to send it.

Please be careful, he responded.

She wouldn't acknowledge his expression of concern; she needed to tighten the reins on his imagination and on her own. Instead, she quickly cinched the conversation with a word.

Goodbye.

Goodbye. Stay safe.

Briel briskly turned the phone off, fearing any further expression of his sentiments. At such a crucial point, she could not risk accessing emotions. Safe, she laughed to herself. From the beginning of her relationship with him, that was the label she had place on Nick, and he had proven her a simpleton. If she lived, and she managed to sever her connection as she intended, she would definitely file the lesson away somewhere easy to access so she didn’t ever forget. Nick was anything but safe, and the belief she had always held had proven true. Briel was most susceptible to a brilliant man. What she hadn’t known was how susceptible she would prove to a good man. Briel shook off the thought.

Having surveyed Anne-Laure's routine, Briel waited patiently until her cousin left the house for her daily trip to the épicerie. The conversation with Nick had occurred at five in the morning local time because Briel needed to contact him before he fell asleep for the night. This meant that she needed to wait two hours before heading back to the Corsican's apartment.

The ticking of the bedside clock rapped urgently on Briel's mind, as she fought every second to refrain from contacting Nick again. Finally, Briel heard the creaking of the front door and the subdued exchange between Anne-Laure and her housekeeper as her femme de charge arrived to begin the day's tasks and to care for the children.

As soon as the low-heeled shoes ceased echoing in the outer courtyard, Briel crept quietly into the living room, glancing around her to ascertain whether she would encounter the housekeeper. Briel needed no such precaution, as she could hear the woman singing quietly to herself in the kitchen, separated from Briel by a swinging door. To prevent any attempt at electronic surveillance, Briel once again removed the sim card from her phone, placing the phone in the drawer of an end table, and she carried the card out of the house where she would crush it somewhere in the countryside.

For the first time that she could remember, Briel felt the ominous heaviness of the low-hanging clouds outside the Revelles manor. The narrow road barely fit one vehicle, but that mattered little to Briel as she trod briskly along the constricting path on foot.

The washed-out, colorless sky accentuated the verdure of the fields and trees that lined the two-lane access into the town, and though always before the three-story buildings had seemed charming, now they forebode some misfortune, hovering threateningly overhead as if to box her in.

Though the main road easily allowed the traffic through, the passage to the home of le Corse tightened so quickly that every car parked on the sidewalk protruded halfway into the path of the moving vehicles. How had Rue de Rivoli turned threatening so quickly?

“Brielle!” a voice suddenly arrested her climb up the gradual incline of the road.

The irritation she had felt when she heard the voice evaporated into relief when Briel realized the voice did not belong to Anne-Laure, and Briel could not have afforded to waste the time required to extract herself from Anne-Laure's inquisitive nature. When the owner of the voice revealed herself, however, Briel betrayed almost as much frustration as if it had belonged to her cousin.

“Brielle,” the voice persisted. “How are you? Have you come to town alone?”

As the questions floated across the centreville to Briel's ears, the face of Alodie rose to greet her, a waving hand attached to its slender corpus.

“I have just left my great-uncle's house and planned to have lunch at the brasserie after I run a few errands. Would you please join me?”

“Oh, pardonnez-moi, Alodie. I'm on my way to an appointment. Maybe tomorrow,” though Briel knew that she had no plans to remain in Revelles overnight.

“Please, do dine with me. I will not eat until one, and surely your appointment will not last more than four hours.”

Wincing, Briel looked at her watch which revealed the time as 8:35 am. No, Briel could not reasonably explain away that amount of time. “Of course, I will finish my business long before one. But I would hate to leave out Anne-Laure. I could meet you back at the manor after you finish your business.”

Briel could have just left as soon as she finished with the Corsican, but if she tried, she risked encountering Alodie on the way out. Better to make a clean escape. If she could direct Alodie to the manor, Briel would have less trouble making her egress.

“Look, Briel. I don't mean to be rude, but...” Briel could divine Alodie’s unwillingness before it found voice. “Anne-Laure can sometimes drag the conversation a bit lengthy. I have an appointment at three, and you know the French way of stretching meals on for hours.”

Despite her irritation at the interruption, Briel found herself laughing at Alodie’s accurate characterization. Who could blame the woman? Besides, she could think of no other way to redirect her. “I understand,” Briel agreed amiably. “Of course I will meet you after my business. One o'clock at the brasserie, correct?”

“Wonderful. I'll see you there.”

By the time Briel concluded her conversation with Alodie, the pair stood on a paved courtyard amid the bustling crowd of the small-town center. From this vantage point, the Rue de Rivoli presented a much less threatening aspect than before. When Alodie waved her goodbye, Briel scoffed at herself for having succumbed to mindless fears, controlled not by rationality or reason, but by something as capricious as the weather.

This new ease did not undo her caution, it merely lessened her sense of foreboding as she strolled to the door of Monsieur Vico and rapped forcefully to announce her presence.