Estelle froze before she turned slowly. The question had been asked by a woman, dressed plainly in a deep green dress that might have been expensive at one time but was showing signs of wear at the hem and cuffs. Similarly, her shoes were of fine quality but worn noticeably at the heels, and the handbag she carried had a frayed strap. She was strikingly tall, with flaxen blond hair braided and secured on the top of her head in a very German style. Her complexion was flawless, her eyes a pale blue. She looked, Estelle thought, like a damn poster for the sturdy, wholesome maidens of the Bund Deutscher Mädel.

“Three o’clock, but only on Fridays,” Estelle said slowly.

It was the correct response for the correct question, but it had been asked by a single agent. Not a pair.

Estelle glanced about but there was no one nearby on the lawn next to the basilica. “You are Celine.”

“Yes. And you are La Chanteuse.”

Estelle stared at the blond woman, wondering where she was from. She spoke like a Parisian native. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where is your partner?”

“Dead.”

Estelle shifted the straps of her handbag uneasily. There were any number of reasons an agent might die, discovery and capture being the one that most concerned her. If the surviving agent hadn’t been careful, she could be being watched right now—

“He died from the jump,” Celine said, as if reading her mind. “Well, not the jump so much as the landing.”

Estelle couldn’t tell if the woman was in shock or if she was as unmoved at the disaster as she seemed to be. “The landing?”

“He missed his jump and landed in the trees. It took us hours to cut him down.” Celine’s explanation was made with no fanfare, merely a measure of regret.

Not in shock at all, Estelle decided. Simply methodical. A veritable ice princess. Estelle wasn’t sure if that reassured her or not. Involuntarily, her hand went to the pendant at her throat, the tiny, enameled locket lying warm against her skin.

“That’s a pretty necklace,” Celine said, making Estelle start.

Estelle released the pendant and pulled the collar of her coat up. The woman was watching her with those unflinching, icy eyes, and she didn’t like it. It was as if she was peering directly into Estelle’s thoughts. “What do you require from me?” she demanded with more sharpness than she had intended.

Celine did not seem to take offense. “Your help.”

“The instructions I received were that I was to provide you with society introductions at the Ritz Hotel. I am assuming that that is still the case.”

“Yes and no.”

Estelle frowned. “I don’t like riddles. Speak plainly.”

“My partner, who was the other half of my cover story, is dead. I need a new one.”

“A new partner or a new cover story?”

“Both.”