![]() ![]() He was oddly mesmerized, not by the dead body, but by the new color the blood had produced on his suit. There had been plenty of killings in Paris in the two years since the beginning of the German occupation in 1940, but Lucien had never actually seen a dead body until this moment. The dark crimson fluid flowed quickly in a narrow rivulet down his neck, over his crisp white collar, and then onto his well-tailored navy blue suit, changing its color to a rich deep purple. Just two meters away, the man lay face down on the sidewalk, blood streaming from the back of his bald head as though someone had turned on a faucet inside his skull. In the very second that Lucien realized he and the man wore the same scent, L'Eau d'Aunay, he heard a loud crack. He came so close that Lucien could smell his cologne as he raced by. ![]() Just as Lucien Bernard rounded the corner at the rue la Boétie, a man running from the opposite direction almost collided with him. ![]()
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