CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Caitlin sat in the back of the foreign taxi as it wound its way through the narrow streets of Paris in the pouring rain. It had been a long, rough taxi ride from the airport, and she hadn’t slept a wink on the plane. She had dozed off once or twice, but to fast, rapid nightmares which forced her to wake instantly, determined not to fall asleep again.

Now she was exhausted as they went block to block, combing the streets, searching for the bookstore. It was daybreak, and she could barely see out the window. They had been circling this small group of blocks for nearly an hour now, and Caitlin was beginning to feel hopeless. She’d been arguing back and forth with the taxi driver, he speaking French and she English, and neither understanding each other.

“Six rue Charlemagne!” Caitlin yelled again, enunciating each syllable.

He screamed something back in French, which she did not understand. They were both at the end of each other’s ropes.

As they circled the block yet again, she looked